by Sarah Monzon
Pride was hard to swallow, and so was dawdling along in a motorized chair when he was made to fly.
Anger built in his chest. So unfair. Never had he felt so cheated—no, robbed—in his life. And everyone around him now with their looks of pity.
Poor Finch, the top of his game. What would he do now?
Poor Michael, reduced to a wheelchair.
Poor guy, another casualty. Add him to the list of wounded warriors.
From hero to zero.
The door banged open, and Geyser stepped in, face red.
Michael snuffed down his anger and forced his facial muscles to relax. “I thought you left to spend the evening with your sister.”
“I did. Something came up, and I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, Lieutenant Carrington.” Lieutenant Commander Orville gathered a clipboard and a few other supplies and shut the door behind him.
Michael pushed against the cot and readjusted his position. Nothing was comfortable, but his hip ached a bit more than normal. He’d have to spend some time on his stomach after Geyser left. A contracture wasn’t going to keep him at Walter Reed longer than necessary.
Geyser surveyed the room. “Where’d your family go?”
“They went down to the cafeteria to get some food while the physical therapist was here. Didn’t need an audience.”
His friend’s shoulders seemed to relax a fraction. “Good. I wanted to talk to you in private anyway.”
This didn’t sound good. “What’s going on?” The weapons system operator paced, hand rubbing over his buzz cut. “Sit down, Geyser. You’re making me dizzy.”
Instead of dropping into the chair provided for guests, Geyser pulled the stool tucked under a bench designated for the doctors and rolled it over. He sat down and studied Michael, his eyes clear and determined.
“It’s my sister.”
Michael waited. Geyser would get to the point in his own time.
The man’s gaze darted to Michael’s injuries. “Look, man. I know you’ve got a lot to deal with right now, and I wouldn’t even bother you if it wasn’t important. But she’s my sister, and I’m shipping out. I can’t be here. You’ve always had my back. I trust you.”
Either the pain meds the nurses gave him fogged his brain, or Geyser wasn’t making any sense. “I’m not following you. Why don’t you try again from the beginning?”
The man’s chest puffed out as he took a deep breath, then deflated as he let it out. “Three years ago my sister, Jack—”
“Your sister’s name is Jack?” He’d had a Saint Bernard named Jack growing up. That dog slobbered more than a leaky faucet. Mom even had to use a step ladder to wipe down the walls because of the spray when he shook his head. No way could Michael picture a girl named Jack.
“Jacquelyn actually. But don’t ever call her that. Not if you value your life.”
Michael chuckled. He’d done two tours on aircraft carriers and flown top-secret missions. Geyser’s sister, no matter what her name, didn’t scare him.
“Anyway,” Geyser continued, “three years ago Jack was engaged. The guy’s navy, a corpsman. Something about him always rubbed me wrong, but my sister seemed happy so I kept my mouth shut.” He hung his head. “I should have said something.”
Uneasiness crept along Michael’s shoulders. “What happened?”
“He celebrated a bit too much the week before he shipped out. Got drunk. Used my sister as a punching bag.” Geyser’s face darkened. “He’s lucky Eli and I were both offshore at the time, or I’d be rotting in Leavenworth right now.”
Fire burned in Michael’s gut. If anyone ever laid a hand on Amber…
“Jack ended it that night.” A ghost of a smile passed his lips. “Flushed the jerk’s engagement ring down the toilet. Mitch Stavros left the next week for Landstuhl, and we all thought that chapter had closed.”
Michael didn’t need to be told. “He’s back.”
Geyser nodded. “Here, apparently.”
“In Bethesda?”
“She said she saw him leave Walter Reed while she was waiting for me in the car.”
Oh man. “Do you think he requested this duty station?”
Geyser lifted his face, pain and desperation in his gaze. The man looked tortured. “Does it matter? He’s here, and I leave tomorrow. Eli’s still out for another four months. Dad’s here, but…” He shrugged his shoulders weakly.
