In Perfect Time (37 page)

This time she wouldn’t forgive him. He didn’t blame her, since he couldn’t forgive himself. If only he had one iota of self-control. Then her heart and their friendship would be intact.

Sure, he’d done the right thing letting her go. Maybe the realities of the bond tour—hopping from city to city and living on the rails—would make her realize it too.

That didn’t ease his guilt. If he hadn’t kissed her, he wouldn’t have needed to push her away.

He thumped out the final beat, and the audience cheered. Roger stood, bowed his head, and headed down rickety stairs offstage.

“Let’s hear it for our three little nightingales,” Barkley called. “Come up and join us, ladies.”

Roger stepped to the side as the women climbed the stairs. Kay walked past as if he didn’t exist.

The crushing ache in his chest intensified.

“That was swell, Lieutenant.” Charlie Poole, the stagehand, ushered them toward the tent they used between shows. “You’re a top-rate drummer.”

“Thanks.” He smiled at the kid.

Mike lagged behind to listen to the women speak.

Inside the tent, Roger sank onto a camp stool. “Say, Charlie, how old are you?”

He pulled himself taller and ran his hand through unruly straw-colored hair. “Eighteen, sir.”

“Liar.”

Charlie glanced around the tent, but they were alone. “All right, I’m sixteen, but that’s old enough for a job, you know.”

“I know. What about school?”

He flapped a hand at Roger. “Ah, I’m no good at school, sitting still and doing what Teacher says. Why should I when I can get a man’s job and a man’s wages?”

“Believe me, I understand.” Roger rolled his drumsticks between his hands. “I only stayed in school because of band.” And the girls.

“Well, I ain’t got band, but I got strong arms and a strong back.”

“That’ll get you far.” But he’d get further with some basic skills. “Say, you like math?”

He grimaced. “Hate it.”

“Only ’cause no one ever made it interesting. You like music?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Did you know math’s like music?” Roger pulled over a crate and tapped out some rhythms to show him the numbers in the beat.

Charlie drew up a camp stool beside him. He listened and asked questions, and something lit in his gray eyes.

The nurses breezed into the tent with Mike and the PR men. Kay walked beside Captain Sellers and said something to the man. He laughed and patted her shoulder.

Jealousy twisted everything up inside, but he had no right. She was free to date anyone she chose, including weasels
like Don Sellers. But Roger also had no reason to be jealous. Although Sellers was handsome and attentive, Kay kept a professional distance.

Even after Roger had treated her so poorly, she hadn’t reverted to her old ways. She could have, just to spite him. But she didn’t.

The ache pressed so hard he could barely breathe. He loved her so much.

“Isn’t that song fun?” Georgie threaded her arms around her friends’ waists. “ ‘Ac-cen-tchu-ate the Positive,’ ” she sang out.

Mellie joined in with her pretty soprano, and Georgie slipped into the harmony.

Major Barkley rushed up to them. “You can sing?”

Georgie smiled. “Sure, we love to sing.”

Barkley paced back and forth, waved Sellers over. “The Andrews Sisters have nothing on these three. Those dizzy dames on stage—fire them. We’ll save money and a whole lot of headaches. You”—he turned to the nurses, his arms flung wide—“you’re the Nightingale Sisters. You’ll sing both songs.”

“No.” Kay’s face blanched. “Not me. I don’t sing.”

Concern propelled Roger to his feet, but if Kay explained, Barkley would understand.

But Barkley laughed. “A looker like you? Sure you can sing, doll.”

“No, I can’t.” Her voice warbled. “I really can’t.”

“No need to be modest. You can always sing soft, but with a face like yours, we need you onstage.”

Kay turned paler than after the C-47 crash. “I assure you, sir. This isn’t false modesty. I sing horribly. I’m tone deaf.”

“You’ll do fine.” He walked away from her. “Sellers, start a new script.”

“Sir.” Roger stepped into his path. “The lady said she doesn’t sing. You can’t make her.”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant.” Kay’s eyes flashed at him. “I can speak for myself.”

Roger froze at the sensation of her gaze fixed on him, her words directed at him for the first time since the kiss. He swallowed hard. “I know you can.”

She blinked and spun to the major. “Please, sir. I can’t sing. You really don’t want me to. Trust me.”

“Nonsense.” He waved her off and headed for the tent entrance. “You’ll do fine. Excuse me, folks. I have three dames to fire.”

Kay covered her face with both hands, her shoulders slumped.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie.” Georgie hugged her. “We’ll figure something out.”

Roger gripped his drumsticks in one hand. Behind enemy lines, he could protect her. But now when she faced her old deep fear, he couldn’t.

45

Oklahoma
March 12, 1945

Evil,
evil,
evil
to
the
core.
The train chuffed it out, louder and louder.

Perhaps Kay should have taken Georgie up on her invitation to spend her furlough in Virginia at the Taylor home, a place Kay loved. But Kay sensed Georgie needed time alone with her family. Meanwhile, Mellie was meeting her new mother-in-law in Pennsylvania, Mike had gone home to Florida, and Roger to Iowa.

But Kay had no home to visit and no family to welcome her, so she was on her way to Tulsa with the PR men, band, and stagehands to prepare for the tour.

Evil,
evil,
evil
.

Her father’s voice grew louder and more insistent and more logical as the train crossed the prairie, land she knew well from her family’s roving travels, as he preached that God required perfection in order to forgive.

Apparently her father hadn’t skewed the message so badly after all. Because she sure didn’t feel forgiven right now.

