“Even you’re curious.” Dutch scratched behind Mr. Dee’s ears for a moment and stuffed the papers back into the envelope. “I don’t always understand women.” The cat meowed several times as though agreeing, then jumped to the floor.
Dutch glanced at his swollen knee. If Nan didn’t get home soon, he’d need to go against her rules again and work on the car.
The timer pinged, so Dutch opened the oven and took out the bread. It smelled so good, he was sure he’d remember the aroma forever. His stomach grumbled with hunger.
After two cups of tea with bread and jam and a long study of the map, he decided to rest on Nan’s bed for a few minutes. The quilt smelled of lavender. And Nan. He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, thinking about the deep blue of her eyes against the creamy color of her skin, her hair curling around the curves of her cheek. He couldn’t bear leaving her, but he had to.
The next morning, he woke when the cat jumped on his stomach. “Good morning, Mr. Dee.”
He sat up. The cottage was silent. Nan wasn’t home yet.
Home.
He wiped the sleep from his eyes. Interesting he’d thought of this as “home.”
So much for finding his gun last night. He moved his arm back and forth. It hardly hurt . . . at least not very much.
It was time to tinker with the car. Tuda should show up soon, too.
After a quick bite to eat, he dressed in the clothes the doctor had provided. Almost a perfect fit. Good-quality garments, too. Brown wool slacks, a white button-down cotton shirt, a tweed vest, and a deep-blue wool tie, which he put loosely around his neck. He’d leave the tweed jacket with leather patches for later, but it fit. The shoes were a size too big, but who cared? He could pass for a proper Irish gentleman in this gear, as long as he kept his brogue to himself.
Dutch glanced in both directions before he slipped out the door and dashed across the cobblestone yard. With each step, his knee throbbed.
The calf house was freezing and damp, but the Ford’s hood was open, tools and parts arranged on the bench with precision. Tuda was meticulous, a good sign.
The cat jumped onto the bench, sniffing the tools.
“You going to be my lookout again today?”
Dutch scratched behind Mr. Dee’s ears. “You know, you’re more of a dog than a cat. So that makes you what? A dat?”
Then he picked up a wrench and peered under the hood at the engine. The connections, the new hoses, and the general condition of the engine met with his approval. “Nice work.”
Impressive, even. Tuda knew what she was doing. Together, they’d get this hulk running.
He fiddled with the spark plugs, tugged on the wires. Checked hoses, connectors, bolts. He lost himself in the rhythm of work and ignored the pain in his arm and his knee.
His fingers scraped over a sharp edge. “Ouch.” He pulled out his hand. Red blossomed across his knuckles.
The sound of a car approaching sent him to the dirty window to peer outside. Not Tuda.
The Garda’s car.
The passenger door opened, and Nan stepped out. “Stop worrying. You’re not the first man to have a baby. Kelly and your new daughter will be fine,” she was saying. “Go rest. You’ve the town’s women taking care of her. I’ll check on Kelly and baby later today.”
Nan. He waited until the sound of the Garda’s car faded before he stepped into the courtyard.
She was about to discover the door was unlocked, and he braced himself for a lecture. He almost called out to her when he heard another vehicle approaching. Probably Tuda, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He slipped back inside the barn and peeked through the cracked window.
Doggone it. It was Finn, parking his beat-up sedan. The car appeared to have already been through a war.
Nan stood in the open doorway.
Dutch watched the big lug step out of the car. “I’m glad I caught you in, Nan.”
“Ah sure. So you did. Have you heard the news? Paul and Kelly have a new little girl.”
“Well, she’s young. She can try again.”
“For what?”
“A boy, of course.”
She looked skyward. “All that matters is that the child is healthy. What brings you to my doorstep so early?”
“I’ve news.”
“Do tell. Have you managed to catch some Nazis?”
“How about a cup of tea first? That’d be grand.”
“I’m sorry, Finn—Officer Finn. I’m tired as the sunset. I can barely stay standing. Will you tell the news and be on your way, please?”
