Where or When: A Pearl Harbor Romance

by Bretton, Barbara

  She shook her head, tears welling up in her big blue eyes. "Not this time, Daddy."

  "Must be serious.” More serious than even he had figured. His carefree, outspoken daughter had never hesitated to tell all before.

  "It's nothing," she said, sniffing loudly. "Really nothing."

  "He's a good man, you know, honey."

  She covered her face with her hands. "Don't say that."

  "You could do worse than fall in love with him."

  "I'm not in love with him."

  "Is he in love with you?"

  Her strangled laugh confirmed it for him.

  "I hate him," she said.

  "It will pass."

  She glared up at him. "You don't know anything about it."

  "You're right," said Owen, "but I do know a few things about love. If it's the real thing, it will pass.” And he had the strong hunch it didn't come more real than this.

  "If you knew the terrible things he said to me, you wouldn't be so willing to hand me over to him."

  "I'm not handing you over to anybody, honey, until you tell me it's time."

  She gave him a withering look. "It's not time."

  He kissed her on top of the head. "Whatever you say.” He slung his golf bag back over his shoulder and headed for the door.

  "Daddy."

  He turned at the sound of her voice.

  "If I fell in love with someone like Rick, what would you say?"

  He took a deep breath and prepared to lose his little girl to another man. "I'd say you were a very lucky young woman."

  She nodded and her eyes--so much like Marguerite's--grew dreamy and distant. Smiling to himself, Owen Forrester headed out to play golf.

  It was seven-thirty on the morning of December 7, 1941.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The first thing Rick saw when he approached the Forrester house was the admiral.

  Or was it?

  Rick blinked once, then twice, but the apparition didn't disappear the way it was supposed to. Forrester was supposed to be sound asleep in the back of the house, not strolling down the porch steps, whistling Jingle Bells. He was dressed in civvies and toting his golf bag and the only familiar thing about him was his smile.

  Rick had to hand it to him. Forrester acted as if seeing Rick on his doorstep at 7:35 in the morning was an everyday occurrence.

  "I could use a partner," said the Admiral after Rick executed a surprised salute. "What do you say?"

  "Thanks for the invitation, sir, but I...uh--"

  An amused twinkle appeared in Forrester's blue eyes. "But you have other plans for the day."

  "Yes, sir."

  Forrester gestured back toward the house. "She's in the kitchen."

  "Sir?"

  "She looks about as happy as you do.” Forrester leaned forward and shook his head at the sight of Rick's black eye. "Did she give you that shiner?"

  "No, sir.” Here it comes, thought Rick. The ax was about to fall.

  "Wouldn't have surprised me one bit," said the admiral with a short laugh. "That girl has one hell of a temper."

  Rick hesitated. If he agreed, he'd be criticizing the admiral's daughter to his face. If he disagreed, he'd be a liar. He decided to keep his big mouth shut for a change.

  "Go on in," said Forrester, fiddling with something in his pants pocket. "She's probably sitting there, waiting for you."

  "I doubt that, sir."

  "Then you don't know women, son--or my daughter."

  "I don't understand."

  "Exactly. Eden's never lost a night's sleep over any guy before in her entire life. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is."

  "She didn't sleep last night?” Somehow he'd pictured her sleeping like a baby, dreaming sweet dreams of victory. He was glad to hear she'd had as lousy a night as he had.

  "She grabbed a few winks at the kitchen table, but I woke her up when I was leaving. As much as possible, my daughter looks like hell right now. It might give you an advantage."

  He eyed Forrester with curiosity. "You don't mind if I go inside?” He wondered if the admiral knew he was here to give Eden a piece of his mind, not ask for her hand.

  "Son, the only thing I mind is the fact I'll miss my tee-off if I don't get moving."

  Another salute and the admiral was gone. Rick stared after the departing Oldsmobile. That was as close to a blessing as he was likely to get. Too bad he was there to tell the admiral's daughter where to get off. He wondered if Forrester's blessing would extend toward a damn good spanking.

