Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter One
Hearts of the War, Book 2
A Sweet World War II Romance
by
USA Today Bestselling Author
SHANNA HATFIELD
Copyright © 2017 by Shanna Hatfield
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.
For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of “permission request” at the e-mail address below or through her website.
Shanna Hatfield
[email protected]
shannahatfield.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Shanna Hatfield
To those who possessed the bravery
to do the impossible,
and inspired a nation on to victory.
Chapter One
1941
Pendleton, Oregon
New Year’s Eve
Feigned gaiety chimed in a cacophonous buzz around Staff Sergeant Klayne Campbell as he propped one lean, corded forearm against the fireplace mantel and surveyed the room with an expressionless gaze.
He raised a hobnail crystal cup of punch to his full lips and took a drink. The urge to spit out the syrupy concoction as it assaulted his taste buds nearly overtook him. He forced a swallow and stared into the cup. Overly sweet yet lacking any real flavor, at least plenty of ice floated in the crimson liquid.
Bodies crammed into the room for a New Year’s Eve celebration left the space stuffy and uncomfortable. The hot chocolate or steaming cups of coffee the harried hostess offered guests failed to entice him. He had even less interest in the freely poured booze flowing in the room across the hall from the host.
The idea of picking up one of the colorful Christmas-themed magazines on a nearby table and waving it around to stir the air entered his mind, but he ignored it. He’d look ridiculous flapping a copy of Good Housekeeping in front of his face, especially with a little golden-haired girl decorating a Christmas tree on the cover.
It would have been a simple thing to move away from the cheerful, crackling fire, and find a cooler place to endure the party until he could escape. However, the corner where he stood gave him a vantage point from behind the drying branches of a Christmas tree to scrutinize everyone who entered the room.
Klayne wasn’t sure how he’d allowed a group of his comrades to talk him into coming. He much preferred spending time alone. Tonight, though, he hadn’t wanted to be stuck with only his dark thoughts for company.
When a handful of fellow members of the 17th Bombardment Group invited him to join them, he grabbed his cap and went along. Now, he wondered if he’d be better off back at their barracks where he could lose himself in a book. The novel he’d been reading, The Keys of the Kingdom by A.J. Cronin, about an unconventional Scottish Catholic priest struggling to establish a mission in China, had been quite engrossing.
His mind played over the plot as his piercing blue eyes flickered across the guests. Perhaps his maudlin musings were preferable to this crowd. It wasn’t hard to see the majority of those in attendance were pretending to be happy and in a celebratory mood.
In truth, the majority of the country floundered in a sea of grief and devastation. Three weeks earlier, Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor, wreaking destruction and shocking a nation that had clung to peace instead of chasing war. Upon America’s official entry into war with Japan and Germany, Klayne and his fellow U.S. Army Air Corp members knew it was only a matter of time before they were sent on a mission from their current base at Pendleton Field. He’d never heard of the Wild West town in northeastern Oregon before arriving in Pendleton back in the summer, after the Army air field opened.
The too-bright smiles and strained laughter of those attending this evening’s gathering grated on Klayne’s taut nerves. Rather than a festive, jubilant mood, he sensed an undercurrent of apprehension and despair among the partygoers. Life had rapidly changed from a struggle to overcome the challenges of moving beyond the Depression to grasping at every bit of hope and joy available because tomorrow had become such an uncertainty.
Notes tinkled from the piano in the opposite corner of the room and a dozen people belted out popular tunes mixed with Christmas carols. Klayne had spent Christmas day flying with a patrol along the West Coast, watching for signs of a Japanese attack. He’d only returned to Pendleton that afternoon.
Instead of convincing himself he might enjoy a party, he should have known better and stayed at the base.
A barely restrained cringe accompanied his next sip of punch. He held a bit of ice against the roof of his mouth and listened as the singers did a fair job of harmonizing on “O Come All Ye Faithful.”
The scent of bayberry from the candles burning on the mantel beside him might have made him nostalgic, if he owned any pleasant holiday memories. He inhaled a bouquet of perfume from the women in the room, tainted by the underlying odor of alcohol. The aroma of food wafted to him as the hostess maneuvered through the room with a tray of meat-filled hand pies, still steaming from the oven.
Klayne was starving, but he didn’t move from his hiding spot by the Christmas tree. He didn’t belong at this party. He didn’t belong anywhere. The military had provided the closest thing to a home and family he’d ever known. Even then, he didn’t make friends, didn’t form attachments. From experience, he knew it only ended in more heartache and loss.
