July 1940
Middle Wallop, England
Well, this was a problem she should have foreseen. Scarlett’s gaze swept the platform, searching one last time just to be sure, her sister beside her doing the same. The train station was rather empty for a Sunday afternoon, making it obvious that Mary had forgotten to pick them up as promised. Disappointing, yet predictable.
“Surely she’ll be along in a minute,” Constance suggested, flashing a forced smile. Her sister had always been the more optimistic of them.
“Let’s check outside,” Scarlett suggested, looping her arm through Constance’s as they carried their small luggage cases off the platform. Their leave had only been for two days, but time always seemed to crawl for Scarlett when they were home.
Leave was hard to come by—especially at their rank—in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force, but as usual, their father had pulled strings that neither of them had appreciated. Strings he liked to pull often, as if she and Constance were his personal puppets.
In a way, they still were.
When Baron and Lady Wright requested their presence, their daughters were expected to attend them, uniform or not. But those same strings were the ones he’d pulled to assure his daughters would be stationed together, and for that, Scarlett was immeasurably thankful. Besides, a weekend of listening to her mother attempt to plan her life out was well worth it when it meant Constance was able to see Edward. Her sister had fallen in love with the son of a family friend years ago. They’d all grown up together during their summers at Ashby, and she couldn’t have been happier for her sister. At least one of them would get to be happy.
Her hat shielded her eyes from the sun as they left the station, but there
wasn’t much to be done about the stifling late July heat, especially in uniform.
“Honestly, I keep hoping she’ll be a bit more punctual,” Constance remarked quietly as people passed by on the pavement. Constance may have been noted as the more publicly reserved of the two of them, but she never withheld her opinion from Scarlett.
Her mother, on the other hand, thought Constance simply didn’t have opinions.
“There was a dance last night.” She gave Constance a knowing look and sighed. “We’d better get walking if we want to sign in on time.” There was nothing else to be done about it.
“Right.”
They grasped the handles of their luggage and began the long walk toward their station. Thankfully, they’d both packed light, because they hadn’t even made it to the corner, and Scarlett was already exhausted, weighed down by the news her mother had delivered.
“I’m not going to marry him,” she announced with a jerk of her chin as they made their way down the pavement.
“Feel better now?” Constance asked, lifting her dark eyebrows. “You’ve been holding that in all day. I think that might have been the quietest train ride we’ve ever had.”
“I’m not going to marry him,” she repeated, snapping every word. Just the thought of it made her stomach churn.
An older woman passing by shot her a reproachful stare.
“Of course not,” Constance replied, but they both knew better. These were the only years either of them would belong to themselves, and only because they were in the middle of a war. Otherwise, she would have been married off to the highest bidder by now if her parents had their way.
“He’s horrendous.” She shook her head. Of all the things her parents had asked of her in her twenty years, this was the worst.
“He is,” Constance agreed. “I can’t believe he stayed all weekend. Did you see how much he ate? His father was even worse. There are rations for
a reason.”
His size wasn’t as much of a concern to Scarlett as what he did with it. Marrying Henry Wadsworth would be the death of her. Not because he was a widely known philanderer or the embarrassment would do her in—that was to be expected. But even her scandal-managing mother couldn’t hide Alice, their housekeeper’s daughter, away fast enough to miss seeing the bruises on the young woman’s body this morning.
Not only had her father ignored the blatant abuse, but he then sat Scarlett right next to Henry at breakfast.
No wonder she hadn’t eaten a thing.
“I don’t care if the bloody title is sold out from under them, I’m not marrying him.” Her grip tightened on her luggage. They couldn’t make her
—not legally. But they threw around the word “duty,” as if marrying that ogre would save the king himself from the grasp of the Nazis.
Even then, her love of king and country was enough to risk her life for the greater good, but this wasn’t about king or country.
It was about money.
“All he wants is the title,” Scarlett fumed as they made their way out of the village and started down the road that led to RAF Middle Wallop. “He thinks he can buy his way in.”
“He’s right.” Constance’s nose wrinkled. “But he hasn’t asked you yet, so perhaps he’ll find himself another title to buy while scrambling his pudgy arse up the social ladder.”
Scarlett laughed at the thought of him scrambling up anything without hoisting his pants back up to his belly, but the sound died as quickly as it came. “None of it seems to matter right now, does it? Planning for a time that may never arrive.” They’d have to live through this period first.
Constance shook her head, the sunlight glimmering off the shiny raven locks. “It doesn’t. But one day, it will matter very much.”
