Page 42 of Buck Wild Orc Cowboy (Brides of the Lonesome Creek Orcs #3)

The Next Day

Sel carried the picnic basket in one hand, a blanket slung over the other arm, striding beside me as we crossed the wide field behind his house.

The sun was warm on my back, the sky wide open above, and the air held the kind of lazy hush that only came after everything had gone wrong and finally, finally turned out right.

We walked with tall grass brushing our knees, dragonflies flitting above the blades. To our right, sorhoxes watched us pass, and birds wheeled in lazy arcs above the plain.

“He’s back in jail,” I said. It still felt strange to say it, like something might go wrong again if I let myself believe.

“For a long time,” Sel said with satisfaction. “He violated parole and threatened with a weapon. Imagine coming here with a lawyer, hoping to get custody of Max, only to pull a gun. He’s lucky me and my brothers kept our calm. If he gets out and comes to Lonesome again, he’ll face us.”

I smiled, half at the words and half at the way his voice dipped low on that last part. I didn’t doubt it. Not anymore.

We crested a small rise, and reached the spot he’d mentioned, a sunny patch of flat ground overlooking the whole valley. Forest to one side, the mountains standing tall beyond.

Sel spread the blanket while I kicked off my shoes. I sank down cross-legged on the blanket. My chest still felt fluttery, like I hadn’t quite settled yet from everything that had happened. But it was a good kind of fluttery, the kind that said life was getting better all the time.

Sel settled beside me, giving me a shy smile. “Wait till you see what’s inside.” He started unpacking the basket. First came a clay container. When he opened it, a wave of savory, spiced heat rolled out. Garlic, plus something earthy and sharp I didn’t recognize.

“Plumerest,” he said.

“It smells incredible.”

He pulled something else out, laying it between us. “Stone-spiced grain roast. It’s my mother’s recipe. We make it for celebrations.”

I went quiet. That he’d packed this for me… This wasn’t just any old lunch. It was trust. Family.

Next came a little jar of pickled crabroot.

“Careful,” he said, handing it to me. “This one’s spicy, and it has a bite.”

I opened the lid and popped a piece into my mouth, immediately coughing, my eyes watering. “It’s got a bite and a kick.”

He laughed, handing me a napkin to dab my eyes. Then he pulled out a stack of flatbread with wild greens baked right in.

After that, a chilled glass jar of soft golden liquid.

“Endally spritz,” he said. “I brewed it myself.”

I took a sip and blinked. “That’s dangerous. It tastes like fruit, but I feel it in my throat.”

He grinned, clearly proud.

Then came the tin. When he opened it, I gasped, admiring the willadon cakes, their honeyed crusts glossy in the sun, each one edged with careful carvings. Little mountain peaks, jagged and beautiful.

I looked up at him, knowing my heart must be in my eyes. “You did this?”

He nodded, his ears darkening. “I hoped you’d notice how much care I took with the things I packed in my basket.”

Next he pulled out and handed me a folded piece of paper.

I opened it and read. For the love of my life. May all our days be sunny.

My heart stuttered. “You knew I’d bid on your basket.”

“I hoped you would.”

I stood up fast, full of too much all at once, and launched myself at him.

He let out a soft woof as I bowled him backward onto the blanket. I landed half on his chest, my hair a mess in my face, both of us laughing.

“You’re so sweet,” I whispered, then kissed him.

This male who was my world wrapped his arms around me.

“You’re stuck with me now,” I said against his jaw.

“Good, because you’re stuck with me.”

It was a while before either of us remembered the food. Eventually I rolled off him, breathless and giddy, brushing blades of grass from my dress. “Let’s eat before I decide to remain on your chest forever.”

With a laugh, he served us both, pouring the spritz into little wooden cups.

We ate cross-legged, bumping knees. He nudged a piece of flatbread toward my mouth. I fed him a bite of willadon cake in return.

We laughed about Max reenacting the showdown last night after dinner. My boy was everything, and I couldn’t love him any more than I already did. When Sel mimicked Max’s stern face, I laughed so hard I almost dropped my cup.

Halfway through eating, I paused, my fork still in the grain roast. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

Sel looked up from his plate. “You were brave. You didn’t need me. You and Max proved it. You challenged him, Holly, and you won.”

“I did, didn’t I?” I said with an almost giddy sigh. “Per your teaching, we should’ve run away, but I couldn’t. You understand, don’t you? I had to prove he had no control over us any longer.”

“You. Are. Amazing.”

“I’m proud of myself. Proud of my son and your brothers and their mates and you.”

He nodded, something warm and quiet in his eyes.

When the plates were cleared and the spritz drained, we stretched out on the blanket, legs side by side, staring up at the sky.

Our arms brushed. I linked my fingers through his.

“It’s quiet,” I said. “Like…finally quiet.”

He hummed, the sound he made when everything was going well.

A bird called overhead, circling wide in the blue. Somewhere near the edge of the woods, a cricket started chirping.

“I didn’t think I’d ever have anything like this,” I said softly. “Not just the safety, but everything.”

He turned to face me. “You’ve got it now, and more. All my heart, my life, my very soul.”

“Love you, Sel.”

“Love you too, mate.

For the first time in forever, I wasn’t afraid of tomorrow.

I hope you enjoyed Sel & Holly’s story!