His hands locked on her waist. “Who cares, let them.”
“Jack. You’re embarrassing me.”
That did it.
Jack’s hands dropped from her waist, and he quickly stepped back. “Sorry.” He searched her eyes and gave her a sheepish grin. “Guess I got carried away.”
“Uh-huh.” She folded her hands across her chest and nodded at him. “You need to learn to behave yourself in public.”
He appeared to relax. “I’ll do better. Promise.” He held up his index and middle fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
She bit the inside of her lower lip to keep from smiling. “Something tells me if you were ever a Scout, it wasn’t for long.”
He flashed his dazzling white teeth at her. “Ah, Frannie, you excel at knocking my ego down a peg or two. I won’t ever worry about it getting out of control with you around to keep me straight.”
“You remember that, buster.” She jabbed her index finger against his chest.
Minutes later they were back on the street, Fran carrying the bag with the expensive perfume Jack bought her. She should have said no, but it seemed to mean a great deal to him to purchase it for her.
“What would you like to eat for dinner?”
“Anything’s fine. It doesn’t have to be fancy.”
“Of course, it does. No hole in the wall for my gal. I’m going to take you to the Parisian Room at The Plaza.”
“No, Jack. I’m not dressed for that.”
“We can easily solve that problem. Let’s go back to Macy’s.”
Fran thought of the sleek black dress back at the hotel she’d paid almost half a paycheck for. She’d seen it displayed in Landaurs’ window and knew immediately she wanted the dress for this weekend. “No. I have something back at the room I can wear.”
“Better yet, since that’s where we’re headed.” He stuck out his arm and waved down a passing cab.
After she dressed and returned from the bedroom, Jack pursed his lips and released a slow whistle. His gleaming eyes traveled from her upswept hair, down over her eyes and nose, hesitating briefly on her ruby-colored lips, before stopping completely at the modest cleavage exposed by the V-neck.
She crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn’t help it. She’d never worn such a dress. When she saw it hanging in the store window, she decided she must buy it. She didn’t want to appear fresh from the country and embarrass Jack. For just once in her life, she wanted to feel glamorous—sophisticated.
His gaze continued to roam down her silk-clad legs to her ruby high-heeled shoes. “My girl, I’m going to be the envy of every man tonight. I’ll need more than a stick to fight them off with. Maybe I should take my sidearm.” He took her hand and twirled her around. In a low husky voice he said, “Frannie Girl, do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“Better yet.” He tilted her chin up. “Why don’t I show you.”
Chapter 18
February 2013
Gram’s voice had gotten progressively weaker until she nodded off, leaving Sara to sit and ponder her grandmother’s romantic but tragic love story. At least she assumed it was tragic, since Grams hadn’t married Jack, but she still didn’t know what happened. She thought she would have liked Jack had she the opportunity to meet him. She fell a little bit in love with him every time her grandmother spoke of him, and yet it was a little disconcerting because she felt as if she were betraying her grandfather.
Now hearing Gram’s story, Sara couldn’t help but see her grandparents’ relationship through a different focal lens. She had few recollections of them hugging or displaying any outward emotion toward each other. She’d always thought it had more to do with age, but maybe not. Perhaps, there was a spark missing. How sad, she thought, for both of them.
She’d always knew there was a hidden depth to her grandmother. She’d heard the stories from her Aunt Dorothy about the mischief she and Grams would get into. Had her marriage to Gramps been the sobering factor that returned her grandmother to her shell? She hoped not for that would have been terrible for everyone.
In retrospect, Sara wondered if she’d modeled her own expectations for marriage around theirs. If so, then she had some soul searching to do—but not today.
Sara checked her phone for any emails she might need to respond to and then decided she would scoot up to the cafeteria for some lunch. As usual, the cafeteria was crowded with staff and visitors trying to fit a meal into their busy day. Sara grabbed a booth near the window where she could feel the warm sunlight through the glass panes.
“History repeats itself,” a familiar voice spoke from behind her.
Startled, Sara turned then accidentally bit down on her tongue. “Ow.” She brought her right hand to her mouth.
“You all right?” Paul Anderson asked, a bit of humor lurking in his voice.
“Yes,” she said, feeling utterly foolish.
“Do you mind?” he repeated, nodding at the empty seat across from her.
“No.” She swallowed the bite of salad she’d just taken. “Please join me.”
He set down his tray and neatly folded his lean body between the table and bench seat. “Thanks.”
Sara studied the tanned masculine face with the unwavering blue eyes and couldn’t help but appreciate the view. He radiated pure animal magnetism. Feeling self-conscious, she wondered where all the cool composure she’d so carefully cultivated over the years disappeared to. She cleared her throat, trying to think of something to say when Paul beat her to it.
“This is my favorite table.” He nodded toward the window.
“It is?” was all she managed to say as she began rearranging the items on her tray, wishing didn’t feel so awkward.
“It’s the view, you see.”