“Or maybe…it won’t,” she mused. “Maybe it will all be different.” Scarlett glanced at the uniform she’d worn for the last year. In that time, nearly everything about her life had changed. As hot and uncomfortable as
she was, she wouldn’t have traded the material for anything.
“How?” Constance nudged her shoulder with a bright smile. “Come on.
Entertain me with one of your stories.”
“Now?” She rolled her eyes, already knowing she’d give in. There wasn’t anything she’d deny Constance.
“What better time?” Constance gestured to the open, dusty road ahead of them. “We’ve got at least forty minutes on our hands.”
“You could tell me a story,” Scarlett teased. “Yours are always so much better than mine.”
“That’s not true!” Before she could relent, a car slowed as it approached, giving Scarlett enough time to glance at the insignia before it pulled alongside them: 11 Group Fighter Command.
One of ours.
“Can I give you ladies a lift?” the driver asked.
American. Her head snapped toward the man, her brows arched high in surprise. She’d known there were a few Americans with the 609, but she’d never encountered one— Oh my God.
She tripped slightly, Constance catching her elbow before she could make an utter fool of herself.
Get a grip. You’d think you’d never seen a good-looking man. In her defense, he was a step beyond that description, and it wasn’t just his light brown hair or that single strand that fell across his forehead, begging to be brushed back. It wasn’t even that carved chin or the slight bump on his nose from what had to have been a previous break. What had her off-balance was the smile that curved his lips and the spark in his moss-green eyes as he tilted his head…as if he knew what his very appearance was doing to her pulse.
She sucked in a breath, but it was as if she’d swallowed lightning, the electricity turning her mouth dry then somersaulting in her stomach as her heart thundered. “We’re all right, thank you,” she managed to answer, whipping her gaze forward.
She wasn’t putting her sister into a car with a strange man, no matter
what the insignia said…right? The last thing she needed was to lose her wits over something as fleeting as attraction. She’d seen it in just about every woman she served with—attraction, then affection, then grief. Even Mary had lost two sweethearts in the 609 over the past few months. No, thank you.
Constance elbowed her slightly but remained quiet.
“Come on, it’s another three miles to the station, and what…another half mile to the women’s barracks?” He leaned over the passenger seat, still keeping pace beside them. “You’re melting out there.”
A bead of sweat raced down Constance’s cheek as if to make his point, and Scarlett wavered.
“There’s two of you and only one of me. Hell, you can both sit in the back seat if that would make you more comfortable.” Even his voice was appealing, low and rough like the coarse sand at the beach.
Constance elbowed her again.
“Ow!” Scarlett scowled at her sister, then noted the circles beneath her eyes from her late night with Edward. She sighed, then offered what she hoped was a natural smile to the American. “Thank you. A ride to the women’s barracks would be lovely.”
He grinned, and her stomach flipped again. Oh, no. She was in trouble…at least for the next three and a half miles. After that, he could put some other girl in trouble for all she cared.
He pulled over properly, then stepped out of the car and came their way. He was tall, with broad shoulders that tapered nicely into the belted waist of an RAF uniform. God help her, those silver wings and rank said he was a pilot, and she knew more than enough about those boys to take a little heed. According to the other girls, they were reckless, passionate, transient, and often short-lived.
He lifted their luggage into the trunk. Scarlett blatantly ignored Constance’s sly smile as she glanced from the American back to Scarlett.
“Don’t even think about it,” Scarlett whispered.
“Why not? You are, and you should.” Constance smirked as the
American shut the trunk.
“Ladies,” he said, keeping his eyes on Scarlett as he opened the door. Constance slid into the back seat first.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Scarlett ducked her head and took the seat next to Constance.
“Stanton,” he said, leaning in to extend his hand. “I figure you should know my name. Jameson Stanton.”
Blinking, Scarlett offered her own. His grip was firm but gentle. “Assistant Section Officer Scarlett Wright, and my sister, Constance, who is also an Assistant Section Officer.”
“Excellent,” he said with a smile. “Nice to meet you both.” His gaze lifted to Constance, and he gave her a nod and a smile before releasing Scarlett’s hand.
She felt wildly off-center as he shut the door and took his place behind the wheel, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror as he pulled out onto the road.
…
He wasn’t sure what to call that color of blue, but her eyes were stunning, and he was, well, stunned. They were the same shade as the water near some of the Florida beaches he’d seen on vacation. Bluer than the skies of his beloved Colorado. They were…going to get them into an accident if he didn’t watch the road. He cleared his throat and focused on driving.
“You didn’t seem surprised to hear that we’re sisters,” Constance remarked.
