Page 33

Ruugar

W e spent the next few days at the campsite swimming, playing board games and games on the open grassy area like the one where we had to throw rings onto spikes in the ground. Beth won the first round and Carol the second. We also ate lots of great orc food.

And at night, Beth and I shared the tent and our bodies.

I was so in love with her that it hurt, but I hadn’t told her, not with words.

Only with my touch and the things I did for her to show her how much I cared.

She hadn’t spoken of a future for us, and I still wasn’t convinced I could give her everything she’d grown up with, everything she needed. But for her, I would try.

Eventually, we had to pack everything up again to move to the next campsite.

We rode on sorhoxes to our third and final rest stop.

We’d spend two nights here before we took a shorter route back to Lonesome Creek.

Which meant I worried when we got back, she’d tell me she knew what she wanted to do with her life but that sadly, it didn’t include me.

Late afternoon sunlight created long shadows across the forest clearing as we rode into the third campsite.

Towering evergreens whispered in the wind, their scent mixing with wildflowers.

Beyond the trees, golden plains stretched toward the horizon, the perfect spot for stargazing later.

A small lake shimmered nearby, fed by a hidden underground spring, its dark surface reflecting the sky like a mirror.

Two more nights with Beth. One last full day before we had to ride back to Lonesome Creek.

The thought of leaving this blissful time twisted something deep inside me.

The days with her had been more than I’d ever expected and more than I ever thought I’d have.

At night, she laid in my arms, her breath warm on my skin, her body tangled with mine. I belonged to this woman alone.

We dismounted from our sorhoxes, our muscles aching from hours in the saddle.

While Beth and I unsaddled and removed the harnesses from the beasts, the others strolled over to exclaim about the lake.

She and I fell into the familiar routine of unloading supplies, carrying bags to the cabins, and tending to whatever needed doing.

I kept my hands busy, but my eyes sought her out, drawn to her like always.

Still disguised as Ben, she appeared more sure of herself than when this journey began. She worked with quiet confidence, grooming the sorhoxes, and setting up things in the cooking gazebo. But every so often, her hands hesitated, and her throat bobbed with a heavy swallow.

Was she thinking of me? Because all I could think of was her.

The others returned and Pete shot me a knowing grin. Carol, shaking out her water flask, exchanged a smirk with him before turning toward me.

“You sure you’re not already married, Ruugar?” Pete teased. “You watch someone in particular like a man protecting his own.”

Heat licked up my neck. I grunted, tightening my grip on a bag, my jaw twitching. Was I that obvious?

Carol tipped her head, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I think it’s sweet.” Her smirk deepened as she looked toward her new husband. “I remember someone else doing something very similar when we first started dating and boy…” She fanned her face. “I didn’t mind one bit.”

“I hovered over you because I love you, wife,” Pete said simply.

“Aw.” She leaped into his arms.

He dropped the bag and gathered her close, kissing her.

Beth watched from across camp, her shoulders stiff. She kept her face neutral, but I didn’t miss the envy in her eyes as she watched the happy couple. Did she hope to have something like that with me?

Carol slipped from Pete's arms, and they grabbed their things, taking them to one of the two cabins.

Beth’s gaze slid to mine as she carried a sleeping bag from the shed, her teeth catching her bottom lip and holding it. She only did that when she was nervous, when she was trying and failing to hide how she felt.

I wanted to say something. Needed to, but I didn't know how or what wouldn’t offend her.

Instead, we set up our tent in silence, the motions familiar yet unbearably different now.

Unrolling canvas. Staking edges into the dirt.

Every movement was filled with a charge neither of us wanted to name.

When I reached for a rope, her fingers touched mine.

She didn't pull away. Her fingers coiled around mine for a moment and her inhalation caught in her throat.

She was waiting. Maybe hoping. Maybe dreading what would come next.

The words sat on my tongue, ones that begged to be spoken.

Ones that might break me. But I hesitated.

If I said them now, admitted what she meant to me, would I be strong enough to watch her walk away if she couldn’t feel the same?

She was just starting a new life. I’d love to be a part of it, but if she needed to be completely free to make choices, I would step away.

I loved her enough to not want to change or control her.

As the last of the daylight disappeared behind the mountains, a cool breeze rolled through camp, rustling the pines. The scent of wildflowers and smoke lingered in the air as the fire crackled. Laughter carried on the wind.

We'd had dinner and cleaned up after. Everyone but me had settled near the fire. I puttered around camp, pretending I still had things to do, though when Beth asked, I said I was nearly finished. I had to think. Come up with a plan. I wasn't doing good with that so far.

Two last nights before the journey back. What could I do to show Beth that she would be happy staying with me forever?

I should've joined them. Should have settled into the moment like I always did. But my attention wasn’t on the stories being told or the stars overhead.

It was on her. She sat with her head tipped back, gazing at the stars, occasionally laughing at something one of the others said.

