The door of the pub opened, loosing the cheerful sound of many voices and the enticing smell of food, but still no light. It surprised her how much she missed street lights and headlights and windows spilling bright and heedless into the night. Mars would have been easier to face than this hunkered down, dark world.
Before the door could close, Mel slipped through it, then through the blackout curtains that separated the door from the rest of the pub. The inside was brightly lit and as cheerful as it sounded, despite dark wood walls. The floor of the lobby was wooden, and ahead she saw a staircase that she hoped led to a room she could stay in tonight. She considered trying for that room now, but the longing to sit down trumped everything.
She followed the sound to the bar and found a mix of locals, RAF and a small cluster of Yank pilots. The room was sharply divided, since the RAF didn’t like the Yanks and the Yanks didn’t like not being liked. There were a couple of women with the Yanks and none with the RAF—another reason why no one was getting along.
She didn't see Jack or Norm among the faces that turned her direction. She made her way to an empty stool at the end of the rustic bar, aware that multiple gazes followed her to her destination. The relief of sitting down trumped any self-consciousness. Mel didn't hesitate to pull off the hat that had grown tighter around her head with each hour. She kicked off her shoes and rubbed her aching feet together.
"What’ll you have, luv?" the bar maid asked, her gaze openly curious.
Mel probably needed food, but her stomach was still muttering bitterly about her last meal. Jack hadn’t briefed her on pubs. Did they stock soft drinks? Surely they’d have tea or coffee? Even if she’d been a consumer of alcohol, Jack had warned her not to imbibe. Alcohol didn’t mix well with a recently time-traveled body. She did know chocolate was rare by this time. For sure there’d be no Diet Dr. Pepper. War really was hell.
“Something hot. I’m so cold.” Mel didn’t like either tea or coffee, so couldn’t quite commit to either one.
"You're American."
"Yes." Did they all think she didn't know?
The girl looked curious, but there were other calls on her time. "Right then."
Mel smiled her thanks, tucked her hat in her purse, and tucked the purse down against the wall. When a cup appeared in front of her, she wrapped her cold hands around it and let the steam drift up to warm her face. Her insides still quivered from the shock of her first air raid, and she was aware she was suffering from what Jack had told her was time shock. She felt sluggish, alien and intensely homesick—to the point she thought she might throw up. And possibly a bit paranoid. She needed something familiar to hook her brain into, so she stared into her cup, as if it had the answer to all of life’s questions.
She took a cautious sip of the dark liquid, hoping it would settle her stomach. It did help some and, even better, warmed her insides a bit.
She felt cold air swirl around her legs and looked toward the doorway where she saw a cluster of men, more Yanks judging by their uniforms.
With a jolt, she recognized Norm among them, his cheeks ruddy with cold and his eyes bright with interest. He looked exactly like the photos of him in his uniform, except he was all color and vitality. And he was alive. Stocky and cheerful, the blue of his uniform lifted him into the realm of handsome, something he'd never really be to unbiased eyes. But his eyes were good-natured, kind and direct. Yes, she could see why Gran had lost her heart. He was perfect for her.
I wonder what he’d do if I said Hi, Gramps, Mel thought with an inward grin.
He moved to one side, and Mel found herself staring at Jack. Also like his photographs, none of them–or the meeting with Jack's older self–had prepared her for the vibrant reality of Jack in his prime. The uniform suited him disturbingly well, but even without it, he'd draw attention with his thick dark thatch of hair and bright blue eyes.
The bar maid approached him, her hip action sassy and inviting, drawing a quick, potent grin from him, one similar to the one from his pictures, but this live version stole her breath and made her heart contract in her chest.