  The door was open a crack. He poked his head inside. The front room was flooded with early morning sunshine. He glanced around, but there wasn't a sign of Eden anywhere. He stepped inside. Okay, now what. He couldn't march down the hallway and fling open bedroom doors. If she was still in the same mood she'd been in last night, he'd find himself in the brig for the next twenty years. Besides, there was Lilly to consider.

  The kitchen, he thought. Forrester had said he'd found her asleep at the table. It was as good a place to start as any.

  #

  Eden, who had watched the whole exchange between her father and Rick from the front window, listened to his footsteps as he made his way to the kitchen. Her heart raced with righteous indignation. The nerve of him, strolling through her house like he owned it. She wondered what her father had said to Rick that he felt he could barge right in. Rick's face had been turned away from her, but if the expression on her father's was any indication, the two of them were in cahoots about something. A big iron frying pan winked at her from the dish drainer next to the sink. Wouldn't she just love to bring it down hard on top of Rick's thick skull?

  His footsteps grew closer. Her breath caught in her throat and, hands shaking, she rose from her chair. She hated him--she really did--and she was glad she'd left him stranded when she drove off without him. He'd deserved that and more and she'd do it again if she had half the chance. He was arrogant, bull-headed, and all those other alphabet-insults she'd come up with. He didn't like anything about her--he'd made that perfectly clear--and he'd already gotten what he wanted from her father, so why was he even here?

  If he tried to insult her in her very own kitchen, he'd be one sorry sailor by the time she was finished with him.

  #

  There she was, just where Forrester had said she would be, in the kitchen. Only thing was, she wasn't asleep with her head on the kitchen table. She was standing near the stove, her dainty hand wrapped around the handle of an ugly black frying pan.

  He stopped in the doorway. "You're not planning to use that thing, are you?"

  "It depends," she said, eyeing him with suspicion.

  "Can I sit down?"

  "No."

  "Great," he said, remembering exactly why he'd wanted to see her in the first place. "I wasn't planning to stay long anyway. I can say my piece and be out of here in five minutes."

  She glared at him, her fingers tightening around the handle of the pan. "I'll give you three."

  This wasn't going the way he'd figured. He was supposed to be the one with the gripe.

  "Say something," she ordered, glancing at the clock over the sink. "You have two and a half minutes left."

  "You're something, you know that?” He took another step into the room, frying pan be damned. "Jeez, I'd like to throw you over my knee and paddle some brains into you."

  "Try it and you'll be walking funny tomorrow."

  He took another three steps toward her. "Put that stupid pan down."

  "Absolutely not. You're a madman. I need some protection."

  "You're the one with the weapon, not me."

  "You broke into my house."

  "The door was open."

  "Nobody invited you."

  "Doesn't matter. Your old man said it was okay."

  "I'll have to remember to thank him," she drawled, sarcasm etching her words.

  She was beautiful, he thought incongruously. In her faded pink shorts and baggy cotton top with her
hair tumbling down around her shoulders and her eyes blazing with temper--she was absolutely luminous.

  "Two minutes.” Was he crazy or was her voice softer than it had been a second ago?

  You came to say goodbye, Byrne. Just do it, man, and get out of here. "It never would've worked."

  "I know.” Her voice was a whisper. She didn't bother to pretend she didn't know exactly what he was talking about.

  "We're from two different worlds."

  "Absolutely.” She put the pan back down on the stove. He noticed her hands were shaking.

  "We must have been crazy."

  "Insane."

  "We don't have anything in common."

  "Not one single thing."

  Okay, he thought. Here goes. "But it doesn't matter," he said. "Does it?"

  She shook her head. Her eyes glittered with tears and his heart soared. "Not one bit."

  Somehow the distance between them disappeared and she was in his arms. He drank in the scent of her perfume, the satiny feel of her skin. He felt like a man who'd come to the edge of a cliff and just managed to keep from falling.

  She clung to him, her face pressed close to his chest. The sound of his heart beating, swift and hard beneath her ear, was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. This was the last place she thought she'd be, the last place she thought possible ever again.