The sound heated my chest. But when her gaze traveled to meet mine, her laughter faded.

My jaw tightened. I wanted to ask what would happen when the ride was over. Wanted to know if there was a chance of something for us beyond this trip.

Two more nights. Then she might walk away. An ache settled in my lungs. If Beth wanted a life that didn’t include me, I’d have to let her go. But damn if I wasn’t hoping, praying, she’d want to stay.

Finally, I sat with them, though apart. Brooding. Watching Beth. Trying to capture her image in my mind for the time when she might be gone.

The others wound down their stories and finished their drinks.

Rising, they said goodnight and strolled toward their cabins, the laughter fading along with them.

Beth and I stayed by the fire, silent. Was this one of the quiet moments Pete and Carol mentioned that would show the other that what we had was special?

It didn’t feel quite right to me. I wanted to fill the air with words, but I held them back.

Better to say nothing than say the wrong thing.

Beth fidgeted with her jacket, picking at the too-long hem. The clothing I'd bought her was too large. I couldn't even do this right.

Energy coiled in my muscles, and I shifted my weight, unsure how to sit or what to do with my hands. I had to do something .

“Want to walk?” I hadn’t planned to ask, but now that the words were out, I didn’t want them back.

Beth hesitated before nodding.

We left the fire behind, moving slowly toward the lake. Night air pressed against my skin, cooler than before. Or maybe that was the weight in my chest getting bigger and bigger, to the point it actually hurt.

She walked a step ahead of me, twisting the stem of a dry leaf she’d plucked from the ground.

I watched her, but she didn’t look my way.

At the water’s edge, she dropped the leaf and nudged a rock into the lake with the tip of her boot.

It plopped and ripples spread across the surface, breaking the moon’s reflection.

“Do you think everything will change when we go back?” she asked.

I grunted, noncommittal, but my guts twisted.

Yes. Because the world outside this trail ride was different. She may want something else, something more.

And no, because I’d already made my decision. I’d follow her anywhere, even if that meant leaving Lonesome Creek and my brothers .

Grunting, I kicked my own rock into the water. It splashed, sunk. Beth sighed beside me.

The fire was still burning when we returned to camp, though it was mostly coals now. They’d be cold come morning.

The bottle of whiskey sat near the pit, forgotten for now.

Beth eyed it.

Amusement tugged at my lips. I picked it up, turning it in my palm before holding it out. “Ever had alcohol before?”

She smirked, taking it from my hands. “I have, though I don't drink often. I snuck into my dad’s study when I was sixteen and guzzled some of his vodka. Boy, did my head hurt the next day.”

Orcs didn't usually drink alcohol—or they started to sing. I was not a good singer. But I did want to make Beth happy.

Lifting the bottle to her lips, she took a sip and immediately coughed, her eyes going wide. Watering.

I laughed, the sound catching me off guard. It rumbled in my chest and didn't sound anything like the Ruugar I knew well.

Beth nudged the bottle toward me, her cheeks flushed. “Smooth but tasty.”

Still grinning, I took a drink, feeling it burn down my throat. Cauterize it, actually. For a moment, it was all I could do to think. Breathe.

“You okay there, Ruugar?” she asked with concern.

“Good, good,” I coughed out. “It's, um, tasty. ”

The whiskey was warm, but that wasn’t what made heat coil in my belly. It was the way Beth watched me.

Then I realized my lips had touched where hers had been. Her stare held mine, hers unreadable in the firelight. My pulse kicked up.

I was about to start singing when footsteps crossed the open camp area.

“You two calling it a night or drinking all the whiskey?” Joel’s voice shattered the moment, and Beth jerked away from me, her laughter bubbling up too fast, too forced.

“Going to bed, Joel.” She twisted the cap back on the bottle and set it on the ground beside one of the chairs. She brushed past me, aiming for our tent, not looking back.

I stayed a moment longer by the dying fire, my pulse pounding. Grumbling under my breath, I followed her. We took turns in the bathroom before crawling inside the tent, laying on our backs, me staring at the ceiling. I wasn't sure what she was doing other than breathing.

My urge to sing had fled, replaced by a deep sadness I couldn't explain.

The space between us felt wider than they should, stretched by everything left unsaid.

The wind stirred outside, rustling the canvas.

Beth shifted, turning toward me. Her voice carried in the quiet. “I had fun today.”

My throat was too dry. I swallowed. “You did?”

“I don’t want it to end.”

Tell her .

But before I could, she rolled over, facing away from me, her body curling small. She tugged up the blanket, pretty much burying her head in the folds. Maybe she wasn’t ready to talk about whatever this was between us either. We still had time. I would remain patient.

I stared at the ceiling, my muscles locked tight. Two more nights. Only two. Closing my eyes, I tried to sleep. But the warmth of Beth beside me, too far yet too close, was shoving itself into my every thought.

I wondered if I’d ever be able to sleep without her warmth beside me.