Sgt. Billy's Bride

by Bonnie Gardner

  Darcy called again, with difficulty this time because of the lump in her throat. “Nettie? Are you all right?”

  She crossed the room, touched Nettie’s forehead, and quickly drew her hand away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nettie’s skin was warm, but then why wouldn’t it be? It was July and they had spoken not fifteen minutes earlier. Darcy swallowed, took a deep breath and reached for Nettie’s hand. It, too, was still warm, but deceptively so. There was no life in the papery skin. No blood pumped through the veins. There was no response to Darcy’s touch.

  There was no sign of life in the hand that had squeezed Darcy’s so lovingly just the night before.

  As she’d known there wouldn’t be.

  Darcy had thought she was prepared for it, but she wasn’t. Not when it was Nettie. Student nurses didn’t get many opportunities to look at death up close, and this was more painful because it was someone she loved. She was the only one there to deal with this now. It was up to her.

  She knew in theory what she had to do, and her training kicked in, overriding her emotions. Tears sliding silently down her cheeks, she tucked Nettie’s hand back under the covers, noted the time, and whispered a silent prayer.

  “Goodbye, Nettie,” she murmured. “I love you.” Then she went back into the living room to make it official.

  As if on automatic pilot, Darcy picked up the phone. She dialed Doctor Williamson’s pager, then slowly placed the receiver back on the cradle. She barely had a chance to wipe her streaming eyes when the phone rang again, the doctor returning her call.

  Darcy cut in before he could speak. “Nettie Hays died about fifteen minutes ago,” she said quietly.

  She didn’t hear what he said in response, and it didn’t really matter—she knew he’d take care of the details. Someone behind her gasped, and she jerked around in time to see something crash to the floor.

  She hadn’t heard Earline and Leah come in, and one of them had knocked over the roses from Billy. The flowers didn’t matter now. The people did.

  Darcy would have liked to soften the blow, but that couldn’t be helped now. She did the only thing she could do. She gathered Leah and her mother in her arms, held them close and wept with them.

  The only thing remaining to do was to call Tread-well’s Funeral Home. And that could wait until….

  …after she called Billy.

  And she couldn’t help thinking that, somehow, she’d let him down.

  ANOTHER MAD DASH through the back country roads to get home. Bill wanted to weep, to gnash his teeth and roar in anger, in pain, but all he could do was drive.

  The news had reached him about midday. Captain Thibodeaux had come to him, pulled him out of class and delivered the news personally. He shouldn’t have been surprised by it, but he was. It was something a man never wants to believe, to accept.

  It was another reminder of his own mortality.

  He’d checked out of the academy and stashed the same dress uniform he’d worn to marry Darcy in in the plastic garment bag. He hung it on the hook behind the driver’s seat, then headed north.

  He’d been so overwhelmed with grief that he had barely seen the countryside he’d driven through. Now he was about to merge onto the interstate, and he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get here, much less driven all that way without killing himself or someone else. Thank God, it was early enough in the afternoon that the traffic was still light.

  Just over an hour and he’d be home.

  And he dreaded what was waiting for him. No matter how much he thought he’d prepared, this was something he wasn’t ready to face.

  DARCY HAD MADE IT through the afternoon on adrenaline and raw emotion. Nothing from the moment she’d found Nettie seemingly asleep until now had seemed real. She kept wondering if it was a dream and she’d wake up soon.

  Somebody pinch me, she pleaded inwardly. Please, she prayed silently, but she knew that wouldn’t happen.

  By noon neighbors had begun streaming in with love offerings of food and kind words, and it had helped a little, but not enough. Food and words would never heal the fathomless pain of such a devastating loss. Even one she should have been prepared for. Only time would do that.

  And Billy.

  Was she expecting more than she truly deserved?

  “So, do you know when Bill will be able to make it in?” Mrs. Scarborough asked.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that question. Darcy recited the same answer she given everyone else. “I notified his commander first thing this morning. As soon as he gets his orders to leave the base, he’ll be here.”

  “Humph, a man ought not have to get permission to go to his own mother’s funeral,” Mrs. Scarborough complained, wearing her indignation on her sleeve.

  Darcy didn’t disagree, but she was well familiar with the way military bureaucracy worked. And at times like this, it did move faster than usual. “Yes, ma’am.” What else could she say? She accepted a yellow squash casserole from Billy’s old teacher and placed it on the groaning dining-room table.

  How anyone could think of food at a time like this, she didn’t know.

  Another woman approached, someone she didn’t recognize. She offered simple condolences, and Darcy responded by rote. The woman left a baked ham and moved on to another part of the room. At least they wouldn’t starve.

  Her head throbbed and the jumbled babble of voices in the room didn’t help. For the moment, she was alone, and she sank gratefully onto a chair, closed her eyes, and pressed her fingers against her temples.

  Blessed relief.

  If only for a moment.

  The garbled sound of so many voices seemed to fade away, and Darcy drew in a breath of welcome fresh air.

  The peaceful feeling grew until she realized that the room was silent. It wasn’t the absence of sound she felt, but a feeling of expectation. Someone had come in. Curious about who could have caused such a change in the noisy room, she opened her eyes and slowly lifted her head to see.