As if he felt her gaze, he glanced around and saw her. For a long moment, he stared at her. She stared at him. She might have stopped breathing. It was possible her heart stopped beating. Now she knew what Jack hadn’t told her, why he’d looked at her the way he did. He wasn’t looking at her like he had—or was that would? Instead he looked puzzled and a bit intrigued. Did he see recognition in her eyes? Norm nudged him, said something with a grin. Jack laughed, but it didn’t look natural. When he started toward her, easing his way between the clusters of customers drifting back to their tables, she inhaled shakily. He should have warned me…
Jack stopped in front of her. She had to stop herself from saying his name.
“I know it sounds like a corny line, but have we met before?”
“It does rather sound like a line.” Without being told, her lips curved up in a smile. “And I wondered the same thing.”
"You're American." His delight seemed a bit out of proportion to her…American-ness.
"So everyone keeps telling me."
He indicated the empty stool next to her. “May I join you?”
In lieu of an answer, she scooted her chair over a few inches. This time she wasn’t surprised to find him sitting taller than her. His shoulder brushed against hers as he straddled the stool. There were other things to surprise and delight her, such as his vigor and vitality. And his…vigor. She gave a mental shake. She probably shouldn’t spend too much time pondering his…vigor. It wasn’t part of her mission brief. Though the side benefit of that pondering was a nice warming of her insides. It was the first time she’d felt warm since her unorthodox arrival in the past.
"Name's Jack," he said. "Jack Hamilton."
"Mel," she managed. "My friends call me Mel."
"No last name?" His blues eyes lit with humor.
Still lost in their deep blue depths, she knew she had a faux one, but for the first time in her life, she couldn’t remember something.
Chapter Five
“Can I buy you a drink?” Jack still didn’t know how he got from the doorway to sitting on the stool next to her. It felt like his body had been taken over by someone very like Ric. He was even dishing out Ric’s lame lines. It should have been embarrassing, but for some reason it wasn’t. He studied her upturned face and found it a pleasant field of study.
Her hair was blond, though he’d never seen hair that looked like hers. It couldn’t seem to make up its mind which direction to go, but it suited her, framing her sassy, cleanly featured face and directing attention to her wide, purple eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. He’d never seen eyes that color either, so he stared at them for a bit, until the edges crinkled up in a smile that twisted his gut into a knot. Her clothes were wartime drab, she was a bit on the thin side, and she had an icy cool; but it was wrapped around a luminous core that both puzzled and intrigued him.
It was hard to put his finger on, but there was some quality, something in her bearing, in the tilt of her chin and the look in her eyes that was seemed almost…alien. A table became free and he jumped up and claimed it, holding a chair for her, before settling in across from her. Mel. What kind of name was that?
"It's short for Melanie," she said, as if she could read his mind. "But I never felt like a Melanie, so I shortened it."
“What does a Melanie feel like?”
“Girly. Giggly.” She sounded demure. “Silly.”
Definitely a bit odd, but a nice odd, an interesting odd. And with those legs, those eyes and that mouth, she was definitely a girl. His discreetly examined the legs, following them down to her feet. “You lose your shoes?"
“I’d like to, but they’re my only pair.” Jack must have looked as startled as he felt, because she added, “They’re evil—and they are over there with my bag.”
He retrieved her things, while his thoughts worked at figuring her out. Ric would have considered it a was
te of thought, but Jack couldn’t help himself. At his core, he was a scientist and puzzles were the life blood of a scientist. Mel slid her shoes back on, with a reluctance that made Jack grin, and then she hung the bag from the back of her chair. When he had her attention again, her calm steady gaze met his without guile. And yet he had the feeling she was holding back.
“Will I pass?” The words were flirty, but the tone was matter of fact.
“Pass what?” Jack didn’t know what to say, so he punted.
“Muster.” She propped her elbows on the table between them. “Have I passed your muster?”
It was in moments like these that he wished he had just a bit of Ric’s glibness. It was the perfect moment for a compliment of some kind. He could even think of several. What he couldn’t imagine was any of them coming out of his mouth. To his relief, the waitress stepped between them.
“What are you drinking?” he asked Mel.
“Tea, please.”
“Same for both of us,” Jack said.
