Blue Skies Tomorrow (7 page)

“Look,” Grandma said. “Here’s the mommy cat. Time for a snack and a nap.”

Helen let out a deep sigh. “For someone else too.”

A nap? Ray hadn’t thought about that. So much for his romantic afternoon plans.

“When you’re ready,” Grandma said to Helen, “I have the guest bed made up for the little dear.”

Grandpa grunted as he stood. “We figured you two lovebirds wanted time alone.”

“Grandpa!” Ray gripped the rim of the cockpit beside him.

“What?”

“It’s not . . . it’s not like that.”

“You said you were bringing the girl you were interested in.”

Ray groaned and grabbed a rag draped over the wing. Yep, those were his exact words.

“Goodness gracious, Jacob,” Grandma said. “Let’s leave before you put your other foot in your mouth. Now, Helen, you bring in that little angel whenever you’re ready.”

Ray rubbed hard at the dust on
Jenny
. The early stage of a relationship required painstaking balance to avoid revealing too much too soon. Grandpa tipped the scale.

“You miss flying, don’t you?” Helen said.

She hadn’t left? Ray resumed polishing. “Yeah, I do.”

Footsteps crunched over the straw toward him. “Too bad you can’t take the biplane up.”

“No fuel.” He gritted his teeth and scrubbed a stubborn spot near the cockpit.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one whose family embarrasses them.”

Ray shot her a glance. “Your parents are in DC.”

A smile curved her lips. “Don’t you think Betty makes up for them?”

“Betty?”

“Remember how she teased me last week about the stories I wrote as a girl?”

“What’s embarrassing about that?”

Helen ran her hand over the spot Ray had cleaned. “The stories were about you.”

A fog filled his mind, then swirled away. Her revelation righted the balance. “Me?”

“Why don’t you take Jay-Jay and me on that walk around the farm you promised, and I’ll tell you.”

“All right.” Ray tossed the rag in the general direction of the wing. Maybe Grandpa had done him a favor.

Helen coaxed Jay-Jay out of the barn with the promise of more farm animals, and they sauntered along the pasture fence. Jay-Jay mooed at old Flossie the cow and hee-hawed at Sahara Sue, the black Arab donkey Jack had shipped back from a mission to Tunisia.

Ray scooped up Jay-Jay, arched an eyebrow at Helen, and ducked behind the little boy’s head. “Tell me a story, Mommy.”

She laughed. “Put him down so he can run off some energy.”

He complied. “How’d I end up in your stories?”

“After the bike accident when I was ten, I had a crush on you.” Her skirt swished around her knees as she walked.

More and more intriguing. Ray nudged her with his shoulder. “Story time.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Nothing original. Sir Raymond rode to rescue Princess Helene from dragons, tall towers, and raging rivers. Typical schoolgirl drivel.”

“A knight in shining armor.” It always came to that. To please Dolores, Ray had joined the Army Air Corps rather than the chaplaincy, but the uniform wasn’t enough. She wanted a dashing dogfighter. She’d had several.

“Come on, Ray. Rescue me.” Helen climbed the pasture fence, sat on the top rail, and grinned through the blonde hair blowing in her face. “Just like Saint George rode in with his faithful lance to slay the dragon and save the princess.”

Ray walked up to her. He thought she was different. If she didn’t respect him as he was, he needed to know now.

She pushed the hair off her face, and her grin fell.

He stood in front of her. “I’m not a hero. I just want to preach God’s Word. If you’re looking for a hero, I’m not your man.”

Helen’s eyes rounded. “I didn’t mean—they’re just stories. You—you were a hero to me. You were kind to me, talked to me like a person, not a cripple girl. That’s why I fell for you.”

Something in her eyes said she’d fall for him again if he didn’t blow it. He sighed and set his hands on her waist. “Come on down. You don’t need a hero to rescue you. A gentleman will do.”

She draped her arms around his neck, a twinkle in her eye. “Any gentlemen around?”

He laughed and swung her down. Then he gathered her hand in his and led her over the shoulder of the hill separating the pasture from the orchard. “Any chance that crush will return?”

