Grounded Hearts Page 9

  The cat jumped onto Dutch’s lap, purring and rubbing his head into Dutch’s palm. “She’s really something, isn’t she, Mr. Dee? No wonder you decided to park yourself here.”

  “You say something?”

  “Talking to your cat.”

  She rewarded him with a smile. “Are you hungry a’tall?”

  “Yes.” But the hunger he felt would never be satisfied by food. He craved her kind words. Intimate sentences. Her touch.

  “I’ll have something ready in a minute. In the meantime . . .” She glanced at his chest before she reached into a basket and produced a package wrapped in paper. “Here. This is for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A pair of pajamas that will fit you better than the nightshirt you’re wearing.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  She strolled toward him, the parcel pressed against her chest, her dress swaying with each step. The wrapping made a crinkling sound when she handed it to him.

  Their fingertips brushed. They stayed there, connected. She paused, sucked in a breath. The air rushed out of her mouth with an almost-silent groan as she withdrew. “You’ve shredded my husband’s nightshirt.”

  “Sorry.” The garment hung on his shoulders by a couple of threads. He opened the package and smiled at the navy-and-white-pinstriped garment. “It’s really nice. Thanks.”

  “I hope it fits. Why don’t you wash up?” She returned to the kitchen counter. “And put on your pajamas. Do you need help?”

  “I think I can get myself to the bathroom and back.” He rose, decided it best to rely on the cane.

  “Wait.” From her medical bag, she retrieved scissors. “I’ll cut you out of the nightshirt. No one will ever wear it again.”

  The blades felt cold against his skin as she snipped along the collar until she’d cut deep enough into the garment that it folded back, flopping open so much, he had to hold the edges together or it would fall.

  They were eye to eye, a heartbeat away. She stepped back, the scissors against her chest, pointing down. His gaze followed the motion, then rode up her slender figure to her face.

  “There,” she said. “That should do it.”

  That did it all right. He was dizzy from her nearness and glad he had the cane to support his wobbly walk into the bathroom. He washed up, put on the pajamas—which fit perfectly—and ran a comb through his hair. Five o’clock shadow covered his face. As though she read his mind, she knocked and said through the closed the door, “If you’d like to shave, there’s a razor under the sink. And a bar of shaving soap.”

  “Thanks.” Must have belonged to her husband, he decided, finding the razor and soap in a shaving cup. He felt a lot better once he’d rid his face of hair.

  “Dutch, are you almost done in there? Come to the table. I haven’t much time.”

  They sat at the table, eating potato-and-bacon soup, sliced bread with butter, and chopped carrots. She poured tea.

  He stared at the weeping-willow pattern on the teacup. “I’ve put you in an impossible position, haven’t I? I wouldn’t blame you if you turned me in.”

  Her spoon clanked against her empty bowl. “I gave my word. I will not betray you. And I’ll be fine as long as you do as I say. Tuda will be back tomorrow. You make a list of the auto parts you need.”

  “Okay.” He hoped he could fix the car with only one good arm. Somehow, he’d manage. Maybe with the help of the Lord.

  “I’ll bring it to her. In the meantime, I’ll show you a hiding place in case Finn noses around here again, and I’m sure he will. Think you can stand? Walk into the bedroom?”

  She reached a hand to help him up from the table. Her touch ignited a spark that could have powered up his bomber.

  “Lean on me,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist. He really didn’t need her help, but he took it. She was soft and warm and smelled mysteriously like Irish heather.

  “My family owned this farmhouse,” she said, leading him into the bedroom. “It was used as a safe house during the Troubles and the civil war. The Black and Tans used to search the houses for IRA members. We built the cubby to hide them.”

  She let him down to sit on the corner of the bed. He felt a rush of cold air when she stepped away.

  She ran her hand along the boards until she found a large knot in the wood. With a forceful jab, the wall made a clicking sound. The door opened, revealing a dark space large enough for two people. Skinny people. Short people, like her husband.

