In Perfect Time (15 page)

Kay made a note on the flight manifest. “Anything in your records about an indulgent mama who honored his every boyish whim when he was sick?”

Captain Arnold laughed. “The X-ray failed to detect that.”

“A little fussing over, and he’ll be fine. Why don’t you introduce me?”

“Kay! There you are.” Grant Klein approached from the airfield.

“Hi, Grant.” She squelched a grimace, gave him a polite wave, and followed the doctor to the patient.

Grant jogged up behind her, settled his arm around her shoulders, and kissed her cheek. “Hi, baby. I sure missed you.”

Kay shrugged him off. “I’m working. And I’m not—”

“Excuse me, Captain.” He tipped his cap to the physician. “I haven’t seen my girl for three months.”

“Well then, I’ll give you a few minutes to catch up.” The doctor’s eyes hardened and erased the grandfatherly image.

“I’m sorry, Captain. This will only take a minute.” She marched about twenty feet away and faced Grant.

“I heard your good news.” He reached for her hand, his smile gentle.

She crossed her arms over her clipboard. Good news? Since when would he care about her relationship with God? He reserved the Almighty for Christmas, Easter, and flight emergencies. “My good news?”

“I heard you broke up with all your other boyfriends.” His eyes turned smoky. “I’m honored.”

Kay could only stare. When she met Grant Klein, she’d been attracted to his self-assurance. Now she saw it as pure arrogance. “You think I did that for you? Did you forget I broke up with you first?”

His dark eyebrows met in the middle. “If not for me, for whom?”

“No one.”

“I saw you talking all cozy with Cooper.”

She huffed. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends. I’m not dating anyone.”

He stepped closer, suspicion and curiosity mingling in his eyes. “Why’d you do it?”

Kay pressed her lips together. He deserved an honest answer. “All right. I started reading the Bible, going to church, getting to know God. I realized I was dating for the wrong reasons—to get back at my father by controlling other men. I had to start over.”

Grant peered at her, one eyebrow high. He probably thought she was crazy.

She lifted her chin. “I owe you an apology. I used you, led you to believe there could be more between us when I had no such intention. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to be treated like that. No one does.”

He gave his head a quick shake. “You’re not making sense.”

Kay’s shoulders slumped. “No, I suppose not. But let me make one thing clear. I’m not going out with you again.”

Grant’s gaze darkened and shifted over her shoulder toward Roger’s C-47. “What’s Cooper have to do with this?”

“Grant, jealousy is never attractive.”

He glared at her. “Neither is deception.”

“For heaven’s sake, we’re just friends. He gave me his Bible, answered some of my questions about God, that’s all.”

Grant chuckled. “So he’s responsible for you getting religious?”

“Hardly. Now, excuse me. I have patients to see.” She strode past him.

“That man’s smarter—and more devious—than I gave him credit for,” Grant said.

“What?”

“Don’t you see?” He spread his hands before him. “You’re his pawn. He can’t stand me. He can’t beat me as a pilot, so he plays stupid pranks on me. Now he’s turned my girl against me.”

Why on earth had she ever found this man attractive? “Turned me against you? Oh no, Grant. You did that all by yourself.”

17

Ciampino, Italy
July 13, 1944

Roger flailed his arm in the darkness. What was that racket? The alarm clock. He shoved aside the mosquito netting, swung his bare legs over the side of the cot, and stood.

Swaying, he pried his eyes open. Where had he hidden the clock last night? Oh yeah, under the cot. Down to his knees, he fumbled on the tile floor. There it was. He slapped the fool thing off.

What time was it anyway? He held the clock to the open window in the house serving as officers’ quarters.

Pale moonlight illuminated the dial. One o’clock? That couldn’t be right.

His head sagged back. Yeah, it was right. He and Bill Shelby and Bert Marino had volunteered for a night mission dropping supplies to Italian partisans behind German lines. Veerman lifted a proud, satisfied smile when Roger volunteered.