Helen gazed at their clasped hands, and her eyelashes fluttered. “Was your grandfather right? Are you . . . are you . . .”

“Very much.” The rumble in his voice revealed more than his words.

She nodded and leaned into his shoulder.

Boy, did he want to pull her close and kiss her, but they’d already taken one big whopping step. He had to slow down. “How long did that crush last?” he asked in a teasing voice. “Until Jim stopped knocking you off your bike and knocked me off my trusty steed?”

Helen’s gaze jerked up to him. “He never did that.”

Ray chuckled. “I was there. I saw you beat him in that bike race, saw him thrust that stick into your spokes.”

“He wouldn’t. He didn’t.” Her hand stiffened. “It was an accident. I fell.”

Ray frowned. He’d never forget the furious look on Jim’s face. But then, love did funny things to your memory.

Helen’s cheeks twitched, and she drew back her hand.

“Hey, now.” Ray faced her, took her hand, and waited until she looked him in the eye. “I’ve been in love three times, three serious girlfriends. I was engaged twice. All three women dumped me. It’s part of who I am, and I can’t change that.”

Her gaze softened.

“You loved Jim a long time. You married him, you bore him a son, you lost him, and you’ve mourned him. Jim is part of who you are. I can’t change that and I don’t want to. I won’t make you deny your past in order to have a future.”

Her eyes widened, warm tea speckled with gold. Hair blew across her face. With a nervous laugh, she tried to shake it off.

Ray dropped one of her hands and brushed back her hair. “We’ll take this slowly. I need to make sure my past doesn’t lead me into hasty decisions, and you have things to work through. Then there’s the munchkin.”

Helen’s gaze darted about. “Oh my goodness.”

“Speaking of the munchkin . . . where’d he go?”

Helen gasped and scanned the farm. What had she dressed Jay-Jay in this morning? Why couldn’t she remember? What kind of mother was she? What kind of woman lost her only son?

“Jay-Jay!” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Oh no, what have I done? Jay-Jay!”

“Jay-Jay!” Ray’s deep voice carried farther than hers.

Helen ran toward the fence where she’d flirted, selfish girl, thinking only of herself as always. “I can’t do anything right. Jay-Jay!”

The pasture. Oh no. What if he crawled under the fence and got kicked or trampled? She climbed the fence. “How could I? Oh goodness. Jay-Jay!”

“Helen.” Ray set a firm hand on her arm, his face calm and steady. “Let’s think this through. We’ll go to the house for my grandparents, for two more sets of eyes.”

“My baby.” Her vision blurred. “How could I lose my baby?”

“No cause for alarm.” He eased her off the fence. “He probably went to the house for more pie. Or the kittens.”

“The kittens.” That thought cleared her sight.

“Come on.” Ray grabbed her hand and ran toward the barn.

When he swung open the gate to the corral, Helen dashed through the open barn door and stopped short, peering into the darkness while her eyes adjusted. “Jay-Jay?”

There he was.

The mother cat lay on a brown blanket with five kittens attached like teeth on a comb. Jay-Jay curled up next to them, eyes shut, mouth in a circle, and the mother cat licked his face with vigor. All the tension drained from Helen’s body.

Ray let out a hearty laugh.

She spun around, pressed her hand over Ray’s mouth, marched him out the barn door, and backed him against the wall, her hand tight over his mouth. “Never, ever wake a sleeping baby. Ever. Unless there’s a fire. And it’d better be a big fire.”

“Yeff, ma’am,” he mumbled, his eyes big. Then his chest heaved, and his eyes curved into crescents. “Did you see? The cat washing him?”

“Ssh. Ssh.” But her own laughter broke free. “He had—he had tuna fish for lunch.”

Ray erupted in laughter, so contagious, and Helen buried her face in his chest and pulled his head down to her shoulder to muffle the laughter.

“The Lord watched over him,” he said between laughs. “Even made sure he got a bath.”

“Tuna.” She burrowed deeper into his chest, and her laughter bumped against his. What was lovelier—the safety of her son or the laughing embrace of this man who was interested in her? Very much, he’d said.