“Is anyone ever surprised to hear you’re sisters?” he joked. Constance was maybe an inch shorter than Scarlett and had the same piercing blue eyes, but hers lacked the fire that kept his gaze darting back in the rearview.
“Our father, I suppose,” Constance answered. Jameson laughed.
“Guess which of us is older,” Constance suggested.
“Scarlett,” he answered without pausing to think it over.
“Why would you say that?” Scarlett challenged with a slight tilt to her head.
“You’re protective of her.”
Her eyes flared with surprise and her lips tugged upward.
“She’s only eleven months older, but she acts as if it’s eleven years,” Constance teased.
That earned a full smile from Scarlett, accompanied by a shake of her head. Damn, she was a knockout. Who the hell left a woman like that to walk down the street? His brow puckered. “So what happened to your ride? I’m guessing you hadn’t planned on walking all the way back to the station.”
“She probably lost track of time,” Scarlett answered in a tone that made him exceptionally glad he wasn’t the one who’d forgotten.
Not a man, then. He filed that fact.
“We appeared to have overestimated a friend’s ability to remember appointments,” Constance added. “Your accent is lovely. Where are you from?”
“Colorado,” he answered as a pang of homesickness stabbed quick and deep. “Haven’t seen her in over a year, but she’s still home.” He missed the mountains and the crisp lines they cut against the sky. He missed the way the air felt in his lungs, light and clear. He missed his parents and Sunday dinners. But none of that would exist for long if they didn’t win this thing.
“You’re with the 609?” Scarlett asked with the same accent her sister had, the one that screamed money and education.
“For a few months now.” He’d gotten to France only to be told that he was needed in England, and he wasn’t the only one. There were a few of them in the 609, and the Brits had welcomed them with open arms once they’d shown their skills in the sky. “What about you two?”
He fought the urge to drive slower, to make the trip last a little longer just so he could see Scarlett smile again, even though he knew stopping had already put him in danger of being late to the flight line. His gut tightened
as their eyes met in the mirror for another flash of a second before she looked away.
“We’re both clerks in sector operations.” Constance lifted her eyebrows at Scarlett.
“We’ve been in for about a year now,” Scarlett added.
Two sisters. Both officers. Same position. Stationed together. Jameson was willing to bet that Daddy had money or influence. Most likely both. Wait…sector operations? He’d raise that bet to his whole month’s pay that they were plotters. “You move a lot of flags over there?”
Scarlett arched a brow, and his entire body tightened.
“You honestly think we pilots don’t know?” They were saving his ass, that was for sure. Plotters tracked all aircraft movement in the sky with the help of radio operators and RDF—Range and Direction Finding, creating the very map he flew by when the raids came. They were also top secret.
“I wouldn’t presume to guess what you know,” Scarlett responded with a faint smile.
Not only was she gorgeous but smart, too, and the fact that she didn’t let on that he was right—when he now knew he was—earned his respect. He was intrigued. He was attracted. He was in a damnable mess because he only had a few more minutes with her.
The minute they passed through the gate, a pit formed in his stomach, and the odometer ticked like a countdown. He’d been stationed here nearly a month and he’d never seen her. What were the chances he’d ever see her again?
Ask her out.
The idea nagged at him as he pulled up in front of the women’s barracks
—the Brits called them huts. The entire station was still under construction, but at least these were done.
The girls climbed out before he could open their door, which didn’t surprise him. The English girls he’d met since landing in country had learned to do a lot for themselves in the last year the UK had been at war.
He took their bags from the trunk but held on to Scarlett’s as she
reached for it.
Their fingers brushed. His heart jolted.
She startled but didn’t pull back.
“Can I take you to dinner?” he asked before he lost the nerve, which wasn’t something he’d particularly had to worry about lately, but something about Scarlett had him tongue-tied.
Her eyes flared wide, and her cheeks flushed with heat. “Oh. Well…” Her gaze darted toward her sister, who was doing a poor job of hiding a smile.
Scarlett didn’t let go of her luggage. Neither did he.
…
“Is that a yes?” he asked with a grin that just about took her knees out of service.
Trouble. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to avoid it. “Stanton!” another pilot called out as he walked over with Mary tucked
beneath his arm and her lipstick smudging his face. At least that question was answered.
Mary gasped, then cringed. “Oh no. I’m so sorry! I knew I was forgetting something today!”
“Don’t worry about it. Seems to have worked out for everyone involved,” Constance responded with a cheeky little smile, her engagement ring winking in the sun.
Scarlett narrowed her eyes at her sister before a tiny tug reminded her that she still stood on the pavement with her luggage suspended between herself and Jameson. What kind of name was Jameson, anyway? Did he prefer it to James? Jamie, perhaps?
