All of You (A Carrington Family Novel Book 2)

by Sarah Monzon

  “As I was saying, Jackie, Geyser is concerned about you with your ex back in town.”

  She’d been wrong about the puppy. He was a pit bull. Once he sank his teeth into something, he wasn’t about to let it go. “I can take care of myself.”

  One brow hiked up. “Like you did at the bar?”

  She ground her teeth. She didn’t want to appear unappreciative, but her situation wasn’t this man’s concern, and she was more than a little peeved at Brett for dragging Lieutenant Carrington into it. And heaven help her for the thought, but how much help could the lieutenant really give her? He’d barely made it to the chair before collapsing. Sure, he’d come to her aid at the bar, but one rightly aimed punch or kick to his injuries could not only incapacitate him but possibly do serious damage to his healing wounds. He didn’t need to be her shadow. He needed to save his strength for his own healing. Couldn’t her brother see that?

  “I had it under control.”

  “That’s not how I saw it.”

  Her spine snapped. “I grew up with two older brothers who both turned military. I think I’ve learned how to protect myself.”

  His gaze roamed her body, and she felt exposed and inadequate. No doubt he wondered how anyone who barely reached five foot and one inch on her tiptoes and tipped the scale at one hundred and ten pounds only after she gorged herself at an all-you-can-eat buffet could take on a grown man. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, daring him to make her prove her abilities.

  He leaned back, relaxing a bit into the chair. “Okay, show me.” He waved his hand in front of him.

  Drat. She’d hoped he wouldn’t actually call her out. Most guys backed down once her feathers were ruffled. A snarl was as good as a bite. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

  He pushed his body out of the chair and balanced on his one leg.

  Jack deflated a bit. Did he seriously think… “I’m not fighting you.”

  Michael swayed in front of her before regaining complete balance. He looked to the stump of his right arm, his gaze traveling down that side of his body. His body sagged, the weight pulling him back down into the chair. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “No, of course not. What was I thinking?” He looked back at her, his eyes resigned, and she missed a bit of the challenge in them. “I meant no offense.”

  The fire in her gut fizzled out, compassion coating her earlier anger. “Sorry if I overreacted.” He was just doing what he’d trained for. Protecting. Fighting for those weaker, those he perceived in danger. “I know you and Brett mean well, but it isn’t necessary. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “Fair enough.” His head tilted to the side. “How about a friend?”

  “A friend?” Probably some way around her refusal of protection, a means to appease his pride…and Brett, if her brother checked up on her through Michael, which she was sure he’d do. She looked at the man opposite her. His body language was open and sincere, and he had an air of desperation about him. As if her answer meant more to him than a simple obligation to a brother in uniform.

  He looked around the hangar, running from her inspection. His fingers fiddled with the outside seam of his jeans. “I could use a friend.” The words were barely audible, but they tugged her heart. There was so much more to this man than what she could see, than what was missing.

  ***

  The truth escaped on a breath before Michael was even aware of its existence. It was true though. Now that it was out there, he could see it. He needed a friend. His life had always had a direction, a purpose. He knew he was made for one thing and one thing only, to serve his country as a pilot in the military. Now that his goal had been stripped from him, hacked away first by a four-inch steel cable and then a surgeon’s knife, what was left? It was ironic that he, a sailor, was drowning in the sea of an unknown future.

  He glanced at Jackie, the stiffness in her shoulders loosening by degrees, and her golden eyes softened around the edges.

  A man with a plan, he never spoke without picking his words carefully. Until now. A vulnerable desperation that reached out for a lifeline. He wasn’t used to this feeling. Didn’t like it one bit.

  He’d come to apologize for not offering her protection sooner. If he’d stopped wallowing in self-pity, stopped licking his wounds and manned up, followed through on his promise to Geyser, she never would have found herself in the position she had at the pub. Sure her winner ex-fiancé could have still made a scene, tossed a threat out, but Michael never would have allowed Mitch to lay a hand on Jackie. That guilt knocked him flat on his back.

