Dream of Her Heart

by Shanna Hatfield

  The key to victory in the Pacific was the ability to build functioning airfields on newly-captured territory as quickly as possible. The Marston mat was basically perforated steel planks capable of being locked together at the edges. The perforations reduced the weight of the planks, offered improved traction for tires, and permitted drainage which was necessary in the tropical islands. The mat was generally laid over crushed rock or coral, but in a pinch, was tossed out over what was available. Reportedly, the Marston mat runway at Guadalcanal, which frequently received damage from five-hundred pound bombs dropped by the Japanese, could be repaired in less than an hour. Trucks loaded with sand and gravel were concealed near the runway along with foxholes for repair crews and premeasured packages of Marston mat. Once a bomb detonated and destroyed a section of mat, it could be removed, new gravel dumped into the crater, packed down with pneumatic hammers, and a replacement mat set, leaving behind no evidence of where it had been hit.

  As I was digging through research, I happened to notice a mention of cattle rustling being a problem during the war. I’d never given it a thought, but I could see how, with meat rationed, people would turn to stealing beef and selling it through illegal means. One account said rustlers would come in, steal a dozen head of cattle, have it butchered and delivered before anyone noticed the cattle were missing.

  Another tidbit of war history comes from the milkweed floss found in the plant’s pods. In the early twentieth century, the typical filler for life preservers was a material called “kapok.” Cultivated from the rainforests of Asia, kapok was a cottony fiber extracted from the pods of the ceiba tree. America’s primary source for this material was the Dutch East Indies (present-day Indonesia).

  Then, in 1937, came Japan’s invasion of China, which initiated World War II in the Pacific. By the time the U.S. entered the war four years later, access to Asian kapok had been effectively cut off. A replacement for this critical material was needed to protect airmen and seamen from drowning and it was discovered milkweed floss served as a substitute fiber. Many states, and even parts of Canada, participated in a campaign to gather milkweed floss which served as a replacement for the no longer available kapok.

  The slogan “Two bags save one life” summed up the main mission of collecting milkweed pods. The floss harvested from two bags of milkweed pods would fill one life jacket. Milkweed floss was also used to line flight suits.

  Although most of the collection of pods took place in eastern states, I decided it was something perfect for Petey Phillips to do.

  I started the story with Zane traveling on a train past a beautiful waterfall because I could just so clearly picture the way he might have looked at it with awe. Multnomah Falls is the inspiration for the waterfall. If you’ve never seen it and ever find yourself in Portland, it truly is gorgeous and worth the trip out of town to take a look. As for the legends Mrs. Wilkerson shared in the story, they were two I actually found when I searched online. I agree with Zane and Mrs. Wilkerson, though — I much prefer the romantic version than the sad story.

  The mention of Zane and his brother finding a mammoth bone was inspired by a bone my dad found on our farm when I was quite young. He ended up with his photo in the newspaper for the discovery and that mention is a little nod to my dad that I remembered him finding that bone.

  Have you ever thought about how potato chips were packaged before they came in such handy, disposable bags? I hadn’t either until I wrote in the picnic scene where Zane set out bottles of Coca-Cola, sandwiches and chips. First, I had to confirm chips were not only in production then, but readily available. Then I had to figure out how they were packaged. I found several fun photos of potato chip tins from the 1940s.

  The slang tossed around in the story is fun to write and largely comes from lists of slang popular back in the day. In this story, I think one of my favorites was the men teasing Zane about getting a “sugar report,” also known as a letter from his girl.

  While I’m on the subject of letters, I had no idea about V-mail until I began writing this story. What an innovative thing it was! People could use special forms, mail a letter and that letter would then be photographed and the canisters sent to the appropriate areas where the film was developed, printed and delivered — all in a few short weeks.

  When I was trying to decide if Billie would remain at the veteran’s hospital or join the Nurse’s Corp, I have to tell you… some of the stories I read about the nurses who served during World War II just filled me with so much admiration for what these women did. Many, many of them went far and above the call of duty in their service to their country and the soldiers in their care.

  One day, while I was looking through images of Japanese internment camps, I happened upon a photo of a little boy sitting on the ground, a comic book beneath his legs and an identification tag attached to his shirt. Another image showed a little girl proudly waving a little American flag. Talk about a lump in your throat. I combined the two images into one for the purposes of the story, but the raw emotion of what those children endured is incredibly real.

  I couldn’t write this story without somehow incorporating a little about the characters from Home of Her Heart in it, so it worked well to share about Klayne’s time spent in the hospital recuperating under Billie’s care. In Home of Her Heart, that part of the story is mostly bypassed, so it was good to bring that back around to show Klayne from Billie’s perspective — bushy beard, wild hair and all! Can’t you just picture Zane hanging out at Sage Hills Ranch, riding and chasing cattle when he had a day off from his work at the airfield? And I loved being able to give Petey a visit to see Ryatt and the ranch.

  As always, dear reader, I so appreciate you going on this adventure with me. I hope you’ve enjoyed another journey back to the days of World War II and reading about the good hearts that helped win the war.

