On Distant Shores (20 page)

He broke off the kiss, breathing hard.

Her eyes fluttered open, and her parted lips curved upward. “Oh, Hutch. You can flirt with me any time you like.”

“Yeah? I will.” He wove his fingers into her curls. “Any time you cook me a steak dinner.”

She laughed. “I’m learning all sorts of things about you today. You have a mischievous side. I like it. And oh my goodness, that kiss! It was the Fourth of July, New Year’s Day, Christmas, Thanksgiving, and every other holiday rolled up in one.”

How could he resist? He kissed her again, softer this time but no less passionate, exploring her cheeks, her chin, her warm neck, and those lips, back to those lips.

She sighed and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “I can’t believe this is happening. It seems so fast.”

Hutch rubbed her back, and honesty spilled out. “I have to admit, I’ve wanted to do that almost since the day I met you.”

“Really?” She eased up and looked him in the eye. “You never let on.”

“Wouldn’t have been right.”

“You’re faithful.” Georgie settled her cheek down to his shoulder again. “While we’re confessing, I have to admit I had a little crush on you too.”

She’d never let on either. Because she was faithful.

The words “I love you” poised halfway between his heart and his tongue, but he held them back for now.

He laid a kiss on her forehead. “I think, Miss Georgie, that we’re well suited.”

Caserta, Italy
November 14, 1943

“I wish Tom were here,” Mellie said. “It’s so romantic.”

At the Caserta palace, Georgie sat on the edge of a fountain, and the cool water caressed her fingers, much as Hutch had the previous evening. She imagined strolling the gorgeous gardens with him, kissing by the ornate Baroque fountains, exploring the marble extravagance of the palace arm in arm.

Kay swished her hand through the water. “Now you know Tom’s at Foggia. It’s not too far.”

“I wish he were on the west coast instead of the east, or that we could switch places with the 807th. They’re at Foggia. But Tom’s due for a forty-eight-hour pass in Naples.”

“That’ll be nice.” Georgie had to remind herself to stay in the conversation, because her mind and heart floated several miles away to a hillside outside of Piana di Caiazzo.

Mellie dried her hand on her handkerchief. “One thing he likes about Foggia—and his little dog likes it too—fewer air raids than in Sicily or North Africa.”

Air raids. “Did I tell y’all . . .” Georgie clamped her lips between her teeth. So far she’d sidestepped questions about
the picnic. Last night she’d returned to quarters before the rest of the girls, so she pretended to be asleep.

“Tell us what?” Mellie gave her a careful look.

“About last night?” Kay’s green eyes gleamed. “For you to miss a dinner like that, he must be some man. And since you’re so quiet and dreamy and mysterious, it must have been some date.”

Georgie got to her feet and headed toward the palace, down the mile-long path that paralleled a chain of three long pools separated by fountains. “I told you. Hutch is a good friend, and I felt sorry for him. He’s eaten nothing but Army chow for three years.”

Mellie caught up with her. “That was very kind of you.”

“Kind?” Kay laughed and fell in beside Mellie. “A charity mission wouldn’t make her blush. A date would.”

Georgie’s hand flew to her warm cheek. “You’d blush too under interrogation.”

“I doubt that.” Kay’s hips swung more than usual. “I can’t blame you. He’s a nice-looking fellow. I see why you broke up with Ward.”

Georgie gasped and stopped in her tracks. “Heavens, no. I broke up with Ward because of Ward. For goodness’ sake, I never thought I’d see Hutch again. And he certainly didn’t break up with Phyllis for me. She married another man. He was always faithful to her, and I was always faithful to Ward. We didn’t even know we were attracted to each other until last ni—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Kay crossed her arms and gave Mellie a knowing look. “I told you it was a date.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

Mellie’s dark eyes swam with concern. “You—you’re a couple now?”

“It’s not that simple.” Georgie gazed down toward the
palace’s massive marble elegance and beyond to the Bay of Naples. “Since he’s noncommissioned, we can’t officially date, and we could get in trouble for fraternizing, especially him. Please don’t say anything.”

Kay arched her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “Ooh, he kissed you well.”

“I said no such thing!”

“You don’t have to. Your face shines like Moses coming off the mountain.”

Georgie never thought she’d hear a biblical allusion from Kay Jobson’s mouth. And what a time for her to choose one.

Mellie laid her hand on Georgie’s forearm. “I don’t know Hutch well, but he seems like a good man. But isn’t it rather soon for both of you? It hasn’t even been a month, has it?”