  “I could use a friend too.”

  He let his lips lift in a smile. “Yeah?”

  She rifled through her cooler and pulled out a Ziploc bag. “Carrot stick?” She held the baggie out to him.

  The vegetable crunched between his teeth. “Thanks.”

  “So.” She flashed him a smile full of mischief and cocked a brow. “My brother’s call sign is Geyser?”

  Michael laughed. It felt good. A bit of whatever coiled in his chest chinked away. “He never told you?”

  She shook her head, the bandana she had tied around her head flapped with the movement, reminding him of the WW II posters of Rosie the Riveter.

  “He hasn’t been with that squadron very long, and every time I would ask, he’d change the subject.”

  “Well…” Michael settled onto the back of the chair. “Have I got a story for you.”

  Chapter Eight

  England, 1944

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Alice’s gaze traced the outline of bombed-out buildings and piles of rubble as she walked beside Mr. Caldwell. They’d managed to get most of the way by bus but had traveled at least a mile since. If she’d known, maybe she’d have worn something a bit more practical than her continental-heeled pumps. Saddle shoes wouldn’t have gone with her floral printed day dress, but they would have been spades more comfortable.

  “If your aunt still resides at the address you provided, her flat is only a street away.”

  Another street. She’d have blisters to pay, but if she and Mr. Caldwell found Aunt Sybil, the pain in her heels would be a small price.

  “Thank you again. For helping me, I mean.” Alice glanced over at Mr. Caldwell with a smile.

  The gentleman swooped his fedora off his head and bowed. “As any good Englishman, I am a product of tales of knighthood from King Arthur’s realm and could not turn away from helping a beautiful damsel in distress.”

  A bark of laughter escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth with her hand. His blue eyes twinkled as he settled his hat back over his blond curls. They crossed the street at an intersection, a line of clothes hanging between an alleyway from a third-story window and billowing gently in the wind.

  “I thought all great knights rode white stallions,” Alice goaded.

  Henry Caldwell exaggerated a shiver. “Fortunately for me, progress has rendered it feasible for knights to drive automobiles.”

  She raised a brow. “Don’t like horses?”

  “Au contraire.” He held up a finger. “Horses do not like me.”

  Alice stepped over a chunk of concrete that had been blasted from a building. “What did you do to the poor thing?”

  “Poor thing?” Mr. Caldwell made a noise in the back of his throat. “I offered the beast a lump of sugar, and she nearly bit my fingers off.”

  “Maybe she preferred her tea with milk.” Alice pressed her lips down to look serious, though she wanted to grin.

  “Saucy little thing, aren’t you?” His eyes crinkled around the edges.

  Laughter bubbled out of her, and she felt free. No one had ever called her saucy before. Usually they’d say she was demure. Graceful. Reserved. Poised. Obedient. A thousand other boring adjectives confining her to a perfect square box, a budding flower to the world while she shriveled and died on the inside. But not anymore. She wouldn’t be shoved down and suffocated another minute, pretending to be something she wasn
’t. Who knew? Maybe she was saucy.

  Her toe snagged on a piece of exposed rebar, and she pitched forward. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, preparing for the bite of concrete on her palms. A strong arm circled her waist and caught her fall. She opened one eye, then the other. Henry Caldwell’s hand warmed her hip through the cotton of her dress.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, pulling her to her feet.

  She blinked, taking inventory of her body, which seemed quite flushed and hypersensitive. Her gaze locked with his, and she realized how close he was. Define “all right.”

  Maybe she wasn’t that saucy after all.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  His thumb gently stroked her side, and delightful tingles raced from the contact and shot across her abdomen. His eyes lowered then widened, his hand shooting up as if he’d touched a hot stove.

  He looked so adorably uncomfortable that she was tempted to let that play out. However, she was a lady. Of sorts. “Thank you, Sir Knight.”