The smile she sent Finn left him gaping for a few seconds. His boots crunched over the cobblestones as he approached her. “Seems the lad who washed up down the beach wasn’t from the Wellington crash after all.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What a sad bit of news for the lad and his family.” She cut the sign of the cross over her body. “I’ll remember him in my prayers.”
“Have you seen anyone suspicious lately?”
“Besides yourself?”
Finn’s eyes narrowed. “You and the women in town might think this is all fun and games, but I assure you it isn’t. That RAF pilot is hiding somewhere close by. He’s armed and dangerous. No match for a girl like yourself.”
“I can take care of myself, but why do you think he’s still about? Wouldn’t he be across the border by now?”
“Not if he’s injured.”
“Why would you think he’s injured?”
“I caught a Tinker boy yesterday. He was wearing a flight helmet. I grabbed it off the lad’s head. It was bloodstained and labeled.”
Oh no, Dutch thought.
“With what?”
“His name. ‘Dutch Whitney.’ He’s the missing bomber boy.”
Nan didn’t show the tiniest crack of composure. “And how are you knowing that?”
“Because the poor sod who washed up onshore has been identified. We found his name sewn into his jacket. And his insignias marked him from a different sort of crew, not a bomber a’tall.”
“Is that a fact?” Nan crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow.
“It’s been confirmed by the RAF. So. We still have one Wellington pilot missing. And we know his name—Whitney. Thanks to the Tinker boy.”
“Doggone it,” Dutch whispered.
Nan said only, “Wasn’t that clever of you, finding the Tinker?”
Finn puffed up his chest, fingered the gun at his side. “I’m good as hired for the Garda position. I’d best go inside and see that you’re safe.”
Dutch placed a hand over his mouth. Dread washed over him. He’d cleared all his things off the table. Made the bed. Tucked his pajamas into the hiding hole. He sucked in a breath. The box of clothes. The map. He’d put them under the table.
Hadn’t he? His heart pounded, beating hard.
Nan closed the door, stood in front of it, and blocked Finn’s entrance. “Do you think that instead of hiding, this fellow might be dead?”
“No way of telling. He’s still deemed missing by the RAF.”
“Is he, now? I’ll tell you what. If I happen to be strolling down the beach and see a dead pilot, I’ll come looking for you.”
“I’m counting on ya to do the right thing. Your country is, too.” He stepped into her, reached his hands for the latch. “Move aside, Nan. I’m going inside.”
“You’re not. No need a’tall.”
“I am. It’s my duty to keep you safe.”
“There’s nothing in there except my things.”
“You’re not knowing that unless I check. And I have the authority to investigate as I see fit. Do ya mind? Step aside.”
Dutch held his breath.
“I do mind, but all right then. Don’t linger on my panties, set out to dry. In the back room off the scullery.”
He licked his lips, which disgusted Dutch.
Nan moved out of Finn’s way, her hands locked in prayer and head bowed.
Dutch tapped his
thumb against the window until she opened her eyes toward the sound. Her jaw dropped and her eyes flashed. Finn stomped out of the house. “You’re all clear. Why do ya have so many dishes in ya sink?”
She crossed her arms, turned to him, didn’t miss a beat. “Not that it’s your business, but Tuda and I were having tea when I was called away to deliver the Halpin baby. Did you touch my panties?”
Finn blushed.
“Ah, ya did, didn’t ya? Did you find the bomber boy hiding behind them?”
Dutch grinned. The woman was a master at redirecting conversation.
The wind howled across the courtyard, and the calf-house door slammed shut, then popped open again.
Finn spun around, stared at the barn.
Startled, Dutch stepped away. His foot hit a shovel, and he grabbed for the tool but missed. Crashing to the ground, the shovel hit a pail and sent the bucket rolling away, making loud clanking sounds. Deep pain tingled down his arm, and his knee quaked with painful spasms. He pressed his back against the cold wall. Now he’d done it.
“What’s that?” he heard Officer Finn say. “Is someone in there?”
“Who would be in there?”
