by Sarah Sundin
Concealing her love from him would not be easy. She rounded the corner of her house, scooped Helen out of the carriage, and unlocked the front door.
He stepped inside and took in a big breath. “Smells good, almost like . . .”
“Like your mama’s chili? It is.”
He turned to her, his eyes wide and unbelieving.
Leah passed him and set Helen on her belly in her playpen. Helen pushed up on her arms and stretched for her fluffy bunny.
“I’d planned to make enchiladas for your homecoming, but I didn’t have time.” Leah tied an apron over her suit. “Thank goodness, I’d already put the beans to soaking for chili. The recipe makes plenty.”
Clay followed her into the kitchen, eyes almost closed. “You have no idea how good that smells after almost two years of Army cooking.”
“Please have a seat.” Leah took out two hot pads and laid them on the table. “It’ll only be a minute while I set the table.”
“Let me help then.”
“All right. Thank you.” She pulled a pan of cornbread from the oven, where it had been keeping warm. “The plates and bowls are in the cupboard.”
While she brought out the chili and cornbread, Clay laid out the dinnerware. As they passed each other and worked together, it reminded her of the sweet domestic camaraderie at the Bellamy home. But this was her home. And her husband.
Leah’s middle clenched. Not for long.
Clay set out silverware and nodded to the radio on the kitchen table. “I recognize that.”
Because it was his, not hers. “You ought to take it with you.”
“To the barracks? No place for it there.” Then he glanced to the bookshelf and grinned. “Is that my violin?”
“Your parents brought a lot of your things.”
He crossed the room and opened the case. “I haven’t played in ages.”
“I loved how you used to play for me in the hospital.”
His gaze turned to her, so warm and personal, she couldn’t breathe. “I could play for you tonight, if you’d like.”
Oh, she’d like that very much. “Helen would love that. You ought to see. She bounces to the music on the radio. She’s very fond of the Andrews Sisters.”
“Is that so, baby girl?” Clay squatted beside the playpen with his violin in hand. “Wait till you hear the Paxton brothers.”
“Oh?” Leah surveyed the table. If only she had butter for the cornbread, but she’d used her red ration points for lard to make refried beans for the enchilada dinner. “Do the Paxton brothers sing together?”
“We called ourselves the Gringo Mariachis.” Clay stood and put his violin under his chin. “We sang, we played, we broke hearts all across Texas.”
Leah untied her apron and slipped it over her head. If Wyatt and Adler were half as appealing as Clay, they’d broken many a heart.
Clay drew the bow across the strings in a discordant tone, and he made a funny face. “Now I’m breaking eardrums all across Tennessee.”
Leah laughed. Had she ever seen him so . . . sunny? “Shall we eat?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll tune her up after dinner.” He put away the violin and sat at the table.
Clay said a heartfelt blessing over the food, then ate with gusto, praising her cooking and praising his mama for giving Leah the recipes and the spices.
Leah brimmed over with questions. What had happened in Normandy? What about his recurring dream? One question felt safest. “Tell me about becoming a medic—and a physician.”
Clay dunked a slice of cornbread in his chili. “Wyatt paid me back and far more than he stole. That money and the benefits from the GI Bill will pay for college and medical school. I may have to work summers for Daddy, but I can afford it.”
“I’m so happy for you. Your original dream is back.”
“It is. In the meantime, there’s no reason I can’t start healing people right now. I helped in the hospital in England as part of my rehabilitation. It felt right. It’s who I really am. So I’ll serve as a medic for the duration, then go to college afterward.”
Leah sipped from her glass of milk. “Then in eight years you’ll be a physician.” Dr. Clay Paxton. She could see him in a white coat warming the bell of a stethoscope in his thick hands. He would be the best doctor ever.
Clay set down his spoon and leaned back in his chair, although his bowl wasn’t empty. “What do you think about all this?”
What did she think? Her heart wanted to be a part of this grand plan, but her mind knew she’d only hold him back and get in the way.
