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“The new guy will work out fine,” I said as he strolled over to his sorhox and leaped onto its back.

“Good job, Ruugar. I’m proud of you.”

I struggled not to cringe. Would he be proud if he knew what I’d done? Probably not.

I waited until he’d ridden away before bolting inside, hoping Beth was still here.

If she was, I needed to convince “him” to join in on my spontaneous plan.

Chapter 7

Beth

Someone was banging on my door.

“Beth. Beth!” Ruugar cried out. He flung the door open so fast it smacked against the wall, and rushed inside, skidding to a stop when he spied me snuggling beneath the covers on his bed. “Sorry,” he mumbled, backing into the wall with a thud. His pointy-tipped ears darkened to match his face. “I’ll, uh, go make breakfast?”

“Yes, thank you.” I’d slept amazingly well, but it was time for me to get up. Shower. Start figuring out what I’d do next. A good breakfast would definitely help.

He stumbled out into the hall and hauled the door closed. I slid off the super-high bed built for seven-foot orc legs, and, with fresh clothing in my hands, slunk through the hall to the bathroom while he banged pots and pans in the kitchen.

Not long later, I sat across from him at his kitchen table with a heaping plate of food in front of me. Enoughfor three of me. Or one orc. His portion was the same as mine.

He’d cooked eggs, though they were an odd green color, long strips of something that looked like bacon but probably wasn’t, and huge slabs of bread I planned to slather with butter. He was squirting ketchup and mustard on his bread, an odd choice that maybe I should try. Even if it looked different, I was hungry, and it was sweet of him to cook for me.

He plowed through his full plate, looking sheepishly at me after he’d finished, noting I’d only eaten maybe a quarter of mine. But he was a big guy; he must need lots of calories to maintain all those muscles.

Why did I have to notice the way his eyes lingered on me, even for a second, before snapping away? Well, his muscles, too. But his gorgeous eyes. That long look probably meant nothing. It definitely meant nothing. I was a complication in his life, not someone he’d ever want to keep around.

“You want me to do what?” I asked, not quite sure I’d heard what he’d blurted out the moment I lowered my fork beside my plate.

“It’s only for a week,” he said in such a tentative voice I wanted to reach across the table and stroke his arm, tell him it would be okay. “You wouldn’t have to do a thing except pretend to be someone you’re not.”

“No one’s going to think I’m a boy,” I said, pointing out the most impractical part of his suggestion. I leaned back in my chair, biting my lip to keep from laughing. He looked so serious, like this was a perfectly reasonableplan. Like slapping a cowboy hat on my head would magically make me one of the guys. “I don't have green skin. No one's going to think I'm an orc.”

“Oh, um, no. I told my brother, Dungar, that I'd hired a young human male. He seemed to believe me. The tourists going on the trail ride won’t care either way.”

In all honesty, it wasn't a bad plan. But me pretending to be a boy and helping on a trail ride? I didn't even know how to ride, let alone cook or do…actually anything.

And that was a depressing realization. It wasn't that I hadn't tried. I'd gone to the kitchen numerous times and asked the chef to teach me how to cook. But he was as afraid of my father's wrath as me, and he'd turned me down. The woman who cleaned my rooms had bellowed in horror when she found me vacuuming. I’d barely had the chance to discover how fun vacuuming could be.

I was useless. But this idea…

“So I'll tuck my hair under a cowboy hat, smear some dirt on my face, and suddenly—poof—I’m a boy?” I asked.

Ruugar shifted in his chair, his big shoulders tensing. “Well, yes. Sort of. Mostly. But it’s not impossible.” His ears twitched, the tips darkening to a deep green. That alone almost made me lose my cool. Orcs didn’t blush exactly like humans, but it was close. And on him, it was ridiculously attractive. Those big, strong hands of his fidgeted on the table, and when his dark eyes darted between me and his plate, my stomach did a weird littleswoop. Probably nerves. Definitely not romance butterflies.

Or was it?

Ruugar exhaled. “You could wear baggier clothes?”

“That’ll really fool people,” I said, deadpan.

He nodded. “Maybe, uh, cut your hair?”

I gasped in mock horror and grabbed a handful of my long blonde tresses. “Absolutely not.” I tilted my head. “Do you really think I should cut it?”

“It’s beautiful.”