She gasped and let the oars slap the water. “Walter Novak, you’re teasing me.”
One side of his mouth twitched up. “I happen to like the song. Green’s my favorite color. Now, you’re strong enough to leave the cove. Don’t go downstream—the Fulton Shipyard’s that way. Head upstream toward the Antioch Bridge. Tide’s coming in, so rowing won’t be bad. I’ll take over on the way back.”
Allie looked over her shoulder to plot her course. She drew the oars back, ignored their sulky resistance, and released them to soar in glittering arcs.
“Where’d you learn to row, Miss Miller? It’s not your typical debutante activity.”
“I’m not a debutante.” She smiled at his teasing. “My family went up to Lake Arrowhead each summer. I swam, I rowed, I imagined in the woods.”
“Make good friends there?”
“Friends? Oh dear, no. But I still loved it.”
Walt plucked a stick of driftwood from the water. “And this week?”
“I’m having a wonderful time. You’re blessed to have such a group. I wonder—I wonder what I’d be like if I’d grown up with a group like this.”
“Hmm.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and studied the driftwood in his hands. “Not many friends at home?”
Allie guided the boat near the shore to avoid the current. “My parents are homebodies. We’ve always been content to keep to ourselves, except . . .”
“Except what?”
She gazed into Walt’s dark eyes and knew he’d understand. “Since I met Betty, I haven’t been as content at home, and now I don’t have another school year to anticipate.”
“Wow.” His black eyebrows drew together. “I don’t like to leave my friends, but they’ll be here for my next furlough. And Frank’s a good friend.”
“Frank.” Allie grasped at the change in subject. “He’s in your bomb group?”
“Yeah. Great guy. He’s married, three kids, fourth on the way. We did our advanced training together at Brooks Field. I had a bad night on the town and was real glad to meet him afterward, find someone who shares my values.”
How did a man who didn’t drink, gamble, or chase women have a bad night on the town? “Do I dare ask what happened?”
Walt grimaced. “I’ve only told Frank. Embarrassing.”
“More embarrassing than admitting you don’t have friends at home?”
“Suppose not.” He grumbled and twisted the wood in his hands. “Okay. Just don’t tell the others, all right? Makes me look bad.”
“All right.” She watched his face redden. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.
“First week at Brooks, three of the fellows invited me to the USO. You know how I feel about dancing, but I was bored, so I went. Well, they met four gals. I was paralyzed—couldn’t speak. But this one girl talked so much, she didn’t notice. Just glad to be with a man in uniform, I think.” He snapped off a twig and scrutinized the remaining smooth branch. “Walked the girls home. Couldn’t wait to get away, but out of the blue, she kissed me.”
“Oh dear. What did you do?”
Walt glanced up at her. “I’m no fool. I kissed her back.”
Allie laughed and averted her gaze to the contrast between the toasted hills and the lush reeds along the riverbank. From the tingle in her cheeks, she knew her face was as red as his.
“But then . . . um, she wanted . . . well, I went home. Only man who did. They gave me a tough time. Frank says I should invent a girlfriend to get them off my case. Imagine what they’d say if they knew she’s only the second woman I’ve kissed.” His cheeks agitated, much as they had the day before when George mentioned the barn.
“Does the first have anything to do with your grandparents’ barn?”
Walt’s jaw dropped. “How’d you . . . oh, swell. You’ve laid bare all my secrets.”
Better his than hers. She smiled and sank the oars in the water. “I’m right?”
“My cousin.”
Allie gasped. “Your cousin?”
“Not as bad as it sounds. My second cousin.” He groaned, long and deep. “Her idea. We were seventeen. She had a big date coming up and wanted to practice. I was the right height, so she hauled me off to the barn.”
The hint of a smile on his face made Allie laugh. She rowed around a clump of rushes protruding from the shore. “And you bragged to your friends because they think you’re hopeless with women.”
“I am hopeless,” he said with a grin. “But I was the first to kiss a girl. Betty was still holding George off, Jim wouldn’t give Helen the time of day, and Art and Dorothy—they just giggled at each other.”
“They still just giggle at each other.”
Walt snorted. “Aren’t they something? Art’s too shy to ask her out, and Dorothy—she flirts, she gives him the cold shoulder, she dates other men to make him jealous. I can’t stand her games.”
