Free Homefront Hero by Allie Pleiter Page B

than he would have liked.
    “Whose idea was this, in any case?” he said as they began the fourth repetition.
    “You may not like the answer to that question, Captain.” They swayed together to the left.
    “Surely you’re not going to tell me Dr. Madison or Nelson hatched this scheme?” Right .
    Left . “I asked God to send me an idea for some inventive way to help you other than those dull laps. The thought came to me in the middle of the night last night, and I was delighted when Dr. Madison found the idea—how did he put it?—‘ideally suited to our good captain.’”
    She’d prayed on his behalf. Or on her behalf toward the goal of helping him—and had kept him in her thoughts even in the middle of the night, no less. The idea of it worked its way under his skin like an itch. “I’m dancing on orders from the Almighty?” Right .
    “I told you, you wouldn’t like the answer.” Left .
    His leg was burning but wild horses would not stop him now. “On the contrary, I believe God has just gone up a notch in my admiration.” A bolt of pain hobbled his right step and sent him lurching against the bar, wiping away whatever spark the moment held.
    “Would you like to rest?” she asked quietly.
    “I would like to waltz, ” he replied in the most commanding voice he possessed. With you, not with a fence.
    * * *
    Leanne should have thought this through more carefully. So taken was she with the novelty of the idea that she completely forgot the necessity of touching while dancing. Truly she hadn’t thought Captain Gallows would get much beyond swaying back and forth, given the extent of his injuries. She knew how much the motion pained him, how the repetition only made it worse. The phonograph next to them was really no more than an enticement—a carrot on a stick to help him get through the first difficult session.
    And it had worked. Entirely too well. For now the square of railings fairly well boxed her in, fenced her in close quarters with John and his obvious determination. The man had been shown his target, and hurtled toward it at all costs. How ironic that she knew she could not distract him from her creative distraction. There was nothing for it, she supposed. This session must end in a waltz, so it would be best to ensure it was contrived, awkward and exceedingly short. “And waltz you shall,” she pronounced in her best this is exactly how I planned it voice. “But not yet to music. I fear we’ll need a slower tempo.” Somehow the innocent accommodation sounded all too daring—most likely due to the triumphant look in John’s eye.
    “Only at first. I’m sure it will come back to me.”
    Hopeful, Leanne placed her hands elegantly on the banisters.
    She might have known it wouldn’t work. John shook his head, the gleam still in his gaze. He had her, and they both knew it. “Nurse Sample, may I have the honor of this dance?” He raised his left hand, palm up, nearly commanding her to place her hand in his. She did so, inwardly cursing how close the railings boxed them in, startled at how neatly her hand rested in his palm. Startled still more at the warmth of his right hand behind her shoulder blade. Of course he would have been an excellent dancer, preceding the injury—men of his social prominence always were.
    Before she could count out the tempo, John chose to set it himself. “One…two…three. One…two…three,” giving himself almost two full seconds to execute every shift of his weight without the support of the railings. She picked up the counting for him when it became clear the exertion clipped his words, eventually falling into a ponderously slow humming of the Blue Danube . She knew his leg must hurt him terribly, and yet she also understood his need for this victory. However slow, however painful, John could not leave this room halfway to a waltz. His spirit simply didn’t allow for compromise—it was the best and the worst thing about him. Here, haltingly sliding his