Sergeant Darling

by Bonnie Gardner

Someone called to Mrs. Harbeson. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. Chuckling to herself, she hurried away to see what the other woman wanted.

  “What say, Radar? You think you’ll do better than me in this auction?”

  “Don’t know, but are you interested in making a friendly little bet?” One that Ray was certain to lose. Murph was known for his way with women.

  “You got it in one, my man,” Danny said, his green Irish eyes smiling. “Loser has to spring for a case for the team.”

  “You’re on. Just bear in mind that I get to pick the brew if I win.” Ray grinned. “And I go for the imported stuff.”

  “Yeah, right,” Danny snorted. “You win this thing, and I’ll eat my little black book.”

  Ray grinned. Now, that would be worth seeing, but the chances of it happening were pretty slim, as far as Radar was concerned. He’d just be happy to get this dog-and-pony show behind him.

  The lady from the local television station who’d been invited to emcee took her place at the podium to the side of the stage. Someone in the wings called for everyone to be quiet and then she directed the bachelors to the waiting area in the wings.

  They’d barely found their places when the emcee announced the first bachelor. Ray breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t he. Then he settled back to see how the other guys handled the job. He knew everything there was about infiltrating an enemy camp or setting up field communications under fire, but here he was completely out of his element.

  Time dragged on. Danny went for $450, one of the higher totals, and Ray didn’t hold out much hope that he’d best his buddy. Meanwhile, the suspense was killing him. He was going to be the last guy to be called out on stage!

  At last he was introduced by the emcee. “And now, saving one of the best for last, give me a round of applause for Staff Sergeant Ray Darling!”

  He didn’t know what was worse: having to participate in this circus act, or having to go out on a date with a perfect stranger.

  He was firmly convinced that any woman who had to resort to buying a date was probably a long way from being anyone he wanted to go out with…

  IMPATIENTLY PRESSING on the doorbell, Patsy Pritchard stood outside her aunt’s house waiting for her to answer the door. It was so like Aunt Myrtle to summon her over on a wild-goose chase when Patsy had plans for the evening. She wondered what it was this time.

  She focused herself to remember that Myrtle was her only living relative, and without her aunt, she would be all alone in the world. She jabbed at the doorbell again and knocked loudly on the door for good measure. Was Aunt Myrt starting to lose her hearing?

  “I’m sorry, Patsy dear,” Myrtle said, her voice breathy and flustered as she opened the door. She was wearing a silly, ruffled blouse with a collar that reminded Patsy of something in a portrait of Queen Elizabeth I, but otherwise her aunt seemed to be dressed to the nines.

  “Did you say we were going out?” Patsy asked, glancing down at her khaki slacks and powder blue sweater set. It was fine for a movie at home, but not for the likes of the places that Aunt Myrtle usually preferred. “Was I supposed to dress up?”

  “You look lovely, dear,” Aunt Myrtle said, hooking a large crocheted handbag over her arm. “Yes, we’re going out to dinner at the Blue Heron.”

  “But that place must be thirty-five miles from here!” Patsy said with alarm. She had planned a private popcorn party and B-movie marathon at her apartment tonight. It hadn’t been easy to find those old Ed Wood movies, and she had been looking forward to them.

  “Pish,” Aunt Myrtle said as she closed the door firmly behind her. “Those old movies aren’t going anywhere.” Had the woman read her mind?

  “I didn’t say anything about movies,” Patsy protested as Aunt Myrtle steered her toward her behemoth of a car. “Why can’t we go someplace in town?”

  “Because we’re meeting a nice, young man at the Blue Heron,” Aunt Myrtle said, as she opened the driver’s door of her ancient Cadillac. “And you’re always staying at home watching old movies. How do you expect to meet anyone like that?”

  “I don’t expect to. I don’t want to. That’s why I stay at home.” Suddenly, Patsy realized that Aunt Myrtle was up to something. She stopped in her tracks. She would not be dragged out on another one of Myrtle’s arranged dates. Not only did she have zero desire to meet anyone, but Myrtle’s taste in eligible men had always been deplorable.

  “Oh, but you must, Patsy dear. I paid a thousand dollars for him.”

