The Soldier's Bride by Rachelle J. Christensen Read Free Book Online Page A

you.”
    “Actually I’ve already picked out the melody on my guitar. I’d love to accompany Evelyn.” Sterling said.
    “Guitar? Hmm, that might be nice,” Frank replied.
    “Sterling, you are a conniver,” Evelyn said. “How long have you been planning this?”
    Sterling shrugged. “Not planning. Just hoping for a chance to hear that song—to play for you.”
    Frank clapped his hands together. “Next Friday night. Evelyn and Sterling will perform—what do you call your song?”
    “‘My Angel,’” she murmured.
    Frank wished them good night, and Evelyn stared at Sterling. He continued to smile. “Would it be okay if I brought my guitar by tomorrow to practice with you?”
    Evelyn thought about how quickly she had gone from singing to Sterling to performing for a crowd at the lounge. Her heart beat erratically as she wondered if she should trust him. Then she thought of the song—Jim’s music box—what the lyrics meant to her. Glancing down at the faded line on her ring finger, Evelyn blinked back tears.
    Sterling touched her cheek and tilted her face toward him. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I did my time in the war—the screams, the explosions, the cold—music is the only way I can escape it. I’m not trying to make you forget him, but maybe we can help each other face another day.”
    Evelyn’s lip trembled and she blinked rapidly, but a tear escaped and trailed down her cheek. Sterling knew she was a widow, he knew of the war and how it tore out the good memories and replaced them with death.
    A couple walked past them and opened the squeaky door. A warm breeze wafted in and cooled the tears on Evelyn’s cheek. Before the door closed, she felt more than heard the words. Maybe it was just a memory, but the message echoed in her heart, Don’t die with me . She wasn’t ready to forget Jim, but maybe Sterling could help her live again.

Chapter 7 ~ Living Again
February 1945 ~ Evelyn
    “When it comes to music, I’m not so nervous.” Sterling stroked the strings on his guitar and the timbre of the chord echoed in the dining area. Evelyn had agreed to meet him to practice on Thursday before the dinner rush when the only people to observe them were those preparing the food and setting the tables. Sterling strummed a few more chords, “I wanted to ask you out the first night I met you, but I was nervous.”
    “It’s probably good you were nervous,” Evelyn said. “I would’ve told you no. That’s what I tell everyone.”
    Sterling laughed, and she liked the way the husky sound blended with the chords he played. She admired the olive-green dress shirt that set off the deep emerald of his eyes.
    “Of course, I wasn’t prepared to be tricked into spending time with you,” Evelyn said.
    He winced. “I really wasn’t trying to trick you. If I could have written you a song, I would have. Music always tells it right. My words alone aren’t strong enough.”
    She began humming the tune from the music box, blending it with the chords Sterling played on his guitar. His hands flexed and moved rapidly across the strings. While he played, Evelyn allowed herself to observe his rugged good looks.
    Sterling was shorter than Jim but still a head taller than her five-foot-five frame. He had broad shoulders and a thick torso. His biceps bulged against the cotton of his dress shirt, and she noticed a bit of dark grease under one of his fingernails. Her initial impression had been right. Sterling Dennison worked in a mechanic’s shop—his own. He became the sole owner after his brother died in France.
    “My brother used to make fun of me,” Sterling said as if reading her thoughts. “He’d say, ‘there goes the mechanic with his guitar. Don’t get your strings all greasy.’” He laughed, and Evelyn noticed how much more relaxed he looked tonight. He was at ease with his music.
    “I was pretty surprised when you told Frank you played,” she said. “I thought you might show up with a wrench