Where or When: A Pearl Harbor Romance Read online

"Ask Stan or Ollie to get 'em for you. My hands are full."

  "Put me down," she ordered, sounding an awful lot like her father. "I'll get them myself."

  He ignored her and kept walking.

  She twisted around and looked over at the two officers who were brushing off their uniforms and looking generally out-of-sorts. "Art!" she called out. "Would you be a dear and fetch my crutches for me?"

  Art shook his head. "My knee's killing me, Eden. I'm going to head on over to Tripler and have it looked at."

  She made no attempt to hide her exasperation. "Harry, I know you wouldn't mind, would you?"

  "Gee, Eden, my back's hurting like the dickens."

  Rick suspected the good gentlemen at Annapolis wouldn't be very proud of the hapless duo. Between them they had more aches and pains than Rick's old man. He barely concealed a snicker.

  "If you say one word," Eden hissed at Rick, "so help me I'll kick you with my cast."

  "I'd been wondering if the stories I'd heard about you were true.” He hazarded a lazy grin. "Looks like they were being kind."

  Her brows slid together in an adorable scowl. She probably practiced it in front of the mirror three times a day. "What stories?"

  "C'mon," said Rick. "You must've heard some of them."

  "I'm not spoiled, if that's what you're referring to."

  "Bingo."

  She struggled in his arms. "I've had entirely enough of this, thank you very much. If you don't put me down in the next ten seconds I'll scream so loudly they'll hear me all the way in the Pentagon."

  Harry stopped thinking about his back long enough to see what the commotion was about. "I'd give you a hand with her," he said, "but I think I sprained something."

  "Don't worry," said Rick. "I can handle it."

  For her part, Eden thoroughly resented being referred to as an inanimate object but she was hardly in a position to protest. Who would have imagined she'd end up in the arms of the man she'd seen standing in the archway to the ballroom less than ten minutes ago. She had to admit he was even more handsome up close, but he was also obviously crazy and she suspected Harry was an unlikely candidate for the role of hero. The thing to do was be as charming and polite to this seaman as possible, even if it made her sick to her stomach. The fact that he wore a naval uniform meant little. She'd grown up as a navy brat and she'd seen her fair share of crazies in her day. The car was only a few yards away. She could put up with anything for a few yards.

  She lifted her chin, lowered her eyelids to half-mast, and favored the dark-haired man with her best smile. "You're very strong," she said, her voice sweet and soft. "If you would just drop me off at my car, I'd be so grateful."

  "A southern belle routine?" asked the young seaman. "Don't tell me that syrupy talk really works. What's the angle?"

  "You have a terribly suspicious mind.” She struggled to stay sweet and flirtatious. "Why, I'll bet you're a big hit with all the girls."

  Her rescuer looked at Harry who was bringing up the rear. "Does she always talk like this?"

  Harry, bless his addled brain, looked puzzled. "Wouldn't know.” He massaged the base of his spine. "You know how it is. Don't pay too much attention to what a woman has to say."

  "Oh really?" asked Eden, venom mixed with honey. And to think two minutes ago she was contemplating a visit to the Blue Grotto with the beast. Her palm itched but she didn't know which of the two males she wanted to slap more. "Harry, would you please get those crutches."

  Groaning, Harry bent down and retrieved the heavy wooden crutches.

  "You wouldn't catch me jumping through hoops for you, lady," her knight-in-shining-armor growled near her ear.

  "Who cares," she retorted airily. "It's obvious you don't know the first thing about being a gentleman."

  "If I wasn't a gentleman I would've let you bounce first before I caught you."

  Eden bit back a stinging reply. He had an inordinately stubborn jawline and she wasn't entirely convinced he wouldn't deposit her, broken leg and all, on the curb and leave her to her own devices. Hold your tongue, she warned herself. Another forty feet and this arrogant stranger would be out of her life forever. In fact, once he deposited her at the Oldsmobile she didn't care if he disappeared off the face of the earth.

  "Over there," she said, gesturing toward her father's car. She hesitated a second, peering around for her driver. "I guess Billy stepped away for a moment but I'm sure he'll be back."