“You take a vow of sobriety?” Norm asked. Without waiting for an invitation, he snagged a nearby chair and joined them.
Jack saw Mel’s gaze leave him for Norm. Her eyes were wide and interested.
“He’s married,” Jack said and then wished he hadn’t. Norm choked back a snicker. Mel’s lips twitched twice.
“I’ll have a pint and he’s paying for it,” Norm told the waitress. When she left, Norm held out a hand to Mel. “Norm Morton.”
“And I’m Mel.”
She looked delighted as they shook on it, but it was a friendly delight. Jack looked at Norm, trying to figure out why. Norm was…Norm. Straight forward, compulsively honest and enduringly loyal to his wife, his country and his group—in that order.
“You’re American.” It was Norm’s turn to look pleased.
“I did know that,” Mel said. “Does it stick out a mile?”
Norm grinned. “Further than that around here.”
“What brings you here?” Jack asked, when what he wanted to ask her was, who are you? Why do you puzzle me?
“I’m a reporter, here to do some stories on our guys, how they are coping with life in England, things like that. I’m starting with bomber crews, like you two.”
Jack frowned. “How did you know we are part of a bomber crew?”
Mel arched her brows. “Well, duh. Your uniforms? And the raccoon mouth thing you’ve got going there.”
Duh? Jack touched the marks left by his oxygen mask and the extreme cold. It was inevitable and unavoidable flying at high altitude. “Raccoon mouth, huh.”
Mel shrugged, but humor glittered in her unusual eyes.
She didn’t fit here, but then who of them did? What was his problem? He’d been wishing he had a girl to spend the evening with and here one was. And what was he doing? Looking a gift horse in the mouth. Duh, indeed. He pushed suspicion to the back of his head and smiled at her instead.
“How long have you been covering the war?”
Her lashes hid her gaze for a moment. “This is my first serious news story.”
He heard her words, but he couldn’t say he comprehended them. He wished for music, so they could dance. He wanted to invite her to the base dance on Saturday, but glib still eluded him.
“Usually I cover fashion, hair styles, make-up and crap like that.”
That he understood. Had he ever heard a girl say crap? He didn’t think so, but then he lacked Ric’s experience with the fairer sex.
“Sorry.” Mel looked rueful, but not really repentant. “My Gran used to wash my mouth out with soap for saying crap.”
Jack had a feeling that wasn’t the only word she’d been punished for using.
“She sounds like Elaine, my wife,” Norm said. He smiled, but his eyes showed thoughts that had winged home. “She’s always after me about my language.”
“Do you have a picture of her?” Mel asked.
Of course he did. Jack looked at the two of them, shoulder to shoulder, studying the picture. He had an odd feeling he was missing something important, but whatever it was stayed just out of his reach.
“She’s beautiful.” Mel sounded soft and kind of sad.
Did she have someone at home she was missing? Or someone in the service?
“And this is my son, Norm, Jr. I just got that picture in the mail bag yesterday.”
Mel looked at that photo for what seemed like a long time to Jack. It was a baby, for Pete’s sake.
“He’s…wonderful,” she said. “You must be so proud.”
Was that a catch in her voice? Jack waited for her to look up and when she did, it did seem as if her eyes shimmered a bit. Jack added this to his mental summary of Mel, but it didn’t clear anything up.
“Yeah,” Norm said. “I hope—“
Norm stopped. Jack knew why. He hoped to meet his son, but didn’t believe he would.
Mel covered his hand with hers. “You will see your son, Norm. I know it.”
Norm looked up, half disbelief, half hope, in his eyes. “You sound very sure.”
“I am completely sure.”
“How…” Jack began. He stopped. Why tear down the hope lifting Norm’s spirits? If anyone deserved that hope, it was Norm.