Barely over two weeks for each of them. “Maybe, but we’ve known each other since July, and he’s a close friend, and neither of us was undone by our breakups.”

Mellie pursed her full lips. “I’m just concerned. You were with Ward for so many years. You’re used to having a boyfriend, and I hope you’re not—”

“Filling a hole? Definitely not.” Georgie shook off her friend’s hand and strode toward the palace.

“Be careful, honey. That’s all.”

“Leave her be, Mellie. Let her have her fun. There’s a war on.”

“It’s not just for fun.” How could she explain that her connection with Hutch ran deep and strong, with a ribbon of rightness to it? How could she explain she was already falling in love?

They hadn’t talked about love or the future, but her mind went there anyway—and snagged.

The path rolled over a slight rise and revealed the next pool, sparkling in the sunshine.

If she and Hutch married, what then? He was a Yankee, a big city boy. She was a Southerner, a country girl. Could she adjust to the north, to a city without horses and grassy hills, to being far from her family? But how could she drag him away from his family and best friend and the city he loved?

Oh dear. This was complicated.

“You know, Georgie, that’s a swell idea.” Kay tipped her head to the clear sky. “I never considered dating an enlisted man. You outrank him. You can tell him what to do.”

Georgie grimaced. That held no appeal. Not a man in the world would like that. She would never boss Hutch around, never even joke about it. But still, would it bother him? After all, a woman outranking a man in a relationship wasn’t natural.

Hutch had better get his commission and soon.

Over the Mediterranean
November 16, 1943

Georgie wrestled down Captain McCurdy’s arms while Sgt. Enrique Ramirez forced him back into the seat. Apparently the captain was a poor candidate for air evacuation.

“What are you waiting for, men?” McCurdy called out. “Jump!”

He’d been in a catatonic state for weeks due to battle fatigue, but the flight from Pomigliano to Tunisia made him snap. Back in September, while the US Fifth Army hunkered on the Salerno landing beaches, his unit of the 82nd Airborne had dropped behind enemy lines at Avellino. Scattered, poorly supplied, and harassed by the enemy, not many men had returned.

Sergeant Ramirez planted his knee on the man’s lap and gripped both of the captain’s wrists in his big hands, locking him in place. “I got him.”

“I’ll get the med.” Georgie dashed down the aisle, past all the patients craning their heads to get a good look. Her breath raced, and she stretched her fingers, sore from battling a man twice her weight.

Part of her had hoped for a crisis so she could prove herself to Lieutenant Lambert, but this emergency required more physical strength than emotional strength. Still, she hadn’t stopped praying since Captain McCurdy started shouting.

“Go! Go! Go, men. Go!”

She flung open the lid of the medication chest. A roll of gauze bandages to use for restraints, scissors, a bottle of phenobarbital.

Ramirez cried out. Shouts rang from the front of the cabin.

Georgie spun around.

Captain McCurdy charged down the aisle toward her. “Green light! Move it, men. Follow me.”

Oh my goodness! What could she do? The man believed the C-47 was on an airborne mission, not a medical evacuation mission.

She stepped in front of him. “Sir, you don’t have your parachute, your helmet.”

Wild eyes focused on the cargo door. He tugged his bathrobe collar and rapped his skull. “Got them. Let’s move on out.”

Georgie grasped his arm. “But Captain, look. The light—it’s red. It isn’t time yet.”

“It’s green.” He shoved past her and took hold of the door handle.

Oh no, if he jumped from a thousand feet over the Mediterranean . . .

At the front of the plane, Ramirez got up to his knees and wiped blood from his face with the back of his sleeve. McCurdy would be gone before Ramirez could help.

If only she could convince him not to jump. She tossed her supplies onto the nearest litter, grabbed the interphone headset, and jammed it over her ears.

McCurdy shoved the door, the slipstream flung it open, and cool air billowed onto the plane. He motioned with his arm. “Go! Go! Go! After me!”

“Wait, Captain!” she yelled. “It’s General Ridgway. The mission’s recalled.” She tapped her earpiece and flipped the switch to connect her to the radio room.

“What?” Frenzied light eyes homed in on her.

“Yes, General Ridgway, sir?” She covered the earpiece and backed away from the door to hear better. “The mission’s recalled?”

“Excuse me?” the C-47’s radioman-navigator said into the interphone. The Twelfth Air Force Troop Carrier Command had eliminated the position of navigator.

