Page 15 of Buck Wild Orc Cowboy (Brides of the Lonesome Creek Orcs #3)

Holly

I ’d just taken a fresh batch of scones from the oven when the bell out front jingled. I quickly washed my hands and with a hesitant smile on my face, strode out into the front room.

The sweet scent of baking clung to my clothes, and I brushed flour from my apron. My hands still tingled from the heat of the oven, but the bell had called, and customers were customers. It’d been slow all morning with Sel gone. Maybe now things would pick up a bit.

Two men lurched toward the counter, loud in that way only drunks could manage, their souvenir cowboy hats crooked on their heads.

One had deep lines carved into his sunburned face, and his shirt was rumpled and stained.

The other was younger, tall, and wiry, with restless fingers tugging at the buttons marching down the front of his shirt.

Great. Just what I needed.

I scanned the shelves in the display case. Everything baked was where it should be, and I was ahead of schedule. A small win. Still, when the shorter one leaned over the glass, his breath sour, and his eyes too bright, unease wound through my belly.

Like every other time when I was stressed, I ran my finger along the healed scar on my arm. I'd had surgery after my ex broke it.

Sel would be back soon.

The taller man smacked the bell on the counter, over and over, making my ears ring.

“Heard the orc baker hired himself a woman,” he drawled with a grin that made the hair on my neck rise. “You the one?”

I kept my voice steady. “Can I help you gentlemen with an order?”

“Didn’t think we’d find a human baking that green stuff,” one said, eyeing the spirulina scones.

His friend nodded, squinting at the tray like they’d offended him personally. “Looks like something a pond would cough up.”

I forced a laugh I didn't feel, wishing women didn't always have to pretend something a guy said was funny when it wasn’t or cater to irritating men. “The spiced orc-inspired scones are popular. They have a nice, earthy flavor. Would you like a sample?”

“Is there meat in them?” the taller one barked.

“Not in the scones, no. Spirulina is a fruit in the orc kingdom.”

The shorter one smacked the counter hard enough to rattle the display. I jumped, and air snagged in my throat.

He leaned in, puffing warm breath on the glass. “What’s it like working for an orc? He treat you decent?”

My smile slipped, but I caught it quickly. “He does.” I kept my voice even. “Let’s get you some pastries for the road.”

As I turned to grab a paper bag, an old memory knifed its way in.

The fridge door. Dented where Melvin’s fist had slammed into it. His eyes had burned like coals. The wall shook. My knees nearly gave way, and my heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else. The landlord was going to be furious. How would I explain it away?

But at least he hadn’t hit me. Not that time. I'd covered the dent with Max's drawings and magnets.

These men weren’t him, but my body didn’t seem to know that. I told myself to stop shaking, but my legs didn’t care. They remembered nights I still couldn’t name out loud, and they were already halfway to bolting.

Hands shaking, I folded the top of the paper bag. My palms were damp, and my chest felt too tight.

Different place. New life. Max was safe. So was I.

Sel was coming back to the bakery soon.

Still, that old fear pressed down, a weight on my sternum.

My eyes slid toward the door.

Still closed.

I slid the bag across the counter, punched the total into the register, and started to tell them the price.

“Think I’m going to check the bread in that bin over there,” the tall one said, circling the counter, coming closer.

My spine jolted. “Please stay on the customer’s side of the room.”

He didn’t stop. Just laughed loud and sharp, like I was the joke.

“Come on,” the shorter one said, following behind. “We only want to see if those orc ovens really make things taste better.”

Their breath hit me first. Beer. Garlic. I tried not to gag.

They came too close and pretended not to notice the line they crossed. The tall one's sleeve dragged across my arm as he reached toward the bread bin, and it hit me like a lightning bolt.

Pain lived in my bones where old breaks would never fully heal. My mouth went dry. I hated how fast old fear rewired everything, as if it still believed anyone bigger was owed control of the room.

“Back up,” I said, my voice low but firm. I planted my feet, determined not to run. Determined not to back down.

The tall one stepped closer to me. Looming. His slick smile rose. “Don't be like that. Give me a smile.”

I shoved. Not hard, but into his stomach to knock him off balance.

He stumbled back with a surprised bark.

The short one’s face hardened, and he surged forward like he’d changed his mind about being funny.

I spun sideways, scooting between them, and bolted into the kitchen like the air back there might be safer. Smaller. Controlled. The kitchen didn’t ask anything of me but focus and heat. No men, no questions, no sudden movements. Just dough and time.

“Come back,” the tall man called out, but his tone wasn’t amused anymore. It sounded off. Mean.

“We just want to see how orcs make things,” he said in a greasy tone, following me with his friend right behind. “You can show us, can’t you?”

“Gentlemen,” I said, trying to control the quaver in my voice. “I’m asking you to leave. This is a private kitchen area?—”

“What’re you going to do about it?” the tall one asked, stepping forward. “Bake us some consequences?”

The other one snorted.

I gripped the edge of the prep table, the only solid thing keeping me upright.

My access to the front was blocked. Brain whirling, I looked for exits, but with them between me and both, there were none.

Adrenaline surged like ice through my veins, and the world narrowed to the cracked flour patterns on the prep table, the tick of the cooler fan. My thoughts slowed, and my hands felt far away, like they belonged to someone else.

The tall one leaned near, grabbing a wooden spoon lying on the counter by my elbow.

“What’s this for?” he said, holding it up. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

The smell on his shirt, cheap detergent, salt, stale sweat, hit me like a punch.

My mind flashed to Melvin in the kitchen. Hefting the biggest knife we owned and waving it in front of my face. “To make a point.” I’d never screamed so loud.

Move. Move. Move.

The tall man’s hand clamped around my arm, and I cried out in terror.

The back door slammed open, blasting cool air across my burning skin.

“Back. Away. From her,” Sel growled, stomping into the room.

The three of us froze.

I couldn’t move. My body hadn’t caught up to his voice yet. It still thought I was in danger, that I’d be the one blamed for creating a “fuss”. Again.

Sel’s broad frame filled every inch of the room, his shoulders wide and his chest heaving. He held a sword of all things, the dinged blade catching patches of light.

A sword. Not a prop. Real.

His voice cut through the room. “Leave this town now and never come back. Or I’ll make sure you do.”

I wanted to believe him.

That this was over.

That someone could say a thing like that and make it come true.