Jack and Amy returned to the table, full of good humor.
Fran reached for her rum and Coke and quickly finished it. She always felt awkward in social settings until she had a couple of drinks under her belt. Holding up her glass to Red, she said, “Another, please.”
Good-naturedly, Red took her glass. “Anyone else?”
“I’ll take another beer.” Jack reached to his back pocket for his wallet.
“Save it. You can buy the next one.” Red turned to Amy. “You good?”
Amy put her hand over her drink. “I’m fine.”
Red nodded. “Be back in a minute.” He ambled off in his slow easy stride, stopping on the way to chat with several acquaintances.
Feeling self-conscious, Fran avoided eye contact with Jack and turned toward Amy instead.
“What’s your opinion of the band?”
“They’re great. They know all the popular tunes.”
Amy glanced to Jack. “What do you think?”
He shrugged. “They sound okay to me. But seeing you ladies move, I imagine you can dance up a storm regardless of who’s playing.”
“I’m an amateur compared to Fran,” Amy said. “When they play the swing songs and she has the right partner, she’s amazing to watch. I’ve seen her jitterbug with her brother, and you’d think they were professionals.”
Fran flushed. “Amy’s exaggerating. I just like to dance is all.”
Jack’s eyes focused on her. “I do too. Dancing makes my bones feel good.”
Amy snorted. “Seems like I’ve heard that somewhere before.”
Jack appeared puzzled.
“Fran’s always saying the same when she drags me out onto the dance floor for the umpteenth time in a row.” Amy paused when the crowd began to holler and clap as the band returned from their break and struck up another set.
Fran’s fingers began tapping out the beat on the Formica table. “There’s my favorite song. I sure wish Red would hurry up, I hate to miss it.” She craned her neck to see if he was anywhere in sight.
Jack stood and held out his hand to her. “Would you like to dance?”
Fran stared at it as if it belonged to an axe murderer. Then, she raised her eyes to his. “No. Um. That’s all right. I’m sure Amy would prefer to dance with you.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
Amy sputtered, her face turning red. “No. You two dance. I’ll hold the table until Red gets back.”
Fran frowned. She hadn’t meant to embarrass her friend.
Jack studied her with a perplexed expression, his hand still extended in invitation.
Flustered, she bumped the edge of the table as she rose almost spilling their drinks. Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. The butterflies in her stomach were having a hay day. She seriously hoped her nerves didn’t have her stumbling all over her feet and, God forbid, Jack’s as well.
Jack moved his way into the center of the crowded dance floor, turned, and with a cocky grin said, “Are you ready to show them what we can do?”
Mesmerized by the light of his smile and the mischievous sparkle in his baby blues, it took her a moment to respond. Then grinning back at him, she smirked. “Just see if you can keep up, sailor boy.”
Jack’s lips twitched. Then with a quick flick of his wrist, he’d flung her out away from him and began moving with the beat.
Soon, the dancers on the floor stepped back giving them more room to move about. Fran’s heart thrilled with excitement. This man could dance. Truly dance. She almost had to struggle to keep up. Almost.
Her heart began to swell with the wonderful sense of freedom she always felt when on the dance floor. For some reason, she found herself able to step out of her shy self and move with confidence and ease.
“Ready?” he said, bringing her out of her thoughts.
She knew instinctively his next move. One minute her feet were on the ground, the next they were high in the air. He lifted, tossed, and swung her around his back and through his legs. The crowd roared.
Suddenly the music stopped and he slid her down his body, holding her just a breath away. His blue eyes, filled with admiration, met and held hers before he set her on her feet. They turned, his left hand in her right, and bowed.
Everyone hooted and hollered and before Fran could move off the floor, he pulled her into his arms. A slow song had begun. “The next one’s mine, too.”
And before she could naysay him, she was in his arms, and all thoughts of sitting down fled from her brain.
Chapter 4
Jack held Fran close and pressed her cheek against his woolen-clad shoulder as the song “You Would Be So Nice to Come Home To” began to play. His heart beat in rhythm with hers–still pounding from the vigorous dance and perhaps as in her case—something a little, or unfortunately a lot more. The scent of his spicy cologne mingled with his body heat filled her nostrils. He had a unique smell that she tried desperately to ignore.
“Thank you for the dance,” she managed to say past the lump in her throat and the turbulent emotions swirling around inside her.
“It was my utmost pleasure. You’re a terrific dancer,” he said close to her ear, his breath sending ripples of pleasure down her spine. His hand on her back eased up, allowing for more distance between them. His mesmerizing eyes beamed down at her. His warm fingers squeezed hers.
His praise soothed her. “A dancer is only as good as her partner. I’d say we’re evenly matched.”
“Hm, modest as well. I’m beginning to understand why Red thinks you’re a paragon of virtue. I’ve wanted to meet you for months.” His eyes darkened with an unnamed emotion. “Red told me so many amusing stories about you and Amy that I feel as though I’ve known you for a long time.”