“Does she plan on taking out a restraining order on him now that she’s aware he’s in town?”
“I’m going to make sure she does.” He slammed a fist on the mattress, and Michael winced. “Sorry,” Geyser mumbled. He began to pace again. “You and I both know a restraining order isn’t going to do anything though. Not really.”
The dots began to connect. “You want me to watch out for her? Is that what you’re asking?” He didn’t want to point out the obvious. Didn’t want to sound like a woe-is-me pity-party participant. But… “I’m not sure how effective a bodyguard I’ll be.” He looked down at his missing limbs. “I’m not exactly the same person I was last week.”
Geyser stopped pacing and stared at him. Glared actually. Michael squirmed under the intensity.
“You know, maybe you’re right.” Geyser’s words were low and calm but held a vicious bite. “Because the guy I knew a week ago wouldn’t let a little setback stop him from anything he put his mind to.”
“A little setback? I lost an arm and a leg!”
“And she’s my sister!” Geyser’s voice rose in volume to match Michael’s, then he shook his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll figure it out on my own.” He stepped out of the room.
Instant regret and shame cemented in Michael’s stomach. But seriously, how could he be any use? It wasn’t like he was a poster boy for mixed martial arts. What did the guy expect?
He expected you to have his back.
Michael let his head fall back in defeat for a blessed second before lowering his cot with the manual controls and then hoisting his body into the chair by his bed. He slammed the knob controller on the chair’s arm forward and cursed under his breath at the snail pace.
“Geyser!”
His partner’s retreating back stopped. He turned and crossed his arms over his chest.
Michael gritted his teeth, ignoring the rigid set to Geyser’s jaw and the jut of his chin. The man had a right to be peeved.
Michael lifted a hand to scrub his face. Or at least he tried. How many times would he go to do something with his right hand only to groan in frustration at its absence? His left hand tightened on the chair’s arm.
“Look. I’m not going to win any prize-fighting championships or anything, but a warm body should deter your sister’s ex from harassing her.” A self-deprecating chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Even half a warm body.”
Geyser’s hands fell to his sides. “Thanks, Finch. This really means a lot to me.”
Chapter Five
England, 1944
Alice adjusted the tie at her neck before placing her military-issued cap at an angle on her head. Her last class finished, she was ready to join the ranks with the other women littering England’s sky with planes headed to the front lines. Planes desperately needed if the Allies were going to drive back the Axis powers. She gathered her bag and clutched it to her chest as she rounded a table to exit the classroom.
“A moment, if you will, Miss Galloway.”
Alice paused, her attention drawn back to the front. Flight Captain Banks fiddled with some papers on his desk before lifting his gaze. “At 1500 hours a member of the press will be arriving at White Waltham.” He shook his head. “Completely bonkers, if you ask me, but they want to do yet another photo op with the Auxiliaries female pilots. Theresa Dunlap had been the media’s sweetheart.” Banks went back to organizing the papers on his desk into separate stacks.
Alice waited. She’d gotten used to the flight captain’s sudden drops i
n dialogue during her training sessions. The man let words die and then revived them again like Jesus did Lazarus.
“Where was I? Oh yes. Theresa Dunlap. Poor girl. Engine failure in a Spitfire. Anyway, we need a new pretty face for the camera.”
She waited while he placed ten more pages in their rightful piles. Was that it? He wasn’t going to say anything else? He didn’t mean… “Me?” she squeaked.
He lifted his head. “Of course, Miss Galloway.”
“But I haven’t even flown with the Auxiliary outside of training. I can’t be the face of the female pilots in air transport.”
“Not the face, Miss Galloway, but you will be one of them. Miss Mayfield will be along to collect you shortly. She’s participated in these silly newspaper stunts before. There will be six of you in all.” He seemed to notice her unease for the first time. “No need to worry, Miss Galloway. Follow the man’s instructions, smile pretty, and then get back to the real reason you are here.”