The laughter mellowed to chuckles and contented sighs. Still his arms circled her waist. Still her hand cupped the back of his head.

Ray nuzzled in her hair. “Mm. You smell like grass and sunshine.”

She melted into his embrace, solid instead of sinewy. He was just the right height. She didn’t have to strain to reach him. “I’m glad I don’t have tuna breath.”

He straightened up, his eyes smoky, and he inhaled. “Mm, nope. Strawberry pie.”

Oh goodness, this was really happening. His own strawberry-scented breath wrapped around her, and she drew closer to cover her memories of gregarious charm with Ray’s quiet strength.

Something flickered in the gray of his eyes, the battle of restraint, and she had to make sure he lost. She tipped up her face to his warmth.

Ray leaned his head back against the barn wall. “Helen, honey, we need to wait.”

“Why?” She twisted her fingers into his soft black hair, dizzy from his nearness. “No one can see.”

A smile twitched on his lips. “Five minutes ago I promised you I’d take things slowly.”

“So kiss me slowly.”

His eyes widened, the battle lost, and he pressed his lips to hers in a slow, luxurious kiss.

She wasn’t prepared for the passion.

Passion?

Passion came from anger. She wanted to pull away, but he drew her back in with this different, tender passion. Everything she knew of Ray’s character came through in his kiss, and she yearned for more of his care and his strength, and someday, oh please, his love.

“Oh, Helen,” he murmured and gathered her even closer.

This was what she’d wanted all along. This was what she should have waited for.

Ray eased back and raised an adorable lopsided grin. “I’d better take you out on our first date.”

“A date?” The thought paralyzed her.

“Dad taught me never to kiss a woman until the third date, and we—unless you want to count those dinners.”

“Of course. Of course, they count.”

He rearranged his arms around her waist. “Next week a nice dinner out.”

Out? Where everyone could see her, judge her, and talk about her? Helen forced a laugh. “What should we do? Go to the White Fountain, share an ice cream soda, and jitterbug to the jukebox? Aren’t we a little mature for that?”

“Yeah. Milan’s is more appropriate.”

Heavens, no. Although everything within her tensed, she stroked his cheek. “You don’t need to impress me. You already have. Besides, the point of a date is to get to know each other. Aren’t we doing that?”

Ray rested a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Very well.”

7

Saturday, April 8, 1944

Ray held open the door to Milan’s Restaurant, and the group exited into the cool evening—George and Betty Anello, Ray’s youngest brother, Walt, his fiancée, Allie Miller, and Helen.

A triple date seemed like a great idea when Walt and Allie arrived from Seattle the night before to surprise Dad and Mom for Easter. Ray was wrong. He came alongside Helen. “This was a bad idea.”

“Bad? Nonsense. I’m having a wonderful time. Really, I am.” The strain in her voice negated her words.

Ray gave an affirming grunt. He didn’t want to call her a liar.

“Was I too quiet? I’m sorry, but goodness, with George and Walt catching up—they’re best friends, you know. Of course, you know. Then Betty and Allie discussing college memories and wedding plans and—”

“It’s all right. I shouldn’t have surprised you.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m having fun.”

If she’d had fun at dinner, why had she acted like a gangster’s moll on the alert, her gaze skittering around the room? As if she were afraid to be caught.

“Hiya, Mr. Anello.” A group of teenage boys ambled past them on Second Street.

“Say, shouldn’t you be home studying?” George gave the boys a mock glare. He addressed Walt behind him. “Teaching gets harder each day. The class of ’44 doesn’t want to study history. They want to go out and make it.”

Walt chuckled. “Let’s hope they never get a chance.”

“Yeah? I wish they’d give me a chance.”

“Our loss. If they let you in, the war would already be over.” Walt clapped George on the back with his left hand, his only hand.

Ray’s fingers clenched in his trouser pockets. George and Walt wore civilian suits, but George had the heart of a warrior despite his gimpy leg, and Walt bore the mark of a hero in the steel hook on his right arm. Ray wore the uniform, but he was an imposter.