Homefront Hero by Allie Pleiter Read Free Book Online Page A

soldiers to do this?” he asked. “To pass the time in the hospital as well as meet the need for socks?” What he hadn’t realized was that five tidy stitches had worked their way onto his needle while he spoke. While many might accuse John Gallows of great arrogance, his only knitting sin was the universal fault of trying too hard.
    “Yes, that’s the idea. It’s been done successfully in some other hospitals, so I am eager to try it here.”
    “Done successfully, you say? Well, then, I simply can’t allow this to elude me, can I? My own grandmother,” he went on, “who can barely see well enough to know which Gallows is who, can do this.” Three more stitches.
    “Your grandmother knits?” Keep him talking , Leanne urged herself, realizing that talking was the key to keeping him from overthinking the simple stitches.
    “Constantly. I have several holiday sweaters in the most atrocious patterns you can imagine. And a few scarves that could scare away the enemy.” He looked down, a little stunned to realize he’d made it all the way to the end of the double-pointed needle. “Now what?”
    She didn’t have to force herself to take his hands and show him how to switch to the next needle. And while she didn’t dare look up at him while she touched those hands, she could feel his smile behind her. “See, just like that. All lined up like soldiers, they are. Well done.”
    He said nothing until the silence forced her to look up at him. When she did, Leanne felt it burrow its way under her ribs and steal her breath. “Well taught, Nurse Sample.”
    “Leanne,” she heard herself say, but it was as if Ida’s daring nature had inhabited her voice. “Off camera.”

Chapter Seven
    “O ne more inch…just one inch farther… ugh! ” John growled in exasperation at the joints that would not bend to his will. It was as if the plaster cast on his leg had never come off—the stubborn limb refused to regain the needed flexibility. He gripped the bench harder and set his teeth against the pain, leaning into another push. It was probably no accident that the “reconstruction clinic,” the gymnasium on base that housed the staff and equipment designed to rehabilitate wounded soldiers, was olive-green rather than hospital white. To John, the gymnasium was no less a battlefield than the front line. It reminded him that he was a soldier—and that a soldier belonged on the front lines, where he intended to return as soon as possible, even if he had to thrash his leg into submission every step of the way.
    “Whoa there, stallion. You’re not going to get what you want out of that leg by beating it up.” Dr. Charles Madison pushed John’s leg back down. John hated how easily the small doctor could do it, too. The weakness in his leg made him crazy, and Madison had a gift for showcasing just how much strength John had lost.
    “It doesn’t bend a single inch farther this week.” Complaining felt childish, but John’s frustration stole his composure as easily as the dirigible stay lines had shredded his leg. Patience was not a virtue Gallows men either possessed or cherished. John pulled himself upright with something just short of a snarl.
    “This isn’t the kind of thing that goes in a straight line.” Dr. Madison, his Bostonian accent sounding entirely too fatherly, sat down on the bench next to John. He set his clipboard down with a weariness that spoke do we have to go over this again? without words. “It’s going to be back-and-forth. And if you push it too far too fast, I promise you it will be more back than forth. Flex your foot.”
    John shot him a look but obeyed. The doctor could make “flex your foot” sound like “go sit in the corner.”
    “You’ve got more rotation than you did last week. You tore nearly every tendon from your hip down. It’s a wonder you’ve still got use of the leg at all, Gallows. Those tether lines could have ripped the whole thing off.”
    “Yes, yes, I’m so