  “There’s a place inside where you can slide a panel open. See what’s going on in the other room.”

  “Ingenious.”

  “One had to be to survive during those times.”

  “These times, too.” He’d heard some of his sister-in-law’s stories of running and hiding from the Nazis. Here, he was running and hiding from the Irish government, but he doubted that if he were caught they’d put a bullet in his brain. They wouldn’t free him, either.

  “I planned to remove the doors and put in a linen closet, but I dunno. It’s a bit of history, I suppose.” The door shut with a cracking noise.

  “I hope I’ll be long gone before I need to hide in your wall.”

  “Just in case.”

  All this hiding made him feel like a coward. “Where’s my gun?”

  “I told you. You’ll get it when you leave.”

  “More hiding places?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Come on. I need it.”

  “Well, I don’t need dead Tinkers or LDF officers in my yard.” The clock in the other room chimed. “I’m off.”

  “I want my gun.”

  “It’s my Christian duty to take care of you, but you’ll not get the gun.”

  “And it’s my Christian duty to fight for God and country.”

  Her expression turned hard. “Men and their guns. Violence never solved anything.”

  “Hey, we didn’t start this thing, but we’re going to end it, with or without your country’s help.” With a shake of his head, he muttered, “If your country would just let us use your ports—”

  “If we let the British back, they’d never leave.”

  He clicked his tongue. “How do you know that?”

  “Eight hundred years of British oppression.”

  “We’re the only ones taking the fight to the Nazis.”

  “We’re helping. Hundreds of Irish boys are fighting with the English and her allies.”

  “Rumor has it your people are sympathetic to the Germans. In fact, I hear they’re helping them. I hear they’re letting them refuel their submarines in the bay.”

  “Don’t be daft. That’s not even feasible. We don’t have fuel.”

  “Churchill claims it’s true.”

  “He’s pouting like a little boy because he didn’t get his ports back.”

  “Are you calling the British prime minister a liar?”

  “Isn’t that another definition of politician?”

  She folded her arms over her chest and looked down her nose at him. “There are some Irish who side wrongly with the Nazis, but we’re with the Allies. We simply can’t forgive and forget what the Brits have done to us. Can’t openly support the crown.”

  “The truth comes out. Isn’t that what the Lord tells us to do? Forgive and forget?” He slumped into the pillows on the bed. His arm ached, as if a hot poker were jabbing it over and over and over.

  “If men did as the Lord told them, if we all obeyed the Ten Commandments, we wouldn’t be at war a’tall. And you’re not killing wooden soldiers. They’re humans, too. With families. Loved ones.”

  Her words stunned him. Left him searching for a response, but he had none. She threw several bricks of turf onto the fire.

  Memories of the pounding of guns and images of the burning earth below his plane—and of the rubble left behind—after they’d dropped their bombs collided with the emotional armor he held to protect himself. He ran a hand over his face as though to melt the reality
of the situation.

  War. This was war.

  Them or us.

  He shifted, his knee reminding him he was still oh-so-human.

  “I’m off.” She wiped her hands over her slender hips, leaving bits of dried turf clinging to her skirt. She brushed off the dust. “I’ll be back. I don’t know when. Get some rest. In the morning, I’ll go with you to assess the Ford. Promise me you’ll stay put tonight.”

  Dutch looked at his throbbing arm. “Once I drive over the border and abandon the car, will you get it back?”

  Her eyes sparkled in the soft cabin lights. “Fifty-fifty. The government may claim it’s their property even if I say you stole it. If I don’t get it back, I’ll consider it my contribution to the war effort.”

  Dutch struggled with the urge to get up and hug her. Not in a lusty sort of way, but not in a brotherly fashion, either.

  With her hand on the door latch, she pointed at him. “And if you go outside this cabin tonight, if I don’t keel over from a heart attack because you did, I’ll murder ya. Understand?”

  He saluted. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Get some sleep.”

