Thunder Running (The Homefront Trilogy Book 3) by Crowley Rebecca

Author:Crowley, Rebecca
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-09-05T00:00:00+00:00

Six

“Good morning, my name is Shelley, please may I have your account number?”

“Oh, sure.” Tara leafed through the stack of papers on the kitchen table for Chance’s latest statement from his military-specialist bank. She read out the number, then added, “It’s my husband’s account. I’m calling to be added to it.”

“Unfortunately that’s something he’ll need to do himself.” The voice on the other end of the phone was sympathetic. “Only the primary account holder can authorize additional holders, but if you have him call us back we can get that all set up for you.”

“That’s fine. Can I ask how long it’ll take to add me to the account? It’s just that he’s deploying in a little under two weeks, so if he needs to sign anything we’d have to get that done pretty soon.”

“We should be able to get everything done in that one phone call, don’t worry about that. Where’s he off to?”

“Afghanistan.”

The faint sound of typing filled the line. “Okay, I’ve noted that on our system so when he calls about the bank account, we can also review his life insurance cover and make sure that’s all up to date.”

“Great. Thanks.” Tara tapped the screen to end the call without waiting to hear Shelley’s cheerful offer of further assistance or pleasant goodbye. She put the phone on the table and stared unseeingly at the chilly gray morning beyond the window.

The four days since Chance rode to her rescue in the commissary had been great. Amazing, even. They were like an eager, newly dating couple full of brazen optimism for the relationship’s future, yet acting under a tacit agreement to slow each other down so they didn’t move too fast and ruin all this potential.

On Friday night he made the first move, reaching across the Challenger’s gearshift in the parking lot of the Mexican restaurant to touch her hand, then leaning over and kissing her, his lips still salty from the rim of the margarita glass. On Saturday night it was her turn, playfully scooting into his lap while they watched TV, mussing his short hair and straightening his T-shirt and urging his tongue inside her mouth to the soundtrack of the angsty political drama flickering on the screen.

Last night they’d finally shared the bed, although he hadn’t dared more than a fleeting touch of her breast through her shirt and she’d allowed herself only one indulgent press of her pelvis against his erection. It felt right—it was the pace they needed.

He had an early-morning PT session and the alarm went off at four o’clock. She dozed while he dressed in the dark, rolling onto his side of the bed, savoring the lingering scents and warmth left by his sleeping body. She woke up just enough to register him leaning over her, to smell his clean cotton T-shirt, to enjoy the gentle sweep of his thumb as he brushed her hair off her temple and kissed her forehead.

That kiss was more intimate than anything they’d done in the

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