The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,24

would provide for her and give her a name and a future.

“Till death do us part.” Clay’s mouth twitched, as if that part of the vow amused him.

It didn’t amuse her. He’d only married her because he believed he wasn’t long for this earth. For his sake, she wanted to believe him. But also for his sake, she hoped he was very wrong.

Leah repeated her vows after the chaplain, her voice thready.

They exchanged rings. Hers was more delicate, but the rings matched, marking them as belonging to each other.

Her heart seized. She hadn’t belonged to anyone since she was four.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

The kiss. Why hadn’t the chaplain skipped that part? Clay shouldn’t have to kiss a woman he didn’t love. On the other hand, a kiss would support the charade that they did love each other.

Clay lifted her veil over her hat. He wore a flat smile, his eyebrows drew together, and he leaned close, so all she smelled was coffee. “I want to do this right,” he whispered. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

Because of the wolf. But the wolf had never kissed her. “You won’t hurt me.”

A slight lift of his eyebrows, as if asking her permission, and she nodded, just a tick of a nod, not breathing, not blinking, not believing.

Clay tilted his head. Was she supposed to do the same? She didn’t know what to do.

Then Clay’s lips settled on hers, and her lips knew what to do, molding to his as warmth and light bloomed inside. Oh, this was what the poets wrote about! The novelists and the composers and the lyricists writing for generations upon generations. Now Leah knew too.

Clay pulled away, breaking the connection. He gave her a jerky little smile and faced their beaming friends.

Leah turned too, clutching Clay’s arm. She hadn’t anticipated the joy and she hadn’t anticipated the danger—the danger of falling for a man destined to die.

12

Clay scraped the last bit of fluffy white frosting off his plate. “Thank you for organizing this reception.”

“You know our motto—the Red Cross is at your side. In this case, it was pure joy.” Mrs. Bellamy sipped a cup of coffee. “President Roosevelt was most obliging, putting an end to coffee rationing last week.”

A little blonde girl hid behind Mrs. Bellamy, peeking at Clay with a mischievous smile.

Clay returned it full force. He missed Mama’s big Ramirez clan and all the little cousins. “The cake is delicious.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Bellamy giggled. “You should have heard the ladies at church grumble when I asked them to give up their sugar rations for yet another wedding here at Camp Forrest. Then I told them Leah was an orphan and didn’t have a mama to bake for her. Well, you should have seen those sugar crocks fly open.”

“Thank them from me. Leah hasn’t had a lot of nice things in life.” He glanced behind him. The Rangers flirted with the boardinghouse girls, especially with Darlene, who worked at the PX nearest the Rangers’ barracks.

Leah sat at a table chatting with Gene and his girlfriend—no, his wife, Betty Jo.

Good to see that Leah was sitting down and had cleaned her plate. She looked pretty in that creamy suit and hat, with her hair pinned up in rolls and curls and things. Real grown up.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Mrs. Bellamy said.

“She sure is.” He felt tiny arms around his knees. The little girl sat on his foot and grinned up at him, a yellow bow around her ringlets.

“Sally Bellamy!” her mother said.

“I don’t mind.” Clay lifted his leg with the giggling child attached. “I need my daily calisthenics.”

Mrs. Bellamy sipped her coffee and smiled at her daughter and then at Clay. “You take good care of Miss Leah, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s why I married her.”

“Mm-hmm. It’s time for you to spirit your bride away.”

His bride? Yes, Leah. She was laughing at something Betty Jo said, color in her cheeks again, thank goodness.

Mrs. Bellamy whisked Sally onto her hip. “Private Paxton has to leave now, sugar pie.”

“Bye, Pwivate Paxton.” Sally pressed a hand to her forehead in a salute.

Clay snapped up his best salute for her. “Good day, Miss Bellamy. And Mrs. Bellamy, thank you again for everything you’ve done.”

“My pleasure.”

The Red Cross had even secured dinner and room reservations at the swanky King Hotel in Tullahoma. Clay would sleep on the floor, but he wanted to give folks every reason to believe that he was the father