  Rick strode purposefully toward the motorcar. "I wouldn't worry about Billy."

  "Billy is my driver. I can't get too far without him, can I?" There was an edge to her voice that she couldn't mask.

  "How far do you want to get?"

  She narrowed her eyes, obviously debating whether or not he was being flirtatious. "Home," she said after a moment. "As soon as Billy gets back."

  "What would you say if I told you Billy wasn't coming back?"

  "I'd say you were lying, for one.” Again the thought occurred to her that she was helpless in the arms of a total stranger who could be anything from an ax murderer to a pirate to a complete lunatic. Alarmed, she swiveled around in his arms and tried to make eye contact with either Art or Harry, but they were looking at everything but her.

  "I'm a lot of things, lady, but a liar isn't one of them. Billy's not your driver any more."

  Her heart thudded against her ribs in apprehension. "How would you know whether or not Billy is my driver?"

  "I thought you were sharper than that, princess. Haven't you figured it out for yourself yet?"

  "The only thing I've figured out is I don't like you very much."

  His laugh was a low rumble. Actually it was a very agreeable laugh. Under different circumstances she would have found it rather charming. Right now, however, she found it nothing short of infuriating.

  "We don't have to like each other, princess. Far as I know it's not part of the deal."

  "Deal?” She struggled to look imperious despite the ludicrous position she found herself in. "What deal are you talking about?”

  "Think about it: Billy's not here, but I am. Add up the clues."

  She felt as if the world as she knew it was crashing around her shoulders. "You're the new driver."

  His grin reached from his right ear to his left. "You're a regular Charlie Chan."

  He plopped her down atop the fender of the Oldsmobile and reached deep into his pants pockets for the keys.

  "I wouldn't get too accustomed to your new position," she said as he helped her into the back seat. "As soon as I tell daddy how rude you've been, he'll see to it you're off the job."

  "I wouldn't bet on that. Your reputation precedes you."

  She lifted her chin. "I happen to be quite popular."

  "Tell it to your last six drivers."

  "Drivers don't count," she said airily.

  "Right," he said with a look of disgust, "and that's why you're down to your last one."

  Eden couldn't recall the last time a man had failed to respond to her feminine charms. She'd long ago discovered that a pretty smile and a coy toss of her coppery hair was usually all it took. She glanced up at the young seaman looming by the open car door. It had taken only a few minutes to discover that he was as pig-headed as he was good-looking. Most of the men who'd taken on the job of driver had started off polite and eager to please. She'd noticed more than a few of them sneaking peeks at her in the rear view mirror and going out of their way to catch the scent of her cologne. Not so this young man. He seemed as if he'd rather be on latrine duty than sitting behind the wheel of a luxurious brand-new automobile with nothing more pressing on his mind than driving Eden from one end of Oahu to the other.

  In truth he acted as if driving for Eden was a particularly loathsome form of punishment. Her cheeks flamed. Had she been so terrible that her father now considered driving for her to be a dreadful form of penance?

  She considered her options while he waited, impatiently she noticed, for Art and Harry to catch up with t
hem. If what he said was true, she had exhausted her father's resources and was a heartbeat away from the unthinkable: being a prisoner at home. It was either watch Mali clean the house or put up with Mr. Big Shot's low opinion of her and be free.

  There was no contest.

  Taking a deep breath, she lifted her dark lashes and met his eyes. Smiling sweetly, she extended her right hand toward him. He looked at her. She extended her right hand a little farther. He continued to look at her. Her resolve weakened but she persevered.

  "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," she said, swallowing hard against her pique. "You know my name, but I haven't yet had the pleasure...” There, that should do it. She'd charmed birds from the trees with that line.

  "Patrick Byrne," he said, giving her hand a perfunctory shake, "but I go by Rick.”

  He still didn’t look very friendly. She widened her smile.

  “You can save the flirting for one of your Annapolis pals. I answer to your father."

  "You flatter yourself.”

