by Lisa Bingham
Her eyes suddenly fell on a familiar figure leaving the chow line. He must have had a chance to shower and change because his hair was still wet and his fatigues were fresh. Even in the short time he’d been gone, it was obvious he’d lost weight and his skin was ruddy from the sun. But as far as she could tell, he was all in one piece.
As if sensing her gaze, he suddenly stopped. Stared. Then, murmuring something to one of the men in line with him, Gilhouley handed the soldier his tray and casually strolled toward her.
Moving ahead of him, Rosemary led the way through the maze of tents and improvised structures. She was suddenly glad of the lengthening shadows as she stopped behind the supply hut and waited.
The moment he rounded the corner, she launched herself into his arms. He caught her easily, holding her tightly against him, his face buried in her hair.
“I was so worried,” she whispered, her hands sweeping over his back, his shoulders, needing to reassure herself that he was here and in one piece.
“It took longer than expected to get back.”
She didn’t bother to ask where he’d been or what complications had caused the deep lines to etch themselves around his mouth. She doubted he would tell her if she asked. And there was so little time available, she didn’t want to waste it with needless talk.
“You’re unhurt?” she murmured thickly.
“Yeah.” The word was a sigh, but it held such a weight of the world, she sensed that although he was physically unharmed, there were things he’d seen—and probably things he’d done—that he didn’t want to tell her.
Pushing back, she took his hand and led him around the corner to the door, then inside. Weaving around the boxes and pallets, she pulled him to the far corner where sacks of rice had been piled in the corner. Reaching into one of the nearby crates, she removed a blanket and spread it out over their makeshift bed.
Gilhouley’s eyes lit with a slow fire.
“Why, Major Dodd, are you possibly considering—”
“Shut up, Gilhouley.” She reached for the buttons of her tans, unfastening them one by one, until the edges gaped all the way down.
Gilhouley liked the juxtaposition of her very male attire and lacy feminine underthings because he swallowed, hard.
But when he would have reached for his own buttons, she pushed his hands away.
“No. I want to make sure that you’re really okay.”
She began loosening his shirt, slowly, tantalizingly. And with each inch of flesh she exposed, she bent to place a kiss against his warm flesh, reassuring herself that Gilhouley wasn’t a figment of her imagination. He was here; he was alive.
When all of the buttons were undone, she circled around to the back and pulled his shirt from his shoulders. As it dropped to the floor, she wound her arms around his middle and kissed him in the center of the crease marking his spine.
Gilhouley shuddered against her. “You’re killing me, Rosemary.”
She laughed, reaching for his buckle. But he soon pushed her hands away, fumbling with the catch until he managed to release it. Then he twisted to take her in his arms, and all thought of prolonging the temptation evaporated in an instant.
Rosemary gasped as he pulled her tightly against him, grinding his hips to hers, making her intimately conscious of his arousal, of his need, of his hunger. And her want was no less overwhelming than his own as she kicked off her boots and wriggled out of her trousers, all while he kissed her with such passion that she could scarcely credit that it was directed at her—Rosemary Dodd.
As he shucked his own clothing, she dropped her underthings onto the ground and settled back on their bed of rice. And it was only a moment before he followed, pressing down onto her with a welcome weight, his body hard and roughened with hair and so, so different from her own.
He took her mouth again and again, plundering her sweetness, his hand slipping down to cup her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple into a hard, turgid point. But she gave as good as she got, grasping his heated length, causing him to gasp against her.
“Dear God, how I’ve missed you, Rosemary.”
She kissed him, again and again, her hips straining against him, wanting, needing that part of him that could give her release. Only when they were one, could she truly reassure herself that he was safe. That she was safe. That they were together.
As if sensing her thoughts, Riley settled on top of her. Twining their fingers together, he held her hands above her head, his eyes meeting hers, his body rubbing against her intimately.
“Don’t ever forget me, Rosemary.”
His words pinged against her consciousness, frightening her.
“Don’t talk like that,” she whispered. Since he still held her hands, she wound her legs around his hips. “We’re going to get through this. We have to get through this!”
Then, fearful of what he might say, she lifted up to kiss him, once, twice, until some of the wildness left his gaze and his attention turned to the rhythm of their bodies, the glide of skin against skin, the rasp of feverish breathing.
Then, when she feared she would shatter into a million pieces, he settled against her, pushing into her sweet flesh with such tenderness that her climax was immediate and powerful, rocking her to the depths of her being. If he was surprised by her reaction, he gave no hint, he merely smiled against her temple, increasing his rhythm, sliding a hand beneath her hips to arch her more fully toward him, then pounding into her with renewed fervor until her breath snagged in her throat and she felt her body drawing tighter and tighter for yet another climax.
This time, her release was so powerful that she cried out and he quickly covered her lips with his own. As her inner walls clenched around him, he spilled into her, his head flinging back with his own ecstasy, their bodies shuddering as one.
Later, much later, Rosemary lay quietly in his arms. Their limbs were tangled together and her hair splayed over his chest.