“A bomber boy.”
Dutch’s heart pounded. Where should he hide? Would he fit under the car? The hay bale? No. Not enough time to kick it apart.
It’d come down to his clumsiness. The lads at the internment camp would have a hoot when they learned his big banana-boat foot had given him away.
Lord, if you’re watching, send me an escape route. Tell me what to do. Protect me, please.
The cat trotted out of the narrow opening of the barn door.
“Good kitty,” Dutch whispered. He looked skyward. “Thanks.”
“Pay no mind,” he heard Nan say. “Sure, it’s only the cat, knocking things over in the pursuit of a mouse, no doubt.”
“So, he didn’t pack his gun today?”
Nan let out a musical laugh. “Aren’t you the joker? Please, Officer Finn, I’ve been up all night. Be on your way, and I’ll have you for tea at a later date.”
Dutch couldn’t help himself. He peeked through the broken blinds again. Hands on hips, and a sly smile, she was flirting with Finn.
Dutch rubbed a hand over his mouth. That wasn’t a good strategy with a jerk like Finn. It might come back to bite her.
“I’ll hold you to it.” Finn slicked back his thinning hair. “You and me, Nan. We’ve got things to talk over. When this war is over, I’ll be an even more important man in town. As important as Sergeant Halpin.”
“Well now, won’t that be grand for you?”
“All the girls will be after me. But you’re the one.”
“What would make me happy today is a nap. Be on your way, so.” She pointed to the open gate.
Dutch clenched his hands. He half wanted to go into the courtyard and beat the tar out of Finn. And he worried about what Nan would need to endure once he escaped.
The cat jumped on top of Finn’s car and made a low hissing sound.
“Go on with ya,” Finn yelled, swatting the side of the car.
Dutch felt a grin rise through him.
Maybe the cat was MI6, too.
CHAPTER 17
Dutch waited a few minutes before he returned to the warmth of Nan’s cabin, although the look she gave him froze him on the spot. She was on the comfy chair, glaring.
Trouble seemed to be his middle name.
He wiped the rain from his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, you’re sorry. Again? You near gave me a heart attack. Didn’t I tell you to stay put?” Her voice came out shrill.
He presented his open palms. “Mea culpa.”
“Mea angry. You’ll be the death of me yet.”
His stomach clenched as though a wrench were tightening the bolts. “Don’t say that. I can’t stand to think of you that way.”
“Nor can I stand thinking of you dead. Going back to England, hopping into a bomber.” She covered her eyes with her hands.
Dutch crossed the room, sat in the chair opposite her. “Nan. I’m sorry.”
She knocked his hand away. “I promised you I’d put you out if you did that again.”
He nodded. “You did. I’ll get my things. I need my gun.”
“And go where?”
“Toward the border. I’ll walk. At least I have decent clothes now.”
“Thanks to me, Tuda, and Juliet. We’ve put ourselves in danger for you. Are you so self-involved you can only think of yourself and your mission? You gave me your word.”
“My pledge to God and country overrode my promise to you.”
She stood, slapping her hands on her hips. “Isn’t that nice? We’re expendable down here so you can get back into the air and save the world. Do you care a’tall that you might destroy our world?”
He’d always thought of his mission in terms of the broad picture of victory, not the day-to-day lives of his victims. The words shook him. His victims. With a shake of his head, he hardened his emotions, took up his armor. “It’s them or us.”
“Don’t give me that load of garbage. From where I sit, it’s you or us, too. We’re helping you, taking the risks, but you’re not helping.”
For the very first time, he began to understand the impact of war on real people. Real heartaches. Real risks that carried real consequences.
“You truly disappointed me. You gave me your word.”
“I did. I’m sorry. I should have waited for Tuda.”
“Yes, you should have. You heard what Finn said? They know you’re not dead.”
“Yeah. Listen, I also heard what you said to Finn. You’re giving him the wrong impression.”
“Finn? Oh, I can handle him.”
He stood and looked her in the eye. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”
“What game is that?” She matched the intensity of his gaze.
