Free Return to Glory (Hqn) by Sara Arden Page A

pie?” India said in a perky voice, but Betsy could tell the question was forced and hollow. Caleb made it a point not to even look at her. His eyes were focused on his plate as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
    Betsy wondered what had happened between them and if it had to do with what had happened to India while she was in Afghanistan.
    “I’ll get it.” Betsy offered to retrieve the pie.
    “No, I think India should go get it,” Lula said. “And since she can’t be trusted with it alone, Caleb should help her.”
    Caleb grunted and put down his fork, a solemn expression on his face, and dutifully followed India into the kitchen.
    “Okay, so what’s going on with them? This is ridiculous,” Lula said.
    As if it was all the tension between India and Caleb and had nothing to do with Jack’s silence or hard manner.
    “I don’t know, but we should leave it alone. They’ll work it out,” Betsy advised. She hoped her mother would take the hint. She didn’t want any help with her interactions with Jack. Betsy had screwed things up enough on her own.
    “They always do,” Jack added. He seemed more at ease talking when the subject wasn’t himself.
    “Hmm. We’ll see.”
    India came back a few minutes later carrying the pie. A piece was already missing and she had crumbs on her mouth. Caleb was right behind her.
    “India! You cheat,” Betsy teased.
    Only India looked a little dumbstruck and Betsy couldn’t be sure, but Caleb might have had crumbs on his mouth, too.
    “I need to go,” India blurted.
    “I’ll take you home,” Caleb offered.
    “No!” India cried. She straightened herself and pulled on a casual mask. “I mean, I’ve got some other errands to run. Thank you for dinner, Miss Lula.”
    “Of course, honey. I hope we’ll see you next Sunday.” Lula watched her go and Caleb didn’t even excuse himself; he just followed her out. She looked at Jack and Betsy. “She does know it’s Sunday, right? Glory rolls up the sidewalks at five.”
    Betsy got up and began gathering the plates.
    “Aren’t you going to have pie?” Lula asked her.
    “No, but let me cut Jack a piece.” She didn’t wait for him to agree; she just handed it to him. “Best pie ever.” Betsy smiled at him.
    And Jack, he accepted the pie, but he watched her with every bite. There was nothing salacious about his regard, but Betsy still felt naked and vulnerable.
    “I’ll do the dishes. You kids let your food settle.” Lula stood.
    “Actually, Miss Lula, I need to be going, as well. Thank you for dinner.” He carried his own plate into the kitchen and headed toward the door.
    A panic gripped Betsy. She had a sinking feeling that if she let him walk away without saying anything, she’d never see him again.
    She intercepted him. “Did you forget that you wanted me to go home with you?”
    “I thought you might have come to your senses.” Maybe that was what he thought, but his eyes roved her body, and her breath caught in her throat. His body had other ideas, and so did hers.
    “I gave my word, Jack. You better not go back on yours.”
    “I’ve kept every promise I ever made to you,” he growled.
    That was the source of a lot of his pain. Everything he’d endured just to keep his promise. Just to come back to her. She softened. “I know. You’re the only one who has.”
    “Stop it,” he hissed.
    “Stop what?” She didn’t know what she was doing that was so wrong.
    “Painting me like some hero.”
    “Stop acting like you’re not,” she tossed back as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And stop telling me what to do, what to think, or assuming you know what I want.”
    “I do know what you want and it’s always been so much more than me.”
    “This pity-me song is already old. Sing something else.” She hated that he felt that way. On the one hand, it was a wonderful balm for all of her old hurts that he thought he wasn’t good enough for her. Marcel had only