That explained the tension between Walt and Dorothy.
“Okay.” He pointed the driftwood at Allie. “I told two embarrassing make-out stories. Your turn.”
She gave him a smug smile and plunged the oars deep. “I don’t have an embarrassing make-out story, because I’ve never made out.” Her neck grew as warm as the sun on her bare shoulders. Oh dear, what would he think of Baxter?
“You’ve never been kissed?”
Allie drew herself up tall. “Have too. Ten times.” The heat rushed up her face. Why, why, why did she admit that—only ten kisses in four and a half years?
Walt’s lips compressed together, then crept into half a smile. “How can you count? Unless it’s a peck. Otherwise— well, how can you count?”
Not only could she count, she could calculate—his birthday, her birthday, and graduation. “Just pecks,” she said. She shut her eyes and wished she had shut her mouth.
“Wow. So no real kisses?”
“Not like in the movies.” Not like people in love. She shook her head, as if she could shake off the sadness and humiliation of her secret, revealed for the first time. “Now we’re more than even. I’ve thoroughly shamed myself.”
He frowned. “Why would you say that? Reflects well on your character.”
She paused midstroke. Is that how he saw the matter? That Allie was a lady of character, and Baxter a gentleman of noble restraint, able to resist the woman he loved? Fine. Walt’s version was better than the truth.
“Are you sore?” He gestured to the oars. “Want me to take over?”
“Oh no.” Although her shoulders were starting to ache, Allie leaned back and propelled the boat upstream. “I’d rather go on. It’s lovely here.”
“Yeah. This is a great place.”
She gazed at the soft amber hills and the cattails edging the broad river, anything to distract herself from her relationship with Baxter. “How close can you get to shore?”
“Couple feet. Go ahead.”
She steered closer and searched the reeds for a bird or a nest. Tiny white butterflies flitted about as if aiding her quest.
“When we were boys, George and I used to come here, pretend we were pirates on the bayou, explorers on the Nile, Huck Finn, you name it.” Walt plucked a cattail and tapped Allie on the head with it.
She laughed. “What are you doing?”
He chucked her under the chin. “Trying to remember a Bible verse so I can impress you with my holiness.”
“I’d be more impressed if you didn’t beat me up.”
“Psalm one.” Walt grinned and rapped a rhythm on Allie’s knees. “‘He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.’”
He was awfully cute. Why did he think he was hopeless with women? Why, if she didn’t have a boyfriend . . .
Clunk!
Allie tipped back on her seat and slipped off with a little scream. She looked up to see Walt down on hands and knees. “Did I get too close to shore?”
“Nah. Sounded solid, metallic.” He got up and offered his hand and a smile. “For the record, this time it was your fault.”
If she didn’t have a boyfriend . . .
She took his hand, and his warmth rippled right through her. The triangular hollow at the base of his neck deepened as he helped her back to her seat, and his lips had a nice, soft bend. What would it be like to—
“I wonder what we hit.”
“What?” Allie stared at Walt, who squatted before her. “Oh, I don’t know.” She scrambled over the seat into the bow. The boat pitched, and Allie clutched the edge.
“Careful there.”
“Sorry.” The shore curved in and formed a pocket protected from the current, and the surface smoothed quickly. Through the murky water, she discerned black and white patches and large bovine eyes. “Walt, it’s a cow.”
He laughed and fished the oars from the water. “Now who’s teasing?”
She beckoned, unable to break her gaze with the distorted image. “No, I’m serious. Come see. It’s a cow—a giant metal cow.”
They switched positions. Walt peered into the water and looked back to Allie, his eyes as wide as the cow’s. “It’s Flossie.”
“Flossie?”
“Fortner’s Flossie. I told you about her yesterday. The kids who stole her must have panicked and dumped her here.” He sat down, backed the boat free, and rammed it into the reeds.
She held on tight as he climbed out. “What are you doing?”
He sloshed through the water. “Got to get her out.”
“You’re kidding. She’s big.”
He grinned over his shoulder at her. “About the size of a calf. If Mr. Fortner doesn’t want her back, think how much scrap metal’s in her. That’s a lot of machine guns or helmets.”
Allie lowered herself over the side, and mud oozed between her toes.
Walt stared at her. “You’re going to help?”
