Gifts of Honor: Starting from Scratch\Hero's Homecoming (22 page)

She was here. She came back.

And now she was on stage in front of the whole town, being introduced as his girlfriend.

He moved his hand to the small of her back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I ran into Barb Mortimer and—”

The mayor resumed speaking and Beth sidestepped out of Chris’s reach. He felt the loss of contact like a boat cut loose from its moorings, drifting aimlessly on choppy waters.

He didn’t listen to a word the mayor said as his brain spun feverishly. Had she only come back to watch the parade? Maybe she wasn’t planning on speaking to him again—maybe she just wanted to see the spectacle before she drove home. It would be too much to hope she’d had a change of heart—she said she needed time, and space, and he sincerely doubted the couple of hours since they’d parted had been sufficient.

He could throttle Barb for shoving her onstage like this, for thrusting her into the center of what was already a farce. No matter what her intent had been when she decided to stay for the parade, he’d bet money she already had her keys in her hand, ready to jump in her car and tear out of his life before anyone else tried to suck her in against her will.

The mayor wrapped up his speech and passed the microphone to Chris’s father, who launched into a slightly stammering list of thank-yous to everyone in the community who’d supported the family since he was wounded. Guilt gnawed at his stomach as his dad mentioned hot meals driven all the way out to the house, horses hauled to a crucial stock sale they couldn’t attend, rides to and from the airport, laundry delivered, funds raised, prayers offered, concluding with a special thanks to Mrs. Henry’s third-grade class for their beautiful card and the well wishes written inside.

Chris shifted his weight. He hadn’t heard half of this, and he sure didn’t remember any card—but then maybe his parents didn’t want to point out the fact that he couldn’t read it.

It would be his turn to take the microphone soon, but the few lukewarm clichés he’d mentally prepared suddenly seemed offensively hollow. It was clear he hadn’t considered the extent of the effort this town had made on his behalf—and more importantly, he realized Beth had nothing like it.

The minute his parents had gotten that phone call, a huge safety net of community support stretched out underneath them to cushion their fall and prop them back on their feet. But Beth hadn’t even gotten that call, let alone the outpouring of assistance that followed it. She’d been alone, and uninformed, and fearing for the worst, teetering on the edge of worry and isolation and despair.

Then he came along with his stupid email and shoved her right over the edge.

Comprehension slapped him as hard as she had only a couple of days earlier. For the first time he fully understood how he’d swept her off her feet those few days in the summer only to throw her to the ground when she was at her most vulnerable. He knew why she hesitated to trust him—and he needed to assure her that she could, and that he would never hurt her again.

But there was no time—his dad was pressing the microphone into his hand. Soon the ceremony would be over, he’d be waylaid by handshaking community figures and she’d be halfway down the highway. He had to stop her from leaving—but what could he do? What could he say?

The crowd hushed as he raised the mic, and he cleared his throat to buy a few extra seconds. He thought his inability to see his audience would make this easier, but he was wrong—with no way to gauge whether people were captivated and hanging on his every word or bored and cold and ready to leave, his concern that he would get this wrong ramped even higher.

“Thanks, everyone, for coming out today. I know you’re probably freezing and anxious to get home for hot chocolate, so I’ll keep this brief. I can’t say how much I appreciate the support you’ve shown me and my family as we’ve gone through a difficult time. As a soldier it can be too easy to forget that deployments can be just as hard on those we leave behind as it is on us. My parents are lucky to have a great town like Stanfield behind them, but some people are left to endure on their own, waiting all day for an email or a phone call that never comes, and wondering if their soldier is safe and well.”

Was that Beth shifting her weight to his left? It had to be—he was sure he could feel her eyes on him, her attention alert and focused. He hastily resumed the speech, which had suddenly taken on the weight of the world, each word a potential step toward or away from the only happiness he could ever imagine.

“And, well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that every sacrifice we make on the field of battle demands a different but equally selfless sacrifice on the part of those we love back at home. I’ve never been comfortable being called a hero—I consider it a privilege to do a job that serves my country, and I don’t think that merits any accolades on top. So today I hope you’ll spare a thought for the true hero in my life, my, uh—my girlfriend, Beth Tate. I’ve dragged her through hell and back and she’s still here beside me. She’s far more than I deserve, but I’m trying really hard to measure up.”

He paused, every nerve ending alive with tension as he waited to hear her footsteps thudding down the steps of the wooden platform followed by the squeal of tires and the roar of a car engine receding into the distance. When no one moved he plowed forward, tightening his grip on the mic to keep his hand from shaking.

“Thanks again everyone, and Merry Christmas.”

He swallowed hard as the audience broke into thunderous applause, his knees weak and his pulse pounding, but before he could reach for Beth he was swept up into a disorienting, noisy flurry of handshakes and congratulations and pats on the back. Someone took the mic out of his hand, someone’s hand was on his shoulder, someone was asking a question, as boards creaked and equipment thunked and the marching band struck up a tune to soundtrack the event’s disassembly. Without being able to see who was speaking or approaching or walking away Chris quickly lost his bearings, unsure where he was in relation to the stairs or the platform edge or if Beth was even still there.

Panic surged in his chest and he willed it back down, praying he wasn’t on the brink of a flashback.

Not here
, he pleaded silently.
Please
,
not now.