It was easy to forget why they were here, easy to lose touch with the families they were fighting to defend. The face of his mother and father, his little sister, had faded to the shadows of his memory, trumped by the obscenity of war. He’d almost lost them, but somehow Mel had connected him to them again. Home. He closed his eyes and he could see them both waving good-bye…
Now he remembered why he tried to, not forget, but just keep it distant and not too real. It was less painful that way. He looked down at his tea, wishing he’d ordered ale. It did take the edge off.
He lifted the cup, tossed back what was left. When he lowered his hand, Mel covered it with hers. He looked up and met her gaze. The war receded into a distant sound and fury. Tomorrow it might be harder, but tonight he didn’t care. It was enough to be alive, to be here with a pretty girl.
“Do you want to dance?” he heard himself ask.
She smiled. “There’s no music.”
“I can try to play something,” Norm said.
For the first time, Mel noticed an old upright in the shadows to one side.
Without taking his gaze off Mel, Jack said, “Something slow.”
He pulled Mel up from her seat and into his arms, stopping just short of full body contact. Some part of him warned against getting too close, against getting in too deep. With one hand on her waist, the other loosely clasping her hand, he waited for Norm to begin without looking at her. It didn’t help that much, since he could smell her now that she was close enough to push back the pub smells. The scientist in him made a half-hearted attempt at analyzing it, but the rest of him just inhaled and enjoyed.
A soft, slow melody flowed out into the room from the piano. They started to move with it, an inch in one direction, and an inch in the other. It couldn’t quite drown out the clatter of mugs and pub talk, but it did push it to the point of distant background.
The foreground was Mel. She swayed with him, her body occasionally brushing against his.
“I never asked if you had someone waiting for you at home.”
“No.” She seemed to hesitate, then said again, more firmly. “No. It’s just…complicated.”
“The war.” Jack sighed, his hold tightening infinitesimally. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He was aware of it, but distantly. Not enough to react.
“Cutting in,” a voice said, tapping him hard now.
Jack turned toward the voice. And looked up. And up. And up some more. It wasn’t often he met someone taller than him. Why did it have to happen tonight? He finally found the beefy face at the top of the even beefier body. Two angry eyes were buried deep in his fleshy face. The smell of ale came out of every pore in his body. A drunken leer formed on his mouth as he shoved Jack to one side and started to
ward Mel.
Jack struggled to recover from the shove, but just when he thought he had, a chair caught the back of his legs and he went down with a mighty crash. He blinked and missed something key, because now the drunk was bent over clutching himself. This brought his chin down to Mel’s level. Jack didn’t miss what happened next. Mel turned and lifted her elbow sharply. It connected with the fleshy jaw. The drunk’s head snapped back. His eyes rolled back into his fleshy sockets. He swayed like a mighty oak in a heavy wind, while all bodies behind him scattered for their lives—or least for the integrity of their bones.
At the calm center of the storm, Mel stood studying her work with a pleased look. Then she reached out with her index finger and pushed. The mighty oak went down, taking a table and two chairs with him.
Mel looked at her finger. “Cool.” She flexed her elbow experimentally, and then looked at Jack. “Are you all right?”
The ring of faces looking down at him were conflicted about what to do first, laugh at him for being saved by a girl or look impressed and/or awed at the girl. It did some strange things to their faces.
Jack scrambled upright. His dignity stayed down there somewhere. It would probably be in hiding for months. He wished he could join it.
“I’m fine.” He looked at the drunk. He looked at Mel.
Her eyes widened. “He touched me.”
Almost as one, the circle of onlookers took a step back from her. Jack had to grin.
“I touched you.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, you did,” she said, “but you did ask first.”
Jack looked at the fallen and gigantic drunk again. “How—”
Mel shrugged. “Leverage. After a well-placed knee, of course.”
“Of course.” Jack rubbed his face. She looked, well, like a bit of fluff, he thought, cribbing from Ric. Blonde and cute, with a bit of sass, not some tough butt kicker. He moved his elbow in modified mimic of her movement.
“Leverage?”
Out of Time Page 6