“My patriotic duty.” She untied a rope knotted to the bow. “Would this help?”
“Yeah. Good idea. She’s stuck in the mud.”
Allie waded out waist deep and passed Walt the rope.
He tied it around the cow’s neck. “Okay, I’ll dive down, loosen her. You pull.”
“All right.” When he dove, she tugged hard, but the cow didn’t budge.
Walt surfaced and flicked mud from his hands. “Should have picked someone with more meat on their bones. You’re just a twig of a thing.”
Enough affection shone in his smile to assure her he meant it kindly. She wrapped the rope around her hand. “See what this twig can do.”
Down he went, and Allie pulled with all her might. This time Flossie budged, and the next time the cow rolled to her side. Allie slipped, and water rushed over her head. She struggled to get her footing in the slick mud without losing the rope.
A firm hand on her elbow helped her up. She wiped away the water streaming over her face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled and pointed to the rope in her hand. “This twig may bend, but she doesn’t break. Come on, let’s get old Floss out of here.”
“Then what?” She rearranged the rope around a less raw spot on her hand.
Walt wrapped his arms around the cow’s midsection. “We’re not far from the bridge. Gotta be a road nearby. Kids who dumped her had to get here somehow.”
They dragged and laughed and slipped and bumped wet arms, sides, and legs—all of which gave Allie an unnerving, heady feeling.
Cattails brushed her back. “My, she’s heavy.”
“Won’t be so heavy.” He plunged back further into the reeds. “Once the water’s out of her.”
She felt solid ground underfoot, and soon the reeds gave way to dry grasses. Flossie slid out, and water gushed from her riveted seams. Allie fell to her backside, Walt collapsed flat on his back beside her, and they panted in the sunshine.
“You’re muddy, Miss Miller.” Walt poked her filthy calf with a brown toe.
She smiled down at him. In addition to the mud on his arms and legs, he had streaks of rust on his chest. “So are you, Lieutenant Novak.”
He wiped his hands on his bathing trunks and laced his hands behind his head. “You and I have racked up the adventures, haven’t we?”
She inspected her hands—the crisp manicure and the red rope burns. “I can’t believe we ran into another cow.”
Walt’s laughter rang deep and melodious, and Allie joined in pitch-perfect accompaniment.
Friday, June 26, 1942
For the fifth time, Walt passed the door to the Belshaw building. “Next time I’ll go in. Yeah, next time. You’re a bomber pilot. What’s so hard about opening a door?”
Across Second Street, Mrs. Llewellyn waved to him. The old gossip would tell the whole town she saw him pacing. Worse, she’d come over to extract all the details of the Flossie rescue operation so she could say she heard it straight from Walter Novak. All the details—how he and Allie recovered Flossie, found the road, and flagged down a pickup truck to find Mr. Fortner himself at the wheel. Of course, Mrs. Llewellyn really wanted to hear why Walt and this out-of-towner were traipsing around the countryside in nothing but their swimsuits.
Walt waved at Mrs. Llewellyn, ducked inside the Belshaw building, and climbed the stairs to the reception hall. White streamers hung from the center of the ceiling like a giant octopus. Mrs. Jamison and Mrs. Anello spread a cloth on a table across the room, Betty and Dorothy fiddled with some flower thing on another, and Allie stood on a ladder to Walt’s right with a streamer.
“Walt, darling,” Betty called out. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi.” He tried to pull his hand out of the pocket of his khaki trousers, but got stuck. He released the item in his clutch and waved. “I’m bored. Dad’s writing his sermon, Mom’s cleaning, Art’s working, Jim and Helen are out, and George’s busy—the wedding’s tomorrow.”
“We know.” Laughter bounced all around.
He winced. Stupid, foolish—
“We can find something for you to do,” Betty said. “Allie, you need some help?”
“Sure. It’d be much faster if someone tore tape for me.”
Time alone with Allie—just what he’d hoped for. He ambled over. “I should be the one up the ladder.”
She lifted one eyebrow. “Do you tie bows?”
“Bows?”
“I didn’t think so.” She leaned down and handed him a roll of tape. “Just tear the tape, flyboy.”
“Glad I can put my military training to use.” He grinned and tore a piece for her. A boring job but not without benefits— like the shapely pair of calves at eye level. Why did women fuss about the stocking shortage? Bare legs were great.