Cate Campbell Read Online Free

with panic.
    “Hey!” one of the brats sobbed. “Whatcha think you’re doing?”
    Preston chuckled as he came to his feet. The boys backed away, clinging to one another in that endearing way of the powerless. The familiarity of it, even with these unworthy adversaries, warmed Preston’s groin.
    “Scary, isn’t it?” he said.
    One of them cried, “What is?”
    Preston let his grin fade and his voice harden. “Killing people. It’s no joke.”
    “We wasn’t joking!”
    Jackie sniffled, “You hurt me, mister.”
    One of the others said, “Captain, Jackie. He’s a captain.”
    Preston nodded. “Right you are, lad. Captain.” He touched two fingers to his cap. “You learned something here, boys. See you remember.” He spun on his toes, feeling full of life. Yes, this was a lucky day. A good day to decide what to do next.

C HAPTER 2
    Dressed in the same suit he had worn all day, Frank stood on the steps of the Alexis, awaiting the car Benedict had promised, and dreading the evening ahead.
    It had not been a good day. The managers of two firms had offered sympathy, but nothing more. With the contraction of the economy, they said, they were letting people go, not hiring. He had to screw up his courage to call upon three more businesses. Two were polite, but not interested. At the third, a company that fabricated boilers and other steel products, the proprietor took one look at his empty sleeve and said, “Major, you’re wasting your time and mine. You’d better take your disability pay and go home.”
    Frank stiffened. It was possible that one day a pension from the British Army might reach him. There had been no sign of it yet, but he wasn’t going to say so. It was none of this man’s business. “Sir,” he said, “I can be an engineer with one arm.”
    The man looked angry, as if Frank had done something to affront him. “Have you done any drafting since you got out?”
    “Happy to demonstrate,” Frank said. “Do you have a drafting table?”
    The man blew out a breath. “Look, Major.” His mouth drew down, creasing his heavy cheeks. “I went at this all wrong.” Frank watched his eyes drop once more to the empty sleeve, then rise to Frank’s face. Something flickered in those eyes, some complex emotion, quickly repressed. “I should have just said we’re not hiring.”
    Frank looked past the proprietor’s shoulder at the shop beyond. A few men in coveralls were working there. Several wore metal hard hats that looked very much like the helmet Frank had laid down for the last time when he mustered out. In a distant corner, the flare of a soldering iron cast yellow sparks over the cement floor, and in a small office to his right, a woman in a shirtwaist sat typing on a massive Underwood. The struck keys made heavy clanking sounds. Beyond her was an empty desk, holding nothing but a lamp.
    “Looks to me, sir,” Frank said stubbornly, “as if you could use some help.”
    The man gave him a mulish look, and didn’t answer for a long moment. At first Frank thought he was going to point to the door and ask him to leave, but then he saw the slight tremble of the man’s lip and a mist in his eyes that must have blurred his vision. Frank took a step back. Something was wrong here.
    The man started to speak, but his voice cracked, failing him. He cleared his throat, and stared past Frank’s shoulder. Frank knew there was nothing there but the blank stucco wall of the next building. He took another step toward the door. The man was right about one thing—he was wasting time.
    The older man finally forced his throat to work. “My son—” he began. He hung his head suddenly, and his fingers clutched the battered wooden counter in front of him, knuckles going white as he struggled to control himself.
    Frank stopped where he was. The muscles of his belly tightened.
    More than a hundred thousand American soldiers had died over there, from battle injuries, influenza, infections. Twice that many came