  "We said some terrible things.” His chest muffled her voice. "I wish we could--"

  He kissed her throat, her jaw, and the curve of her temple. "Not now."

  "But you were right.” She placed her hands against his chest and leaned back so she could see his face.

  "So were you."

  "You're kidding."

  "You talk too much."

  He claimed her mouth with a kiss of such sweetness and promise that she felt like a cloud drifting out over the Pacific, lighter than air, infinitely free. She rose up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck, letting the kiss deepen until she thought she would die from the pleasure. From far away she heard a sound like fireworks on the Fourth of July and she laughed softly.

  "Private joke?"

  "Isn't that silly? You kissed me and I heard fireworks like in a Hollywood movie."

  They fell quiet for a moment. He tilted his head to the right, listening.

  "That's weird," he said. "Why would they shoot off fireworks on a Sunday morning?” He looked at her. "Is it some kind of Hawaiian tradition?"

  She frowned. "Not that I know of."

  "Did you hear that noise?” They both turned to see Lilly standing in the doorway. "At eight o'clock on a Sunday morning, no less.” One hand rested protectively against her belly, while the other gripped the doorjamb. Even from across the kitchen Eden noticed that her knuckles were white.

  A knot of fear lodged in her belly. "I thought it was fireworks."

  "Are you okay?” Rick moved toward Lilly. "You don't look too good, Doc."

  "I'm not surprised.” Lilly met Eden's eyes. "The baby is coming."

  Eden thought she would pass out right there on the kitchen floor. "You're not due for weeks yet."

  Her smile was rueful. "I'm afraid babies pay little heed to calendars and time tables."

  Rick laughed and ruffled Eden's hair. "Don't worry so much. The first one takes a long time."

  "How do you know so much about it?" she demanded.

  "Experience. I watched three sisters go through it.” He turned to Lilly. "Am I right?"

  "You're right," said Lilly, "but I'm afraid I've been in labor for the past six hours."

  "Oh my God.” Eden sank onto a chair. "What do we do?"

  "Call the hospital, please," said Lilly. "Tell them the pains are eight minutes apart and that we're on our way."

  Eden hurried through the kitchen and living room and was almost at the hall telephone when another triple blast of fireworks shook the house. "What on earth--?” She reached for the phone and clicked twice for the operator, then waited. She clicked again. Still nothing, except for another earthshaking roar in the distance.

  Rick appeared at her side. "Lilly wants to know if you have an extra container of tooth powder."

  "In the linen closet, top shelf.” He turned to go, but she placed a hand on his arm. "Rick, the line is dead."

  He grabbed the receiver from her and gave it a try himself. "Great," he muttered. "Now what?"

  "What difference does a telephone call make," Eden reasoned. "Lilly has to go to the hospital."

  Rick swore as the house shook from the next explosion.

  "They must be doing some kind of test bombing," Rick said. "I thought it was too loud for fireworks.” She frowned. "Test bombing on a Sunday sounds almost sacrilegious."

  Lilly was in the guest room, dressing. Eden followed Rick out onto the front porch.

  "Over there," he said, pointing in the general direction of Pearl Harbor. Plumes of black smoke billowed lazily up into the deep blue morning sky. "Smells like the ammo facility exploded."

  "Thank God Daddy's golfing," she said. "His office isn't too far away from there."

  "Where's the hospital?" Rick asked, still watching the sky as the drone of aircraft grew louder.

  "Not too far from here," Eden said absently. "Why don't you start the car and I'll--” She stopped, her gaze following Rick's. "There must be twenty planes coming this way."

  Rick said nothing. His attention was riveted to the approaching aircraft.

  "What do you think it is?" she asked. "Some kind of training mission?"

  "I don't know," he said. "I wish I had a pair of binoculars."

  "Looks like they're veering off toward Kaneohe.” She turned back toward the house. "I'll see if Lilly needs any help."

