In Perfect Time (35 page)

“No, you don’t.” He held out his hand. “Thanks for everything. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Anselmo shook his hand hard. “Aw, scram. I’m tired of being your nanny.”

Roger smiled and glanced up. A C-47 passed by, plus half a dozen P-51 Mustang fighter planes. “They sent the cavalry.”

“Sure did.”

The C-47 turned for the approach. It was going to land. The ordeal was actually over. After almost three months, it was over.

The plane rushed down the field, and the wheels touched. Roger stood and saluted Enrico and Anselmo, his throat thick. As soon as the plane stopped, he sprinted onto the field, to the open cargo door. Propwash kicked up dirt and snow, and Roger gripped his hat, turned his face from the assault.

He hoisted himself up through the cargo door. Two pairs of hands dragged him inside, and he lay flat on his stomach, panting, his palms flat on the cool, American-made floor.

Someone shut the cargo door and shouted down the length of the plane. “Let’s get out of here.”

The plane pivoted, the engines roared, and they jostled down the field.

Roger grabbed the pole on the floor that the flight nurses used to secure the litters. Might as well lie still until after takeoff.

“Another prank from Lieutenant Cooper. Making us fly all the way up here to pluck you from trouble, huh?”

That was Major Veerman, mock outrage in his voice.

Roger laughed. He laughed so hard, the cold metal floor hurt his ribs. He switched hands, rolled onto his back, and grinned up at his CO. “You know I can’t resist a prank, sir.”

“I see you’re out of uniform, yet again. Where’s your cap, Lieutenant?”

“Stuffed in a bread oven in some little village.”

“And that scruffy beard. Don’t know why I bother.” But the grin on Veerman’s face said otherwise. He held out a hand and helped Roger up into a bucket seat. “Hungry?”

“You have . . . food?” Longing filled his voice.

“Sandwich and coffee sound good?” Veerman handed him a paper-wrapped bundle and a Thermos.

“Good?” Roger ripped off the paper. He smelled ham and cheese and butter and mustard and bread. “Sounds great.”

“Go slowly. Your crew overdid it and made themselves sick, most of the nurses too.”

The sandwich stopped three inches before his mouth. “They’re really safe? All of them?”

“Yes, all safe, thanks to you.”

Roger sagged back against the fuselage wall, and his eyes flopped shut. “No. Thanks to God. Thanks to the OSS and the partisans and the whole group working together.”

“With the right man in charge.”

He shrugged and took a bite of the sandwich. The swirl of familiar but strange flavors overwhelmed his taste buds. He swallowed, and the bite plunked into his empty stomach. “Where are they? My crew? The nurses?”

“They’re all at the same hospital outside Naples, where we’re taking you now.”

In a couple of hours, Lord willing, he’d be in Naples. “Can I see them today?”

“Probably. The physicians and intelligence officers will want some time with you, of course.” He sniffed. “But first you need a bath.”

“No kidding.” He laughed at Veerman’s wrinkled-up nose, the same look his sisters used to give him when he came in the house covered in mud. He definitely wanted a bath and a shave and a clean set of clothes before he saw Kay.

Kay. His chest felt light and cool. Today. Today he’d see her.

“Let me fill you in on some of the plans.”

“All right.” Roger bit into his sandwich.

Veerman crossed his ankle over his knee. “You’ll have a week or two in the hospital for interrogation and recuperation.”

A week or two with Kay. He drank coffee straight from the Thermos, had to stop himself from drinking too much, too fast.

“Then we’ll fly you home. You’ll have a two-week furlough at home, and then . . . well, I’ll let the Public Relations officers brief you on the rest. You’ll like a furlough at home, won’t you?”

“Yeah. Swell.” Two whole weeks at the Cooper farm? His family probably hadn’t even noticed he’d gone missing.

He took another swig of coffee. That wasn’t fair. Even if he’d disappointed his family, they did love him.

“Your family’s in Iowa, right?”

“Right.”

“Any chance you could get over to Chicago for a day or two?”

“Sure. Why?” Another bite of sandwich.

