Page 9 of King of the Weld
"But won't people see me? Ask questions?"
He finishes with the bandage and sits back. "You need supplies. Clothes that fit, proper shoes, some basic necessities. And Pine Haven is small enough that strangers get noticed, but big enough that not everyone knows everyone else's business. We'll say you're my niece, visiting from out of state."
"Your niece?" I repeat skeptically. "I'm hardly young enough to be your niece."
Ethan shrugs. "People will believe what's easiest to believe. A single man my age with a beautiful young woman? They'll assume things I'd rather they didn't."
Beautiful. The casual way he says it, like it's an obvious fact rather than a compliment, makes heat pool between my legs.
"Besides," he continues, oblivious to my reaction, "it gives us a reason to be together without raising eyebrows. Family is simple."
I almost laugh at that. "Nothing about family is simple in my experience."
"Fair point," he concedes, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
I find myself wishing he would do it more often, then immediately chastise myself for the thought. This isn't the time to be noticing Ethan Morrison's smile, or his hands, or the way his voice drops lower when he's thinking deeply.
"We should leave early," he says, standing to clear our mugs. "Beat the morning traffic, such as it is."
I nod, then hesitate. "Ethan? What if they find me in Pine Haven?"
He turns to face me, his expression serious. "They won't. But if they somehow do..." He doesn't finish the sentence, but the set of his jaw tells me everything I need to know. Ethan Morrison would fight for me.
"Why?" I ask again, needing to understand.
He's quiet for a moment, considering his answer.
"Everyone deserves the chance to choose their own path," he says finally. "To be free. Some of us fight wars for that idea. Seems wrong to ignore it when it's happening in our own backyard."
It's not the whole truth—I can sense that—but it's enough for now. Enough to know that in Ethan, I've found not just shelter, but an ally. Perhaps even a friend, though I suspect he would balk at the term.
Thunder rumbles closer, and rain begins to patter against the windows. Ethan moves to stoke the fire, his broad back to me as he works. In the glow of the flames, I study the tattoo on his arm—Zeus, king of gods, his face etched in remarkable detail across Ethan's bicep. The craftsmanship is impressive, but there's something sad about the god's expression, something that mirrors the shadows I sometimes glimpse in Ethan's eyes.
"You should rest," he says without turning around. "Tomorrow will be a long day."
"What about you?" I ask, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the tension he carries on his shoulders.
"I'll be fine."
The dismissal is clear, but I push anyway. "Do you ever actually sleep, Ethan?"
His hands pause on the poker, and for a moment I think I've overstepped. Then his shoulders slump slightly, a small concession.
"Not much," he admits. "Not for years now."
"Because of what happened overseas?" I ask softly.
He straightens, setting the poker aside. "You ask a lot of questions, Sophia Valentine."
"Sorry," I say, the reflex of a lifetime spent being told I'm too curious, too direct, too much.
"Don't be," he says, surprising me. "Just don't expect answers to all of them."
Fair enough. We all have our boundaries, our protected spaces. I'm learning that Ethan's are more fortified than most. Walls built not just to keep others out, but perhaps to keep something inside as well.
The rain intensifies, drumming against the roof in a soothing rhythm. Despite the uncertainty of my situation, despite the fear that still lingers at the edges of my consciousness, I feel safe here in this cabin with this enigmatic man who rescued me from the woods and my own desperate flight.
Tomorrow we'll go to Pine Haven. Tomorrow I'll take the first real steps toward building a new life, one where I make my own choices. But for now, I'm content to sit by the fire, listening to the rain and watching Ethan Morrison move about his cabin, a quiet sentinel against the gathering storm.