The real reason she was here. To help the war effort and find her aunt. In England for weeks already and not one opportunity to scout about for her father’s sister. Not even a quick trip to Aunt Sybil’s flat to see if she was even still in town. Not that Alice knew where Aunt Sybil would go if she had fled the bombings.
She’d tried to explain to Captain Banks her need to leave base, but the man was keenly talented at tuning out anyone beneath him. Which was why she’d save her breath now even though she wanted to scream that she didn’t want to have her picture taken for the newspaper.
Good heavens, Father would have an apoplexy if he ever ran across her image in a publication.
She paused and grinned. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Alice pushed the heavy door of the classroom and exited into the rare English sunshine. She cupped a hand over her eyes and peered down the dirt drive toward the main road. Plumes of dust billowed behind a familiar Austin car, the vehicle swerving around what Alice could only logically assume were potholes. She shook her head. What must Rose Mayfield be like behind the instruments of a plane? It was hard to imagine.
Tires crunched the loose gravel, then came to a stop in front of Alice. The cloud of dust kept its momentum and surrounded the car in its brownish haze before dissipating into the clear sky.
Rose stepped out, all sunbeams and smiles. She hurried around the hood of the car and flung her arms around Alice’s waist with a squeal. “Congratulations on graduating and officially joining the ranks of the ATA. Not that I had any doubt you could. Or that you would.” She stepped back. “And you’re stationed at White Waltham with me, can you believe it?” Her smile widened. “We’re going to have some grand adventures.” She startled from her gushing. “The first of which starts right now. Come on. We can’t be late. Mr. Caldwell is busy and likes to be quick about his business.”
Alice opened the car door and slid into the seat. “Who is Mr. Caldwell?”
The engine rumbled to life, and they began the bumpy drive down the lane, which was indeed littered with potholes. “Mr. Caldwell is the newspaper man. He’s been to the airfield a few times to do articles and take picture of the pilots. Nice enough fellow, although he doesn’t hold a candle to my Thomas.”
“How do these things work? Does he just ask us a few questions and snap a couple of photos?”
“Usually it’s all very quick like. He’s a busy man. The newspaper sends him all over the continent to cover stories about the war. Of course, I only know this because of the headlines I see attached to his name.”
“If his stories make headlines, then why is he wasting his time with some women who fly planes from the factory? You’d think the story would lay with the men in the RAF who dogfight the Luftwaffe every day.”
Alice gripped her seat on either side of her legs and slammed her eyes shut as Rose maneuvered through a roundabout. Captain Banks had warned the cadets about the hazards of war and the planes they would fly, but the real danger lay in this little midwesterner behind the gigantic wheel of the Austin.
“The war effort is more than shooting guns or dropping bombs. Every woman with a victory garden, every housewife who makes dinner from ration cards, is doing her part to win this war. Ferrying the airplanes is ours. Do you not believe it?”
“Oh, I believe it.” Alice looked over at her friend and grinned. “I just didn’t realize it made an interesting article.”
Rose tossed her wheat-colored hair. “We’re women living in a man’s world and doing it just as well. Of course it’s interesting.”
They both laughed, and the car rolled to a stop. A small group loitered outside a far hangar. The other women ordered to pose for the media man, perhaps?
Rose’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “Ready?”
Alice mirrored Rose’s smile. “Let’s show them what we women are made of.” Maybe if they all fluttered their eyelashes enough, the man would be quick about his photos and she could take a jaunt to London. Too much time had passed without knowing what had become of Aunt Sybil.
They walked toward the cluster of people, Alice’s curiosity hiking the closer they got. Indeed, the group was comprised of all women, four in flight suits, goggles resting on their foreheads, and parachutes slung across one shoulder. Was the journalist planning on taking pictures of some of the ladies in flight? A real view of a woman pilot.
“Okay, girls, are we ready?” asked a decidedly male voice from the middle of the throng.
