Page 5 of King of the Weld
Before I can respond, she disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the water start running. Her words echo in my head as I start cooking eggs and bacon. For seeing me. Such a simple thing to be grateful for, and yet I understand it perfectly.
I've been invisible too, in my own way. I came back from war to find that no one could really see me anymore, just the uniform, the medals, the scars both visible and hidden. My brothers try,but even they look at me and see who I used to be, not who I am now.
The sound of the shower running fills the cabin, and I try not to think about Sophia Valentine naked in my bathroom, washing away days of fear and flight. Try not to picture water sluicing over those curves, through that long dark hair. It's been years since I've allowed myself to think of a woman that way. My life doesn't have room for it. I don't have room for it.
I'm damaged goods. Dangerous. The nightmares that wake me screaming, the flashbacks that can turn me from calm to combat-ready in seconds… These aren't things you inflict on someone else. Especially not someone already running from her own demons.
By the time she emerges, I've got breakfast on the table and my thoughts under control. She's swimming in Jack’s clothes, the flannel shirt knotted at her waist, jeans rolled up at the ankles. But even in borrowed clothes, with her hair wet and face scrubbed clean, there's no disguising what she is—a Valentine, through and through. Beautiful, refined, and completely out of place in my simple cabin.
"Feel better?" I ask, setting a plate of food at the empty place.
"Like a new person," she says, and there's a genuine smile on her face that transforms her features, makes something in my chest tighten. "I didn't realize how much of the past few days I was carrying on my skin."
She sits, always mindful of her feet, and I take the seat across from her. We eat in silence for a few minutes, and I'm struck by the strangeness of it all.
Ethan Morrison, mountain hermit and broken ex-soldier, sharing breakfast with the runaway daughter of one of the most powerful families in the state. It could be the start of a joke.
"What's your plan?" I finally ask, setting down my fork. "After this, I mean."
Her shoulders slump slightly. "I don't have one," she admits. "I just knew I had to get away. Everything after that was... unclear."
"You can't just keep running. Not with no money, no ID, no resources."
"I know that," she says, a flash of fire in her eyes. "I'm not stupid. Just desperate."
"Didn't say you were stupid. But you are naive if you think you can outrun people like your family on foot."
She flinches at that but doesn't argue. "What would you suggest, then?"
I consider the question seriously, weighing options against what little I know of her situation. "You need time. A safe place to figure out your next steps. Legal help, probably."
"I can't go to a lawyer," she says. "My father has them all in his pocket."
"Not all of them." I think of my middle brother, Michael.
The billionaire businessman with contacts everywhere. He'd know someone who could help, someone beyond the Valentine reach. But contacting him means pulling him into this mess, something I'm reluctant to do.
A sound outside makes us both freeze. The distinctive crunch of tires on the gravel drive that leads to my property. No one comes here unannounced. No one except—
"Ethan!" A familiar voice calls from outside. "You alive in there, brother?"
Sophia's eyes widen in panic. "Who is that?"
"My brother Jack," I say, already moving to the window to confirm. Sure enough, Jack's beat-up truck is parked outside, my youngest brother climbing out in his usual cowboy getup. Great timing as always.
"Does he know who I am?" Sophia asks, her voice tight with fear.
"No," I assure her. "But he will when he sees you. Jack's not the brightest, but he's not blind either."
I make a quick decision. "Go to my bedroom. Last door on the left. Stay there until I figure out what he wants."
She doesn't argue, just limps quickly toward the hallway, disappearing into my room as Jack's boots thump up the porch steps.
I open the door before he can knock. "Little early for a social call, isn't it?"
Jack grins, all charm and ease in a way I haven't been able to manage since before my first deployment. At thirty, he's the baby of the family, though you wouldn't know it from his size. All of us Morrison boys are built like brick houses.
"Good to see you too, Jack," he says, pushing past me into the cabin. "Coffee still on?"
