Page 6 of King of the Weld
I close the door, watching as he helps himself to a mug. He pauses when he sees the two plates on the table, raising an eyebrow.
"You got company?" he asks, a note of surprise in his voice. I rarely have visitors, and never overnight guests.
"What do you want, Jack?" I counter, ignoring his question.
He takes a long sip of coffee, studying me over the rim of the mug. "Can't a man check on his favorite brother?"
"I'm your least favorite brother and we both know it," I say, though there's no real heat in it. It's just our way. "And you never come by this early unless you need something."
Jack sighs, setting down his mug. "Fine. I need a favor. The arena railings are shot to hell, and the crew they hired to fix them bailed. Rodeo's in three weeks, and I told them my big brother is the best damn welder in the state."
I suppress a groan. "You volunteered me without asking. Again."
"You never answer your phone! What was I supposed to do?" He flashes that grin again, the one that gets him out of trouble with everyone from women to police officers. "Besides, they're paying good money. And you could use some time among the living."
Before I can respond, a soft thud comes from the direction of my bedroom, followed by what sounds like a muffled curse. Jack's head swivels toward the hallway, his grin widening.
"Well, well," he says, voice rich with amusement. "Maybe you are spending time among the living after all. Who is she, Ethan?"
"None of your business," I reply flatly.
"Oh, come on! It's been what—four, five years since you've had a woman here? This is a major development!" He's practically bouncing with excitement, like a kid at Christmas.
"Jack," I say, my voice dropping to the warning tone that usually shuts him up. "Drop it."
Something in my expression must convince him I'm serious, because the teasing smile fades from his face. "Everything okay, Ethan?" he asks, suddenly concerned. "You in some kind of trouble?"
Am I? I've gone from solitary blacksmith to harboring a Valentine heiress in less than twelve hours. That certainly qualifies as trouble in my book.
"Just complicated," I say finally. "And not something I can talk about right now."
My brother raises his left eyebrow, then nods slowly. For all his joking and easy manner, my youngest brother can be surprisingly perceptive when he wants to be.
"Alright," he says. "But if you need help—any kind of help—you call me. Or David, or Michael. We're here for you, Ethan, even if you like to pretend you're alone in the world."
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. "I know," I manage. "Thanks."
"So, the rodeo fencing?" he asks, back to business. "They need an answer today."
I consider refusing, but the truth is, I could use the money. My forge work brings in enough to live on, but not much beyond that. And if I'm going to help Sophia—which, against my better judgment, I seem to be committing to—extra cash won't hurt.
"Fine," I concede. "Give me the details and I'll be there tomorrow to look at it."
Jack's face breaks into a relieved smile. "You're a lifesaver, brother. I owe you one."
"You owe me several," I correct him, but there's no edge to it.
He drains his coffee and heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.
"Whoever she is," he says quietly, "I hope she's good for you, Ethan. You deserve something good in your life."
Before I can respond, he's gone, the door closing behind him. I listen as his truck starts up and pulls away, leaving only the sound of birds and distant wind.
Chapter 3 - Sophia
I lean against the wall of Ethan's bedroom, heart hammering in my chest as I listen to the brothers' conversation.
The room itself is pretty much empty: just a bed with a simple gray comforter, a dresser, and a nightstand with a lamp and a dog-eared paperback. No photos, no decorations, nothing that reveals the man who sleeps here.
