I tugged up my sleeve and stared at the mating mark.
“Are you all right?” Becken’s voice startled me.
“Oh, um, yes. I was thinking about the Christmas events.” I tugged my sleeve back down. “We’ll need to figure out which sorhoxes should pull Santa’s sleigh. Ones who’ll tolerate wearing reindeer horns.”
“They already have horns.”
I shrugged. “We need to make them look like reindeer.” I scrolled into my phone for an image and showed him.
“None of them are going to let us paint their snouts red.”
“Will they be willing to wear collars with bells and maybe a red ribbon on their tails?”
“Probably.” His probing gaze tried to snag mine. “We have time. The events aren’t for days.”
“Preparation is key to success.”
“Is that all you’re thinking about?”
“What else could there be?”
He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. You seemed interested in what the other women were saying about matings.”
I squirmed in my chair, wishing he’d take his probing gaze away. “Understanding your culture helps me do my job better.”
“Mating culture in particular?”
“We should make a list,” I said, desperate to redirect the conversation. “Priorities for preparing the sorhoxes. Training schedules. Costume needs.”
“Carla.”
The way he said my name made my belly flutter. When I looked up, his expression was softer than it had been all morning.
“Are you sure you’re all right? This has been intense. If you need more time to process?—”
“I’m perfectly fine,” I said quickly. “The last few days allowed me time to think. We were in a survival situation inside the cabin. We did what we had to do to stay warm and safe. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.”
The words felt like lies even as I spoke them.
Becken’s expression shuttered, and he nodded curtly. “You’re right. We should focus on the Christmas activities.”
For the rest of the day, we threw ourselves into planning. Lists were made, schedules created, logistics discussed. Weworked well together, our ideas building on each other’s suggestions in ways that felt natural and productive.
If we leaned a little closer than necessary when reviewing documents, or if our hands brushed more often than coincidence could explain, well, that was just the demands of collaboration.
By the end of the day, we had not only outlined the next six months of training needed for the rodeo to open at eight months, but we also had a comprehensive plan for integrating the rodeo program into Lonesome Creek’s Christmas celebrations. The sorhoxes would need crowd desensitization training, the routines would require practice, and we’d need to coordinate with the others some more.
“This is ambitious,” Becken said, reviewing our final timeline.
“Ambitious gets results.” I capped my pen. “We should probably come back here after dinner.” I tucked my tablet into my bag. “Do more to get ahead.”
“I have other plans.”
“With whom?” I barked, jealousy slamming through me.
“Dester.” He grunted. “I’ve been working him harder, taking him around town to get used to the noises. I don’t want him hurting anyone else again.”
Oh. “I could help.”
