What the hell had I been thinking?
Except…
I hadn't been drunk.
I hadn't been joking.
And the worst part?
I liked the thought more than I had any right to.
I walked back through the American sector in a haze, the city's ruins passing by in gray fragments. But for once, the destruction didn't bury me. For once, the nightmares weren't crowding behind my eyes. All I saw was her, her smile, her fingers brushing mine, the way her face softened when she took that first bite of bread like it was salvation.
By the time I reached the billet, my heart was doing a slow, stupid somersault.
The evening routine went by like a dream. I showered, declined Carter's invitation to go to a new bar someone had discovered in the Tiergarten, and went to bed. My mind was going in circles. The craziness of what I had said replayed in my head over and over, but the longer I thought about it, the less crazy it sounded. I would be able to take care of her. Her, her brother, and his friend. The army would provide housing. She could make that cheesecake. She could go to the PX and buy things. Pretty things.
You've only known her for a few weeks, my mind cautioned, but my heart and the dragon in me said it was enough. I had never felt about anybody like this before. I was sure she wasthe one.
Well, we'll never know. Fat chance of me getting my hands on ten eggs, sugar, and a kilo of cream cheese, Inga had laughed my offhanded proposal off. If only she knew that at the PX, ten eggs were nothing. Thequark—whatever the hell that was—would be harder to come by.
With those thoughts rolling around inside my head, sleep wasn't coming, and when I looked at my watch, I realized what time it was in Montana. Ranch time. My father would already be awake. He was always awake before dawn. Soon, he would be out, feeding the cattle, checking fences, yelling at my little brother to saddle the damn horse properly. I've been delaying this call for weeks. The war was over, but with the situation in Berlin, I knew my family was still worried sick over me, and I wasn't making it easier by not calling.
I headed to the CQ desk—Charge of Quarters—the little room right off the hallway where a bored sergeant kept watch, logged who came and went, monitored the phones, and tried not to fall asleep.
Sergeant Dwyer was on duty, reading a three-day-old newspaper. He looked up as I approached.
"Need the line, Captain?" he asked, chewing on a toothpick.
"Yeah," I said. "If it's free."
"Private Jenkins is finishing up with his girl in Milwaukee," Dwyer smirked. "He's been whispering sweet nothings for twenty minutes. God help us all."
I leaned against the wall, pretending not to hear the lovesick babbling drifting down the hall. When Jenkins finally hung up, blushing and glowing like he'd been kissed through the damn wires, Dwyer waved me forward.
"All yours, Sir."
I dialed home.
The line crackled. Popped. Hissed.
Then—
"Griffin Ranch," came my father's voice, deep and steady as a mountain.
My chest clenched.
"Dad," I said. "It's me."
A startled pause, then warmth flooded the line. "Gideon! Boy, we thought you'd forgotten you had a family."
Before I could respond, I heard another receiver click on. "Oh heavens, Gideon? Gideon, sweetheart, is that you?" My mother.
Of course she was listening in. I smiled so hard my cheekbones hurt. "Hey, Ma."
There were questions, a dozen of them?—
Are you eating?