Out of habit, his eyes again scanned the room. His gaze passed by the doorway then backtrac
ked, settling on a dark-haired woman who strode in with a laughing blonde. The fair-haired woman was lovely and decidedly feminine, but didn’t keep his interest.
From his undetectable position, he studied the brunette. The lights in the room glimmered off the hair she’d rolled away from her face and pinned in a cascade of curls at the back of her head. She exuded vibrancy and humor, a stark contrast to the haunted expressions of most in attendance. A ready smile brought out a dimple in her left cheek. He had no doubt that dimple, and the woman who owned it, left men befuddled for miles around.
The long red velvet evening gown she wore seemed similar in style and elegance to the dresses worn by many of the females in attendance at the party. But when she swung around to greet the hostess with a warm hug, her skirt flared out, revealing a pair of black and red cowboy boots. The sight tugged a grin from him, doubling his interest in this unusual woman.
His eyes traveled from her boot clad feet back up to her face and his heart skipped a beat, then another. The woman looked familiar. Indeed, she looked exactly like a girl who’d entranced Klayne during the famous Pendleton Round-Up back in September. The community encouraged the soldiers at the base to join in the annual event. Klayne had no interest in being packed elbow to elbow into bleachers among the cheering crowd, but the lure of witnessing the rodeo performance drew him there.
When a trick rider raced into the arena and performed a series of jaw-dropping stunts, Klayne hadn’t been able to look away from her. He couldn’t explain what or why, but something about that woman had drawn him unlike any other. A vibrant, lively spirit had practically oozed from her and filled the stadium at the rodeo with her presence.
Just like the woman now brought the room to life. If Klayne was given to fanciful thoughts, which he definitely was not, he would have said her entry into the room was like turning on the lights or switching from shades of gray to a rainbow of color.
One of the singers at the piano waved to her, trying to get her to join them, but the woman shook her head and looped her arm around her friend’s shoulder. The two girls made their way over to a group of women speaking with a few men from Klayne’s squadron.
Briefly, the woman greeted them, left the blonde with their friends, and made her way around the room, speaking to everyone. She’d just turned from addressing an older man she seemed to know well when she noticed him spying on her from around the Christmas tree.
Her head tilted to the right and she gave him a long, studying glance. When her gaze met his, something electric arced between them. Curious if she felt it too, he watched a slow smirk pop out the dimple in her cheek again. He’d never seen a woman smirk before and found it entirely fascinating as she walked across the room with purposeful strides.
The woman wasn’t the prettiest he’d ever seen. Her nose was a bit too broad and slightly crooked, as if it had been broken in the past. Her chin was slightly too sharp, inarguably stubborn. Her hazel eyes were bright, lively, and inquisitive. But her lips, oh those tantalizing lips, were absolutely made for being kissed well and often.
Stunned, he realized something about her appealed to him more than any woman he’d ever met.
“What kind of man spies on a woman from behind a Christmas tree?” she asked, stopping in front of him and crossing her arms in front of her chest. Her face held a look of suspicious scrutiny.
Dumbfounded and caught in the act, Klayne lost the ability to speak.
The scornful look she’d given him melted into a warm smile. She laughed and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m teasing you, soldier. What’s your name?”
He stared at her another moment before he looked down to his arm where her hand rested. It threatened to sear through the fabric of his shirt and brand his skin. Although he expected her to have soft hands with manicured nails, her hands were work-roughened, chapped, and with nails broken down to the quick. A scab covered the backs of two knuckles and a cut stretched along the length of her index finger.
“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” she asked, continuing to look at him as she dropped her hand.
“Most of the time, ma’am,” he said, silently urging his tongue to regain function. “My name is Klayne. Sergeant Klayne Campbell.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sergeant.” She gave him a beaming smile and held out a hand to him. “I’m Delaney Danvers, but most of my friends just call me Dee.”
“Miss Danvers, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Klayne took her much smaller hand in his, astonished by the calluses on her palm and the strength in her grip. Whoever this girl was, she wasn’t afraid of hard work. “Did you happen to provide a trick riding performance at the rodeo a few months ago?”
She shrugged, as though it was nothing. “I did. My dad and his friends talked me into doing it.” Delaney leaned closer to him, as though she might confide a secret. “Did I look like an idiot? That costume gave me ten different kinds of fits.”
