Dream of Her Heart

by Shanna Hatfield

  Hearts of the War, Book 3

  A Sweet World War II Romance

  by

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  SHANNA HATFIELD

  Dream of Her Heart

  Hearts of the War Book 3

  Copyright © 2018 by Shanna Hatfield

  All rights reserved. By purchasing this publication through an authorized outlet, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook in a digital format. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, transmitted, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, now known or hereafter invented, without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.

  For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of “permission request” at the e-mail address below or through her website.

  Shanna Hatfield

  shanna@shannahatfield.com

  shannahatfield.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Shanna Hatfield

  To those who give their all…

  Chapter One

  Portland, Oregon

  May 1942

  “Do they have wonders of nature like that where you’re from, Lieutenant?” A gnarled finger entwined with soft blue yarn pointed out the train window in the direction of a massive waterfall.

  Zane West stared at the cascade of silvery liquid as it tumbled and flowed over a rocky hillside, surrounded by lush greenery. The splendor of it was quite unexpected.

  Then again, so was his traveling companion. Zane had dashed onto the train in Pendleton to find the only seat left was next to a tiny old woman who looked like a strong breeze would fell her. She’d given him a perfunctory glance, closed her eyes, and napped the first part of the trip. About an hour ago, she’d awakened and kept him entertained with details about the areas through which they traveled.

  He turned his gaze from the picturesque scene outside the window to the elderly woman who’d introduced herself as Widow Esther Wilkerson. “No, ma’am, they sure don’t. About the closest I’ve seen to a waterfall like that at home is the one time the east end of our ranch flooded with spring rains and the run-off washed out a section of fence.”

  The old woman’s blue eyes twinkled with amusement then she turned her attention back to the knitting on her lap. “I can hear a bit of a drawl in your voice. Texas, perhaps?”

  He nodded. “I grew up about forty miles from Amarillo.”

  One white eyebrow lifted. “What in the world are you doing on a train headed to Portland? How did you end up in Pendleton?”

  Zane considered her question. His youthful adventures in Texas seemed like a lifetime ago. So much had changed since the day he left the ranch. “Well, the short version of that story is my best friend crashed his plane and is in the veteran’s hospital in Portland. I’ve got four days of leave and want to make sure he’s doing better than how I think he’s probably faring.”

  Mrs. Wilkerson shot a concerned glance his way. “Oh, gracious. I’m so sorry, Lieutenant. Is he in a bad way?”

  “Can’t rightly say, ma’am. The last letter I had from Rock was more than a month ago and he wasn’t doing well then. I just have to make sure he’s not knocking on death’s door before I ship out next week.”

  “Where are you stationed?”

  Zane watched the woman’s knitting needles flash in the afternoon sunlight streaming in the window. The sight of something so simple, so domestic, loosened one of the coils of tension tightly wrapped around his midsection. “I’ve been in Hawaii for more than a year, but a little accident left me with time to kill until the powers that be let me get back in a plane, so I’ve been training pilots in Pendleton.”

  Mrs. Wilkerson’s needles stilled and her eyes widened. “Were you at Pearl Harbor?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  “I was, ma’am.” Zane didn’t like to think about that day, about the screams and the horror, the explosions and death. He’d jumped in a plane and chased after the enemy in such a hurry, it wasn’t until he’d returned to the ground that he’d realized he wore only a pair of pajama bottoms with his boots.

  The old woman jammed her knitting needles into the blanket she was making and reached over to him, placing her hands on top of his. With a strong, comforting squeeze that belied her frail outer shell, she offered him a look of gratitude. “Thank you, dear boy, for whatever you did that day and each day since.”

  Emotion threatened to claw up Zane’s throat, so he swallowed it down and forced a charming smile, one that displayed his dimples and gave him a boyish appearance. “It’s my honor to serve our country, just like the next fella.”

  Mrs. Wilkerson scoffed and picked up her needles again. “Don’t feed that bosh to me. Why, my granddaughter’s husband said he watched one of his coworkers run his trigger finger through a buzz saw just so he wouldn’t have to go to war.”

  Zane didn’t know what to say in polite company about such blatant displays of cowardice. It irked him that some people failed to stand up like real men and do what was right, especially when the country needed every able-bodied man to join the fight. He’d seen too many good, brave men die to be able to fathom such a spineless act. Yet, he easily pictured his lone sibling doing something that cowardly to get out of serving.

  Unwilling to dwell on thoughts of his brother, he looked to Mrs. Wilkerson again. “You said your granddaughter’s husband just left for training at Fort Lewis. Is that right?”

  The woman nodded. “Yes. He waited until Jenny had the baby before he left, but little Miller is only four weeks old. The poor girl is nearly beside herself what with a newborn to care for and her husband heading off to war.”

  “You’re going to stay with her a while?” Zane asked, reaching out and fingering the edge of the blanket. The yarn was so soft it almost felt like fuzz from a cattail.

  Mrs. Wilkerson gave him a knowing smile as he rubbed his fingers over the yarn. “I plan to stay as long as she’ll have me. I might be getting a little long in the tooth, but I can still cook and clean, and rock a baby to sleep.” She released a sigh full of longing. “I can hardly wait to see Jenny and Miller.”

