Clay sucked in a breath through his nostrils and sat back. Regardless, they had an appointment with a lawyer at eleven. Obviously, she did want a divorce if she’d made that appointment.

He might as well get ready. No use moping around for three hours.

In his duffel he found his Ike jacket, and he fingered the ribbons over the pocket, decorations he’d earned for courage under fire. And he traced the diamond patch on the sleeve, an honor he’d worked hard to earn.

Rangers were fighters. Fighters.

Clay punched his arms through the sleeves, dressing for war.

He had one more battle to fight.

50

Leah’s hand shook as she slid the book onto the shelf. The hour of quiet before the library opened had been a blessing, as she’d returned books, straightened shelves, and watched for titles misplaced by patrons.

The detailed work had kept her mind off her turmoil.

Almost.

Leah rested her forehead against the cool metal shelf. This would be the hardest day of her life. She’d had many hard days, losing loved ones, being abandoned, being attacked. But those pains had been inflicted upon her. This pain she was inflicting on herself.

Lord, help me through today. This is necessary for his future.

A clicking sound, the creak of the front door, and Mrs. Sheridan greeted the first patrons.

Leah straightened her spine and the shelf before her. She could do this. She’d done very well the night before and this morning. She’d surprised herself with how she’d told Clay about the appointment, confident and casual, despite the pain ripping her apart inside.

Clay had looked shocked that the helpless waif had become a competent woman. What a relief it must have been for him to realize she’d do fine on her own.

She would. With the Lord, she would.

Footsteps sounded in the next aisle. “Thalia?”

Clay? What was he doing there? And why had he called her Thalia?

Where there was a gap on his side of the shelf, Leah pulled out three books on her side to make a tunnel. “Clay?”

He ducked down and smiled at her through the tunnel. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She wasn’t ready to see him, and she tried to gather her casual, confident persona.

Clay leaned his forearm on the shelf and rested his chin on his arm. “I had a different idea for our appointment with the lawyer. I think you should legally change your name.”

His face was achingly close, and she eased back. Would her name change after the divorce? She knew so little about such things.

“What’s your legal name?” he asked. “Leah Jones Paxton?”

“Yes.” How she’d miss that name.

“That isn’t who you are. Now that you have your birth certificate, you should change your name to Thalia Karahalios Paxton.”

“I hadn’t considered that.” Her gaze drifted away, above the shelf. “Thalia Karahalios.”