Free Sins of Omission by Fern Michaels Page A

made, he set a precedent that he was to follow for the rest of his life: Never make the first move. Watch your adversary and then go in for the kill, but only after that adversary has made the first move. The only thing that confused Reuben was that Mickey wasn’t exactly an adversary. He also decided it didn’t really matter how long he’d have to wait—because although she had begun the game, when it ended, he’d be the winner. In all games there was a winner and a loser. He would never, no matter what he’d have to do, be a loser.
    After that, Reuben felt better. Having sorted it all out in his mind, he became an active player. When he walked behind Mickey’s chair, he’d let his fingers trail along the back of her neck. When sitting beside her at the bridge table, he’d let his knee touch hers ever so slightly, and he wasn’t quick to draw away—nor was she. Over the candlelight dinners he’d stare at her bosom and give her the sensuous smile he’d practiced in front of the mirror in his room. He’d watch her draw in her breath before he turned away. Another time he’d alluded to his sexual prowess, with Daniel egging him on. He’d seen a spark of anger in her eyes and grinned.
    Just last evening when she’d come to peck him on the cheek, he’d turned swiftly so her lips met his. Her eyes had widened and she was the first to turn away, but not before Reuben had seen her body shudder. Hold out the bait and then yank it back was one choice piece of advice from George that seemed to be working. Fine for George to say, but his old buddy hadn’t given any advice on how to get her to actually bite. Probably because it was assumed by all of them that Mickey herself would initiate everything from the beginning. Jesus, how wrong they’d all been.
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    â€œToday I feel we are like the Three Musketeers. Do either of you feel like that?” Mickey asked. They had been out walking for most of the afternoon in the crisp November air.
    â€œWhen you are truly well,” she continued, speaking to both her companions with a broad smile, “we will motor to Gascony. D’Artagnan and his brave musketeers, even Cyrano de Bergerac, came from Gascony. You see, every day we learn something.” She looked directly at Reuben when she spoke. Instead of answering her, he gave her his practiced smile. Her eyes closed sleepily, then she reached for a flower and placed it gently between her breasts.
    Daniel was oblivious to the byplay as he windmilled his arms. His cast had recently been taken off; movement was no longer limited. Now he could bathe himself and wet his entire body. The world he was living in felt good.
    Mickey stepped between the two of them and linked arms. They literally danced the next few yards. When they stopped, on the crest of a hill above a small village, they could hear shouting and singing.
    â€œ Mon Dieu, what in the world is that racket?” Mickey cried.
    â€œLooks like there’s a parade, or else they are having a party,” Daniel said, laughing.
    The three of them looked at one another in wonder. Could it be? Finally?
    â€œHurry, darlings, we must see what this is all about.”
    Daniel and Reuben took Mickey’s hands and ran down the hill, watching and listening to the Frenchmen as they waved their arms about, speaking rapidly. Some were singing while others laughed and slapped one another on the back.
    It was November 11, 1918, and the Armistice had just been signed.
    â€œWe must celebrate!” Mickey exclaimed.
    â€œIt’s over, Daniel,” Reuben said quietly. “Our men made the difference. I feel kind of proud, don’t you?”
    â€œDamn right.” He wiped his eyes, and Reuben realized his own were misty. “We were the lucky ones, Reuben.”
    â€œYes,” Reuben said, touching his friend’s shoulder. Then he grinned. “I agree with Mickey! We need a