  “She’s probably anxious to see you, too.” Zane smiled at her then gave the waterfall one more glance before it disappeared from his line of vision.

  “The natives tell stories about that waterfall,” Mrs. Wilkerson said, eying him as she added more stitches to the blanket. “One legend, my favorite, says it was created by a handsome brave to give a young maiden, his true love, a private place to bathe.”

  Zane smirked. “I reckon I can see why that one might be a favored story, especially among women. What’s the other legend?”

  The old woman’s brow wrinkled into a frown. “It’s not a very happy story. You see, the chief had several sons and one daughter. The sons all died in battle, so he cherished his beautiful girl. Only the best would do when it was time for her to take a husband, so he chose a young chief from a neighboring tribe. The two tribes gathered together to celebrate the wedding, but people began to fall ill. Many suggested a sacrifice was needed, but the chief dismissed the idea. His daughter, who was caring for the ill, decided to offer
herself as a sacrifice in hopes of saving her people. She made her way to the cliff and jumped to her death on the rocks below. The sickness immediately departed from those gathered, but the young chief frantically searched for his love. He found her broken body at the base of the cliff. The tribe descended the rocks below the cliff to bury her. When the deed was done, her father called to the spirits for a sign that they’d welcomed his daughter’s spirit. The sound of water reached them just before it cascaded over the cliff and it has run without stopping since.”

  “You’re right. I like the first one better,” he said, thinking of the sad story.

  Before he could delve into a new topic of conversation, Mrs. Wilkinson gave him another studying glance. “You said you were injured. Have you fully recovered?”

  “Yes, ma’am. My plane was shot down back in March. Took a chunk of metal through my thigh and I’ve been out of commission while it healed. I figured I could be doing something useful instead of sitting around, so that’s how I ended up in Pendleton, training new pilots. From Portland, I’ll be returning to my previous post in Hawaii.”

  “Have you seen many of the islands there?” she asked, looking at him inquisitively.

  “I have. It sure is a pretty place, but about as different from our Texas ranch as a thoroughbred from a flat-footed mule.”

  The old woman laughed. “I suppose so.”

  Zane had no desire to answer questions about his brother, the ranch, or the war. “Now, tell me more about you. Didn’t you mention some other grandchildren?”

  By the time the train rocked to a stop at the depot in Portland, he’d learned all about her family, how long she’d been a widow, and her hopes of staying in Portland because the winters in Pendleton were too cold for her old bones, or so she said.

  Zane reached out to steady Mrs. Wilkerson as she got to her feet. He slipped his duffle bag over his shoulder then took her suitcase and carried it while keeping one hand beneath her elbow. Slowly, they made their way off the train, across the platform, and into the jostling crowd.

  “Do you see your granddaughter?” he asked, lifting his head and searching the sea of faces, having no idea what the granddaughter looked like other than the brief description the old woman had given him.

  “There! That’s her over there.” Mrs. Wilkerson flapped her now-gloved fingers in the direction of a young woman holding a wailing baby.

  Zane stepped forward with a determined look on his face and unyielding set to his broad shoulders. His commanding presence parted the crowd just enough he could guide Mrs. Wilkerson to her granddaughter.

  “Jenny! Oh, it’s so good to see you, my darling,” Mrs. Wilkerson said, wrapping her arms around an attractive young woman with brown hair pinned in the popular Victory roll style. She appeared fashionably attired, yet weary. Tears welled in her brown eyes as she and her grandmother embraced.

  Zane figured he’d carry Mrs. Wilkerson’s suitcase to the car for her then see about finding transportation to the hospital. After he checked on Rock and spent a few days ensuring his buddy was well, he’d make his way to California where he’d fly back to Hawaii and report for duty.

  “Who is this, Grandma?” the young woman asked, dabbing her tears on the edge of a yellow flannel baby blanket. The tiny baby in her arms continued to fuss.

  Mrs. Wilkerson shoved the big handbag she carried at Zane then took her great-grandson in her arms, cuddling him close. The baby stopped crying almost immediately and the old woman released a pleased sigh.

  “That’s better,” she said, then smiled at Zane. “Lieutenant Zane West, this is my granddaughter Jenny Matthews.”

  Zane tipped his head to the young woman. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Matthews.”

  Jenny smiled and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “Still picking up strays, Grandma?”

  “Not at all, my dear. The lieutenant kept me entertained on the train ride and gallantly escorted me through this ridiculous crowd. Now, let’s get Miller out of all this noise. Goodness only knows what germs are floating around.”

  Jenny offered her grandmother an indulgent look and took the handbag from Zane. “My car is parked over there. I managed to get a good spot, but it meant arriving a little early. That’s why Miller is fussing.”

  “Oh, he’ll be just fine until we get home.” Mrs. Wilkerson glanced back to make sure Zane followed them.

  “Here’s your suitcase, Mrs. Wilkerson,” he said, setting it inside the trunk Jenny had opened. “It was a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  The old woman refused to let him leave. “Now, don’t you go running off, young man. Do you have a ride to the hospital?”