  He cleared his throat and adjusted his hat. “Yes, well.” He bowed again, straightening with a hint of a smile. “This knight may not race across the moors on a trusty steed, but could he offer you a ride instead?” He turned slightly until his back was to her, then looked over his shoulder. “Piggyback?”

  Straddle the back of a man she’d met that morning while wearing a dress? It was an enticing idea to accept solely on the fact her father would demand the exact opposite behavior. She shifted her weight. But wasn’t that also being immature? Her decisions were no longer dictated by her father, and doing something just because he wouldn’t approve seemed to still give him power.

  She opened her mouth to decline, when an air-raid siren moaned in the distance. It started off low but steadily grew in pitch and volume. Shadows fell feet in front of them, the deafening roar of engines drowning out the siren’s untimely warning as dozens of planes zoomed above. Fear gripped her as lightning fast as the German raids known as the Blitz. Those raids had ended years before, but Germany hadn’t ceased surprise attacks to keep all of London on its collective toes. As if the wind itself was intimidated by the black crosses painted on the underside of the wings and along the tail of the planes, a breeze picked up and blew Alice’s hair off her shoulders. She felt exposed. A sitting target for the Luftwaffe pilots to practice on.

  Alice was still looking up at the sky when her feet were swept out from under her. An arm to her back and the other under her knees, Mr. Caldwell had scooped her up like a child. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he ran along the footpath, keeping close to the buildings.

  A shrill whistle sounded in the distance, followed by a loud explosion. The ground shook under them, and Alice felt herself being pulled in tighter to Henry Caldwell’s chest.

  “If you put me down, I can run.”

  As if he couldn’t hear her—which was impossible because her mouth was a breath away from his ear—he scanned the street, searching. The building offered little safety, the crumbled debris scattered around them attesting to the instability of stacked concrete against a Luftwaffe bomb. Another shrill split the air, and Alice braced herself. The whole earth shook with the blast.

  Oh, God. A prayer of two words, but she was certain the good Lord would fill in the blanks. Keep them safe. End the war. Heal the land.

  “There!” Mr. Caldwell shouted above the noise of invasion and dashed across the street. A hole gaped in the sidewalk, and Alice felt herself relax a degree. An underground station. Thank you, sweet Jesus. The city was littered with the underground transportation tunnels. They made extraordinary bunkers…as long as the entrance and exits didn’t become clogged with fallen debris. Then they became catacombs.

  Alice pushed that morbid thought from her mind. They wouldn’t be killed. Not today. Not by the Germans. Good always conquered over evil, didn’t it? Whether that hope was tentative or not, she grasped ahold of it with all her strength.

  Sniffles and shushing echoed off the domed walls. How many people had sought shelter here? Alice’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the tunnel’s hanging bulbs. Dozens of bodies littered the man-made tube, some huddled against the walls, some prostrate between the subway’s old rails, as if they were familiar with this routine and prepared to hunker down for the night.

  Dear Lord she hoped not. Commander Gower expected Alice to report in the morning for her first duty assignment. If she didn’t show up…

  Mr. Caldwell lowered her until her feet hit the ground, but he kept his hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she was thankful for the dimness to hide her telling blush. Reading about damsels in distress and the knights that rescued them was romantic in novels. In real life, however, the ordeal proved much more embarrassing. Although, to her credit, she could have walked and have found this underground station and, by extension, safety herself. Hmmm…maybe the fictional damsels weren’t so helpless either. Knights were just stubborn. And perhaps a bit thick skulled when it came to female competency.

  “Yes, thank you.” She smoothed back her hair. “Your assistance was appreciated, although not necessarily required.”

  A chuckle echoed beside her. “Doing only what is required takes all the fun out of life.” He nudged her with his elbow. “And trust me, holding you in my arms was fun.”

  Alice’s spine straightened, a rush of warmth flooding her limbs even when a reprimand jumped to her lips. “Highly improper, don’t you think?”