“Leading him on.”
“You mean getting rid of him? It works.”
“For now. He’s going to want his pound of flesh.”
“He might get a cup of tea if he’s lucky. That’s all he’ll ever get from me.”
“I worry about you.”
“I’ll be fine.” Her eyes softened.
“Will you come with me?” he found himself asking.
She laughed. “To England? Are you daft?”
“I don’t see how you can stay here anymore. Finn—”
“He’s a buffoon. I’m not leaving my home. Don’t ask me again. Come back after the war and visit if you wish.”
“Will you at least think about it?”
She gave him a stubborn stare. “My place is here. What you ask is impossible.”
The sound of bicycle wheels rolling over the cobblestones interrupted them.
From outside they heard, “Hello in there. ’Tis I, Tuda, the girl mechanic. Are you decent?”
“Why is Tuda riding her bike?” Nan asked, leaving Dutch feeling like a little boy whose puppy had run away. He followed on her heels to the door.
“Why are you on your bike?” Nan called out as she opened the door. “If ever there was a need to keep dry in the van, today would be the day.”
“Exactly what I said to my Paddy when he walked in last night, covered in mud, with a black eye, no less,” Tuda replied as she entered. “Seems he had a wee bit too much to drink and ran the van into a ditch. He smashed the whole thing. It’ll be ages before I can get it running again.”
“Oh, Lord have mercy. Is he all right?” Nan closed the door.
“Yes. God protects drunkards and fools, so he’s got double protection.” She looked at Dutch. “Don’t you look grand? Much better than the last time I saw you. Those clothes do you justice. They can’t be Teddy’s. Doesn’t he look grand, Nan?”
“He looks passable,” Nan said. “Juliet brought them. They belonged to Dr. Glennon.”
Dutch straightened the vest. “You think I’ll blend in? Go unnoticed?”
Tuda laughed. “Not a chance. You’re far too good-looking. You’ll turn every woman’s head.”
“Come on. That’s not true,” he said.
Nan rubbed her hand over his arm, the heat penetrating through his shirt. A ripple of goose bumps scurried up his arm to his neck. “You’ll pass. Just don’t try and use your brogue.”
“Good advice.”
“The next time I come, I’ll bring you some maps,” Tuda said.
He hooked a thumb toward the box under the table. “I have maps. The doc brought them.”
Nan’s hand pressed against her chest. “I’m such an eejit. I forget to tell you.”
“That’s okay. I found them.” He looked into her eyes, and their gazes locked. The rest of the room crept into the shadows. For the first time since he’d crash-landed in Eire, a spark of regret that he’d be leaving pinched his heart.
“Hmm. That doctor is clever.” Tuda coughed, breaking their concentration. “Nan, you look like a spent penny.”
Nan stepped away from Dutch, her cheeks blooming pink. “Up all night delivering the Halpins’ baby.”
“All’s well?”
“Ah sure, she’s got lungs on her like a gale.”
“She had a girl,” Tuda said. “I’m so glad. Kelly wanted a girl.”
“She did. And the da couldn’t be more pleased.”
Dutch listened. The ladies slipped into a sort of conversational shorthand he didn’t completely understand. But it was a nice change to hear women talk, instead of the cursing and leering he was used to among the men in the barracks.
“And who do you think was here when I got back?”
“Ah, the lard-arse, himself. I saw him speeding down the lane. He’ll give you no rest, Nan.”
“That’s what I tried to tell her,” Dutch piped up.
A crease deepened between Nan’s eyebrows. “You needn’t worry. I know how to give him the brush-off. Once you’re gone, he’ll have no cause to come around.”
“You think that’ll stop him?” Dutch touched Nan’s arm.
Tuda shook her head. “Not likely. I worry about you, too, Nan.”
“You’re both wrong. He’s nothing a’tall but a bully. A lot of hot air. Unfortunately, Tuda, they discovered the dead pilot’s true identity. Our time is running out.”
“Come on, let’s get that Ford running. I brought some petrol and a couple of extra parts.”
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