Courting the Corporal. Heather McCorkle

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2017 by Heather McCorkle

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

      All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund- raising, and educational or institutional use.

      To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

      Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager:

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

      Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: June 2017

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0287-7

      eISBN-10: 11-5161-0287-8

      First Print Edition: June 2017

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0290-7

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0290-8

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      For the soldiers.

      Acknowledgments

      First, thank you to my readers, for it is you who allow me to keep doing what I love. Thank you to my husband, Edd, for all the hours of brainstorming and the endless questions. Thank you to my mentors, William Bernhardt and Eldon Thompson. I would not be the author I am today without you two. Thank you to my writer tribe on Twitter and Facebook, the 17 Scribes, my Seymour Family, and the family that raised and put up with me. You all give me strength and inspiration. This is for any soldier that has ever had to deal with PTSD. I want to thank both the soldiers and the families of those soldiers, not only of the 69th brigade, but of all the armed forces of America. It is your support and sacrifice that have made us the country we are today.

      Chapter 1

      The whispers frayed at her last raw nerve. With careful precision, Catriona set the delicate crystal wineglass down on the marble table. The dark red liquid didn’t so much as ripple. Such good wine was hard to come by; she didn’t want to waste it. Her fingers closed into a fist, her overly long nails biting into her palm. But it was a good pain, the kind that helped bring focus and calm so she didn’t do something foolish. As the founding board member of the organization, she couldn’t very well fly off the handle every time someone spoke ill of her beneath their breath.

      Gathered like a brood with their coiffed hairdos leaned together, half the board members cackled all manner of derogatory things about her. Their too-loud whispers about her being “new money” and “already out of mourning clothes” were clearly meant to be overheard. Over half the eyes in the packed tearoom rested on her because of it. Her skin crawled and her cheeks heated. The old Cat would have torn into them like a wildcat, but sadly, she hadn’t been that woman for a long time now.

      Beyond the women, muted sunlight filtering through the grapevine-framed window beckoned her. She wanted nothing more than for this meeting to be over so she could return to her garden where she could find a bit of serenity. A delicate hand came to rest on her shoulder just as a full skirt brushed against her own. Gentle though the touch was, it was all she could do not to flinch. The white lace glove could have belonged to anyone, but the almost hesitant hand within it could belong to only one person.

      “You pay them awful women no mind now, Catriona. They are jealous is all,” came a carefully measured feminine voice with just the barest hint of an African accent.

      Brown eyes as gentle as her voice gazed out of a lovely face nearly the color of obsidian to bathe Catriona in sympathy. She managed to force a tight-lipped smile.

      “Aye, but they are jealous for the wrong reasons,” she all but whispered. “But thank you for your kindness, Sadie. You are a treasure.” She patted the lady’s hand where it rested on her arm.

      Many of the ladies in the finely furnished sitting room shot frowns their way. Some likely because such familiarity with one’s servants was frowned upon. But then, even allowing Sadie to attend was frowned upon by most in the room. While the North had been the first to free their slaves, they still believed in separatism. Not Catriona, though, and on that she stood up to these hens. Sadie was a widow of a soldier of the 69th infantry, which gave her every right to attend these meetings. Besides, she was Catriona’s friend and for her, Catriona would withstand all the evil glares those hens could dish out.

      Lovely dark brows drawing together, Sadie waved a dismissive hand at the group of women. “The hens wouldn’t believe the truth if it slapped them upside their pampered backsides,” she said.

      At that image, a genuine smile turned up the corners of Catriona’s lips. However, the sight of a black-haired woman with skin the color of porcelain descending on the group of board members like a storm wiped the smile away. Trouble flowed around the immaculately dressed young woman like a cloak of dark foreboding.

      “Oh no,” Catriona murmured.

      Sadie laughed quietly. “Don’t you worry. Our Miss Deirdre there is going to give those ladies a taste of what they’ve got coming,” she said.

      Catriona groaned. “That is precisely what I am worried about.”

      All those coiffed heads raised