“I can just imagine what he said about me, but don’t you believe a word of it.” She paused and then backpedalled. “Well . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe only half of it.”
“I know this may sound crazy, but when I first saw you standing on the stairs earlier tonight, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu hit me–as if we’d met before, but I’d recall if we had.”
Struck by his words, her thoughts scrambled to process them. Should she admit to feeling the same thing? That she’d felt an immediate connection to him. Her heart wanted to voice agreement. Her logical brain overruled it. He probably used that line on every woman he met–and was successful with it, to boot. No. She most definitely wouldn’t fall hook, line, and sinker for his smooth words. Besides, even if he meant every one of them, there was Amy to consider.
“No, I’m sure we’ve never met before. You’re the kind of guy most women remember.”
“Oh . . .” His right brow raised a fraction of an inch. “And just what kind of guy is that?”
She shook her head and gave him a deprecating smile. “You know exactly what kind of guy. The type . . .” She angled her chin and pursed her lips, considering. “How did Red put it? Oh, yeah. Women fall at your feet, type.”
“Red exaggerates.”
“Yes, he does. But I think not in this case.”
“You don’t cut a guy any slack, do you?”
“Not at all.” She quirked her lips. “I’m not most girls.”
“I think I knew that the moment I saw you. You probably won’t believe this, but I meant every word I said earlier.” He pulled her close again as the final strains of the song began to play. She fell silent when he began to sing in her ear the words to “You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To.”
Emotions a jumble, she followed one step behind Jack as they wound their way through the noisy crowd moving off the dance floor. She noted his broad-shouldered back with admiration and gave no thought to her friends until Jack came to a sta
ndstill in front of their table. She stepped around to his side, her hand clasped in his.
Both Red and Amy were silent, their faces grim.
Self-conscious and feeling guilty, she dropped Jack’s hand and attempted a stoic expression. She glanced from Red to Amy and blurted, “Hey, who died? We’re having fun here, remember?” She picked up her drink, took a deep swallow, and threw Jack a pleading look.
He responded right on cue, “Your turn.” He bowed to Amy and gave her a heart-melting grin. “Shall we dance, pretty lady?”
Amy hesitated a mere second before leaping to her feet and taking his hand.
Fran and Red watched the pair disappear into the mass of couples.
“I knew I shouldn’t have brought him home with me.” Red shook his head and sighed as if disgusted with himself, and maybe a little with her.
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“You can’t kid me, Frannie girl. I saw the way you and Jack were eyeing each other. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you ogle me that way. Matter of fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Jack look at a woman that way either.”
A sudden warmth blossomed in her chest. Could Jack really have meant what he said? She turned to watch the couple on the dance floor. Amy’s face lit with joy as Jack swung her around.
The feeling in Fran’s chest subsided. Amy had been her best friend since grade school. She loved her like a sister. She promised her she’d never let a guy come between them, and somehow, Fran knew if she pursued her feelings for Jack, Amy would be hurt, feel betrayed. And no guy, not even one with whom she felt a strong connection, was worth the loss of her best friend.
“Don’t be silly.” Fran swatted at Red’s hand that lay on the table. “You’re crazy if you think I’m interested in Jack or he’s interested in me. Heavens, Red. All we did was dance.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ve got two eyes you know. And you didn’t just dance.”
“Okay, if you say so. But I think you’re being ridiculous. Jack’s danced more tonight with Amy than with me. They’re cute together.”
Red hooted. “My dear girl, that’s the first time anyone’s ever described Jack as cute. Cute he is not.”
She shook her head at Red, disgusted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s just drop it? I’m not in any way interested in your friend. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Okay.” Red held up his hand. “Peace. I didn’t mean to get your dander up. If you say you’re not interested in Jack, I believe you.” His doubtful expression belied his words.
“Good, now that we’ve got that covered, how about a last dance. Then we need to leave. I’ve got to be at the Red Cross at nine in the morning.”
Red stood. “After you.”
It was almost twelve-thirty when they left the bar. Red, Amy, and Jack joked all the way home. Fran remained unusually quiet. She should have enjoyed the evening, but she hadn’t. She felt emotionally out of kilter and just plain tired. Mentally, she groaned at Red’s attempts to draw her into conversation.
“Party pooper,” he complained.
Fran just made a face at him. “Just drive, James.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Red tipped his cap.
He stopped the car in front of Fran’s house and parked under the street lamp, then reached for his door latch.
“There’s no need to get out,” Fran insisted, her hand already pushing the door open. The last thing she wanted was Red escorting her to the house and trying to kiss her goodnight. “I had a great time, guys. I’ll see you later, Ames.” She avoided glancing at Jack. Quickly, she hopped out of the vehicle and hurried up the sidewalk.
She turned when she reached the porch to wave.
The streetlight illuminated Jack’s face as he stared through the back-passenger side window. His gaze met hers. Then he winked and gave her a cocky salute. “See you tomorrow,” he mouthed.