  Bill. Her Billy was home. Still in his light-blue uniform shirt and dark blue slacks, he was standing there in the open doorway from the porch into the little parlor. He seemed to be looking for someone.

  Darcy held her breath as she watched him scan the room and finally settle his gaze on her. Their eyes locked, and Darcy gasped for air as the crowd parted between them.

  She didn’t realize when or how, but Darcy was on her feet. She stepped forward to meet him, her Billy, but he crossed the small room in three long strides.

  Billy swept her into his arms and kissed her long, hard, and possessively. With a ragged groan, he dragged his lips away. “Thank you for being here,” he murmured loud enough for only Darcy to hear. “I feel better knowing that you were there for my mother,” he added huskily.

  “I did what I could,” Darcy said simply. Her words caught in her throat. She had done nothing. How could he be thanking her when she might have been able to save her if she’d gone into that room a few minutes sooner?

  He kissed her again, then seemed to remember that they were not alone. He stepped away, and Darcy’s arms felt empty without him there. Would he ever hold her like this again? Or was this the beginning of the end?

  Bobby and Lucy Carterette came toward them, and Darcy almost felt relief that they would dilute the powerful magnetic field around Billy, drawing her to him.

  Now was not the time to be exploring that attraction, even if her body craved it.

  Billy had not come here for her. He had come home because his mother had died, she had to remind herself. He had come here to say his final goodbye to Nettie. He had only come to her seeking comfort.

  She had to remember that if she was going to make it through the next few days.

  FINALLY, they were gone.

  He could breathe again.

  Bill stood on the front porch, leaning against the support post, and watched as the red taillights of the last car disappeared down the lane. He knew the family and f
riends had meant well, but he’d had enough of his kind and generous neighbors. What he really wanted was to be alone. With Darcy, his wife.

  He considered going out for a long run. Anything to assuage the pain, but his pain was too deep for that to help. Too open, too raw.

  He heard the screen door squeaking behind him, but he didn’t turn. He knew who it was. Darcy. She had stayed inside to deal with the remnants of the bountiful feast that his friends and neighbors had gifted them with.

  “I don’t think I’ll have to cook for a week,” Darcy said quietly as she stepped outside.

  Bill listened for the familiar creak of the porch swing as Darcy settled into her usual place, but instead he felt her small hand on his arm, and a river of warmth flowed through him. Odd how cold he felt in spite of the clinging, July heat.

  He liked Darcy’s touch. He liked the way she felt in his arms.

  “As much as I wish your mother were still here with us,” Darcy said softly, “I know she’s happy to be reunited with your father.”

  “Yeah,” Bill said thickly, his throat tight.

  “They didn’t have much time together on this earth, but now they’ll have the rest of eternity,” she whispered, her voice cracking with unrestrained emotion.

  Bill turned and, as if it had been choreographed, Darcy melted into his arms. He hadn’t had to ask her, or beg her, or pull her to him.

  She was just there. Right where he needed her. At the right time.

  “God, I missed you,” he breathed, not sure he’d even said it aloud. He tucked her head under his chin and held her close to his heart and felt her rapid heartbeat, like that of a frightened bird, beating against his. That should have been enough.

  But it wasn’t.

  He kissed the top of Darcy’s head, but that wasn’t enough, either. He placed two fingers under Darcy’s chin and tipped her face up to his. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted her to kiss him. And this time, not for show.

  It would all be for him.

  Only him.

  She accepted his unspoken invitation and kissed him, gently at first, her mouth firm, but yielding. As he took more, she gave, meeting his thrusting tongue with her own, asking and taking and seeking.

  She trembled in his arms. Or was it he?

  His groin tightened, and he caressed the small of Darcy’s back, her breasts through the thin fabric of her summer dress. Her skin was damp and begged for his touch, and her breath came in short, hot gasps.

  He should stop this now, Bill thought abstractly, but he couldn’t bear the thought of ending it. Of tearing himself away from her.

  Of spending the night alone.

  He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the door.

  She didn’t protest, just nestled in his arms as if she belonged there.

  If she wanted him to stop, he would.

  But she was his wife, and he was hungry for her, he needed her. Please, he prayed. Let her want me back.

  DARCY KNEW that Billy was only doing this out of need, out of the ache of loss, but she needed it, too.

  Maybe for the same reasons, maybe for some of her own, but she needed him, and it didn’t really matter why. She wanted him. And he wanted her back.

  If only for now.

  Billy paused at the entrance to the short hallway as if he couldn’t decide which way to go.

  The only room with a double bed was Nettie’s, but they couldn’t go there. They could not make love, celebrate life, in the room where Billy’s mother had died.

  And the bunk beds in the tiny room where Billy always slept wouldn’t work, either. There was only one other choice: her room with the pink chenille bedspreads where his sisters had slept when they were children.

  Decision made, Billy strode purposefully to her room, the room where he had stood and watched her dress until she had closed the door. The door outside which Darcy was certain he had stood on their wedding night, but not come in.

  The time hadn’t been right then, but now it was.