“You’ve made a wreck of my hairdo,” she said against him.
Gilhouley only grunted.
“And you’ve ruined my morals.”
His eyes remained closed, but his grin was slow and filled with mischief. “Perhaps they needed ruining.”
She poked him in the chest, then smoothed away the jab with a kiss. “My mother wouldn’t say so.”
“What would your mother say? About us?”
Rosemary considered the idea. “She’d say you were young. Probably too young for me, in her estimation.”
“And handsome.”
Rosemary snorted.
“So how old would she want me to be?” he asked, idly running a finger over her back.
“At least my age.”
“So we’ll tell her I’m thirty-five.”
Rosemary grimaced. “You flatter me. I’m forty, Gilhouley. And my mother’s right, I’m definitely too old for you.”
His shoulders moved in a shrug. “It’s just a number, Rosemary.”
She grew still. “Is it?” she asked softly. “Is it just a number? Or will it become a problem?”
This time, his lashes fluttered, and he met her gaze. And in that instant, Rosemary was emotionally naked in front of him, every regret, every fear, blatant in her eyes.
“Do you love me, Rosemary?”
His question took her by surprise. But when she would have put him off by saying they didn’t know each other well enough to talk of love, she saw an echo of his own uncertainty. More than that, she saw a haunted sorrow in his gaze and knew that he was thinking of an enemy that was bearing down on them with more speed than either of them could fathom. In that instant, she realized that time was a precious commodity she didn’t have. She’d seen enough of the injuries being brought to her hospital to know that they were not going to win this battle with the Japanese. Unless reinforcements arrived soon, they would all be at the mercy of an enemy incapable of mercy.
“Yes.” The word burst from her lips before she could even think about it. But to her surprise, she
didn’t want to retrieve it. By admitting her feelings for Riley, by uttering them out loud, she was freeing herself from the last of her doubts. “I do love you, Riley.”
His smile was low and filled with promise. “Then we’ll lie to your mother.” He sifted his fingers through her hair. “We won’t tell her how you seduced and ravished me.”
This time, when Rosemary punched him, she wasn’t entirely gentle and he laughed. But before she could do it again, he pushed her to her back and settled over her.
“We’ll tell her that we were friends, then sweethearts, lovers, then partners.”
Rosemary blinked up at him. “Partners?”
“I want you to marry me.”
She shook her head in confusion. “But…”
“I might not have control over a lot of things, Rosemary. But I do know what I want, and I want to marry you, if you’ll have me.”
Her fingers trembled as she touched his cheek—because there was more to his expression than devotion. There was also fear and desperation and a grim acceptance that their relationship might not end in happily-ever-after.
“Will you do that, Rosemary? Will you marry me? Will you at least let me leave things in place for you if something should happen to me?”
She quickly pressed her fingers to his lips. “Don’t talk like that.”
He shook his head. “I love you, Rosemary, but I can’t lie to you. If you marry me, this could be one of the shortest marriages on record. You could be a widow before the ink even dries.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t. Don’t jinx it. Don’t even say the words aloud.”
He wiped the wisps of hair from her brow. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”
She nodded, knowing that if they weren’t in the midst of a siege, marrying Gilhouley would mean that the Army would expel her from the Nursing Corps. But even as the thought came to her, she realized she didn’t care. All that mattered was this moment. This man. Her career was nothing compared to her love for him. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Ah, sweetheart…you’ve got to know I’ll do everything in my power to make it through this mess.”
Since she couldn’t speak, she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him close. And this time, when the passion flared between them, she fought to retain each moment, each touch, each whispered endearment, etching it firmly into her memory.
Just in case.
Just in case…
• • •
Glory Bee roused slowly, her eyes flickering open to a surreal sight of lines of cots set out beneath the trees. Mosquito nets hung from overhead branches and fluttered in the breeze, and she frowned, unsure where she was, wondering if she’d been plopped into Alice’s Wonderland. If she blinked, would the wide grin of the Cheshire Cat hang in the leaves above her?
But it wasn’t the Cheshire Cat that appeared when she twisted her head. Instead, it was John, and his smile was so gentle that she could scarcely believe that this was the same hard-faced man she’d met only weeks before.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she became aware of the burning pain in her side. She sobbed, then held her breath as the sharp movement sent a stab of pain through her abdomen.
“My baby’s dead, isn’t it?” she whispered.
John quickly shook his head, cupping her cheek with his hand.
“No, sweetheart. The baby’s fine.”
Alerted by their whispers, a woman stepped toward them. Glory Bee frowned, still not able to process the information being given to her.
“Would you like to hear the baby’s heartbeat?” the tall blonde asked, reaching for the stethoscope looped around her neck. She donned the earpieces then, after pulling down the covers and pressing it to the swell of Glory Bee’s stomach, she listened for a moment before handing the ends of the stethoscope to Glory Bee.
Tentatively, Glory Bee placed them in her own ears, then gasped when she heard a swift swish-thump repeated over and over again.
“That’s the baby’s heart?” she asked with something akin to wonder.
