Page 91 of Duty Unbound

Ethan’s gaze sharpened. “What?”

I swallowed hard, suddenly exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the open landscape. “Nothing. It’s just…beautiful.”

“It’s like your paintings.”

His quiet observation slammed into me like a freight train. He’d noticed. Of course he had.

“That’s why you brought me here,” I said, understanding dawning. “You saw the connection.”

He nodded, something gentle in his expression. “I wondered if they were memories. But they couldn’t be—you’ve never beenhere before. Which made me think they might be something else entirely.”

Tears welled unexpectedly in my eyes. I turned away, overwhelmed by emotions I couldn’t quite name.

“Mel.” His hand was warm on my shoulder. “Talk to me.”

The dam broke. “They’re not memories,” I admitted, voice thick with unshed tears. “They’re dreams. What I want. What I’ve always wanted. A home. A family. Children.” I let out a shaky laugh. “God, it sounds so old-fashioned and quaint when I say it out loud.”

“Not to me.” The simple statement held such conviction it made me turn to face him.

“I want to be a stay-at-home mom,” I continued, the words tumbling out now that I’d started. “I want to raise children and grow a garden and just…live. Not manage chaos or put out fires or run someone else’s life. My own life. My own family.” I wiped at my eyes. “That’s why it’s so hard to tell Nova I want to quit. She’ll never understand. She lives for the spotlight, for achievement. She’ll think I’m throwing my life away.”

“But you’re not,” Ethan said firmly. “And nobody gets to say what someone else’s dream should be.”

“I know, but…”

“Plus, in my opinion, there’s nothing more important than raising the next generation. Nothing more noble than putting family first.”

I searched his face for signs he was just saying what he thought I wanted to hear. “You really believe that?”

His hands found mine. “Yes, of course I support women having careers if that’s what they want. But I also respect women who choose family. It’s not lesser. If anything, it’sharder.”

“You really mean that.” It wasn’t a question this time, but a realization.

“I’ll tell you more about why later.” He smiled, reaching intohis backpack. “But first, I think we’ve earned lunch with this view.”

He spread a small blanket on the rocks and unpacked sandwiches, apples, and cookies. We sat side by side, eating and talking as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Ethan told stories of growing up on the ranch—his first horse, the time he broke his arm falling from the hayloft, how his sister, now living in Chicago, used to boss him around despite being three years younger.

I found myself laughing freely for the first time in what felt like months. The knot of tension that had been living in my chest since the roadkill incident—or maybe since long before that—began to loosen.

“Thank you,” I said when we’d finished eating. “Not just for bringing me here, but for seeing me. Really seeing me.”

His eyes softened. “You’re easy to see, Mel. You shine.”

A rush of emotion overwhelmed me—gratitude, affection, desire, all tangled together. I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened. His hand came up to cradle my face, his touch reverent as he angled my head to deepen the connection.

The sun warmed my back as Ethan’s mouth heated my blood. Here, with the valley spread out below us and the vast sky above, everything else fell away—Nova, the tour, the stalker, all of it. There was only this moment, this man, this breathtaking feeling of finally being seen for exactly who I was.

For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Chapter 29

Mel

My pulse fluttered as Ethan’s truck bounced down the final stretch of dirt road leading to his parents’ house. I tugged at my sweater sleeves, suddenly wishing I’d brought something nicer than jeans and a simple top.

Meeting parents. I was actually meeting parents. This had not been on my bingo card for this week.

These last two days at Ethan’s ranch had been like living in one of my paintings—the peace, the space, the mountains that seemed to cradle us in their ancient embrace. I’d slept through the night for the first time since finding that horrific package, my dreams untroubled by dead raccoons or threatening notes.

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