  Thank you for reading Dream of Her Heart. I hope you enjoyed Zane and Billie’s story. I’d be so appreciative if you’d share a review so other readers might discover the heart and history shared in this series. Even a line or two is appreciated more than you can know.

  Read the rest of the books in the

  Hearts of the War series today!

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  Books by Shanna Hatfield

  FICTION

  HISTORICAL

  Baker City Brides

  Tad’s Treasure

  Crumpets and Cowpies

  Thimbles and Thistles

  Corsets and Cuffs

  Bobbins and Boots

  Lightning and Lawmen

  Pendleton Petticoats

  Dacey

  Aundy

  Caterina

  Ilsa

  Marnie

  Lacy

  Bertie

  Millie

  Dally

  Quinn

  Hearts of the War

  Garden of Her Heart

  Home of Her Heart

  Dream of Her Heart

  Hardman Holidays

  The Christmas Bargain

  The Christmas Token

  The Christmas Calamity

  The Christmas Vow

  The Christmas Quandary

  The Christmas Confection

  CONTEMPORARY

  Blown Into Romance

  Learnin’ The Ropes

  Love at the 20-Yard Line

  QR Code Killer

  Rose

  Saving Mistletoe

  Taste of
Tara

  Grass Valley Cowboys

  The Cowboy’s Christmas Plan

  The Cowboy’s Spring Romance

  The Cowboy’s Summer Love

  The Cowboy’s Autumn Fall

  The Cowboy’s New Heart

  The Cowboy’s Last Goodbye

  Holiday Brides

  Valentine Bride

  Summer Bride

  Rodeo Romance

  The Christmas Cowboy

  Wrestlin’ Christmas

  Capturing Christmas

  Barreling Through Christmas

  Chasing Christmas

  Racing Christmas

  Silverton Sweethearts

  The Coffee Girl

  The Christmas Crusade

  Untangling Christmas

  The Women of Tenacity

  A Prelude (Short Story)

  Heart of Clay

  Country Boy vs. City Girl

  Not His Type

  CHILDREN’S BOOKS

  Steve the Mule

  NONFICTION

  Farm Girl

  Fifty Dates with Captain Cavedweller

  Recipes of Love

  Savvy Entertaining

  Savvy Autumn Entertaining

  Savvy Holiday Entertaining

  Savvy Spring Entertaining

  Savvy Summer Entertaining

  Blown Into Romance — Artist Brooke Roberts spent her life without roots, wandering from town to town. When she seeks refuge from a freak storm in the town of Romance, she decides to stay and open a blown glass studio. Determined to immerse herself in the community, she adopts a family of pigs. Brooke is unprepared for the chaos and comfort they bring to her world, or the dashing cowboy who rescues her heart.

  Solid, dependable Blayne Grundy runs a busy ranch, volunteers on various committees, and takes in stray animals too large to stay at the local animal rescue. Then a chance encounter with a beautiful, beguiling woman leaves him so befuddled, he can barely remember his own name. His predictable organized life is about to be blown away by free-spirited Brooke.

  A sweet, lighthearted novella, Blown Into Romance highlights the mighty power of love and letting go

  Turn the page for a fun excerpt…

  Chapter One

  Glass pumpkins reflected and refracted the bright October morning light as they marched in rows down a long table. A few stragglers nestled into rough barnwood crates lent a rustic, avant-garde flair to the display.

  Brooke Roberts ran one long, tapered finger across an amber-hued pumpkin, tracing the curve of the glass she’d painstakingly shaped and blown.

  “I sure hope someone purchases a few of these pumpkins,” she whispered to herself, hoping she wouldn’t have to pack dozens of them back to her studio. Although she was new to the town of Romance, she already loved the tight-knit community. When she heard about the Fall Festival, an event to raise funds for Finding Forever Animal Rescue, she eagerly volunteered to have a booth.

  Two months ago, she’d been on her way to Portland from Santa Cruz when a freak summer storm forced her to stop. Relentless torrents of rain pelted her windshield and the wind whipped so hard, it blew her right into the town of Romance. Della’s Diner provided a place of refuge from the storm. Brooke stayed for lunch, indulged in a piece of marionberry pie, and decided she’d found her new home. The pie was incredible, among the best she’d ever tasted. But the decision to move to the friendly town came from watching the people in the diner, how they all seemed to care about one another, encourage each other, and laugh together.

  After spending most of her life alone, Brooke felt an indescribable need to be part of something, to belong somewhere. The Fall Festival provided a perfect opportunity for her to delve into the new experience of participating in a joint community effort.

  A quick glance at her watch confirmed she had time before the official start of the event to peek at some of the other booths. She wandered past a cakewalk booth where two women placed numbered pumpkin shapes on the ground. They appeared ready for the youngsters and young at heart who’d try to win one of the cakes loading down a nearby table.

  “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Brooke said to a lovely young woman with auburn hair.

  “It certainly is.” The woman responded with a smile and held out a hand to Brooke. “I’m Audrey Foster, and this is my sister-in-law, Allie.”