“Mm-hmm. Haven’t you had a chance to listen to it before?”
Glory Bee shook her head. She’d gone to the doctor only once to confirm her suspicions that she was pregnant. After that…she supposed a part of her had thought that if she ignored her condition, it would go away. Not that she’d been stupid enough to think it would. No, the idea of having a baby had been terrifying enough that she hadn’t known how else to cope.
It wasn’t until the baby’s life had been threatened that she’d realized what she might lose.
“Our little girl’s a fighter, isn’t she?” John whispered, and Glory Bee’s eyes filled with tears.
Our little girl.
“What makes you think it’s a girl?”
“Because she’s a survivor, like her mum. She’ll have curly red hair and eyes as bright as blue buttons.”
Glory Bee blinked against sudden tears. The more John talked, the more he painted pictures in her mind, the more the reality of a baby sank in.
“I don’t know if I can be a mother,” she whispered, her throat tight with regret.
“Ahh,” John said, cupping her cheek and bending low. “What kind of talk is that?”
“I don’t know anything about being a good mom.”
He laughed. “I’ve never heard such nonsense before.”
“It’s true,” she sobbed, tears breaking the dam of her lashes. She scrubbed them away in embarrassment. “My own mother was a mess, and I don’t know anything about feeding and changing and taking care of a baby.”
“Babies don’t come with instructions, Glory Bee. They come into this world needing love and patience.” His lips tipped. “You might be a little lacking in the patience department…But there’s no one on earth with a bigger heart or a bigger capacity to love.”
He bent then, placing a gentle kiss on her lips, and despite the stab of pain from her side, she reached to deepen the caress. But John’s kiss was brief, gentle, and when he drew back, he held her hand with both of his.
“There’s only one thing I would ask.”
He sounded so serious, so…tentative, that her heart flip-flopped in her chest in fear.
“I’ve tried to shake a lot of my past, Glory Bee. I thought that if I began over, became a new person, all of the hurt would go with it.” When he met her gaze, his eyes were dark and stormy. “But you’ve helped me to see that there are some parts of myself that I shouldn’t throw away so hastily. What I’m trying to say, Glory Bee…is that I think we’ve come to a point where…well…”
He squeezed her hand again, then bent to press his lips against her knuckles. “What I mean is…they’ve got a chaplain…And with things being the way they are…with the war and Japanese advance…”
Glory Bee was truly confused now, and she vaguely wondered if the morphine they’d given her was making it impossible for her to understand.
“I know I gave up the priesthood…and I’m still wrestling with God…but I’d still like to make things…official between us.”
John looked down at her expectantly, but she didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She didn’t have a clue what he was trying to tell her.
“I-I don’t understand,” she finally admitted.
His lips twisted ruefully. “I’m making a mess of it, aren’t I?” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small circlet made of what looked like twisted wire. “I got this from Gilhouley—I think he made it out of a grenade pin—but it was the best we could come up with on short notice. As soon as I can, I’ll get you a proper one.” John held the circlet toward her. “Glory Bee O’Halloran, will you marry me?”
For several minutes, the words bounced in her brain like water on a hot skillet, refusing to sink in. But then, as he held the circlet of metal toward her, she suddenly realized John’s intention.
“You want to marry…me?”
His brows knitted. “Of course.”
“But…but I�
��m pregnant.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“And I’m not in the least bit…saintly.”
This time, it was his turn to look confused. “Neither am I.”
“But…I’m pregnant,” she whispered. More than anything, she wanted to say, “Yes.” But she doubted even a saint would saddle himself with another man’s child.
He bent to kiss her again, then again.
“Glory Bee, unless you have some grave objections, I’m going to marry you, and I’m going to be a father for our daughter. I’m not promising that things will be easy between us. We both have our ghosts—and then there’s the matter of a war hanging over our heads. But if none of that matters to me, I don’t think it should matter to you.”
This time, her tears weren’t of fear or sorrow, but of joy.
“So,” he murmured, holding out the twisted circlet of metal. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her throat so tight with emotion, she feared he hadn’t understood her. But that wasn’t the case, because he slipped the makeshift ring over her finger, then bent to kiss her.
Around them came the soft sound of applause, and they lifted their heads to see that the nurses had been watching them all along.
Glory Bee laughed, then winced when she received a sharp reminder from her side. Drawing back, John rearranged his chair and took her hand.
She tried to hold onto consciousness, tried to fight the weariness tugging at her lashes. But soon, she slipped into a blissful cocoon of sleep, knowing that when she awakened, he would be there.
• • •
It was dark when Gilhouley stepped into the ward and found John still seated at Glory Bee’s side. Moving quietly so that he wouldn’t wake the other patients, Gilhouley stepped up beside him and slapped him on the back.
“I see she’s wearing the ring, buddy.”
John eyed him sheepishly. “Yeah.”
“Congratulations.”
Stealing an empty bucket from a spot nearby, Gilhouley turned it upside down and sat on top of it.
“We might have to make it a double ceremony.”
John’s brows rose.