She had her own plan. When Helen started first grade, Leah would find a job so Clay wouldn’t have to support her any longer. She might even be able to work as a librarian.
“Leah?” Clay’s mouth turned down at the corners. “What do you think? I’d like your opinion.”
She forced a smile, and then her love for him made it real. “I think it’s perfect. You were meant to be a doctor. Your parents say so, and I see it too. I’m so glad you’ll be able to make that dream come true.”
A half smile, then Clay turned his attention to his chili.
Releasing him was for his own good. If only it didn’t have to hurt so much.
49
TULLAHOMA
THURSDAY, AUGUST 10, 1944
Where was he? Clay turned his vision ninety degrees and oriented himself. Leah’s house. His house.
The savory smell of chili lingered, and he smiled and sat up on the couch, the blanket discarded on the floor.
When Leah had told him she’d made Mama’s chili, he’d come awfully close to taking her in his arms and kissing the daylights out of her. But that would have been the stupidest way to declare his love to a woman who had been attacked and violated by a man.
After a good belly scratch, Clay stood to do his chest and shoulder exercises.
Sounds rose from Leah’s room and the adjoining nursery, with Leah using her singsong mama voice.
Clay swung his arms behind his back and held the stretch. My, Leah was beautiful, more beautiful than the year before, and more than the photograph he’d cherished.
He flexed his arms like football goalposts, pushing back over and over to strengthen his back. Why hadn’t he told her she was beautiful at the depot? Instead he’d said, “Well,” and pecked her cheek like a deranged chicken.
He thrust his fists in front of him and pulled back and forth as if rowing a boat. Last night he’d avoided talking about love and marriage. She’d approved of his plans for the future but hadn’t said whether she wanted to be a part of them.
Clay reached his left arm overhead and leaned to the right. Why would she say anything? He’d asked in a general way, requesting her opinion on his plans. No wonder she’d looked confused. He should have been direct and clear.
Clay reversed the stretch—the painful side, pulling the scar tissue. The rest of the evening, they’d talked about his reunion with his brothers and she’d shown him the articles and photographs of her family—even her birth certificate.
He grabbed his left elbow and drew it across his chest, then repeated on the right. All of the conversation had been great, but in a friendly, brotherly-sisterly way.
Today. Today he’d tell her how he felt and ask her to give him a chance.
He rubbed his scruffy face. Not looking like a grizzly bear, he wouldn’t.
Clay grabbed his toiletry kit and uniform and went into the bathroom. Soon he came out, showered, shaven, and dressed in his khaki shirt and trousers.
Now the smell of eggs and fried potatoes climbed above the smell of chili.
Leah stood at the sink, scrubbing a pan, an apron tied over a short-sleeved dress in a golden color. Her hair was down, and all he wanted to do was brush those curls aside and kiss her slender neck.
He pulled himself together. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Leah smiled over her shoulder. “Let me get your breakfast.”
“Thank you.” He could ge
t used to this. Helen was propped up in the high chair, chewing on a zwieback biscuit, and he ruffled her short black curls. “Good morning to you too, missy.”
She smiled around that biscuit.
Leah brought him a plate of scrambled eggs and potatoes.
“You look nice today.” Oh, he had to do better than that. “Very pretty.”
“Thanks.” She shot him a quick smile. “I need to leave soon, but please take your time over breakfast and make yourself at home.”
“You have plans?” He scooped a forkful of eggs into his mouth, fluffy and perfectly salted.
“I’m sorry.” Leah grabbed a washcloth and wiped Helen’s face to tiny protests. “This is my morning volunteering at the library in town. I called yesterday after I received your message, but Mrs. Sheridan didn’t answer. So I really should go in.”
“That makes sense.” The potatoes were even better—crisp, with just a bit of chili powder.
“Come on, sweetie,” Leah cooed to Helen as she extracted her from the high chair. “Ready for a fun morning with Mrs. Travers and Carrie?”