She shook her head at him. Not if I can help it.
He was still grinning when the car pulled away.
Chapter 5
A chorus of hellos greeted Fran when she entered The Red Cross building. She and her mother volunteered half a day, the third Saturday of each month to roll bandages for the wounded.
“Hey, Fran,” Mrs. Carroll, a neighbor called. “Where’s your mom?”
Fran turned to respond to her and froze. She blinked to clear her vision sure she must still be dreaming. Jack couldn’t possibly be standing next to Mrs. Carroll, could he? She opened her eyes again to discover that he was no apparition. He appeared as fresh as a daisy and as handsome as ever. While she felt, and no doubt looked, like something you’d scrape of the bottom of your shoe. Oh God, she could just die.
She’d tossed and turned last night, confused over her attraction to Jack, trying to figure out what to do about him, if anything. In the end, she decided the best course of action was to avoid him for the rest of the weekend. Then he’d go back to the city and she would never have to worry about seeing him again. Of course, if for some unearthly reason Amy decided that Jack wasn’t her type, well then, she’d rethink her decision.
She’d gotten up this morning plagued with a hangover. Not expecting to see anyone but her mother’s friends at the center, she’d pulled her hair into a pony tail and threw on some old clothes. Damn. She covered her face with her hands, thoroughly humiliated. No makeup.
“Fran?” Mrs. Carroll’s concern interrupted her thoughts. “Are you all right, dear?”
Hell no. She almost blurted, wishing she could crawl under the row of tables and back out the door.
She took a deep breath, removed her hands from her face, and nodded at her neighbor.
“I’m fine, just a little tired. I think I need another cup of coffee is all.”
“There’s a fresh pot in the back. You just run along and help yourself.”
“Thanks. I’ll do just that.” She stalked away refusing to acknowledge the tall male figure standing next to Mrs. Carroll.
“Oh, Fran, dear.”
She turned around just in time to catch Jack speaking to her neighbor.
“Yes, Mrs. Carroll.”
“You never did say whether your mother was coming.”
“No. She can’t make it today. Work called. One of her coworkers received a War Gram.” Fran didn’t need to elaborate any further.
Everyone fell silent for a moment.
She turned to slink off to the coffee urn at the rear of the building. Maybe she could slip out the back door, race home, change, apply makeup, and be back before anyone missed her. Sure.
“Fran,” Mrs. Carroll called again.
She sucked in her breath, not wanting to turn back. “Yes,” she said over her shoulder.
“Would you mind showing this nice young man where the coffee is? He’s come to help this morning. I’m sure he could use a good strong cup before we get started.”
She nodded and kept going. “Follow me,” she said ungraciously. Her legs ate up the floor in an attempt to put as much distance between herself and the nice young man.
She grabbed a mug and thrust it under the spigot. Her hand shook so much that the hot liquid sloshed over the edges of the cup, burning her fingers. She wrapped both hands around the mug to steady it. Ignoring Jack, who had come up behind her, she stepped over to stare out the backdoor window. Silently she sipped the bitter brew and stewed over Jack. How dare he just show up here and insert himself into her life after she made it abundantly clear she did not wish to become involved with him. He was putting her in a tenuous position. The unmitigated gall of the man—did he feel no loyalty to his friend?
“Good morning, Fran. How are you today? Any after effects from last night?”
Fuming, she grit her teeth and ignored him.
“Ah,” he said, sounding as though he’d just been enlightened. “Not a morning person, huh?”
She continued to ignore him angry that he made her want something she couldn’t have and wishing he’d leave to keep her from further humiliating herself. She didn’t want him to see her looking like crap.
She heard him sip his coffee.
Waiting him out no longer seemed like an option. It was clear he’d stand there all day if he had to. “What are you doing here?”
“Would you believe I came to roll bandages for my fellow soldiers?”
She pursed her lips then shook her head, still refusing to look at him. “Not in a month of Sundays.”
He laughed. “Are you going to turn around and face me? The view from behind isn’t bad but I’d much rather be speaking to your lovely face.”
She pressed the rim of her coffee mug to her forehead and groaned. “Would you just please leave? Please.” She cringed at her begging tone, but the last thing she needed was to spend a morning with this man. He was too damn appealing for his own good and hers, too. The attraction between them was like the opposite end of two magnets. The closer they got, the stronger the draw.
“Why?” he asked softly.
“Just because.”
“That’s not enough, Frannie girl. Give me a real reason to go and I will, but just because, doesn’t do it.”
Severely frustrated now, she turned without thinking about what she was doing. “Because I don’t want you here.” She raised her eyes to him. “I’m embarrassed, okay. You stroll in here this morning ready for a military inspection, and I, well, I . . .” She knew her face was turning beet red. She motioned with her hand. “Look like a beggar woman. Besides, you should be spending time with Amy.”
Cherished Wings (Return to the Home Front Book 1) Page 3