“I’m glad to see you, Stanton. Can I catch a ride with you to the flight line?” the other pilot asked as he disengaged from Mary.
“Sure. As soon as she answers the question.” Jameson looked her dead
in the eye.
A nagging little feeling told her that he’d always be this forthright. It also told her not to let go.
“Scarlett,” Constance urged.
“I’m sorry, what was the question?” Had he asked another while she was distracted by staring? Her cheeks caught fire.
“Will you please let me take you to dinner?” Jameson asked again. “Not tonight, since I’ll be flying. But some night this week?”
Her lips parted. She hadn’t agreed to a date since the war began.
“I’m quite sorry, but I don’t see men like you socially,” she managed to croak out.
Constance let loose a sigh of frustration strong enough to change the weather.
“Men like me?” Jameson questioned with a tease in his tone. “Americans?”
“Of course not.” She scoffed. “I mean, not that I’ve ever been asked by an American, naturally.”
“Naturally.” And that grin was back, wobbling her knees again. He really was too handsome for his own good.
“I mean pilots.” She nodded toward the wings on his uniform. “I don’t see pilots.” Out of every job in the Royal Air Force, pilots were the most nomadic in regard to where they slept, and geography wasn’t the least of it. They also had a tendency to die with a frequency she couldn’t stomach.
“Shame.” He clicked his tongue.
She tugged on her luggage, and he released it.
“It is most assuredly my loss,” she professed, the words ringing true in her own ears. She shouldn’t go. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to. Longing resonated through her like a church bell, hitting hard and loud, only to come again in softer echoes the longer she stood there looking up at him.
Was every American as handsome as he was? Surely not.
“No, I mean it’s a shame that I’ll have to resign. I do love to fly.” A
corner of Jameson’s mouth quirked a little higher. “Wonder if they need more officers over at Sector Command?”
The other pilot scoffed. “Stop flirting—we’re going to be late.” Scarlett arched a singular eyebrow at Jameson.
“Let me take you to dinner,” he asked again, this time softer. “Stanton, we really have to go. We’re already late.”
“Give me a second here, Donaldson. Come on, Scarlett, live a little.” Those eyes of his stayed locked on hers, unraveling her defenses.
“You really are insistent,” she accused, straightening her spine. “It’s one of my finer qualities.”
“It hardly argues that I should acquaint myself with your less-than-finer ones,” she muttered.
“You’ll like those, too.” He winked.
Oh, lord. That single action nearly wiped out any and all reasoning she had left. She snapped her mouth shut to keep from sputtering and prayed the flaming heat in her cheeks didn’t give her away. “You’re honestly going to stand there until I agree to go to dinner with you?”
He seemed to ponder that for a second, and she fought the urge to lean closer to him. “Well, you’re still standing here, too, so I figure you might actually want to have dinner with me.”
She did, damn him. She wanted to see him smile again, but she might not survive that little wink twice.
“Stanton!” Donaldson shouted.
Jameson watched her like she was a play and he couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
“Well, if you’re not, then fine, I’ll go—” Constance started, stepping forward and jarring Scarlett out of her staring contest.
“I’ll go to dinner with you,” Scarlett blurted, mentally cursing her sister’s gleeful little smirk.
“Are you going to make me turn in my wings first?” He smiled, and her stomach filled with another zing of electricity.
“Would you?” she challenged.
His head tilted to the side. “If it got me a dinner with you…I just might.”
“Stanton, get in the bloody car!”
“You’d better go,” she urged, stifling a grin.
“For now,” he agreed, his eyes dancing as he backed away. “But I’ll be seeing you, Scarlett.” He flashed her another smile and disappeared into the car.
They pulled away a heartbeat later, vanishing down the road toward the airfield.
“Thank you for the help, dear sister.” She rolled her eyes at Constance as they headed into the hut.
“You’re quite welcome,” Constance answered unabashedly. “You’re supposed to be the shy one, remember?”
“Well, it had appeared that you had taken my role for the moment, so I assumed yours. It’s rather fun to be the bold, outspoken one,” she mused, smiling over her shoulder as she waltzed through the door.
Scarlett scoffed but followed her conniving little matchmaker of a sister. I’ll be seeing you, Scarlett. Trouble, indeed…if he survived tonight’s patrol flights. Her chest tightened at the all-too-real possibility that he wouldn’t. Cardiff had been bombed last week, and patrols were becoming increasingly dangerous with the Nazis’ advance. This vise of worry was the precise reason she had a no-pilots rule, but there wasn’t much she could do
but head to work and wait to find out if she would ever see Jameson again.