“Mrs. Travers?” Clay took a swig of coffee.
Leah walked back to her room with Helen on her hip. “She’s the lady I met at church. We take turns volunteering and watching babies.”
“That’s right. You told me.” He tried not to admire the way she walked, but she had a fine, womanly walk. Motherhood had been good to her in many ways.
“I’m taking the baby to her house,” Leah called from the bedroom. “Then I’m supposed to volunteer from eight until noon, but I know Mrs. Sheridan won’t mind if I leave at eleven so we can meet with the lawyer.”
The lump of eggs in Clay’s mouth turned icy cold. Somehow he swallowed. “Lawyer?”
Leah strode out of the bedroom with the baby, and she lifted a big bag over her shoulder. “I forgot to tell you yesterday, but I made an appointment for us at eleven. Here’s his card with the address.” She pulled a business card from on top of the icebox and set it next to Clay.
The eggs curdled in his stomach. “What’s this about?” But he knew.
“I’m sure you’ll want to start the divorce proceedings right away.” She went to the door and took her purse off a hook, speaking as breezily as if she were announcing a run to the grocery and dry cleaners. “I have no idea how long it’ll take, so we should get started. You have so many wonderful plans, and I know you’ll want to move forward with your life.”
Clay’s hand froze around his fork, and his mind froze around that hated word—divorce.
Leah faced him with the serene smile he’d always loved. “I’m so happy for you. I really am. I’ll see you at eleven. Good-bye.”
And she was gone.
Silence flooded the house.
The remaining eggs and potatoes sat forlorn on his plate, never to be eaten.
Clay shoved back his chair and wandered around the table. She didn’t want him. She liked him as a friend, but she didn’t want him for a husband.
Who would?
“Why would I want to marry Clay?” He could still hear Ellen Hill as Daddy pleaded with her to marry Clay for the sake of her baby.
He could still see the defiance on Ellen’s face, hear the contempt in her voice. “I’ve always loved Adler. I never loved Clay. How could I marry a dirty Mex—”
At least Ellen had enough sense to shut her mouth when Daddy’s face turned redder than Mama’s enchilada sauce. After all, Daddy had married a Mexican.
Clay punched his fist into his open hand. Whatever made him think any woman could love him? Not Ellen. Not Leah.
Except he’d never truly loved Ellen. He’d thought he was in love, but he’d only been enamored by her beauty.
Leah, on the other hand . . .
He loved Leah heart and soul.
Clay moaned and went back into the kitchen. He loved how she’d learned to make his favorite recipes. He loved the yellow checkered curtains she’d made, hanging at the window over the sink. He loved how her few dishes and pans were set in order in the cupboards.
He wandered into Leah’s bedroom. He probably shouldn’t have, but he did.
The bed, made so neatly it would have passed Sergeant Lombardi’s inspections. And big enough for two. Not that it mattered.
He averted his eyes and stepped into the nursery, a tiny room with a crib and a chair and a dresser topped with baby things. Everything smelled clean and fresh.
Clay abandoned their private space and went back into the living room. A small bookcase contained his books and hers, with his childhood books on the bottom shelf where Helen could reach them when she was able.
His violin. His radio. A red truck with “Paxton Trucking” in Daddy’s printing. The playpen with a white stuffed bunny and Clay’s old teddy bear.
He turned in circles in the middle of the room—Leah, Helen, and Clay all intermingled in this home, the three of them woven together over the past year in a way he savored.
Now it would all be undone.
He plopped onto the couch and dropped his head into his hands. “No, Lord. No.”
He loved her, wanted to keep her, but she didn’t want him.
His fingers dug into his scalp. He could still hear her breezy voice, rejecting him. He tried to shove the words away, but they played in his ear.
“I’m sure you’ll want to start the divorce proceedings right away . . . You have so many wonderful plans, and I know you’ll want to move forward with your life.”
Clay’s eyes and his mind opened, slowly, together. Wait. She hadn’t said she wanted a divorce, only that he’d want one, that he’d want to get on with his life.