Captain Sellers shifted in the seat beside her. “You’re quiet, Kay.”

She kept her gaze on the flat grasslands rushing past her window. “I told you. I don’t sing and I don’t want to be here.”

“You’re very upset by this, aren’t you?”

Her jaw edged forward. “Does it matter how I feel? Orders are orders.”

“It matters to me.”

“Because if I’m upset, it messes up your show.” She glared at him.

Instead, compassion warmed his eyes. “No, because you matter.”

She whipped her gaze back to the window. Baloney. She didn’t matter to anyone. Not to her own family, not to Roger Cooper, and not to God.

For almost a year she’d fooled herself to believe the Lord cared about her, but recent events proved otherwise. If God cared, why did he let her throw herself at Roger to be rejected? Why did he thwart her only remaining goal? Why did he force her to get on stage and sing? Of all things, to sing? The one thing she absolutely couldn’t do.

And the voices. Her father lambasting her for not repenting. Her sisters taunting her. Her mother’s limp defenses of her middle daughter, dwindling away over time as she accepted the truth.

The truth that Kay was evil, evil, irredeemable.

“Tell you what.” Sellers laid his hand on Kay’s arm. “Why don’t we have dinner tonight in Tulsa, and you can tell me more? Maybe there’s something I can do.”

Through the olive drab wool of her jacket sleeve, the warmth of Sellers’s hand ignited a spark of hope. If he could do something, anything, to commute her sentence, she could handle one dinner out. “All right.”

Tulsa, Oklahoma

In the Mayo Hotel’s Crystal Ballroom, as silverware clinked on china and patrons conversed in subdued tones, Kay spilled
her life story to Don Sellers, a man she hardly knew and barely liked.

Stories rushed out, stories she’d only told to Mellie and Georgie and . . . Roger. But she had a purpose, and Don listened and held her hand.

If she could make him see how singing would traumatize her—and the audience—and how she needed this chance at the chief nurse program, he might help.

Don stroked Kay’s hand gently. “And here we are, trying to force you to sing in public.”

“Do you see why I can’t?”

“Of course, darling. It’d be cruel to make you. I’ll see what I can do.”

Kay offered a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” His light brown eyes glowed.

Yes, he came on too strong, but at least he wasn’t afraid to show his interest and wasn’t ashamed to be seen with her. It felt good to be admired and pursued.

Roger certainly hadn’t pursued her. He’d pushed her away. He never called her darling or took her to dinner or held her hand.

If he saw her right now, he’d think she’d fallen into her old ways. So what? Why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t she date a handsome man who cared about her? The old ways worked. The new ways only gave her grief.

The waiter cleared away the dessert plates, and Don reached for Kay’s other hand.

She hesitated for only a second, then accepted, tilting a gaze up through her eyelashes.

Don inched closer. “About the second issue—the chief nurse program. That’s the real reason you don’t want to be here.”

“Yes. I’ve worked hard for this goal for a year. With the war winding down, the program will close down and I’ll lose my
opportunity. After the war I’ll have to start as a ward nurse, and it could take years to become a chief.”

He caressed her hands with his thumbs, very pleasant. Nothing hesitant or confused about him. He knew what he wanted, and he aimed for it. How refreshing. “I might be able to do something about that.”

“You could?” Kay’s heart hopped.

“The more I think about it, the more certain I am. We don’t need three nurses. Two will do. Sure, you’re the best looking of the three, but Mellie and Georgie will suffice.”

“Of course they would.”

“I have quite a bit of influence with Barkley, and he calls the shots. He might let you go if we planned our strategy right.”

“If you could, I’d be so grateful.”

He slipped one hand free and set his finger under her chin. “I have an idea.” Then he gave her a kiss, right on the lips, easy and assured.

Although stunned, Kay could mimic his poise. She arched an eyebrow at him. “That felt more like a kiss than an idea.”

He chuckled. “I hope you like the idea as much as the kiss.”

“Go on.”

“We need to make plans to convince Barkley to release you. I have a few ideas and I’d like to hear yours. Perhaps we could discuss the situation this evening over drinks in my room.”

So that’s what this was about—getting her into bed. Kay stiffened and drew her hand away. “I’m not that kind of woman.”

“I know you aren’t. But you’re my kind of woman. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.” He pulled an envelope and pen from his jacket pocket and wrote something down. “You’re gutsy, passionate, and brave. As I said, my kind of woman, a woman I’d like to help achieve her goals.”

He slid the envelope to her.

She picked it up. It read, “Room 511, 9 p.m. Please join me.”

The truth blared at her in dark, angular lines. Why did she keep denying it? Why not accept who she was and use it for a good purpose?

Kay tucked the envelope in her shoulder bag. “Nine o’clock.”

Outside DeWitt, Iowa

Mom passed Roger the jar of honey. “Who would’ve thought, of all our children, you’d be the one they call a hero? Never thought you’d amount to much.”

“Thanks,” Roger said, but only for the honey, which he slathered on a biscuit. He tried not to bump elbows with his sister-in-law Betty. The Cooper table had been built for a family with eight kids, not for thirteen full-size adults.

“That’s what you told the reporter from
The
Observer
, wasn’t it, Mom?” his oldest brother, Joe, said from the far end of the table, his eyes glinting.

“That’s what I told him.” Mom folded the napkin over the remaining biscuits in the basket. “He asked how it felt that our youngest son was a hero. Surprised, I told him. Never had a lick of sense, that boy.”