Free Finally a Bride by LISA CHILDS

that one day she’d figure out she loved him. But now it wouldn’t matter if she did. He couldn’t love her back. His old crush had died with all his other dreams…when he had nearly died in the Middle East.
     
    E RIC CAST a sideways glance at Molly as they walked up the steps of the veterans’ hospital. He’d wanted time to himself and distance from her.
    “You really don’t mind that I’m coming along?” she asked.
    He’d been looking forward to that drive alone from Cloverville to Grand Rapids, to an hour of solitude to regroup and some necessary miles between him and his tempting houseguest. But he shook his head.
    “I haven’t seen your uncle in so long,” she said.
    “He probably won’t remember you,” he warned her. “He usually doesn’t remember me.”
    “I understand. I know a little about Alzheimer’s.”
    “Of course. You’re the med student.”
    Tension etched a deep line between her brows, and she said, “Not right now.”
    “Are you going to go back?” He couldn’t believe she would give up a dream she had spent eight years chasing, even if he had given up his dream of being with her.
    “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
    “Is that something—” along with whether or not she would marry the man she’d left at the altar “—you need time alone to think about?” Not that she seemed all that eager to spend time alone.
    “I have to think about my whole life.” She expelled a weary sigh. “I think I’m beginning to question every decision I ever made.”
    He reached out, brushing his knuckles across the back of her hand. “If you need someone to talk to…”
    “I have you.”
    She had had him. For so many years.
    But then he’d gone away from her and Cloverville. And he hadn’t come back—not completely. He’d left a piece of himself in hell. And he was never reminded of that more than when he came to visit Uncle Harold.
    Wheelchairs lined the halls, some of them sitting empty outside darkened rooms. Most of those chairs were occupied by old soldiers who fought now—against age and ailments.
    Dread tightened his stomach into knots. Was this his future? His dream for anything more than what he had had been destroyed—along with too many good soldiers. Soldiers Eric should have been able to save.
    “Sergeant South,” murmured an elderly man who stiffly reached out a hand to grasp Eric’s arm. “It’s good you came to see the major.”
    “Isn’t he doing well?” Eric asked, bending over to search the corporal’s face. Corporal Underwood’s mind was sharp despite his failing body. Did he know something about Eric’s uncle’s condition?
    “He’s fine, boy, and although the old major gets confused I think he instinctively looks for you every Sunday afternoon.”
    Molly suspected Eric’s uncle wasn’t the only one who looked forward to his visits. The corporal had stationed himself in the hall, as if waiting for Eric. His watery gaze slid to her.
    “You’re running a little late today,” he said, “but I think I understand why.”
    “This is Corporal Underwood,” Eric introduced the old soldier, his voice respectful. “Corporal, this is Molly…McClintock.” With his hesitation, realization flared in his gray eyes.
    She had almost become someone else. If she’d married, she wouldn’t have been Molly McClintock anymore. She would have been Mrs. Towers. She would have changed her identity, which was probably why she’d accepted Josh’s proposal in the first place. She’d wanted to be someone else.
    “Pleased to meet you, miss,” the old soldier greeted her with polished manners.
    “The pleasure is mine, Corporal Underwood,” Molly assured him.
    The soldier shook Eric’s arm. “Charm and beauty. She’s a keeper.”
    “She’s a friend,” Eric quickly corrected the corporal.
    Too quickly? But he was right. She was a friend. Just a friend—no matter what Abby, Brenna and Colleen claimed.
    “So how are you feeling?” Eric asked,