“Two more who are supposed to—” A girl who appeared a few years older than Alice’s twenty-one, with hair the color of a moonless night, swiveled her head, her face relaxing when she spotted Alice and Rose. “Here they come now.”
The women in the group turned, and Alice smiled a greeting. No matter what their family backgrounds or personal stories, they were all connected by their unconventional passion for flying and their forward-thinking ideas. Though the world was still male dominated, each lady standing in front of her was chipping away and claiming a place among it. A rightful place. And that made them each a kindred spirit.
The line of women broke apart slightly, giving Alice her first view of the top of a fedora. The man wearing it had his face down, his hands fiddling with a large camera and lightbulb. She judged his height to be equal with hers, if not taller by an inch or two. His tweed jacket was of good quality, the tie around his neck smartly knotted.
The man snapped his fingers. “Got it.” He lifted his head, his lips tipped in a smile. The skin by his startlingly blue eyes crinkled.
Alice’s stomach dropped like it did when she hit an air pocket while flying. Not even on a cloudless sky at an altitude of fifteen thousand feet had she seen a blue that matched this man’s orbs. As if hypnotized by a circus sideshow, she stared.
His gaze remained glued to hers as well, and she felt as if he were drinking her in. He stepped through the wall of women, his eyes still locked with hers.
“Mr. Caldwell, it is so good to see you again.”
Even Rose’s chipper voice didn’t break the spell that bound Alice.
Like a child being pulled away by his mother from the toy section at the department store, Mr. Caldwell managed to tear his gaze away. He removed his hat and inclined his head, blond curls teased by the breeze.
Heat radiated from her chest. What was happening? The middle of a world war was not the time to develop a fancy. Especially with a man she hadn’t even been introduced to. Even if his eyes beckoned like the song of a siren.
She blinked hard a couple of times and tried to shake off the draw that pulled her toward the journalist, as if a string was tied around her center and he was slowly reeling her in. As far as bad ideas went, allowing herself to get involved with a man this side of the Atlantic while trying to find her aunt and keep Hitler from taking over all of Europe topped the charts. She needed to remain singularly focused.
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Mayfield.” He dipped his head and returned his regard to Alice, leaning slightly in her
direction.
She caught the scent of him. A mixture of citric acid and ink and…a hint of cloves?
Rose grabbed Alice’s elbow and propelled her forward with a smirk. “I’d like to introduce Miss Alice Galloway. She’s come across the pond.”
Alice stumbled a bit at Rose’s shove but righted herself and extended her palm for a handshake. Mr. Caldwell’s gaze pulled her in again, the palm of his hand warm as it pressed on hers. His thumb hooked the back of her hand, and he rotated her wrist, bringing her knuckles to his lips as if he were a member of the gentry from centuries past.
Alice swallowed and gently tugged her hand from his grasp. She needed to get her tumbled emotions in check. An impossible feat with his lips grazing her skin like that.
“I must say, England is a brighter place with your presence, Miss Galloway.”
The way his eyes crinkled when he grinned made her stomach clench. She ignored it and slowly straightened her spine. “That would be the sun, Mr. Caldwell. You’re simply not used to it.”
He tipped his hat back and looked up at the clear sky. “Jolly right you are.” He leaned in and covered the side of his mouth with his hand, like he was sharing a secret. “Your beauty must have coaxed its brilliance from its hiding place behind the clouds.”
Incorrigible flirt. Heat infused her cheeks, and she ducked her head as her lips curled upward. She peeked out of the corner of her eye. Mr. Caldwell still gazed at her in a quiet manner. Then again, maybe not a flirt. Males of that sort back in Tennessee were always boisterous in their teases, with quick smiles that they discharged like ammunition and eyes that sooner winked than lingered to take a deeper look. Mr. Caldwell had spoken intimately, at a volume meant for her ears only, and his bearing emanated sincerity, not cockiness.