  “Brooke Roberts,” she said, shaking Audrey’s hand then Allie’s. “Those cakes look delicious.”

  Allie nudged Audrey. “Hopefully we’ll have enough to get through the day.”

  “Is this usually a well-attended event?” Brooke asked, taking in the assortment of booths around the town square.

  “It typically is a great event, especially when the weather cooperates like it is today,” Allie said, then looked beyond Brooke to her booth across the way. “Is that your booth?”

  Brooke nodded. “I’m fairly new in town, but I recently opened Blown Away, a blown glass studio.”

  “I think I saw something about that in the newspaper’s business section,” Audrey said. “If that’s a sample of your work, it’s amazing.” She motioned to the display of pumpkins.

  “Thank you.” Brooke visited a few minutes with the two women. Audrey was a therapist while Allie and her husband were veterinarians at Happy Paws Animal Hospital.

  “Come back later and see if you can win a cake,” Audrey said when Brooke wished them well and left their booth.

  Luck had never been on her side, so Brooke had no plans to indulge in games of chance. She continued on her way, observing booths set up to sell cider, caramel apples, and German sausages that smelled delicious in the crisp morning air.

  Staff from a local radio station set up near the gazebo where people would gather around to dance and celebrate such a glorious fall day.

  Volunteers hurried in and out of a large tent where they settled the animals available for adoption. Brooke had always wanted a pet, but with her nomadic lifestyle, she’d never owned one. She rarely stayed in one town more than a year, packing up and moving to the next place that sounded interesting. However, Romance called to her to set down roots. This was the first time she’d opened her own studio, rather than renting space in a larger collective of artists.

  The thought of a dog or cat to keep her company held a great deal of appeal. Perhaps later, after the festival, she could look into adopting an animal. Surely, someone in the adoption tent would give her basic directions. She’d never cared for anyone or anything except herself — at least not for a long time.

  Brooke watched the vendors making final preparations, drawn into their palpable energy as she headed for the street directly behind her booth. The city had blocked off the street around the square for the festival, giving pedestrians more room to walk and additional spaces for booths. As she stepped off the curb and into the street, a group of ponies being led to the pony ride area caught her eye, leaving her oblivious to anything else around her.

  “Hey, watch out! Get out of the way!” a man yelled to her immediate right. His deep, gravelly voice held a mixture of frustration and fear. “Whoa, Girl. Pull up there, Boy!”

  Brooke’s head snapped up as two huge beasts came to an abrupt stop a few feet away from her, tossing massive heads and blowing puffs of air as they jangled shiny harnesses. Startled, she jumped back and tripped. A quick grab for a metal pole holding a traffic sign was all that kept her from falling onto her backside.

  Heart thundering in her ears, she glared at the horses, noticing they pulled a large red wagon with hay bales on it, presumably for the hayrides she’d seen advertised. The angle of the sun shone right in her eyes, making it impossible to see the man driving the team of horses. If his voice was any indication, he was probably a grizzled old man, short on patience and full of cantankerous wisdom.

  Brooke couldn’t help but cringe at how she’d blindly stepped right in front of the hulking team. Rather than feeling irritated at the driver for yelling at her, she should be grateful he�
�d caught her attention and brought the horses to a halt before she got hurt.

  Never, not once in any of the towns where she’d resided, had being trampled by horses been a relevant concern. In fact, this was the closest Brooke had ever been to a horse. The unique smell of them drifted to her, along with the hint of cinnamon wafting on the breeze from the cider booth.

  “Are you crazy, lady?” the man asked, although his censorious tone made it sound more like a definitive statement than a question.

  “No, I just… I wasn’t…” Brooke stammered. Blunt and never at a loss for words, the ability for her to speak coherently fled the moment the driver swung off the wagon in one fluid motion.

  Instead of the old man she’d pictured with salt-and-pepper stubble on his face and a rotund belly draping over his waistband, a rugged cowboy covered the distance to her in a few long-legged strides. She gauged him to be around thirty as he turned startling blue eyes on her, pinning her with a cool glare.

  Brooke might have bristled at his look, except his handsome face distracted her, right along with his broad shoulders and solid chest. Dark blue jeans covered the heavy muscles of his thighs and stacked over his dusty boots. Didn’t guys only look like that in the movies or in big glossy advertisements?

  Even covered by his black western shirt, the outline of his biceps were easy to detect. The muscles bulged as he stood with his gloved hands fisted at his waist, as though he saw her as a misbehaving child in need of discipline.

  “You better pay more attention to where you’re going, miss, or you might get hurt.” As though he just realized he wasn’t speaking to a ten-year-old, his scowl lifted into a rascally grin. “Anyone as pretty as you most certainly shouldn’t end up as road kill.”

  Aggravated with his flirting, Brooke narrowed her gaze, all too aware of his brilliant smile, the entirely too alluring cleft in his chin, and the dark brown hair barely visible beneath the brim of his hat. “So, if I was homely, it would be okay for your horses to run right over the top of me? Is that what you mean?”