The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,97

cots and inspected the large gauze bandage taped to Clay’s chest. “You’re one lucky man. The bullet missed the major vessels. You only have one broken rib, and it’s in the back. The initial surgery went well, and the X-rays show no retained foreign material. In about a week, you’ll have reparative surgery to close the wound. Barring any complications, you should be back to duty in six to eight weeks.”

“Complications—like infection.”

Dr. Rinehart nudged Clay to lean forward, and he inspected the dressings on Clay’s back. “Since there was no abdominal involvement, the risk of infection is low. With perforating thoracic—chest—wounds, the greatest risk is in the first few hours. Your prognosis is excellent.”

An excellent prognosis? Clay shook his head. His dream had come true, but he was alive. What had happened? Had he failed somehow by dodging that bullet?

Dr. Rinehart eased Clay back against the locker. “Everything looks great. I’ll look in on you this afternoon. In the meantime, keep doing the breathing and coughing exercises the pharmacist’s mate gives you. Any questions?”

“No, sir.” None the physician could answer anyway.

He felt discombobulated. What would he do with his life now that he had one? The problem with believing he had no future was that he had no plans.

His convalescence would be longer than Gene’s, and they probably wouldn’t return him to the Rangers. Where would they send him? Regular infantry or a support job, like in supply?

What about after the war?

Clay forced a deep breath, inhaling the beloved smells of antiseptic and gauze. If Wyatt kept his promise and paid Clay back, could he go to college?

He had a wife and daughter to support. He might be able to afford it if they all lived in one household.

Except he’d promised Leah he’d die.

Clay groaned, and he flexed and pointed his feet to prevent blood clots. Most fellows went off to war promising their wives they’d come home, but Clay had promised he wouldn’t.

Leah hadn’t signed up for a lifetime with him. To talk her into marrying him, he’d had to promise her—his chest collapsed with the weight of it, straining the dressings—he’d promised that if he survived, they’d get a divorce. He’d have to say he’d cheated on her to give her grounds.

No matter how much he loved her, he had to keep his word and offer that divorce.

Then he’d have two households to support. Even if Wyatt repaid him and Clay worked summers, he couldn’t afford eight years of school. He’d have to get a job. Where? At Paxton Trucking? The job he’d hated? Working with Wyatt and Adler?

Reconciling with his brothers seemed less appealing now that it was actually possible. It was one thing to write words of forgiveness and another to live it out each and every day. Could he do so? Or would it be better to start over in a new town?

His pocket Bible lay on the cot beside him, and he opened it. Leah and Helen’s photo had survived the mayhem, and Leah’s sweet smile burrowed into his heart and made itself at home. How could he give her up?

Perhaps he could persuade her to remain married.

A laugh burst out, and he clutched his side. Even with the nerve block, he felt that.

“You okay, Pax?” the fellow on the next cot asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Persuade Leah to remain married? Fat chance. She’d barely known Clay on their wedding day, and what had he done since then to commend himself to her? Nada.

He’d whined about forgiving his brothers and resenting his parents’ forgiveness. He’d wanted to die so much that he’d apparently manufactured a dream to support that wish. He was a half-breed with no job prospects.

She might even think he was mercenary, wanting to stay married just so he could afford medical school. And why would she want to be married to a college boy?

Clay closed the Bible. The kindest thing would be to set her free.

44

TULLAHOMA

TUESDAY, JUNE 13, 1944

Under her umbrella, Leah compared the address on the library postcard to the house before her, a blue-and-white Victorian in Tullahoma’s nicest neighborhood across from the railroad and businesses these families had founded.

She and Mama had returned to Tullahoma yesterday, and this morning Mama had taken the train back to Kerrville. Leah’s little house felt empty without Lupe Paxton.

Up on the porch, Leah lowered her umbrella and rang the doorbell. In a minute, a slender woman with graying blonde hair opened the door.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Mrs. Clay Paxton. Is Mr. Robert Mason at