When The Geese Fly North
Page 21
Amy’s laughter rang in Fran’s ear as she hung up the phone. I’m going to kill her, Fran thought as she made a dash for the stairs. Her khaki wacky friend would be the death of her yet.
Well, at least it was Red this time, who she actually liked and not one of Amy’s blind dates—which of course was the problem. She only “liked” Red.
Fran straightened her clothing in front of the mirror one more time, satisfied she’d never looked better. Her shoulder-length hair fell in Betty Grable waves in a complimentary fashion against the rich-blue hue of the new sweater. The long days spent indoors had faded away her pesky summer freckles leaving her skin unblemished and clear. She wore only a light coat of powder, mascara, and lipstick.
She rechecked the seams of her last pair of silk stockings to make sure they were straight. She’d been nursing the pair along since the beginning of summer. A tiny run stopped by a clear dab of nail polish and a couple of minor snags were deftly hidden on the inside of her leg just above the knee. Thankfully, she hadn’t had to resort to drawing artificial seams with an eye-liner pencil on her bare legs as some girls were doing.
The knock on the door followed by a chorus of greetings stirred Fran to take one final glance in the mirror before heading downstairs. Amy and Red’s voices were distinctive, and she could clearly make out their boisterous teasing. It was the third voice that stopped her in her tracks—rich, deep, and smooth as fine whiskey. It sent shivers down her spine and struck a chord deep within her.
As she stepped onto the landing, Red turned in her direction and whistled.
“Ah, there’s my girl now.”
She parted her lips to refute his statement, but found the words stuck in her throat when the tall sailor in dress uniform standing beside Red turned to acknowledge her presence.
The stranger’s mesmerizing eyes locked with hers and for a moment it was as if time stood still.
Tracey L. Dragon is a relocated New Yorker, former Navy Wife, and retired educator who lives in Yulee, Florida, with her husband, Bill, and Mickey, their black and white Miniature Goldendoodle.
Her first publication came at the age of twelve when the short poem she wrote about the Apollo moon landing was published in her hometown newspaper. After seven military moves, raising two Navy brats, and twenty years teaching troubled youth, she is now able to put her full attention to publishing the children’s stories and historic romance novels she’s written over the years as a hobby.
Tracey enjoys running, crocheting, and spending time with her grandchildren. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America and the Florida Authors & Publishers Association.