  Zane took a step back. “I don’t, but it’s easy enough to hire a car to take me there.”

  “I won’t hear of it.” She turned to her granddaughter. “Jenny, we must give Lieutenant West a ride to the veteran’s hospital.”

  “Sure, Grandma. It’s no trouble, but I’ll warn you, the baby may get a little loud before we get there.” Jenny offered Zane a friendly smile and motioned for him to climb in the car.

  “I don’t want to be an imposition.” Zane took another step back. “You should head home and take care of the baby.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Wilkerson said, somehow managing to hold the baby, tug on Zane’s sleeve, and open the car door. “Miller will be perfectly fine. Besides, Jenny doesn’t live that far out of the way from the hospital, do you, dear?”

  Zane had an idea Jenny lived a long way from the hospital, but she merely nodded in agreement.

  “Please, sir, allow us to give you a ride.” Jenny’s eyes filled with tears again. “I’d like to think someone somewhere will pay a kindness to my husband. This is my small way of returning the favor. You wouldn’t want to deprive me of that, would you?”

  “Well,” Zane rubbed the back of his neck, knowing he had no choice but to ride with them. “If you’re sure it’s not going to put you out and upset the little buckaroo, the ride would be most appreciated.”

  Jenny smiled and helped her grandmother onto the front seat as Zane opened the back door of her sedan and tossed his bag onto the floor on the other side. He waited until Jenny was settled behind the wheel before he slid onto the backseat.

  On the drive to the hospital, he asked Jenny about her husband, where he’d worked, how long they’d been married, and how she liked living in Portland. Twenty minutes later, she pulled up at the curb outside the hospital. The baby had fallen asleep and remained quiet as Zane got out of the car and retrieved his bag. He bent down and leaned in the window, rubbing a gentle finger over Miller’s plump cheek.

  “You take care of this guy. His daddy has plenty of reasons to fight hard to come back home and watch him grow up to be a good man.”

  Jenny sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief while Mrs. Wilkerson reached out and patted Zane’s hand. “Be careful, Lieutenant, and take good care of yourself. If you’re ever back in Portland, I hope you’ll come visit us.”

  “I might just do that,” he said with a grin. He slipped a piece of paper with Jenny’s phone number and address into his shirt pocket. With one long stride backward, he lifted a hand and waved at the two women as they left.

  Zane removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair before settling it back on his head. He straightened his tie, brushed the front of his shirt, then swung his bag onto his shoulder and headed up the hospital steps.

  It took him ten minutes of inquiries to locate the floor where someone thought he’d find Rock. The prevailing stench of sickness, fear, and desperation mingled with the pungent odors of chemicals used to sanitize and sterilize, making him want to wrinkle his nose and rush outside for fresh air.

  Regardless of the location, it seemed hospitals all smelled the same. He’d spent a few weeks in one when he’d injured his leg and couldn’t wait to get out. Considering the months Rock had been a patient, he couldn’t even begin to think about how much his friend must want to leave.

  He w
alked up to the nurse’s station and waited. The nurse had her back to him, jotting down notes on a chart. The woman was short in stature, but plenty of curves were evident beneath her uniform. Hair the color of summer wheat coiled into curls at the back of her head and around the edges of her nurse’s cap.

  A slight whiff of perfume, one he recognized as a popular choice among the females he’d been around the last few years, tickled his nose. On this woman, though, it held a deeper, richer fragrance of spices flirting with citrus-infused bouquets. If he had plans to be in town more than a few days, he might even ask the woman on a date. As it was, he tried to keep from being distracted by females. Married to his career and dedicated to serving in the war, he didn’t have time left over for courting.

  Impatient to see Rock, Zane cleared his throat. The woman spun around, stealing his breath as his gaze collided with hers. Big green eyes the color of moss glimmered behind thick lashes. A pert little nose and pink lips added to the flawlessness of her face. She might not be any bigger than a minute, but the nurse was stunning. If she hadn’t been wearing a crisp, white uniform, he might have taken her for a pin-up girl.

  When she smiled at him, he felt his mouth stretch into a broad grin. “Howdy, miss.”

  “Howdy yourself,” she said, cocking an eyebrow. “May I help you?”

  A dozen various lines guaranteed to earn him a smack across the face floated through his mind, but he merely snatched the hat off his head and nodded. “I sure hope you can. I’m here to see a good friend, Captain Rock Laroux. Would you please point me in the direction of his room?”

  The color drained from the woman’s face and she reached behind her toward a file-strewn desk, seeking a means of support.

  “What’s wrong?” Zane asked, unsettled by the growing sense of alarm rapidly rising in his chest. “Where’s Rock?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but Captain Laroux is…” She pressed a hand to her throat and blinked back tears. “He’s gone.”

  Zane slumped against the counter in front of him, unable to accept the fact a man who was closer to him than his own brother was dead. He couldn’t be. Wouldn’t he know if that was true? Wouldn’t he have felt something at Rock’s passing?