Veerman crossed his arms over his leather flight jacket. “My brother’s there. He wants to audition you.”

Roger almost choked. He chewed and swallowed. “Audition? Me? Now?”

“I knew you’d like that.”

“Sir, I—I’m grateful, of course. But I haven’t touched a drum in three months. I haven’t sat behind a full drum set in almost a year.”

“He’ll take that into consideration. He loves the idea of having a war hero in the band, especially since I told him how dependable you are.”

Roger turned the triangle of sandwich in his hands. “Thank you, sir.”

He’d done it. He’d achieved his goal. He’d prayed, and God had given it to him. A gift.

Roger opened his sandwich, closed it, chomped off a bite. Why did his heart feel heavy? Wasn’t this what he’d always wanted?

Yeah, but deep inside, he hoped God wanted him to be a
teacher. Maybe even to get married and have a family and a home.

But he didn’t. He wanted Roger to be a drummer.

What was wrong with that? Roger sat taller and chugged some coffee. Nothing was wrong with that. Drumming was a fine dream. A fine dream.

45th General Hospital

Kay filed into an office in the hospital building with Lieutenant Lambert, Georgie, Mellie, and Mike Elroy. Major Barkley stood behind a desk with an officer Kay hadn’t met before—handsome, in his thirties, smooth sandy hair, tan complexion, no wedding ring.

Just the kind of man Kay would have liked back when . . . back when she wasn’t in love with Roger Cooper.

“Yes, yes.” Barkley scanned the group with a smile. “Perfect.”

“Have a seat, ladies . . . Lieutenant.” The other officer gestured to five chairs.

“Yes, pardon my manners.” Barkley came from behind the desk. “May I introduce Capt. Don Sellers, who will be assisting me.”

“Good afternoon.” He nodded, his gaze lingering on Kay.

She turned her gaze to Barkley instead, settled in her seat, and pulled the bathrobe over her pajama-clad knees. When on earth would they be allowed to wear real clothes again?

Major Barkley stopped in front of Mike. “The congenial, clean-cut pilot.”

“Copilot, sir.”

“Humble too. Excellent. Crowds will love you.” He scooted in front of Mellie. “You’re the one with the father in the Japanese prison camp, right?”

“Not anymore, sir.” Mellie’s wide smile broke free. “The
US Rangers liberated Santo Tomas. I received a telegram the other day. He’s on his way to Pearl Harbor to recover.”

“Still a great story—the plucky nurse serving her country while her beloved father was locked up by the Japs. The little old ladies will open up their wallets.”

Their wallets? Kay and Georgie frowned at each other.

Barkley moved down. “And cute, perky Georgie Taylor with the cute, perky Southern accent. The ladies will consider you their new best friend. And then . . .” His eyes gleamed and locked on Kay. “Then we have our bombshell. The fellows will buy bonds by the fistful.”

“I’m a nurse, not a . . . Did you say bonds?”

“Pardon my colleague, ladies.” Captain Sellers leaned against the wall, his long legs crossed at the ankle. “He enjoys his job a bit too much. And yes, Lieutenant Jobson, he did say bonds. War bonds.”

Kay sank back in her seat. They were going on a war bond tour. How long would that last? How long until she could go to the chief nurse school?

Sellers lit a cigarette and tucked the lighter back in his pocket. “You have to understand the situation at home. The Battle of the Bulge was bad for morale. The war is far from over, and the American people are tired. They’re tired of war, tired of rationing, tired of giving. But you people will capture their attention. The Army is sending you on a bond tour after a two-week furlough. You’ll have luxury accommodations all across the country.”

Georgie chewed on her lower lip. “I’d rather stay here and serve as a nurse.”

“I’m sorry.” Lieutenant Lambert leaned forward in her chair to see Georgie. “That isn’t an option. Army policy states that anyone who’s been behind enemy lines cannot remain in the theater.”

Mellie let out a deep sigh, and Kay gave her friends
sympathetic looks. Of course they’d prefer to stay on the same continent as their men.

Lambert straightened her skirt. “The other three girls need more time in the hospital, so they can’t go.”

