Page 1 of A Troll in the Hay
Chapter One
OGRAM
“We don’t see you in here often,” Mrs. Mitchell says as I ring up her purchases on the market’s cash register. “Getting to work indoors must be a nice change from being out in the fields.”
With painstaking care, I tap in the last of her items. None of my employees who work in the market store have ever complained about the cash register’s buttons being too small, but like many things in the human-dominated world, this equipment wasn’t designed for use by someone my size. With my thick fingers, it’s a miracle I’m even able to tap a single key, let alone with any accuracy.
Being temporarily short an employee, I don’t have much choice. But it’s not thenice changemy well-meaning, gray-haired human customer suggested. I’m a troll. A creature of nature. Being outside among the earth and plants has always been my peace, my comfort. I’d behappy to leave the store duties to my employees indefinitely.
But that’s not what she wants to hear, and despite preferring solitude to socializing, I never want to be impolite to anyone. “Spending time in the store is an opportunity to say hello to the many fine people who honor me by shopping here.” I finish with the expression I’ve practiced in front of a mirror to soften the effect my large tusks can have on a smile. I gather the squash, zucchini, onions, greens and apples into her cloth shopping bags while Mrs. Mitchell places her cash on the counter, all of it coins, stacked in tidy piles.
She’s the fifth person to pay by cash today. Cash means I don’t have to fiddle with the even tinier buttons on the electronic payment terminal, but it also means I’ll have to go downtown to the bank, and during business hours, no less, since her contribution to the cash deposit is akin to a leprechaun’s bag of treasure. Downtown has a lot more people than the customers at my market store, even on its busiest day. The thought of all the required face-to-face interaction sends a shiver down my spine.
Mrs. Mitchell snaps her coin purse closed and smiles at me. “Well, I hope you’ll take this opportunity among people to do more than say hello. A fellow like you should have someone special waiting after a long day’s work, not go home to an empty farmhouse. You know, I could bring my granddaughter by for you to meet. Gertrude would make a wonderful wife for someone like you.”
As much as the humans of Harmony Glen havewelcomed other species with open arms since the Great Revelation, I doubt her “someone like you” means a keeps-to-himself, hardworking farmer. More likely: a big, brutish-looking, borderline-reclusive monster with zero romantic prospects but above-adequate financial resources. Someone who’d be grateful for any match. Regardless of her motivation, she’s open-minded enough to suggest a union between our species, and that’s not small potatoes.
“I’m honored you’d consider introducing me to your granddaughter, but I must decline.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Mitchell’s eyebrows shoot upward, chasing the lines of her forehead beneath a row of tight silver curls held snugly in place by a bright-purple hair scarf. “I hadn’t heard any whispers around town that you’d become romantically attached to someone. Who is it?”
There’s no one, but I should lie and say there is. I’d rather not tell her the reason I declined has nothing to do with being involved with someone else, and everything to do with the size of my cock. Physical intimacy with other species isn’t impossible, but taking my girth would be a challenge for a human woman, requiring preparation many would find…objectionable. Especially for a single, casual instance of gratification, which is all I could offer anyone who is not my mate.
Mrs. Mitchell must take my hesitation to provide a name as an unspoken confirmation that I’m still romantically unattached, because her eyebrows return to their normal position and a smile crests her lips. “Will you bein the store for the rest of the afternoon? I’ll fetch my sweet Gertie and come back at closing time so you won’t be interrupted by customers. She’s quiet, much in the way you are, and very innocent. I’m sure you’ll be immediately smitten.”
My jaw clenches so tightly I wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Mitchell can hear my back teeth grinding. If she knew anything about troll mating urges, she wouldn’t want me to be immediately smitten with her sweet, innocent granddaughter. Luckily for Gertrude, I’m sure that won’t happen. I’ve met many human women since Harmony Glen welcomed monsters to integrate in the community, and I’ve never experienced even a twinge of desire toward any.
With few female trolls residing in the area and none of them sparking something inside me, it’s likely I’ll spend my life alone. Many trolls do. As much as I’d like to find a mate—solitude, safety, and working the land make a good life.
“I’m sure anyone would be lucky to be married to your granddaughter, but I spend most of my waking hours working on the farm, so I wouldn’t be the husband your granddaughter deserves. But if she’s looking for a part-time job, I’m still searching for someone to take this spot in the market store, so I can get back to the fields full time.”
Given the way Mrs. Mitchell’s mouth thins to a downward curve, I’d guess she doesn’t care for what I thought to be a respectful and tactful answer.
“She needs a husband, not an employer. Good day toyou, Ogram,” she says, turning away with her chin tilted high, nearly bumping an incoming customer while huffing a dramatic exit.
I don’t owe an apology to the woman who quickly skips sideways to avoid being jostled by the obviously disgruntled matchmaker. Even if I wanted to be courteous and call out a friendly, “Sorry about that,” I can’t, because my mouth goes dry and my insides grow tight and hot and electrified when my gaze connects with the human’s as she moves deeper into the store.
She’s beautiful. The loveliest creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. Fair skin with a rosy tint, long hair that looks like dark-brown silk, and hourglass curves. The sunlight streaming through the open roll-up door behind her gives her an angelic glow.
Moving around the tables of produce, she doesn’t stop to look at any of it. Not a single glance, even as she scoops a small basket of apples from one of the tables she passes. Her focus remains on me, drifting from my eyes to my tall, pointed ears poking through my shaggy, shoulder-length hair, to the long tusks protruding from my lower gums that reach nearly to my cheekbones. My most monstrous features. That she can see, anyway.
The other monstrous part of me is thick and hard against my left thigh, threatening to break the inner seam of my work pants. I’ve never had this kind of physical reaction to a human.
And it’s not just my cock responding. Every step she takes toward me amplifies the tingling sensation running rampant through my body. My heart thumps sowildly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she can see it pounding against my green skin in the V where my shirt is unbuttoned.
As long as she doesn’t see the bulge filling out my pant leg. Which she won’t because I’m essentially frozen in place behind the counter. Like a deer trapped in the headlights. Only it’s not a collision and death that’s imminent, it feels like the opposite. As if I’m waking up fully for the first time, or seeing a whole range of colors I didn’t know existed until this moment.
“Hi,” she says, placing the basket, then both palms, on the smooth wood countertop separating us. Her hands are so much smaller than mine. Her fingers, so delicate.
“Just the apples today?” Miraculously, my voice works. And my brain, enough to form that simple yet coherent question.
“I apologize for staring.” The apple question goes unanswered as she blinks up at me. A gentle head shake causes her hair to move like dark waves against the pale shores of her bare shoulders. “I’m visiting town, and where I’m from, there’s been very little integration since the Great Revelation. You’re the first orc I’ve ever seen in person.”
Trolls generally bristle at being mistaken for orcs. This woman could mistake me for a sentient cactus and I wouldn’t get prickly. Still, I’d be a negligent representative of nonhumans if I didn’t educate her about the different species.
“Welcome to Harmony Glen,” I say with a nod and one of my carefully practiced smiles. “I’m not at allbothered by your attention, so please, stare all you like. One detail though—I’m a troll, not an orc.”
An adorable squeak leaves her lips before her hands fly up to cover her face. “I’m sorry! You must think I’m the dumbest, most oblivious human ever.” The mumbled words are easy to distinguish, even from behind her self-imposed muzzle.