He did want to get on with his life—but with her beside him.
Clay sucked in a breath through his nostrils and sat back. Regardless, they had an appointment with a lawyer at eleven. Obviously, she did want a divorce if she’d made that appointment.
He might as well get ready. No use moping around for three hours.
In his duffel he found his Ike jacket, and he fingered the ribbons over the pocket, decorations he’d earned for courage under fire. And he traced the diamond patch on the sleeve, an honor he’d worked hard to earn.
Rangers were fighters. Fighters.
Clay punched his arms through the sleeves, dressing for war.
He had one more battle to fight.
50
Leah’s hand shook as she slid the book onto the shelf. The hour of quiet before the library opened had been a blessing, as she’d returned books, straightened shelves, and watched for titles misplaced by patrons.
The detailed work had kept her mind off her turmoil.
Almost.
Leah rested her forehead against the cool metal shelf. This would be the hardest day of her life. She’d had many hard days, losing loved ones, being abandoned, being attacked. But those pains had been inflicted upon her. This pain she was inflicting on herself.
Lord, help me through today. This is necessary for his future.
A clicking sound, the creak of the front door, and Mrs. Sheridan greeted the first patrons.
Leah straightened her spine and the shelf before her. She could do this. She’d done very well the night before and this morning. She’d surprised herself with how she’d told Clay about the appointment, confident and casual, despite the pain ripping her apart inside.
Clay had looked shocked that the helpless waif had become a competent woman. What a relief it must have been for him to realize she’d do fine on her own.
She would. With the Lord, she would.
Footsteps sounded in the next aisle. “Thalia?”
Clay? What was he doing there? And why had he called her Thalia?
Where there was a gap on his side of the shelf, Leah pulled out three books on her side to make a tunnel. “Clay?”
He ducked down and smiled at her through the tunnel. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She wasn’t ready to see him, and she tried to gather her casual, confident persona.<
br />
Clay leaned his forearm on the shelf and rested his chin on his arm. “I had a different idea for our appointment with the lawyer. I think you should legally change your name.”
His face was achingly close, and she eased back. Would her name change after the divorce? She knew so little about such things.
“What’s your legal name?” he asked. “Leah Jones Paxton?”
“Yes.” How she’d miss that name.
“That isn’t who you are. Now that you have your birth certificate, you should change your name to Thalia Karahalios Paxton.”
“I hadn’t considered that.” Her gaze drifted away, above the shelf. “Thalia Karahalios.”
“Paxton. I want you to keep the Paxton.”
Her gaze lowered to her wedding ring, which had imprinted itself on her finger and her heart. How kind of him to let her keep his name. “Oh. For Helen’s sake.”
Clay huffed out a breath and scrunched up his face. “Why am I having such a hard time communicating lately? Not just for Helen’s sake. For mine.”
And why was she having such a hard time comprehending lately?
His gorgeous dark gaze strengthened. “I don’t want you only to keep my name. I want you to keep me.”
“Keep you?”
“As your husband.”
Leah inhaled sharply and pushed back from the shelf. “Clay, no. That’s a bad idea.”
“It’s a great idea.”
“No.” Her head swung back and forth. “You have plans. College, medical school.”
“I’d like to include you in those plans, if you’re willing.”
Her willingness had nothing to do with it. “We’d hold you back.”
“I don’t see how.” His massive shoulders shrugged. “If anything, you’d make it easier.”
Leah rubbed her temple. If only she could rub away his sense of obligation. “I know what you’re doing. I know you feel sorry for me and you enjoy providing for me, but I’ll be fine on my own. I will. The Lord is my provider. You don’t have to do this anymore.”
“But I want to. I—”
“No, Clay. You once dreamed of becoming a physician and marrying a woman you loved, and you lost that dream. But you deserve to become a doctor. You deserve to marry a woman you love. I won’t let you lose it again. Not out of—out of charity.” She spat out the detested word.