  The man-made cave around them shuddered. “In the midst of this war, I tend to think human propriety has been thrown out the window.” Sadness saturated his quiet voice as he spoke.

  Sobriety came in an instant. There was nothing proper in war. Man killing man. Attempting to eradicate complete people groups. She shook her head. Decency was galaxies away.

  A warm hand encircled her wrist, and tugged her from the wall. “Come on. Let’s see if any of our fellow refugees know anything about your aunt.”

  They shuffled along the expanse, careful not to step on or bump into any of the other people waiting out the bombings. The smell of a cigarette stung Alice’s nose, and she turned her head away, smothering a cough in her shoulder as the smoke grew thicker around her. Mr. Caldwell stopped beside her. Air moved; shadows changed. Feet shuffled at her side, and she felt the emptiness to her left.

  “Excuse me.” Mr. Caldwell’s voice drifted up to her. He must be sitting on the floor.

  Alice lowered herself and hung her legs over the side of the platform.

  “Do you happen to know a Sybil Galloway?” Mr. Caldwell asked the man reeking of tobacco.

  “Hopkins.” Galloway was Aunt Sybil’s maiden name. Uncle Atticus may have died before Alice could become aquatinted with him, but no one would know her aunt by anything other than Sybil Hopkins.

  “Sybil Hopkins then. Were you in acquaintance with a woman by that name?”

  The glow of the cigarette burned brighter as the man drew in a breath from its opposite tip. “Never ’eard of ’er.” He dropped the h’s from his words like they were hot potatoes straight from the oven.

  “Thank you just the same.” Henry—was it improper that she was beginning to think of him by his first name?—dropped to the subway rails below, then reached out and lifted her down with hands at her waist. They didn’t linger this time but dropped right away. She didn’t have time to feel relieved or disappointed, however, because he picked up her hand and tugged her along.

  “Careful of the rail line.”

  She lifted her feet high as she stepped over the long metal rail.

  Alice scrutinized each face, wondering if they had any connection to her aunt. Could the blond-haired woman picking at her nails be Aunt Sybil’s neighbor? Or one of the young ladies huddled over to the side be someone her aunt called on in the afternoons? Each face resembled the other. Soft. Delicate. Female. Hardly any children dotted the space in their underground sanctuary. Where were the children?<
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  “Mr. Caldwell,” Alice whispered as she leaned into the man beside her.

  “Yes?”

  “Is it just me, or are most of the people in here women? I’ve hardly seen a man or child.”

  His voice lowered as well, probably not wanting it to echo in their cave-like surroundings. “A lot of the children were shipped off to the country to keep them safer. As for the men, the ones who are able are fighting to keep these crazy Nazis from taking over all of Europe.”

  Alice had a pretty good idea these women were fighting just as hard their own way, but she let the thought go unspoken.

  They continued down the railway, Henry asking about Aunt Sybil from five more people before they found someone who knew her aunt.

  “She’s not around these parts anymore though.” The older lady cackled. “It’s been, oh let’s see, three months at least since I’ve laid eyes on Sybie.”

  “Do you happen to know where she went?” There had to be another clue to go on. This couldn’t be a dead end.

  “Sure, sure. She joined up to become a British Red Cross nurse. I have no idea where they sent her, I’m afraid.”

  Aunt Sybil a nurse? The thought shouldn’t have been shocking. Her aunt had always been the most caring of women. And unlike her father, Aunt Sybil didn’t allow society’s strictures on her status and station to dictate her actions. If she saw a need, she filled it. No matter how her peers might look down their noses at her. Pride swelled in Alice’s chest.

  And just as quickly deflated. How would she find Aunt Sybil now? Maybe she could contact the Red Cross. Maybe Aunt Sybil would be stationed near one of the locations on Alice’s drop-off roster. If not, well, they’d just be another consequence of war tearing families apart.

  A hand weighed upon her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

  Chapter Nine

  Present Day, Maryland