She turned to glance out of the glass pane. The outdoor meditation garden with its frozen icicle fountain appeared like a miniature wonderland among the snow-dusted evergreen shrubs and comforting statutes. “It’s beautiful.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he said, his voice warm.
His words echoed in her mind as she recalled Jack’s words to her aunt.
She glanced up at the man whose eyes were focused on her and flushed. He appeared tired, and she sensed they shared a similar sadness. She struggled for something to say, not wanting to upset him but if possible lend some sense of support.
“I feel so helpless here.”
Paul seemed to refocus from wherever his mind had taken him. “Yeah, it pretty much sucks. I’ve been on family medical leave for about a week—flew up from Florida. The doctor says it won’t be much longer now.”
”I’m sorry.” She automatically reached out to touch his hand then sharply drew it back.
“You’re from Florida? Where bouts?”
“Jacksonville, been there about two years.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. What are the odds two people from Jacksonville would be sitting in Lakeside Memorial Hospital in Brockport, New York, at the same time?”
Paul’s lips crinkled at the edges. “Not ones I’d bet on. So, what do you do in Jacksonville?”
“I own a new publishing company there.”
“That must be interesting work. Being an avid reader in what spare time I have, I expect it’s a job I’d enjoy as well.”
“I do love it,” she said honestly. “I enjoy discovering new authors and working with them to get their voices published. It’s very rewarding.”
“I imagine. It’s must be like making dreams come true.”
“It feels that way some days. When you place that first call to tell a new author you want to publish their work . . . well, it feels pretty good. So, what do you do? Wait.” She held up her hand. “Let me guess. Navy, right?”
“Good guess. What gave it away?”
“Let’s see . . .” She ticked off on her fingers. “One, the haircut, two, you’ve been in Jax only two years, and three, the military bearing. So Mayport or NAS Jax?”
“NAS.”
Figures. Sara mentally groaned as he confirmed her suspicions. Not another Navy guy. “Are you from New York originally?”
“Born in Brockport but moved away when I was young. I try to visit as often as I can, but it’s never as much as I would like.”
“I know the feeling.”
“And how about you? Do you call Brockport home?”
“No, I’m from a small village, northwest of Brockport—not much there, a family-run grocery store, the post office, fire department and, of course, my old high school.”
“How did you end up in Jacksonville?”
“Navy.” She took a bite of her roll in hopes of staving off further questions.
“Really? You serve?”
She shook her head, swallowing the bread and praying it didn’t stick in her throat.
He tilted his head studying her, waiting for her to finish her mouthful.
She reached for her cup of coffee and took a sip, washing the dry roll down her throat before she managed to spit out, “Ex.”
“Ah,” he said with considerable understanding. “Being a military wife didn’t agree with you, huh?”
“It wasn’t being a Navy wife I had a problem with.”
“No?”
“No,” she stated, more firmly than she meant to.
Paul studied her, as if he could ascertain whether it was wise to continue with the subject at hand, and said, “Glad to hear it.” His face brightened. “Then there’s still a chance.”
Was that a come on? Nah, it couldn’t be, could it? She was a bit out of practice in recognizing one. She tilted her head quizzically. “Chance for what?”
His eyes sparkled with merriment. “That if I give you my number, you’ll call me once we get back to Jacksonville.”
She sputtered, not quite sure what to say. Would she like to get to know him socially, outside the walls of this hospital? Her heart sped up at the thought, sending a tingling sensation through her. There was a magnetic energy that vibrated between them that was hard to ignore. She stared wordlessly at him.
“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, the humor in his voice evident.
Annoyed with her attraction to him, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, “You pick women up at funerals too, or just hospitals?”
Paul didn’t miss a beat in answering. “Only if they’re as lovely as you.” He grinned, then picked up his sandwich and took a bite. “For hospital food, this isn’t half bad,” he said, astutely changing the subject.
Well hell, what could she say? Nothing was her best option. She checked her watch for the time. “Oh my, it’s later than I thought.” She picked up her fork and steadily ate, ignoring her dinner companion as best as she could. “I need to get back.”
He nodded, as he quickly swallowed the food he’d just taken a bite of.
Shortly thereafter, she set her fork down, slid out of the seat, and grabbed her tray. “Gotta run. It was nice chatting with you again, Paul Anderson.”
“Same here, Red.”
Her steps faltered at the cheeky remark. She glanced back at the devilishly handsome man still seated in the booth behind her.
He grinned and had the audacity to wink at her. She shook her head, then strode over to the waste receptacle where she dumped her garbage, silently reminding herself that the last thing she needed was another sailor in her life.
On the way back to Gram’s room, Sara stopped in the gift shop to pick up a vase of flowers to brighten the depressing atmosphere, then stopped at the nurses’ station on her grandmother’s floor. “Good afternoon. I’m Frances Kennedy’s granddaughter. Do you know if the doctor has been in to see her yet?”