But why did Roger decide to catch a few hours of shut-eye rather than stay up late like the other fellows?

He scratched his bare chest. Too hot to sleep in anything but skivvies. He grabbed his flashlight from the desk and found his trousers and khaki shirt draped over a chair. Felt nice and civilized to live in a house again after so many months
in tents. A few days ago, the 64th had transferred up to Ciampino Airfield outside of Rome.

Someone rapped on the door. “Coop? Coop? You awake?”

“Barely.” He opened the door.

Lt. Gerald Singleton stood in the hall. “Veerman sent me over from Operations. Seems the weather up north hasn’t cleared. They canceled the mission.”

Roger leaned against the doorjamb, and a tired smile crept up. Not bad. He’d get to sleep all night, but he’d still impressed Veerman by volunteering. “Thanks, Singleton. Appreciate it.” Decent of the fellow, considering Singleton and Klein were pals.

“See you in the morning.”

“Yeah. Morning.” Roger shut the door and slipped under the mosquito netting over the cot. His bedroll had never felt so good.

“Coop! Coop!”

A light blazed in Roger’s face, and he covered his eyes with his forearm. “What . . . ?”

“Coop, what’re you doing in bed? We got a mission.” That was Whitaker’s voice. “Get your lazy tail moving.”

“What?” He sat up and batted the flashlight out of his face. “What time is it?”

“It’s 0145. Briefing started fifteen minutes ago. Veerman’s fit to be tied that you’re not there.”

“Briefing? But the . . .” He shook the fog out of his head. “The partisan supply drop mission?”

“Yeah. Did you forget?”

“No.” He tried to rub consciousness into his eyes. “Singleton. He came by. Said the mission’s canceled.”

“You must have been dreaming.” Whitaker thrust Roger’s trousers at him.

Sitting on the edge of the cot, he poked his feet into the trouser legs, then stood to yank up his pants. Singleton. Should have known better than to trust Klein’s copilot.

Roger shoved his feet into his shoes without bothering to put on socks. The feud had quieted down lately. Sure, a few weeks ago, Klein had interrogated him about his relationship with Kay. Ridiculous. Roger told him he knew better than to get involved with a dame like her.

That was only partly true. Roger was involved, just not in the way Klein thought.

“Let’s go.” He snugged his cap onto his head, grabbed his shirt, and headed out the door.

His feet pounded down the stairs, and he dashed outside into the warm darkness. He and Whitaker jogged down the pathway, past spindly little trees toward the house they used for Operations, all lit up inside. For a briefing.

Old swear words knifed through Roger’s head, but he shoved them aside.

Was Klein that big of a jerk? Or was he jealous?

Sure, he and Kay talked. He tried to keep his distance, but the connection of his old Bible and her new faith acted like a rubber band. Every time he tried to get away—boing!—there she was again.

He still didn’t quite trust her. What if she reverted to her old ways? What if she bent with the first wind? People did that.

Roger tripped on the rough path, and his shoe almost came off. He hadn’t bent. He hadn’t reverted. But he remembered everyone eyeing him, suspicious, certain he’d slip.

Lou had been there for him, guiding him, encouraging him. Trusting him.

Today, after the mission and a nap, he’d write Lou for advice. He’d written Lou more in the past month than he had all of 1943.

Roger turned onto the pathway to the Ops building. At
least Kay didn’t flirt with him anymore. Or was this good-little-church-girl routine just an act, a strange new way to flirt with the good little church boy, as she’d once called him?

He groaned and pushed open the door. Man alive. He sounded as arrogant as Grant Klein.

Speak of the devil. Klein and Singleton sat in the large front room they used for briefings, along with Bill Shelby, Bert Marino, and their crews, gathered around a large wooden table. Cigarette smoke wafted around the room.

Alarm flashed on Mike Elroy’s round face. “Where have you been?” he mouthed.

Veerman stood. “Lieutenant Cooper. How kind of you to grace us with your presence. Although I see, once again, you forgot to wear clothes.”