  “You did what? Surely, I did not hear you correctly. What could possibly have possessed you to hire an escort! She hadn’t meant to, but Patsy had allowed her voice to go shrill with the last word.

  Aunt Myrtle shook her head as she climbed inside. “Really, Patricia, you have been reading the wrong kind of literature. Or did you get that foolish idea from those old movies you’re always watching?” She paused long enough to take a breath, but not long enough for Patsy to come up with a decent answer. “He’s one of the bachelors from the auction. If you had gone with me, you could have had the pick of the lot. My treat!” She slid across the bench seat and pushed open the passenger door. “Instead, I had to do the choosing myself.”

  Patsy stood with one hand resting on the top of the pink Cadillac, closed her eyes and sighed. One thousand dollars! Even though Aunt Myrtle could easily afford it, it was still a great deal of money. Much more than Patsy could afford to squander on a night out. But Aunt Myrtle would be there with them, so it wasn’t exactly like a blind date. She just hoped that Myrtle’s taste in men had improved since the slope-shouldered accountant she’d fixed her up with the last time.

  “I give up.” Patsy couldn’t believe she was really going to do this. “I can’t let you have wasted all that money. I’ll go, but under duress,” she added emphatically. And I won’t enjoy it, she didn’t say out loud.

  “Of course, dear,” Aunt Myrtle said knowingly as she started the engine. “Perhaps, you ought to get in,” she shouted over the engine noise.

  Heaven help her! Patsy did.

  RAY WONDERED WHY Miss Carter had selected such an out-of-the-way place as he drove his new Honda CRV east along Highway 98 through the darkening countryside of the Florida Panhandle. The stunted shrubby trees and the tall, gangly pines of this part of the country looked strange to him after growing up among the majestic firs of the Pacific Northwest. But the soil here was sandy and poor and couldn’t support the same sort of vegetation as his verdant and green home state of Washington.

  What was so wrong with the niece that the aunt had to spend a thousand dollars for a date for her and keep her hidden from civilization? Miss Carter was strange enough. God help him if the acorn had fallen too close to the tree.

  He drew in a deep breath and tried to look at the positive side of this. It would give him a chance to practice dating and not ruin his chances with someone who might actually matter. An image of Nurse Pritchard flashed through his mind. Now, that was a challenge worth taking. Sort of like scaling Mount Ranier.

  He chuckled and shook the notion out of his head.

  Finally, after miles of driving through nowhere, with only occasional glimpses of the Gulf of Mexico through the trees, he came upon civilization. At least, what passed for it around here. There was a cluster of condominiums and shops on one side of the road, and on the other was the regular complement of seaside villas, motels and restaurants. Finally, he spotted the Blue Heron and pulled into the crushed-oyster-shell parking lot. After parking, he checked his appearance in the rearview mirror. Satisfied, he stepped outside, then drew in a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing,” he muttered to himself, striding toward the building.

  Inside, he talked to the hostess and was shown to the Carter table. Miss Carter waved as she saw him coming and he waved back, but Ray was more interested in the niece—his date.

  Her back was to him, but so far, the woman didn’t look too bad. She had long, wavy blond hair, worn down so that it cascaded over he
r shoulders, and she was wearing something in light blue. He could see that she’d caught her hair with a barrette on one side to keep it away from her face, but he still couldn’t see it.

  Then the woman, alerted by her aunt’s cheerful waving, turned his way, and Ray froze in his tracks.

  No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be possible for two women to look so much alike, and yet so different. Could this lovely vision in front of him really be…

  Chapter Two

  Patsy turned around and almost choked on the wine she’d just sipped. No, it couldn’t be. She looked again. Dressed in charcoal-gray Dockers, a white turtleneck and a navy sport jacket to ward off the chill of a late March cold front, stood the last person she ever expected to see here. Sergeant Raymond Darling in attractive designer glasses—she didn’t know why she noticed them, but she did—dominated the space between their table and the next one, seeming to suck the very oxygen out of the air.

  He, bless him, seemed as shocked to see her as she was to see him.