  He laid her gently on the bed, then perched on the mattress beside her. Billy started to say something, but Darcy stopped him. She didn’t want him to take the time to think, or to give her a chance to change her mind. She wanted to do this. She wanted to love him.

  She wanted him to make love to her.

  “Please, Billy,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, strange, not sounding like herself. “Don’t stop. I need you.”

  “Oh, Darcy. You don’t know how I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that,” he murmured as she drew him to her.

  She pressed her fingers to his lips and shivered with delight as he kissed them. “Don’t talk. Don’t think,” she told him softly. Then she fumbled with the buttons on his starched blue shirt. “Just live.”

  He turned away from her and made short work of the buttons while she struggled with the long zipper down the back of her dress. Finally, the zipper gave, and as the slide rasped slowly down the long track, she forgot to breathe while she listened to the sensuous duet as Billy’s zipper joined the chorus.

  Then they were naked in each other’s arms.

  Billy kissed her, caressed her, and pressed against her with his strong, firm body, but it wasn’t enough. She could feel his need pressing insistently against her. Why was he holding back?

  “Please, Billy, please,” she wanted to beg. Or had she really said it aloud?

  He must have heard her or read her mind, for he positioned himself over her, his solid, hard body so near, yet still so far away. He trembled as he hovered over her, holding himself aloft, holding back.

  Darcy held her breath. She wouldn’t beg again. If he wanted her, he had her. If he didn’t…she’d die.

  Billy took a deep breath, then let it out, his warm, damp breath setting her on fire. Then he kissed her, and pushed her legs apart with one knee. He settled into place, and she could feel him pulsing against her. Another breath, then he surged into her in one swift thrust.

  They were one.

  And nothing would ever be the same.

  THE SUN was just as insistent in Darcy’s small room as it always was in Bill’s, and he tried to shut it out. But the finger of light was persistent, and it poked at his tired eyes until he finally forced them open.

  Morning. Too early. Too soon.

  At least, Darcy was still asleep, tucked in against his chest, her petite body soft and warm. He should feel like a million bucks, but he felt like a heel.

  He knew that he and Darcy had made a deal, and this hadn’t been part of it. It complicated things. But only if she still wanted to get out of it.

  Darcy could now. His mother was gone, as were Darcy’s reasons for being here. In his home, in his bed, in his arms.

  He didn’t want it to end. He wanted it to last forever. They might have married for a different reason, but why couldn’t they remain so? He loved her. And he felt sure that she loved him, too.

  This small, capable woman had disproved all his good, well-thought-out reasons for not marrying. Maybe his mother hadn’t been prepared to raise five kids alone. Maybe Lougenia had been unprepared for the emotional blow her divorce had sent her, but Bill sensed that Darcy could handle anything. He loved her for that, and he couldn’t bear the thought of living without her.

  Darcy stirred in his arms and whimpered in her sleep. He’d heard that sound before—when he’d lain over her and she’d come apart in his arms. He felt that familiar tightening in his groin, and he yearned to wake her and plunge inside her to hear that sound again.

  But he didn’t.

  He lay still with her nestled in his arms and watched Darcy sleep. He listened to her breathe and wondered what the day would bring.

  They were in for another long day just like yesterday. Only today, the action would shift to the funeral home, and he wasn’t sure whether that would be easier to take. No matter what the location, it wasn’t going to be easy.

  It was never easy to say goodbye to someone you loved.

  He looked again
at Darcy, so beautiful in slumber, and closed his eyes as a shard of pain splintered his heart. He didn’t want to have to say goodbye to her, too.

  Dare he hope he wouldn’t have to?

  THEY’D SURVIVED the funeral, and if they could only make it through this last gathering of family and friends, the worst would be over. Darcy sighed as another mourner arrived with yet another covered dish of God-only-knew what. She smiled and murmured her thanks and found a space on the overloaded dining-room table.

  “Do you think they’ll ever leave?” Billy whispered into her ear as his hand found the curve of her waist.

  A warm shiver worked its way through her and Darcy smiled. “It’s wonderful that your mother had so many friends, but I’m ready for all this to end,” she said under her breath. She smiled again, this one genuine, as someone else came in—empty-handed.

  “Isn’t it odd that they never hang around for the cleanup?” Billy muttered dryly as Earline came in from the kitchen with a huge stack of paper plates and napkins.

  Darcy pretended to be shocked at Earline’s burden. “Mrs. Scarborough would be scandalized,” Darcy murmured. “Paper plates instead of the good china.”

  “I heard that,” Earline said. “As it happens, Mrs. S. brought them. “Now if we could just get all these good folks fed, we could send them on their way.”

  “Amen to that,” Billy said and squeezed Darcy up against him in a half hug.

  Darcy had come to enjoy these intimate moments, and they had come more frequently since they’d made love. But she had to remind herself, it wasn’t permanent.

  In times of grief at the death of a loved one, it was a natural instinct to want to reaffirm life, to defy death. And what was more life-affirming than to make love?

  Too bad it wasn’t real.

  If only Billy would say something, anything, to show that he loved her, she’d stay with him with no reservations. Of course, he had to invite her to stay.

  If he loved her as she did him, they’d have something to build a future on. A life. All he had to do was tell her in three little words.