Free Home for a Soldier by Tatiana March Page A

up old jeeps for a hobby. We get to
borrow them before they’re sold off. You can always find one or two in running
order.”
    During the meal, shared elbow to
elbow around a vast oak table, the daze that had seized Grace at the wedding
chapel didn’t lift. She heard the rowdy jokes, and she smiled and laughed, but
the words bounced off her, without penetrating her mind.
    After the food was cleared away, she
drifted with the others into the living room, as aimless as a piece of bark
floating on a current.
    “All right.” Rory took a step into
the centre of the room and raised his hands to command silence. “I’ll give you a
speech.” He waited until the crowd hushed. “What does a soldier want when he is
out on the battlefield?”
    “To come out alive!”
    “Equipment that works!”
    “No.” Rory paused. “He wants someone
waiting for him at home.” He turned to Grace, held out his hand. “Will you wait
for me at home, Grace?”
    Her heart thundered so hard the hem
of her dress fluttered. What was he asking her? Grace swallowed, met the
question in Rory’s dark eyes and gave him a slow nod, unsure of what she was
agreeing to, but certain that she’d offer him anything he cared to ask for.
    “Yes,” she whispered and slipped her
hand into his. His fingers tightened around hers in a crushing grip.
    “Grace is my wife now, under my
protection. I expect all of you to remember that.” He surveyed the soldiers,
lingering on a pair who sported a black eye and a cut lip. Both responded with
sheepish grins.
    Rory turned to Grace and smiled. “I
want to dance with my wife.”
    “Don’t we get to dish out the dirt on
you?” Joe yelled.
    “No,” Rory said firmly. “Put the
music on.”
    Someone fiddled with the CD player,
which had been belting out a mixture of soul and country during dinner. The
haunting uncertainty of Lionel Ritchie’s “ Hello ” flooded the room and
tugged at Grace’s heart. She stepped into Rory’s open arms, and he set into a
slow shuffle, his arms tight around her, his cheek pressed against her temple.
    The world around Grace faded away.
There was no yesterday, no tomorrow, only the safety of Rory’s embrace, and the
heat of his body flowing into hers. Whatever happened, however difficult the
consequences of her temporary marriage, no matter what pain might accompany the
end, those few minutes offered such contentment she’d gladly pay the price.
    “Tired?” Rory whispered, his mouth
grazing her ear.
    “No. Yes.” She glanced up before
returning her head to rest on his shoulder. “I’m not sure.”
    “Let me know when you want to go.
Karim will drive us back to the hotel.”
    The music changed to something by
Elvis. A cluster of soldiers, some more inebriated than others, flocked into the
center of the room and ground their hips in an exaggerated imitation.
    When the music changed again, Karim
strolled up and tapped Rory on the shoulder. “My turn to dance with the bride.”
    Rory frowned, but stepped aside. “I
guess it’s customary to allow for a dance,” he drawled.
    “Yes.” Karim flashed him a grin and
placed his hand on Grace’s waist. “And an even better custom is the one that
lets us kiss the bride.”
    Rory glowered and edged closer. When
Karim laughed, Rory stopped short and raked his fingers through his hair,
appearing flustered by the realization that he’d had his buttons pushed. “I’ll
go and get a drink,” he muttered. “I’m behaving like a fool.”
    Grace settled into a smooth swing in
Karim’s arms. “Are you sure you’ll be all right to drive?” She met his chocolate
eyes with a searching look. “If you’ve had too much to drink, we can call a
cab.”
    “I’m a Muslim. I don’t drink.”
    “Good,” Grace said, and blushed at
the thought that Karim might think she had commented on his religion instead of
his abstinence. “I don’t like to break the law,” she explained.