  "Maybe," he said with an easy and surprising grin, "but I have the feeling I got closer than you care to admit."

  The fact that he was one hundred percent right had nothing to do with the irritation Eden felt

  He hunkered down and leaned into the car so his eyes were on a level with hers. Try as she might, she could see nothing reflected in their depths except amusement.

  "Maybe we should set a few ground rules, princess," he said, ignoring Harry and Art grumbling behind him.

  "Isn't that up to the employer, not the employee?" she pointed out in her most sugary tone of voice.

  "Your father gave me the go ahead to set the terms with you."

  "My father would never do such a thing," she said, bristling.

  He pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to her. As soon as her fingers clasped the heavy ivory vellum she knew without doubt it was her father's official stationery. She quickly read the terse message, then crumpled the paper and tossed it on the floor by her feet.

  "You have to be more trusting, princess. When I tell you something, believe it."

  "I'd sooner believe the devil himself."

  He grinned. "What was that?"

  "Nothing," she mumbled. "Absolutely nothing.” Her father's words stung and she tried to push them from her mind. Don't disappoint me, Owen Forrester had written. Rick is the last man I intend to sacrifice to your childish whims.

  "...I'm here for the duration," Rick Byrne was saying. "They'd have to bomb Pearl Harbor to get me out of here."

  "What a charming thought," she snapped. "You have such a poetic way with words."

  "I'm paid to drive, not quote Shakespeare."

  She jumped as Harry's face appeared in the window on her left. "Hey, what's going on in here?" he asked with a big laugh. "I thought we were heading out to the Blue Grotto."

  Art's long face peered around Harry's shoulder as he vied for Eden's attention. "Whaddya say, Eden? The night's still young and so are we."

  She longed to go home and sit on the lanai, listening to the night sounds of the ocean. She'd had more than enough frivolity for one night. Being an old maid who lumped men and poison ivy in the same category suddenly sounded quite appealing. But now was the time to show Rick Byrne exactly who was boss. Her father might have put his apprentice behind the wheel of the Olds but she was still in the driver's seat and she intended to stay there.

  "The Blue Grotto sounds divine," she said, scooting over so Art and Harry could climb in the back seat with her. "They have the most delicious Mai Tais on the island."

  "You've already had too many Mai Tais," muttered Byrne from the front seat.

  "You're paid to drive," she said, "not to comment on my cocktail consumption."

  "Your father wants you home early," he persisted.

  "My father wants me home at a reasonable time," she retorted. "There's a difference."

  He turned the key and the big engine muscled to life with a roar. "Your funeral," he said with a look in the rear-view mirror at Eden. "Don't say I didn't warn you.” Forrester had made it crystal clear that he was fed up with his daughter's late nights and Rick had hoped to score a few extra brownie points by bringing the spoiled brat home at a decent hour. He took another look at her in the mirror. If the stubborn set of her jaw were any indication, daddy would be lucky if he saw her by dawn.

  Chapter Four

  The Blue Grotto was noisy, smoky, and crowded and Eden quickly discovered that besting her new driver wasn't half as sweet as she'd hoped. That fog of loneliness that had plagued her in the midst of the glamour of the Royal Hawaiian had followed her to her next stop.

  "Great place, isn't it?" Harry yelled in her ear over the blare of boogie-woogie music.

  "Great," said Eden, mustering up a smile. It was hard to believe, but she was even more miserable now than she'd been at the party earlier in the evening. Harry and Art were nice enough but when it came to scintillating conversation these two naval officers definitely ran aground. It had taken her twenty years but she'd finally discovered that sometimes you were better off at home with a good book.

  "Can't wait until you get your cast off," said Art, handing her a frosted glass of rum punch. "You always were the best dancer at Pearl.” His look was appreciative. "Not to mention the prettiest."

  Even outrageous flattery wasn't enough to coax her from her melancholy mood. Oh, how she longed for fresh air and silence, for the smell of flowers and not cigar smoke.

