Boots on the Ground (The Homefront Trilogy Book 1) by Crowley Rebecca

Author:Crowley, Rebecca
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-07-04T00:00:00+00:00

Grady flinched painfully as the front door slammed, but the light, feminine voice that rang out in its wake—“Honey, I’m home!”—was a cool salve on his fiery panic.

It had been one of the more unusual days in recent memory, that was for sure. After Laurel finally slipped out of his arms, her lips swollen and her lids heavy as she visibly pulled herself together to leave for the office, he spent a long time hovering in the entryway, unsure how to react to the enormous generosity and trust she’d shown him. A childhood spent as an outsider in a sequence of homes, topped off by thirteen years of nomadic soldiering, left him ill equipped to be anyone’s polite houseguest, let alone a blue-blooded doctor he sincerely wanted to impress.

For the first hour he lumbered through the many rooms, inspecting everything but touching nothing, feeling like an uncoordinated grizzly bear tiptoeing through an exquisite doll’s house. There seemed to be hundreds of illuminating details his cursory glance had missed that day he’d painted the spare room—haughty-looking fashion magazines intermixed with medical journals in the pile next to the slate-gray leather sofa, an extensive stash of Swiss chocolate in the otherwise bare pantry, and a silk bathrobe in royal purple hanging on the bathroom door that he longed but didn’t dare to touch.

And then there was the bookcase in the living room, where a shelf and a half was devoted to thick travel guides for far-flung destinations—Nepal, Ecuador, Kenya, Russia, Fiji. It was an unwelcome but important reminder of their very different aspirations. She wanted all the excitement and adventure of the transient life he’d just escaped, whereas he was finally ready for the safe, predictable, small-town life she chafed against. The protective walls around his heart thickened a little at that thought.

Eventually he worked up the courage to take a shower, used the least fruity-smelling of Laurel’s bath products, and reluctantly slipped back into the clothes that still stank of the jailhouse. Then he stretched out on the big bed in the room he’d painted and slept like the dead.

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