“Let me check.” The nurse pulled a chart and flipped through it. “Mmh, no, he hasn’t been in yet.”
“Good.” Sara tapped her fingers flat onto the counter. “I would like to speak with him when he does.”
As she turned to head down the hall, the movement of the man in the room across from the counter caught her attention. Her eyes were drawn to Paul’s masculine form standing beside a patient’s bed, sorrow etched on his face. Her heart went out to the weary warrior and she wished she could do more to comfort him. He seemed so alone. Thankfully, she had her sisters to share this difficult time with. She wondered if Paul had anyone.
As if sensing her presence, he glanced toward the door. His piercing gaze caught hers, and it felt as though the U.S.S. Enterprise’s tractor beam had locked on, holding her in place. A burgeoning pain pulsated in her chest as if she’d become directly linked to his sorrow. She raised her hand in acknowledgment, breaking his focus and releasing her from the spell.
His finely molded lips etched into a semblance of a smile before his eyes returned to the bed.
She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Damn, there was something about Paul Anderson that called to her soul.
It was a call she had no intention of answering. Ever. One mistake in a lifetime was quite enough. She shook her head at her foolish thoughts. This thing with Anderson was nothing more than the comradery of two people sharing a difficult experience—like two soldiers at war. That’s all it was, absolutely nothing more.
Her heart leapt with joy when she entered the room to find her grandmother lost in thought staring out the window, a wondrous glow to her face as if she were lost in some pleasant memory which quickly faded into a flash of pain.
“Grams?” Sara rushed to her side.
“Hurry.” She patted the side of the bed.
Chapter 19
Spring 1944
The glitz of The Persian Room awed Fran. Thank goodness, she’d bought a new dress. Nothing she owned would have been appropriate for the glamorous setting she now found herself in. At the time of purchase, she thought her gown daring, but glancing around at the women in their scanty attire, she felt almost prudish in comparison. After two glasses of champagne from the bottle Jack insisted on purchasing, despite her resistance at the cost, the knots in the pit of her stomach eased, and she began to enjoy herself.
Jack reached across the table and laced his fingers with hers. “Miss Jones, have I told you how enchanting you are tonight?”
“Only a scant time or two.”
“Is that all? A time or two? Well, let me correct the error of my ways.” He lifted her hand to his lips with a dramatic flourish and leaned forward to kiss it. “You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the room, and I can’t keep my eyes off you.” A smile displayed the dimple in his right cheek.
“Obviously”—Fran rolled her eyes at him—“you’ve had one too many drinks, or you need your vision checked, because if you glance around, you will find any number of women who surpass both my looks and figure.”
“Ah, love, but none with eyes as luminous and wide-eyed with wonder. None with a complexion as fresh as a spring day. None,” he said, solemnly, “whom I love.”
Fran snorted. Embarrassed, she slapped her hand over her nose and mouth and shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?”
Jack eyes turned serious. “Love me.”
Her heart flipped over. “I’m afraid I already do.”
His hand tightened around hers. “Dance with me.” He stood and guided her to the middle of the dance floor where he took her into his arms.
Fran bit down on her trembling lip when the band began to play, “You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To.”
Jack pressed her head to his shoulder and sang the words in her ear.
&
nbsp; He had a nice voice. Matter of fact, everything about Jack was nice. She needed to pinch herself to make sure she was awake, because little ole Frannie Jones couldn’t be dancing in a glitzy nightclub in the arms of the most handsome man in the room. She just couldn’t be. It had to be a fabulous dream. One she hoped never to awaken from. As the music wound down, she and Jack continued to sway to its final strains. While other couples left the floor, they didn’t move until the music stopped completely.
Then the band struck up Fran’s favorite swing tune. Her chest swelled with love when she realized Jack arranged for the band to play their songs.
His grin lit up his face. His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Okay, are you ready to show those ladies you’re so concerned about what you can do?”
That was all he needed to say. Fran might be uncomfortable around strangers and have little confidence in herself in many ways, but if there was one place she could shine, it was on the dance floor. And bless Jack, he’d just given her the opportunity to do so. She thought her already bursting heart would explode with the surge of love she felt for the man standing there with a sexy grin on his face.
She met his sparkling eyes. “Just you try to keep up, sailor boy.”
He tossed back his head, grabbed her hand, and twirled her to him.
When the music came to an end, the applause was deafening. The band not only played her favorite song but followed it up with another fast one. The few couples on the floor gave way to allow Jack and her an opportunity to show off their skill. And they did.
“Enough,” Jack cried. “Frannie Girl, you’ll be the death of me yet.”
“Aw, Jack, you’re not going to quit on me, now are you? I’m just getting warmed up.”
“That’s the problem. I’m sweating in this jacket. I don’t think the Navy gave any consideration to the fact it might be a tad warm for dancing when they selected wool for their uniforms. Maybe you could file a complaint with the head of the Navy for me.”
Cherished Wings Page 13