“I’ll show you around the jailhouse then take you to the saloon. The hotel’s on the second floor. You can unpack and rest, and later, I can give you a tour of the town.”
“I’m not that tired, though I wouldn’t mind dropping off my bag in my room before the tour.”
“Of course.”
The sheriff’s office looked exactly like what I’d expected from a small mountain tourist town, with plank floors, a filing cabinet, and a wooden desk big enough for an orc. The jail cell where they housed pretend arrests to titillate the tourists had been placed on the left of the big room.
My new home.
What I hadn’t expected was how meticulously organized everything was. Every file had been labeled and color-coded. Every pen had a designated holder. Even the bulletin board displayed notices in perfect rows with almost mathematical precision. This appeared to be the office of someone who found order in all things, who needed systems and structure to function.
OCD? I recognized the signs because I shared a few of them.
“I know it’s not much compared to what you’re used to,” Dungar said, moving around to stand behind his desk. “But it serves the purpose. Tourism keeps things interesting, but we don’t see much in the way of serious crime.”
“It’s perfect.” After months of borrowed spaces, this felt like a sanctuary.
Dungar’s gaze sharpened on my face, something thoughtful flickering in his dark eyes. “Good. I had hoped…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes people need a place where they can breathe again.”
The simple statement hit me where it hurt the most. How could he possibly know? But when I looked up at him, I saw only professional kindness, not suspicion or prying curiosity.
“Let’s take your bag to the hotel.” Passing me, he grabbed keys from a hook by the door. “Then I’ll introduce you to some of the people around town. I’ve prepared a list of the most important stops.”
Of course he had a list. I fought a smile as he produced a neatly typed sheet from his shirt pocket, complete with bullet points and estimated time allotments.
“Very thorough,” I said.
“Good preparation prevents issues.” He held the door open for me, and I stepped out onto the shaded boardwalk. He joined me, not having to duck to avoid hitting his head on the wooden frame. Everything in this town had been built to accommodate both orcs and humans, which meant most things were taller, larger. I assumed they had human-proportioned furniture in the tourist areas.
The afternoon sun warmed my face as we strode down the boardwalk, our boots thudding on the surface. Tourists strolled past, some wearing cowboy hats and boots, others sporting “I Survived the Orc Wild West” t-shirts. The whole place had a cheerful, welcoming energy that felt almost foreign after the urban paranoia I’d lived in for so long.
“First stop is the bakery,” Dungar said, checking his list. “My brother Sel runs it with his mate Holly. You’ll want to know them since they organize approximately twelve-point-five of the community events.”
“Twelve-point-five percent.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. My other brothers and mates handle equal portions.”
“It’s good to share.”
“Yes. It is.”
As we walked, I cautiously studied how Dungarmoved beside me. He’d positioned himself between me and the street without seeming to think about it, his big frame serving as a shield against potential threats. When a group of loud teenagers burst out of the general store ahead, he shifted closer, not touching but near enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
He was protecting me. Unconsciously, instinctively, like it was as natural as breathing.
The realization set off every warning bell in my head. I’d learned the hard way that protection often came with strings attached, that men who offered sanctuary usually expected payment in return. But Dungar felt different. Safe.
Which was laughable, considering he could probably snap my spine with his bare hands.
“Here we are.” Dungar stopped in front of the bakery. The scent of fresh bread and cinnamon drifted out as he opened the door, urging me to step inside before joining me.
The bell above the door jangled, announcing our arrival, and a blonde woman behind the counter looked up with a pleasant smile on her face. Behind her, an orc who shared Dungar’s basic features was unloading bakery goods from a tray, placing them inside the glass-fronted cabinet spanning the back wall.
“Dungar,” the woman called out. “Perfect timing. Sel just finished a batch of those cinnamon rolls you love.”
We strode forward to join them, stopping in front of the case holding a delectable display of yum.
“Holly, this is our new deputy, Riley Smith.” Dungar’shand settled on my shoulder blade before dropping to his side. “Riley, this is Holly Engle and my brother, Sel.”