Klayne swallowed down a laugh and shook his head, recalling the leather-fringed outfit she’d worn. “No, ma’am. You looked…” Before he voiced his thoughts, he snapped his mouth shut. He couldn’t very well tell her she looked magnificent and dazzling, and had him on the edge of his seat the whole time she performed. The way she’d ridden her horse was poetic in its raw, wild beauty. The outfit in question made him wonder if she was a descendant of Annie Oakley or a heroine from the Old West. Each movement of the horse she rode caused the fringe to swing around her, leaving him spellbound. His gaze roved over her face again and he saw a glimmer in her eyes, as though she dared him to bombard her with idle flattery.
Her left eyebrow quirked slightly and she tipped her head to the right again. “How did I look, Sergeant?”
“Like a woman who has a great deal of knowledge about handling horses.” His lips tipped up at the corners, almost into a smile. “You must possess an inordinate amount of control and strength to carry off those tricks, not to mention the bond of trust you obviously have with your horse.”
A look of surprise flashed across her face, followed by one of delight. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has said to me. Thank you,” she said, staring up into his face. She was slightly taller than the average woman, but still several inches shorter than his six-foot, two-inch height.
Firelight reflected in her intriguing eyes and cast an inviting amber glow around her. Klayne considered how it would feel to enfold her in his arms. He steadfastly avoided casual dalliances, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to hold this woman close to his heart.
Maybe he’d even absorb a small measure of her vitality and exuberance. Would the skin of her arms feel as smooth as it looked? Would the velvet of her gown feel warm or cool to the touch as it glided over her decadent curves?
Chagrined by his thoughts, he set the cup of syrupy punch on the mantel and took a step back from her. To his amazement, she didn’t seem eager to move on to speak to other guests at the party.
“I’ve never heard the name Klayne before. Is it a family name?”
He shook his head. “No.” He grinned. “And your next question will be how I spell it, right? And then if people often mispronounce it?”
An affirmative nod met his questions.
“K-l-a-y-n-e. I tell people who struggle to pronounce it to remember Klayne on the plane.”
“And are you Klayne on a plane?” She gave him a curious glance and swept a hand toward to his uniform. “Is that what you do at the base?”
“I’m on a flight crew.” Klayne didn’t feel the need to say more. In truth, that was all he felt at liberty to share.
“That sounds exciting and dangerous.” She grinned at him. “Exactly the type of thing I’d love. Is it hard to learn to fly?”
“Depends,” he said, holding back a smile.
“On what?”
“If you’re scared of heights or plummeting from them.”
Her laughter bubbled over him with encompassing warmth unlike anything he could recall. In that mome
nt, he decided he’d be willing to do almost anything to experience it again.
She fanned a hand in front of her face and leaned away from the fireplace. “Whew. It’s warm in here. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to go for a walk outside?”
At his dubious expression, she moved nearer. “Sergeant Campbell, I promise I’m not up to anything. In spite of what you might think, I’m truly warm. Since I’m a good judge of character, I don’t think you have any devious schemes in mind. I really would like to get a breath of fresh air. If Amy hadn’t insisted I come with her to this party tonight, I’d be at home curled up with a good book, enjoying a peaceful evening.”
Klayne had trouble picturing the vivacious woman sitting still long enough to enjoy reading, but he nodded his head and escorted her to the door. She pointed out her coat and he held it as she slipped her arms in the sleeves. Unable to stop himself, he gently lifted the bulky weight of her hair from inside her coat collar. For just a second, he fingered the silky strands before letting them go. The curls bounced against her back as she pulled gloves from the pockets of her coat. He took a deep breath, inhaling her luscious scent as he unearthed his coat from the pile by the door.
Together they walked out into the frigid evening air. Stars twinkled overhead while snow crunched beneath their feet. Frosty wisps of their breath curled around them as they strolled down the walk and out to the sidewalk.
Delaney turned to the right and Klayne fell into step beside her. Quietly, they strode to the end of the block and took another right. She cast a glimpse at him and then burrowed deeper into her coat. “Do you enjoy flying?”
“I do. It’s something I’ve done for quite a while.”
She continued studying him. “How long have you been in the military?”
“A dozen years, since I was seventeen,” Klayne admitted. He bent down so his mouth was close to her scarf-covered ear. “But don’t tell on me. I might have fudged on my age a bit back when I enlisted.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” she whispered, glancing up at him with an indulgent smile.
Home of Her Heart (Hearts of the War Book 2) Page 1