Swell, his shirt. He planned to put it on while he ran. He punched his hands through the sleeves. “Sorry, sir, I—”

“You’re twenty minutes late. Don’t you know how important this mission is? Those partisans put their lives at risk every single day fighting the Nazis, never knowing when the Gestapo will hunt them down or their neighbors will turn them in. And you can’t be bothered to be punctual.”

Roger stiffened. He would have been on time except for Klein and Singleton.

He fixed a hard gaze on the two men. Singleton glanced away, and his cheeks reddened. But Klein smirked.

The truth parted Roger’s lips, but he pressed them shut again. That’s what Klein wanted. He wanted Roger to rat on him. Sure, Klein and Singleton would get in trouble, but Roger would look like a sniveling tattletale. The feud would escalate again, and Veerman would lose what little respect he had for Roger.

No, he’d take his licks like a man. Roger faced Veerman, pulled himself tall, and set his jaw. “I apologize, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“I should hope not.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I thought you were getting better.”

Roger’s face warmed. He
was
getting better. This was the first time he’d been late since Kay had given him the alarm clock. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Veerman waved his hand toward the conspirators. “Lieutenant Klein offered to take your place. I’m glad someone around here can be relied on.”

Yeah, Klein could be relied on, all right. Relied on to stab Roger in the back.

“Thank you, sir.” Klein wore the smarmiest smile. “I’m glad I can help you tonight.”

“That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant.” Veerman leaned over the large map of Italy on the table. “I might value dependability, but this mission needs Cooper’s brashness and courage.”

Small victory. Very small.

18

Ciampino Airfield, Italy
July 23, 1944

Kay knelt by the C-47’s open cargo door and ushered in the last patient for the morning’s flight. She checked his emergency medical tag against her flight manifest—Sgt. James Yamaguchi of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, gunshot wound to upper left abdomen, two weeks postsurgery.

Serving as a stewardess for four years had introduced her to all areas of the country and many ethnicities. Excellent training for flight nursing. “Good morning, Sergeant Yamaguchi. I’m glad you can fly with us today.”

A wan smile rose on his angular face. “Thanks, ma’am. Is it true they have a swimming pool at that hospital in Naples?”

“It’s true. Quite a facility. Used to be Mussolini’s fairgrounds.” She addressed the medic carrying the head of the litter. “He’ll go in the top position on the left.”

After they carried the patient inside, Kay stood in the doorway and inhaled the fresh balmy air. A brilliant blue sky arced overhead. What could be better than to be quartered in a seaside villa in Lido di Roma outside of Rome?

Her next day off, she’d bask on the beach with her friends and splash in the warm turquoise sea.

Irony tugged up a smile. “The sacrifices I make for my country.”

Could her life possibly get any better? Plenty of friends, a stimulating job, a glorious setting, and this bubbly joy and relaxing peace.

Kay bounced on her toes and laughed at her giddiness. She’d never been the giddy sort.

The last medics hopped out of the plane, and Kay backed up to let the aerial engineer close the door. “Thanks, Sergeant Whitaker. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Big and burly, the man hunched his shoulders, ducked his head, and lumbered toward the cockpit. “Yes, ma’am.”

Kay checked the web strapping that secured the six litters and checked the seat belts for the ambulatory patients. Roger’s crew was her favorite—the shy and polite copilot, the engineer uncomfortable with women, the radioman who looked quite comfortable with women but knew better than to flirt with officers, and Roger. Competent, energetic, inspiring Roger.

The first engine roared to life, as if the pilot were trying to silence her thoughts.

She’d have to add “humble” to his list of attributes.

Kay strolled to the front of the cabin and faced the patients. “Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome aboard. We have a short flight to Capodichino Airfield in Naples, under an hour. I’m Lieutenant Jobson, and this is Sergeant Dabrowski. We’ll take care of you in flight. If you need anything, give us a holler.”