“I’m a boiler, I suppose,” he said.
With careful maneuvering that involved more accidental touches than I was prepared for, Dungar settled himself against the wall, the bunk creaking under his weight. I stretched the blanket out over both of us as best I could before gingerly lying down beside him.
For a moment, we lay side by side like awkward teenagers at a chaperoned dance, barely touching despite the narrow space. The position was uncomfortable and did little to share warmth.
“This isn’t working,” I said after a few minutes of increasingly painful silence.
“No.” His voice rumbled through the dark.
I took a deep breath. “We need to actually…you know.”
“Snuggle?” A hint of amusement lurked in his voice.
“I was going to say optimize our position for maximum thermal exchange, but sure, snuggle works too.”
His chuckle vibrated through the bunk. “Such a practical deputy I’ve hired.”
“You haven’t seen practical yet.” I turned on my side, facing away from him. “Spoon me.”
For a heartbeat, only silence greeted my words. Then the mattress shifted as his big frame curved around mine. One large arm hesitantly settled over my waist, and heat—glorious, wonderful heat—enveloped me from behind.
The effect was immediate and almost overwhelming. Dungar’s body radiated warmth like a banked fire, seeping through my clothes and into my chilled skin. I couldn’t hold back the small sigh of relief that escaped me.
“Better?” he asked, his breath warm across my cheek.
“Much.” I relaxed into his embrace.
I’d expected to feel trapped with his arm around me, pinned by his body. Instead, I felt protected. Secure in a way I hadn’t experienced in years. His hold remained gentle, leaving me room to move while ensuring I wouldn’t fall off the bunk.
“Your hands are like ice,” he said, taking one into his own and wrapping his much larger fingers around it.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad I can help.”
We lay quietly for a while, my body gradually thawing from his warmth. Outside, an owl hooted, and somewhere in the distance, a coyote called to its pack. The sounds of the mountain night filtered through the window, both peacefuland wild.
“Tell me about yourself,” I said.
I felt rather than saw Dungar’s smile. “What would you like to know?”
“How did you end up building a Wild West town for tourists?”
His chest expanded against my back as he took a deep breath and released it. “It’s a long story.”
“We have all night.”
He laughed. “You’re right. Well, it started underground, in the orc kingdom. My family’s ranch has been in Bronish hands for many generations. Our family owns vast caverns where we raised sorhoxes and grew crops under insect light. It’s beautiful but crowded.”
“In what way?”
“Orc families tend to be large. I have ten brothers and six sisters.”
I twisted to look back at him. “Seventeen children? Your poor mother.”
“She’s formidable,” he said with obvious affection. “And orcs are built for large families. But with that many siblings, the family ranch could only support so many of us.”
“So you came to the surface?”