  Places like the Blue Grotto were great fun when you could flit from partner to partner like a butterfly, dancing and laughing and staying one step ahead of your thoughts, but they were deadly when all you could do was sit at a table and watch other people having all the fun. You weren't supposed to notice how terrible the orchestra sounded or how forced the laughter. Lately it seemed to Eden that even the gayest party held a note of bittersweet loneliness for her and she longed for a return to normal.

  Art reached for some salted peanuts and downed a handful. His foot tapped a rhythm on the sawdust-covered floor as his eyes followed a curvy brunette twirling in the arms of an enlisted man.

  And Harry wasn't much better. He was over at the bar, ostensibly to grab another pitcher of beer, but from where Eden sat it looked as if he was more interested in the perky blond waitress than in quenching his thirst.

  Eden wasn't used to sharing a man's attention with another girl and she found the sensation most annoying. Not that she had any real interest in either Harry or Art--certainly neither one of them were her prince charming--but still it rankled to know they could forget about her so easily. She doubted if either of her escorts would even notice her absence if she were to disappear entirely.

  It would serve them right if she did exactly that. Her plan to show Rick Byrne who was boss had certainly backfired. The only thing she could be grateful for was the fact that he wasn't sitting across the table from her witnessing her humiliation.

  At the next table a surly army captain lit up a big fat Cuban cigar and she wrinkled her nose as the stench wafted across the already smoke-filled air and wreathed her head in a grey cloud. Her eyes teared and she knew her nose was probably turning all red and angry looking. She was alone, ignored, and now she looked like the wreck of the Hesperus on top of everything else. It was simply the last straw. Fumbling beneath the table, she located her crutches and pulled herself up to a standing position. Let Harry and Art act like immature children. She needed a breath of fresh air.

  She drew one or two curious looks as she maneuvered on her crutches through the milling throng, but other than that, the patrons seemed more interested in their cocktails than in a pretty girl with a broken leg.

  Nothing about tonight had been the way she'd imagined it would be, she thought as she pushed open the front door with her elbow and stepped outside. Oh, she'd had her share of attention from men both handsome and plain but somehow their attentions had left her feeling restless.

  "
You're just bored," she said aloud, lingering beneath a bamboo awning. She'd been cooped up with this stupid broken leg for so long that she'd forgotten how to have fun. Ignoring the fact that she'd kept six drivers busy taking her from the beach at Waikiki to obscure dress shops on the north side of the island, she thought of these past four weeks as a time of miserable loneliness and inactivity. Even once the cast was off and she was back to her old self again, there would be nobody to shop with or take in a movie in town. Melanie had been the last of her friends to marry and move away and Eden felt like the lone cavalry soldier left standing after the Battle of Little Big Horn.

  Glancing down the narrow street, she saw her father's Oldsmobile parked near the curb. Rick Byrne, however, was nowhere to be seen. A tingle of alarm ran up her spine at the notion that the seaman might have tossed the car keys on the leather seat and disappeared same as Billy had.

  Two drivers in one night, she thought as she stared down the street at the driverless automobile. Her father would have her head on a platter if another sailor walked away from the job. Tears burned against her lids, and this time it wasn't from cigarette smoke. "Please be there," she whispered. "I want to go home.” She wanted the security of her room, the familiarity of her own bed. A good night's sleep could cure any ailment. Straightening her shoulders, she positioned her crutches and set off in search of her driver.

  #

  Rick was leaning against a palm tree a few yards back from the Oldsmobile. He'd just finished smoking a Marlboro, the red tip of the cigarette still glowing on the sandy ground at his feet. The moon had disappeared behind thick cloud cover and the street was oddly dark. Faint strains of music and laughter drifted from the windows of the club and into the moist night air, reminding him once again of here he ranked in the scheme of things.

  All his life he'd been peering in through windows at worlds he would never know. It was that edgy sense of not belonging that had fueled his ambitions and taken him this far already. He chuckled hollowly. God help him if he ever grew fat and happy like some of these officers enjoying the good life there at Pearl Harbor. Complacency meant the end of ambition and Rick wasn't going to let anything or anybody get in the way of his pursuit of success.