How could I have a Vegas quickie wedding without saying I do, let alone with a preacher dressed as Elvis?
The mark caught the morning light streaming through my window, a perfect circle that looked like someone had tattooed me with liquid gold. The swirling design in the middle was pretty. If I’d decided to get another tattoo, something like this would’ve drawn my eye.
“No, no, it wouldn’t,” I snarled at my reflection in the mirror. “I would never choose to be mated—married—whatever—to a grumpy orc.”
A cute, grumpy orc with a wicked tongue, but still.
I’d scrubbed at the mark in the shower until my skin was raw, but it remained as vibrant as ever. Permanent, Becken had said. Just like the bond it represented.
Unless I left when my contract was over. He said it would fade. Would it also let us forget? I worried it would take more than me leaving Lonesome Creek to make me forget Becken.
I pulled on a long-sleeved sweater, making sure the cuff covered the mark. Professional armor. If I looked competent and in control, I could convince myself I actually was.
The walk to the rodeo grounds felt longer than usual, my boots crunching through the snow that still blanketed the town, though they’d cleaned things up nicely, leaving enough to be festive but not so much it impeded anyone from strolling around town. The holiday was approaching fast.
Becken was already at the arena when I arrived, of course. He stood near the sorhox pens with his back to me, his broad shoulders tense beneath his work jacket. Even from a distance, I felt an odd awareness of him, like my nerves had been fine-tuned to his frequency. Not emotions exactly, but…presence. The way you might notice a storm building on the horizon before you consciously registered the darkening clouds.
“Morning,” I called out, proud of how normal my voice sounded.
He turned, and for a moment, our eyes met. The air between us seemed to shimmer with unspoken memories of tangled limbs and whispered names. Then his own professional armor slipped into place, matching mine.
“Morning. How’s the ankle?”
“Much better. Barely any pain.” I took a few steps to demonstrate, acutely aware of his gaze tracking my movement. “I’m ready to get back to work.”
“Good. We have a lot to catch up on.”
We went to his office, where he put my foot up on a spare chair despite my telling him it was okay. For the next hour, we maintained careful distance while reviewing the rodeo program timeline. Becken explained what he hoped to accomplish, his voice steady and impersonal. I took notes on my tablet, occasionally asking questions that had nothing to do with the way his hands moved when he gestured or how his voice roughened when he said my name.
The charade continued until Aunt Inla appeared with two steaming mugs of tea and a concerned expression, dressed in a floral, floor-length Wild West gown that matched the poke bonnet on her head. Despite the chilly air outside, she’d draped a bright pink shawl over her shoulders. Orcs truly were warm-blooded.
“How are you both doing today?” She handed us mugs, her eyes scanning my face. “Being stranded in a blizzard must have been terrifying. I planned to stop by, but Holly told me you were resting.”
“You should’ve. I would’ve enjoyed the company.”
Her tusky grin rose. “Next time, I will.”
I doubted there would be a next time, but sure.
“We’re doing great.” I took a sip of my tea and lifted my mug her way. “Thanks for bringing this.”
Her hand landed on my shoulder, and she squeezed. “Any time. Truly.”
Her gaze flicked between us before landing on my foot still propped up on the chair. A subtle smile rose on her face. “I see Becken has made sure you continue to rest your foot. Orcs are very protective of the people they care about.”
Heat crept up my neck. “We’re colleagues. Nothing else.”
“Of course.” Her smile suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Well, since you’re both here, I wanted to discuss the Christmas preparations. Some of us met up yesterday at the saloon and finalized the schedule of events, but we know you two will want to be involved.”
Becken grumbled into his mug of tea.
I grinned. Christmas preparations? Count me in.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper from her dress pocket. “The Christmas market will start later this week, and crafters from all over will be here to sell their wares. They’ll continue selling goods through Sunday. We’ll hold the tree lighting ceremony Friday night and?—”
I leaned forward, excitement shooting through me. “You’ve cut the tree?”
She tugged on one of her prairie bonnet ties. “Not so far. We thought?—”