She beckoned the paratrooper to her, away from the open door, as far away as the headset cord allowed. “That’s right, General Ridgway. I have Captain McCurdy of the 82nd Airborne back here, ready to jump. Would you please speak to him, tell him the infantry has already reached the drop zone, and the mission has been recalled?”

The radioman cussed. “Pardon my French, ma’am. You’re serious?”

“Yes, I am, General Ridgway, sir. The door is open. He’s ready to jump.”

“Holy Toledo.”

“Thank you, General. You can explain to Captain McCurdy. Here he is.” Georgie held out the headset with a smile.

He stared at it, then pulled it over disheveled dark hair. “General Ridgway, sir?”

Sergeant Ramirez sneaked up behind the paratrooper, arms outstretched to tackle him.

Georgie held up one hand and shook her head. Better to talk the man down than to force him down.

“Yes, sir.” The captain nodded. “That’s good news indeed. Glad the infantry did their job for once.”

Ramirez edged past McCurdy and Georgie to the open door, but he’d never be able to pull it closed against the slipstream.

McCurdy handed the headset back to Georgie. His hand shook, and blood outlined his knuckles, from Ramirez’s teeth most likely.

“What good news. You can have a seat now.” Georgie settled the headset back on its hook, grabbed her supplies, and led McCurdy toward the front of the cabin. “Does your hand hurt? That looks painful.”

“Yuh—yuh—yes.” He stared at his hand, in full tremors.

She had to restrain him and get that phenobarb down his throat. “Let’s get you seated, then I’ll give you a pain pill and bandage you up.”

“Th—thanks.” He collapsed into the seat, between two terrified-looking patients.

Georgie opened the medication bottle and pulled out two tablets. A whole grain should get him to sleep. “This will help with the pain.”

He reached for the pills, but his hand shook violently.

“Open wide.” She smiled and popped the pills into his mouth.

Ramirez knelt by her side. “Let me fasten your seat belt for you.”

“I’ll take care of that, Sergeant. Why don’t you bring me some iodine for his wound?” Georgie hooked the two ends together and studied her patient’s face. Confusion replaced the wildness. “Where are you from, Captain? Your accent sounds Western.”

“Wa—wa—Wyoming, ma’am.”

She lifted her shoulders in delight. “Are you a real live cowboy?”

His eyes barely focused on her. “Ra—ra—”

“Rancher?”

He nodded, and his whole torso rocked forward, over and over. Far from stable.

“How interesting. My family raises horses, and I love the great outdoors, don’t you? Nothing like the open sky and fresh air.”

Rocking, rocking, rocking.

Sergeant Ramirez returned with a canteen, the iodine, and another roll of gauze.

“Thank you.” Georgie moistened gauze with water and wiped the wound clear. “Let’s put some iodine on that to prevent infection, shall we?”

McCurdy rocked his assent, and Georgie disinfected the moving target of his hand.

“Let’s bandage that up.” She wound gauze around his knuckles. “It’s important to completely immobilize this hand so it can heal properly.” She stacked his injured hand on top of his good hand and wound gauze around both, binding them together. “I learned this in training last month. See how nicely it immobilizes the wound. You’ll be better in no time at all.”

“Th—thank you, ma—ma’am.”

“You’re welcome. Sergeant, why don’t you use some gauze to anchor his elbows to his seat belt? That’ll aid the immobilization and the healing. He’s shaking so badly, poor thing.”

Ramirez shot her a look full of humor and admiration. “That’s some training program you had, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, it was.” She sat back on her heels while Ramirez finished restraining the patient. Although the crisis had been dangerous, breaking out of catatonia meant the poor man
had a chance of returning to normal. She laid her hand on McCurdy’s bound hands. “You’ll feel better soon, sir. I know you will. The Lord bless you and keep you.”

Deep inside his light blue eyes, something registered. “B—bless you too, ma’am.”

She prayed for the man right there, long and hard, her hand clasped over his, begging the Lord to heal his mind and spirit, to cleanse him from the haunting memories, to reach into his soul and remind him who he was, brave and strong and capable.

Sergeant Ramirez touched her shoulder. “It’s over. He’s asleep now.”

She eased up her head, her neck stiff. How long had she been praying? “Thank you.”

“No, thank
you
.” He raised a salute.

The radioman stood in the doorway to his compartment, leaning against the door frame, and he saluted her too. “General Ridgway here. An inspired bit of acting there, Lieutenant.”

A light laugh slipped out. “Thank you.”