Page 13 of King of the Weld
We discuss specifics—start date, payment terms, material requirements. I'll begin the day after tomorrow, which gives me time to prepare and get Sophia settled into whatever our temporary arrangement will be.
When we return to where I left her with my brother, I find them in what appears to be an animated conversation about horses. Sophia is nodding along as he describes his latest rodeo performance, her expression interested without revealing that she probably knows more about championship thoroughbreds than my brother will ever learn about quarter horses.
"We're all set," I announce, interrupting whatever story Jack is regaling her with. "I start Monday."
"Great!" My brother claps me on the shoulder. "I was just telling Sophia she should come watch me ride next weekend. Small local competition, nothing fancy, but it'll give her a taste of what we do around here."
Sophia glances at me, uncertainty in her eyes. "That sounds fun," she says.
"We'll see," I add, wanting to leave our options open. "Sophia's still settling in, and her feet are giving her trouble from the hike we took yesterday."
Jack looks down at her borrowed boots, frowning slightly. "Those look like your old work boots, Ethan. No wonder her feet hurt. You need to get this girl some proper shoes!"
"That's our next stop," I assure him, grateful for the opening. "Along with some other necessities. Her luggage got lost on the flight."
"Typical airlines," Jack says, fully aware I’m lying. "Well, don't let me keep you. Sophia, it was a pleasure meeting you. Hope to see more of you while you're visiting our humble town."
"Likewise," she replies with a smile.
We say our goodbyes, and I guide Sophia back to the truck, keeping my hand lightly at her elbow to steady her on the uneven ground. Once we're safely inside the cab, she lets out a long breath.
"That was close," she murmurs. "I don't think he recognized me, but..."
"You handled it well," I tell her, genuinely impressed by her quick thinking. "The story about Marcus was smart."
"I've had practice creating cover stories," she says, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "When you're watched as closely as I was, you learn to lie convincingly about where you're going and why."
I start the truck, considering our next move. "We need to get you clothes, shoes, basic toiletries. There's a department store on Main Street that should have what you need. Nothing fancy, but functional."
"I don't need fancy," she assures me. "Just clean and preferably my own size."
We drive back into town, parking near the store. Before we exit the truck, I turn to her. "Stay close to me. Don't engage with people more than necessary. If anyone asks questions—"
"I'm your niece from Seattle, visiting to connect with the Morrison side of the family," she recites. "I've got it, Ethan. I won't blow our cover."
“Yes. And don’t worry about the owner. She loves books, hates magazines. She won’t recognize you.” I add as we head into the store.
It's not busy at this hour, just a few locals doing their morning shopping. The owner at the counter looks up as the bell above the door jingles, offering a friendly smile.
"Morning, Ethan," she calls. "Don't usually see you here."
"Morning, Helen," I reply, nodding politely. Helen Peterson has owned Miller's Department Store for as long as I've lived in Pine Haven. She knows everyone and everything that happens in town. "My niece is visiting and her luggage got lost. We need to set her up with some basics."
Helen's eyes light up with interest as they land on Sophia. "Well, isn't that nice! We don't often see family visiting you, Ethan. Welcome to Pine Haven, honey. What's your name?"
"Sophia," she answers, keeping it simple as instructed. "Thank you for the welcome."
"Such a pretty girl," Helen says approvingly. "You need any help finding things, you just holler. Women's section is on the left, shoes in the back."
I lead Sophia toward the clothing, keeping my voice low. "Helen's the town gossip. Whatever we tell her will be all over Pine Haven by dinnertime."
"So, we stick to our story," Sophia murmurs back. "Simple and consistent."
We move through the store and gather all essentials. Sophia selects items quickly, checking prices with a care that surprisesme until I remember she said she has no money of her own. She chooses practical things—jeans, t-shirts, a light jacket, simple underwear, a pair of sturdy boots and some sneakers. Nothing flashy, nothing that would stand out in a small town.
As she browses, I notice her lingering over a dress… A simple blue sundress with small white flowers. She touches the fabric gently, then moves on without adding it to our growing pile. The longing in that brief touch is unmistakable.
When she disappears into the dressing room to try on jeans, I retrieve the dress and add it to our purchases. A small thing, but something that's hers, that she chose, that's not just functional but something she wanted.