  Minutes later they were all jammed into her red car and on their way to the hospital. Eden had left a note for her father on the Frigidaire, explaining that Lilly was in labor and they'd left for the hospital.

  Lilly's pains were coming at five-minute intervals and she was lying down on the back seat with her head on her overnight case. Eden tried to keep up a breezy line of chatter but neither Rick nor her sister-in-law participated. It didn't matter. She talked about the weather, about Christmas, about anything she could think of.

  They heard the loud drone of approaching aircraft once again. She glanced at the clock in the dashboard. It was a little after eight in the morning, too early for so much activity.

  "Rick.” Her voice was low, urgent. "I think something's wrong."

  He said nothing, but that telltale muscle in his jaw was working furiously.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Lilly, whose eyes were closed. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on Lilly's forehead and she was breathing rapidly through her mouth.

  The aircraft came into view. They were in formation, some ten or fifteen planes. Something about them was odd, not quite right. Eden couldn't put her finger on what was wrong but the hairs on the back of her neck rose in alarm as one of the planes dipped its wings as they sailed overhead.

  And that's when she saw it, the round red globe on each and every plane. The symbol of the Rising Sun.

  "My God!" she said, grabbing Rick's arm. "The Japanese!"

  "I know," he said, gunning the engine and heading for the main highway to the hospital. "We weren't hearing fireworks, Eden. They're attacking Pearl Harbor."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It took Rick all of three seconds to realize they were sitting ducks. Eden's red sports car probably stood out on the sandy road like a bulls eye. He didn't want to think how tempting they must look in the crosshairs of a machine gun. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Lilly needed a hospital and fast. However, the odds of reaching the hospital alive were looking slimmer by the minute.

  A Zero flew low enough for Rick to see the pilot smile and quickly the question became moot.

  "What are you doing?" Eden grabbed for the wheel as he veered off the road. "Rick! The hospital--"

  "Forget the hospital."

  "L
illy...the baby--"

  He pulled onto a sandy shoulder, partially hidden by the overhang of a banyan tree. "Listen to me: if we stay on this road, we won't make it to the hospital, we'll be taken to a morgue."

  She paled beneath her tan. He wanted to reach out and hold her, promise to keep her safe from harm, but there wasn't time. Besides, he hated making promises he might not be able to keep. "What are we going to do?" she asked, her voice low so Lilly wouldn't hear.

  "Hide."

  "For how long?"

  He dragged his hand through his hair. "Who the hell knows? Until they quit bombing Pearl.” If they stopped bombing Pearl. Black, acrid smoke was drifting from the west. The blast of shells finding their targets rattled inside his head. All the talk, the rumors--it was all coming true right now. Right there. He should be back at the base, standing up against the enemy with the rest of them, but there was no way he could leave Eden and Lilly.

  The now-familiar drone of enemy aircraft started up again. He threw open the car door and folded the seat forward. "Come here," he barked at Eden. "Help me with Lilly. We don't have much time."

  Lilly's dark eyes were wet with tears.

  "We won't hurt you," he said. "We have to--"

  "I know," she whispered. She hooked her arm around his neck. The expression on her face was one of such sadness that he knew she'd heard and understood what was going on. The country that had given birth to her parents and her grandparents had turned against the only country she had ever called home. "So terrible--"

  He lifted her from the car and motioned for Eden to grab Lilly's bags. "Don't think about anything but the baby," he said as they hurried toward an outcropping of rocks beyond the banyan tree. Her body stiffened in his arms and he heard her sharp intake of breath. He stopped in his tracks, acutely aware of her fragility. There was no doubt in his mind that she was having another beaut of a labor pain. She seemed to go rigid for an endless moment then her head fell back against his shoulder.

  Eden ran ahead, struggling with her sister-in-law's bags. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and her brow furrowed with worry, but she didn't complain or grumble or do any of the things he would've figured she'd do back when he first met her. With her hair tumbling from its topknot and her bare legs and feet, she looked like anything but what she was, the pampered daughter of an admiral. She looked like somebody he could love.