  They looked at each other, unable to draw their gazes away, until Ray swallowed. Patsy watched, fascinated as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “Sort of feels like being trapped in the headlights of a speeding train,” he finally said under his breath. He hadn’t really directed his comment to Patsy, but she understood that it was intended for her, and she doubted that Aunt Myrtle had heard him.

  “Good evening, Miss Carter,” he said to Aunt Myrtle, then he nodded toward Patsy, and she forced a tentative smile, welcoming smile.

  “Good evening, Raymond. I’ve always appreciated promptness in a man,” Myrtle Carter returned. She offered him a bejeweled hand, and Ray wasn’t sure whether to kiss it or shake it. He opted for the latter.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ray said, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the fourth chair. “I strive to be on time. The air force pretty well requires it,” he added. On the way over he had told himself that the sooner he got there, the sooner this fiasco would be over and done with. Now, he wasn’t so sure he wanted the evening to end quickly. The aromas emanating from the restaurant’s kitchen were delectable, and Patsy Pritchard wasn’t bad to look at, even if she seemed to be wound as tight as a spring.

  “Patsy, you must meet my guest,” Myrtle Carter said in a tone that reminded Radar of a queen—maybe the silly ruffled collar had something to do with it. “Patsy, this is my new young friend, Sergeant Raymond Darling.”

  She looked up at him and forced a smile. This was so awkward. She’d seen this man in his skivvies; his well-honed physique had been bared to her, the memory of which made if difficult for Patsy to breathe, much less speak. And he looked military through and through tonight, even dressed casually. That turtleneck stretched tight over a chest that was at least a yard across….

  Then he looked down at her and grinned, and Patsy couldn’t help grinning back.

  Oh Lord, if she hadn’t been sitting down, that smile might have melted the hinges in her knees. “Sergeant Darling,” she murmured, hoping that her agitation wasn’t evident in her voice.

  “Please, call me Ray,” he said and offered his hand.

  Patsy accepted it. “Ray,” she said, a slight catch in her voice. Now she’d be given away for sure. Her heart was beating like a tom tom, and she was certain that Sergeant Darling would be able to feel her pulse racing when they shook hands. Or maybe he wouldn’t. His grip was so tight that Patsy was sure she wouldn’t be able to move her fingers for at least an hour once he let it go.

  Patsy jerked her hand away and shook it to get the circulation going again. “At work they call me Pat.”

  “Sorry,” Ray said. “It’s easy to forget one’s own strength.”

  “I may not be able to move my hand for days,” Patsy said, flexing her fingers.

  “Silly,” Aunt Myrtle said. “No harm done. Your fingers are working just fine.” She turned to Ray and patted the empty chair between Patsy and herself. “Please, sit down. We’ve been waiting to order.”

  Ray sat, then picked up his menu and perused it. “What’s good here?” he asked, looking over the top of the menu. Just seeing his raised eyebrows set Patsy’s heart fluttering.

  “Anything and everything,” Patsy answered, still slightly breathless. The reason she knew about the menu was that Aunt Myrt often brought her here.

  “Then I think I’ll try the amberjack,” Ray said, closing the menu.

  Like the grande dame of the manor, Myrtle signaled for the waiter who scurried right over and took their orders. Then they settled back to wait.

  “Why don’t the two of you get acquainted while I go powder my nose?” Aunt Myrtle suggested.

  That was the last thing she needed, Patsy thought. To be left alone with superhero-in-disguise Sergeant Darling. Even in the middle of this crowded restaurant.

  “Sure. But, your lovely niece and I are already old friends,” Ray said.

  “Oh?” Myrtle, a frown of consternation on her face, stood poised halfway in and out of her chair.

  “Yes. I have had occasion to partake of her professional services at the clinic from time to time,” Radar said.

  At least, he hadn’t mentioned the most recent event, Patsy was relieved to hear. How she had hated jabbing that needle into that firm, perfect butt, though looking at it hadn’t been a chore at all. She felt her face grow warm. “Yes,” she said, nodding vigorously, hoping that the motion would erase the flush. It didn’t. “I’ve seen him in the clinic.” Boy, had she seen him!

  “Well, that’s even better than I’d hoped. You’re already friends,” Myrtle said, more to herself than them, as she hurried away. She paused to speak to the waiter, then hurried out of the main dining room.