  In the other room, he heard her snap her medical bag shut and then lock the door. He listened to the sound of the bicycle ticking off into the distance.

  He stared into the amber glow of the fire and watched a spark shoot up the chimney. A lot of guys fell in love with their nurses. He was no exception, he guessed. But the last thing Nan needed was another unwanted advance from an “eejit” military man.

  CHAPTER 8

  Nan climbed down the stairs and into the Kennedys’ main room, where a party roared. One man played the pennywhistle, another a drum, and the extended Kennedy family, numbering at least two dozen, crowded the cabin, celebrating. Huge pots of stew simmered over a turf fire, and cooked oatcakes leaned against a metal stand to dry out.

  Mr. Kennedy approached Nan with a smile that revealed a grand set of straight teeth, yellow as butter. He offered her an oatcake and a shot glass full of whiskey. “Thanks, Nurse. You delivered a seventh son of a seventh son. Now, that’s something to celebrate. This boy is special. He’ll have grand powers and make his mark on our sweet earth. Seventh son of a seventh son. Ah, but he’s got the angels smiling tonight.”

  “Is that what all the ruckus is about out here?” She refused the whiskey and chomped into the oatcake, the flavor deep and satisfying. Someone passed her a cup of tea.

  “Will ya not stay?” Mr. Kennedy gulped the whiskey shot and then yanked down his wool vest. He was the kind of man who thought every event deserved a good celebration, from cradle to grave and everything in between.

  He lived on what the locals described as a “strong farm,” passed down to him through several generations. It comprised a large two-story house, several outbuildings, and a few dozen head of cattle and sheep that roamed the substantial fields.

  Nan placed her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I must be on my way. Your son’s a lovely babe. Healthy and strong. I thought he might climb out of the bassinet and walk down the hallway.”

  “That’s my boy. No problems with my wife?” He swiped a hand through his thinning hair.

  “None a’tall. One of the easiest births this side of heaven.” It might prove to be the easiest night of the child’s life, too, she thought. Who wanted the sort of pressure that his da or perhaps fate had bestowed on him?

  As she left the house, she was patted on the back for a job well done. Cycling home, she let herself drift into imagining herself as a mother.

  And Dutch the father.

  Her stomach churned. Was she being disloyal to Teddy?

  When she got home, she checked on the flyboy in her bed, sleeping, thankfully, with the cat by his side. She pulled the quilt up around his chest and noticed how well the new pajamas fit.

  Lingering longer than necessary, she chided herself to get a move on. There was no medical value in observing him further. It only brought about a strange mixture of want and fear to her heart. She gathered her things for the night and closed the door behind her.

  When she’d gotten into bed upstairs, she found herself tossing and turning, thinking about what Margaret had proclaimed. God doesn’t bring anything to our doorsteps that we can’t handle.

  She stared at the thatched roof, the neat rows of reeds running the length of the ceiling. Let that be true, heavenly Father. Let that be true.

  After breakfast the next morning and having re-dressed Dutch’s wound, which seemed no better or worse, they set out for the calf house. While Dutch tinkered with the Ford Model A’s engine, Nan gazed out the dirty window, on alert for any visitors.

  Please, Lord, keep Finn from my door.

  Nan glanced over her shoulder at Dutch. He was bent above the open bonnet, reaching into the engine. Ah sure, the pajamas fit him nicely. Hung and nipped in at all the right places. Her face heated at such cheeky musing, but didn’t his backside look . . . muscular. Manly.

  She might have heard a cuss word, but she couldn’t be sure. He looked up and caught her staring. His blue eyes were sparkling.

  “How long before you make the list?” Nan asked.

  “Not long.” His jaw muscles tightened as he continued to probe the engine.

  She returned her attention to the window. Sunlight broke from the morning clouds. Behind her house, the rocks that littered the hillside shone like medals in the sunshine. A brilliant day. The Lord had blessed them with good weather. Sure now, wasn’t that a sign that all would be well?