“They’ll miss out.” Major Barkley gripped his hands over his protruding belly. “Just think. A whole month of fancy dinners in Washington DC, adoring crowds in Oklahoma, lounging on the California beach. You’ll have the time of your life.”

A whole month. Plus two weeks furlough. Plus travel time. Kay’s plans turned to dust. “When do we leave?”

Captain Sellers angled a puff of cigarette smoke toward the ceiling. “Not for another two weeks at least. We need to wait until . . .” He turned to Barkley.

The major glanced at his watch. “I can tell you now. We need to wait for the fifth member of your party—your pilot, Lieutenant Cooper.”

“Roger?” Kay’s hand fluttered to her mouth. “He’s alive?”

Lieutenant Lambert gave her a soft smile. “I was just notified today.”

“The Twelfth Air Force flew in a rescue mission this morning,” Barkley said. “They arrived at Capodichino Airfield about two hours ago.”

He was alive? He was in Naples? Kay’s breath puffed through her fingers in quick, incredulous bursts.

“I knew it.” Mike laughed and slapped the armrest of his chair. “I knew he’d make it. Good old Coop.”

“Thank you, Lord,” Georgie said.

Yes,
thank
you,
Lord.
Kay stood on wobbly legs. “I have to see him. I have to see him now.”

43

Roger brushed the nurse’s hands away. “I can button my own pajamas.”

“Sorry, sir. It’s hospital policy.”

“Not my policy.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he twisted his shoulders away from her and buttoned up the pajama top. Clean cloth against a clean body for the first time in three months. With a close shave and brushed teeth, he almost felt like himself again.

He gazed down the length of the deserted ward. “Where’s my crew, the flight nurses?”

“The men are out for their daily constitutionals. They’ll be back soon.”

“And the nurses?”

“Another building.”

“Which one? I need to find them now.”

She offered a bathrobe and a condescending smile. “Lieutenant Cooper, you are a patient here. You can’t simply come and go as you please. The doctor hasn’t even examined you.”

“Sure he has, right before my shower and shave.” He stood and pulled on the bathrobe.

“That was the admitting physician. Now you need to see the ward physician.”

He jammed his feet in the slippers. “No, now I need to find my friends. They might not even know I’m alive.”

“You’ll have plenty of time—”

Roger held up one hand to silence her. Voices came from the doorway, all the way down the ward. Feminine voices.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. As a nurse, you know hospital policy does not allow visitors without physician approval. He hasn’t been examined yet.”

“But I need to see him, need to know he’s all right.”

That was Kay! Her voice sounded better than the sound of the shower pelting his skin. “Kay!”

“Roger?” She peeked around the nurse at the door, her face lit up, and she reached an arm to him. “Roger!”

He shouldered his way past his nurse and ran down the ward.

“Sir! Lieutenant Cooper!” she called after him.

The nurse at the door blocked Kay’s path. “Ma’am, you can’t. Hospital policy.”

He didn’t care about hospital policy, only about Kay. When he came barging toward the door, the nurse startled and stepped away.

Kay stood there, wearing pajamas and a bathrobe, her red hair glossy and fresh, her hands over her mouth, her eyes glittering.

And his life was complete again. He threw his arms around her waist, lifted her right off her feet, carried her down the hallway, around the corner, and away from prying eyes. He set her on her feet, took her face in his hands, and studied every gorgeous inch of her. “You’re all right. Thank God, you’re all right.”

“You—you’re alive.” Her mouth bunched up funny, like she was about to cry.

“Ssh.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, same as he’d done in that Italian cellar a month earlier.

She held him tight, her hands firm on his shoulder blades. “I thought—we heard gunshots. Enrico?”

“He’s fine.” His lips swept over her forehead, and he savored the silkiness of her hair, her clean, feminine scent—her living warmth. “A goat.”

She pulled back to look him in the eye. “A goat?”

“The Nazis shot a goat out of spite.”

Her face reddened. “I thought you were . . . you were . . .”

He couldn’t let her finish that sentence, couldn’t let her cry, so he silenced her with a kiss on the mouth.