  Friends? Patsy thought. I hardly think so. Enemies. Not hardly. Boyfriend/girlfriend? No, she shouldn’t be thinking about that. After all, she had a firm policy about dating men she saw at the clinic. Any men, really, but maybe her aunt was right. Maybe it was time for that to change.

  “So, your aunt calls you Patsy,” Ray said, placing his napkin in his lap and leaving his hands braced against his muscled thighs.

  “Yes,” she said primly, happy to have been afforded the change in her direction of thinking. She put her hands in her lap as well. “She’s the only one I let get away with it.”

  “Why is that? I like it. It suits you,” Ray said.

  She’d liked it, too, when her parents had called her that, or her late husband. But it seemed as though everyone who’d ever cared about her had died and left her alone, so she didn’t encourage that particular intimacy anymore. It evoked too many memories. “I don’t!” she lied, her voice sharp.

  “What do you want me to call you, then?”

  Patsy knew well what the men in the clinic called her behind her back, so she had to give Ray an alternative. “Pat will be fine.”

  “All right, Pat,” Ray said. “Pleased to meet you.” He paused. “Do you come here often?”

  Patsy had to smile. It almost sounded like a pickup line. “Yes, it’s one of Aunt Myrtle’s favorite restaurants. Our family had a summer home on this stretch of beach years ago. I’m afraid Hurricane Opal took care of it, and Aunt Myrtle didn’t bother to rebuild.” She glanced around the familiar restaurant. “The hurricane took the Blue Heron out, too, but they rose from the rubble.” She smiled. “I must admit, I liked the old version better.”

  Ray glanced around the room, decorated in the traditional trappings of Gulf Coast seafood establishments: old fishing nets, shells, starfish, stuffed fish, or maybe they were fakes, he didn’t know. It looked like any or all of at least a hundred other restaurants on the Gulf of Mexico. “Has it changed much?”

  Patsy shrugged.

  As Ray inspected the room, he paused and glanced out the window that overlooked the parking lot. A moving car caught his eye. “Look, it’s a vintage Cadillac, complete with fins. You don’t see many of those around anymore.”

  Patsy jerked her head around so fast to look that she
almost dislocated her neck. “Oh, no! That’s Aunt Myrtle’s car!”

  “She must be moving it to a better parking spot.”

  “I wish,” Patsy muttered. No such luck, she thought as the waiter arrived with only two salads.

  Ray looked up. “You forgot one.”

  “One what, sir?”

  “One of the salads. There are three of us.”

  “Oh, no, sir. The lady cancelled her order. Said she had a headache. But she told me to tell you to please stay,” the waiter assured them. “Miss Carter said there was no reason to ruin your evening.”

  None, indeed, Patsy thought. “She probably planned this,” Patsy muttered, placing her napkin on her plate and pushing herself up. “I should have known.” She blew out a frustrated puff of breath as she hurried to the window, her eyes flashing with anger.

  Then Ray realized what Miss Carter was up to. She had left him alone—if you could call being left in a crowded restaurant on a Saturday night being alone—with Prickly Pritchard, the ice princess. And he wasn’t sure he minded one bit. If Nurse Pat Pritchard was something to see in her starched white uniform at the clinic, she looked even better dressed in casual clothes. The blue eyes that had always appeared so icy and cold seemed warmer now, brighter, almost turquoise. Who would have thought that Prickly Pritchard could ever look that soft and inviting? Even in khakis and a sweater. Ray felt his trousers grow tight, and wishing circumstances were different, he willed himself to behave.

  If she looked this good in casual clothes, dressed up, she’d be magnificent.

  Patsy scanned the room, looking for someone, anyone, she could ask to take her home.

  Ray joined her at the window, and Patsy felt even more trapped than she had before. But pleasantly so, she realized.

  “You might as well calm down,” he said. “You’ll just end up with indigestion.”

  “That’ll be my problem, then, won’t it?” Patsy snapped as she peered out the window. She all but pressed her face against the glass, hoping against hope that Aunt Myrt really had just moved the car. No such luck. As if she hadn’t known already. The only kind of luck she seemed to have was bad.