  The cat jumped onto the outside window ledge, and Nan gasped. She jumped back, kicked a pail at her feet, and fought to keep her balance.

  He bolted upright. “What is it? What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. “The cat frightened me. That’s all. I’m a bit jumpy.”

  Mr. Dee bumped his nose on the glass before he leapt down. With a grin, Dutch set his focus back on the car. “You sure your cat’s not working for the Garda?”

  “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

  They shared a smile.

  He reached for a tool on the bench. “Promise me you’ll get a dog.” Dutch tapped the wrench on the car’s bumper, waiting for an answer. “Aside from security, a dog is a great companion.”

  “Okay. I promise I’ll give it some thought.”

  He winked at her, then returned to tinkering with the car’s engine.

  Nan approached the Ford. The car had sparked so much marital discord. “Let’s get rid of it,” Teddy had suggested after he’d driven it into a ditch. “No,” Nan had insisted. “I’ll be the driver in the family. Besides, I like the freedom.” Teddy had grabbed his notebook, stomped over to his spot on the cliff, and sulked. Her driving seemed to threaten his manhood.

  Nan stood beside Dutch and peered at the engine. “What do you think? Can you get the car running again?” She pressed her hand on the car door, the cold metal soothing her hot skin.

  “Piece of cake if your pal can get me the parts.”

  “Once you have them, how long to make the fixes?”

  “A few hours. Maybe.” He winced, grabbed his arm, but then seemed to shrug off the pain.

  “Be careful with your arm.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Fine as a boil on the backside of a priest. “How’s your knee?”

  “Fine.”

  Liar. She let it go. “You sure you can do this?”

  He frowned at her. “Like I said, piece of cake if I get the parts.”

  “And if you don’t?” She bit her lip, not wanting to tell him there was a possibility the parts might not be available. The war made anything connected with autos nearly impossible to find.

  “Plan B.”

  “Which is?”

  “Working on it. I’m open to suggestions.”

  She pulled in a breath. The scent of apples mixed with the smell of motor oil. He’d shaved again today, making him even more handsome. Off-limits, too, if she knew what was good f
or her. And she did.

  His hands were covered in grease, his fingernails embedded with black grime. She grabbed a towel and handed it to him.

  “We’ll think of something,” she said. “Mind you wash up before you touch anything in the house. Don’t leave any fingerprints, or I’ll have to tell Finn the cat was fixing the car.”

  He laughed. Sunlight sifted in, spotlighting the union of their hands on the towel.

  If Nan didn’t know better, she’d think it was the Lord, shedding light on the situation. Dutch stepped closer to her, so near that she could feel the warmth from his body. She could smell the soap he’d used. He smelled downright dangerous.

  “You’ve given yourself a grease spot.” She touched her forefinger to his chin. The mark smeared across his skin and onto her finger. There was a snap of energy connecting them. A need for him swelled through her like the rise of a high tide.

  He closed the distance between them. Everything in the calf house faded when he placed his hand against hers and pressed it into his chin. He guided her hand to his mouth. The tip of her pinkie brushed the soft outer line of his lip. Nan felt her insides spin, sliding out of her control.

  The sound of a bicycle bell woke her from what seemed a dream. They both shuffled away from each other.

  “Who’s that? Finn? Where can I hide?” he asked, dropping the towel.

  “It’s not Finn. He’d never announce his presence.”

  “This is why you need a dog.”

  “What I need is for you to be on your way. Get in the car and stay out of sight.”

  She raced to the window. When she peered through the dirty glass, she let out a breath filled with relief. “It’s only Kelly Halpin.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The Garda’s wife.”

  “Garda’s wife? What do you mean, ‘only’?” His eyes flashed as though he was looking for an escape route, one that didn’t exist. “Can she be trusted?”

  “Yes.” She hoped. “As long as I act normal-like.” Whatever that was when you were hiding a flyboy. “Lie down inside the car. I’ll come get you after Kelly’s on her way.”