The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,115

loan Daddy his serviceman’s guide to Britain to teach his father about English reserve.

“A company this big will need a full-time accountant.” Wyatt raised a satisfied smile. “I’ll never have to leave my office again.”

Adler sent Clay a mischievous look. “All we need is a company physician.”

“Not on your life. I just want to be a small-town family doctor.” Clay stood. “Y’all should wrap this up. If Mama hears y’all talking business while there’s a party outside . . .”

Daddy whistled. “We’d better vamoose.”

Clay headed outside and stood on the big wraparound porch with his brothers. Dozens of family members circulated on the big lawn under the oaks and honey locusts, and the smell of Mama’s cooking and Daddy’s barbecue threaded into his lungs.

It was good to be home.

The previous August, Leah had come with him to Kerrville and stayed with his parents while he was at Fort Sam Houston. Whenever he could get leave, he took it. Those had been sweet, sweet months.

In December he’d shipped overseas to join the Rangers again, and he’d followed them into Germany and Czechoslovakia, celebrating V-E Day with Gene Mayer at his side.

When he shipped overseas, Leah had returned to Tullahoma to help at the orphanage and the library. She’d also worked with the librarian at Camp Forrest to arrange the donation of the library’s collection to the town after the base closed. That meant the little town library would need a larger building.

Leah had passed her part of the project to Rita Sue, because in January, Clay and Leah were moving to Austin, to a little place of their own. He couldn’t wait.

“Daddy!” Helen toddled across the lawn in a red dress with a red bow tied in her black curls. She flopped onto the bottom porch step and crawled up. Hard to believe she’d be two in April.

“Hello, my little jingle bell.” Clay scooped her up and kissed a sticky cheek. “Are you having fun?”

She nodded and bounced in his arms. “Moo! Moo!”

“Yes, music.” Pawpaw, Uncle Emilio, and other Ramirez uncles and cousins played rollicking mariachi music on Daddy’s makeshift stage under a honey locust.

“Tee-tee!” Helen squealed and pointed at Timmy, who was running up with a sprig of blond hair waving above his head. How Helen adored her three-and-a-half-year-old cousin.

“Hi, Uncle Clay. Hi, Uncle Wy. Hi . . . Daddy.” The little boy stopped short of the father he’d only known through letters and photos until recently.

“Howdy, buckaroo.” Adler squatted in front of him. “Want to fly?”

“Yippee!” Timmy jumped up and down, then scrambled onto Adler’s back.

Helen leaned out of Clay’s arms. “Me! Me! Me!”

Timmy frowned. “Not her.”

“Yes, her.” Adler reached for Helen. “But she’ll go in the cargo hold. You’re the pilot this time. Then we’ll switch.”

“Yay!”

Clay relinquished his daughter. “Remember, she’s cargo, not a bomb to drop.”

“I think I can remember that.” He winked at Clay and clutched the little girl to his belly. “Time for takeoff.” Off he ran with two giggling children.

Wyatt shook his head. “Here I am, the oldest and the last to have kids.”

“Not for long.” Clay nudged him. “Am I right?”

Wyatt glanced across to the tables, where his pretty redheaded wife was setting out food with Violet. Dorothy’s waist was a lot thicker than when Clay had met her in England. Wyatt put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything till we make our announcement, you hear?”

“Better make it soon before her belly makes the announcement for you.”

Wyatt punched Clay in the shoulder and laughed. “Come on, let’s get tamales.”

They moseyed across the lawn toward the food tables.

Mama and Leah came out of the side door of the house carrying trays, Leah wearing a red suit and a little round red hat. Leah called out something, and Dorothy and Violet turned to her and laughed.

Now that Leah had a family, she was doing her best to welcome her new sisters-in-law into the fold.

Leah turned to him as if she felt his gaze, and her smile took his breath away. How was it possible for her to get more beautiful each day?

She set down her tray and placed one hand on her flat stomach. She’d just found out she was expecting again. It was a boy, she insisted, and his name was William Walter Paxton.

William after Daddy, and Walter for Dr. Walter Block, who had been killed by shrapnel from German artillery when the Rangers were battling for Bergstein, Germany, in December 1944. Right before Clay had arrived. The whole battalion had mourned