Then an arm wrapped around his elbow, small fingers laced through his own, and a soft, feminine voice cut through the haze of his anxiety like a fresh breeze through a smoky room.

“It’s okay, Captain,” Beth murmured. “I’m right here.”

Chapter Ten

Ever since the moment she set foot on that platform at the end of the street, things had moved so quickly that Beth nearly lost track of where she was and what was going on. From the heart-stopping tenderness of Chris’s speech, to shoving through the crowd to anchor him when she saw him start to drift, to his mother’s ironclad insistence that she join the family for lunch at a steak house, to his father’s announcement that she deserved the seat at Chris’s right hand, it wasn’t until she was ordering a rib eye she wasn’t even hungry for that she felt the impact of all that was happening.

She’d been introduced to Chris’s hometown as his girlfriend. She was being forcibly ingratiated into his rambunctious family. And he’d shown her that he finally understood the extent of her heartbreak.

On pure impulse she put her hand on his knee under the table. He immediately covered her hand with his, not missing a beat in his conversation with his uncle.

And this is how it could be
, she realized, looking up and down the long table. A fleeting touch, a gentle squeeze, a whispered word, a coded language that was theirs alone, binding them together, their love as solid and heartening as it was passionate and exciting.

That was, if they ever had a minute alone again. There were so many eyes on them all the time that they’d barely had a chance to speak, let alone discuss that big emotion that hovered so heavily yet still so unnamed between them.

Soon two waitresses appeared with their orders. One placed Chris’s plate in front of him, and with a quick look at the rest of the table Beth leaned in, hoping the bustle of service concealed her murmured words from the rest of the family’s attention.

“T-bone from seven to eleven o’clock, steamed vegetables from noon to four, potatoes at your six.”

She glanced up just in time to meet Linda Walker’s damp-eyed nod of approval from across the table when Chris’s cutlery clattered where he dropped it on his plate. He closed his hand on her elbow and rose abruptly from his chair, dragging her up with him.

“I think I left something in the car,” he announced conspicuously. “Beth, can you run me out to the parking lot quickly? We’ll be back in a second.”

“Of course,” she agreed, evading his relatives’ curious stares as she led him through the mostly empty restaurant to the street.

“Turn right into the alley leading to the lot,” he instructed, and she did as she was told. “Tell me when we’re halfway through.”

“We’re there,” she informed him, and then he was on her, pressing her into the freezing bricks, cradling her head in his hand and lowering his mouth to hers in a perfect reenactment of their first kiss six months earlier.

“I couldn’t wait another second to do that,” he breathed when they finally came up for air. “I’m so happy you’re here. Thank you for coming back, and for staying, and for—” He threw up his hands. “For everything.”

Beth flattened her palms on his chest. “Thank you for your speech, and for working so hard to acknowledge what I went through, and for coming home to me alive and well.”

“Alive I can do. ‘Well’ may not be totally accurate.”

“I don’t know,” she countered, raising her hand to his face. “You look pretty good to me.”

“You think so?” He draped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his big, warm frame. “I love you, Beth, and I want you to have the wonderful life you deserve. Do you think I’m the right guy to make you happy?”

She swallowed against the lump suddenly blocking her throat. “I love you, and I think I always have. My life changed for the better the moment I laid eyes on you, Captain Walker.”

“Don’t call me that.” He grimaced. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be that man again, that thrill-seeking officer who threw himself at deployments like he was immortal. I need to know that you love who I am now—that you love the man I’ve become.”

Her heart clenched as she trailed her thumb down his cheek. “I love who you were, I love who you are and I love who you’ll be.”

“And I love you for making me a better man than I ever thought possible. I can’t wait to find out what the future holds for us.”

Beth grinned, her heart filling with a deep sense of security and contentment that she’d never known before. She loved this man, and that was all that mattered. Everything else would fall into place, one way or another.

Chris smiled suddenly, that same charming, face-lighting beam that had blown through all her defenses way back in June. “Remember the first time I called you from Afghanistan? Do you remember what I promised?”

“That you’d be home for Christmas.”

“And here I am.” He hugged her into his chest and pressed his lips against her temple, his voice a soothing whisper against her ear. “Finally, truly home.”

* * * * *

About the Author

Rebecca Crowley inherited her love of romance from her mom, who taught her to at least partially judge a book by the steaminess of its cover. She writes contemporary romance with smart heroines and swoon-worthy heroes, and never tires of the happily-ever-after. Having pulled up her Kansas roots to live in New York City and London, Rebecca now resides in Johannesburg, South Africa. Find her at
rebeccacrowley.net
and on Twitter at
@rachelmaybe
.

Where no great story goes untold.
The variety you want to read, the stories authors have always wanted to write.
With new releases every week, your next great read is just a download away!

Keep in touch with Carina Press:
Read our blog:
www.CarinaPress.com/blog
Follow us on Twitter:
www.twitter.com/CarinaPress
Become a fan on Facebook:
www.facebook.com/CarinaPress

ISBN-13: 9781426897467

GIFTS OF HONOR

Copyright © 2013 by Harlequin Books S.A.

The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

STARTING FROM SCRATCH
ISBN-13: 9781426897474
Copyright © 2013 by Stacy Gail Shoeman

HERO’S HOMECOMING
ISBN-13: 9781426897481
Copyright © 2013 by Rebecca Crowley

Edited by Angela James

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

www.CarinaPress.com