Not now that Bill met me, Nina thought sourly. Westerners—show them an armed woman with a chestful of medals and six hundred sixteen bombing runs to her name, and what did they think? Wonderful, a nurse! Dump the wounded man on the woman and be on your way with a clear conscience, because naturally she’d take care of him.
Well, Lieutenant N. B. Markova wasn’t taking care of anyone but herself. She was going west, no time to play nursemaid.
“Get some sleep,” she told Sebastian Graham and retired to her own side of the fire. She heard an uneven hitching breath or two across the camp, but turned off her ears. West.
Bill took off at first light. Seb shook his hand and Nina gave him directions, tucking her compass back inside her shirt when she saw his eyes linger on it. They watched Bill tramp off through the trees, doubtless already dreaming of England, and Sebastian turned to Nina with an air of getting everything over with.
“I imagine you’ll want to rejoin your regiment as soon as possible, Lieutenant,” he said formally. “I shan’t hinder you from making for Warsaw. I’ll be picked up quite soon, I would guess. Back in time for a proper dinner of ersatz coffee and dehydrated-turnip soup.” He tried to smile. “Frankly, all this was worth it just to get a belly full of venison and a night’s sleep under the stars.”
He stood there listing to one side, trying to hide the fact that his wound was hurting him. Fuck your mother, Nina thought. Fuck—your—mother. “Nina Borisovna,” she said.
“What?”
“I’m not your lieutenant, call me Nina Borisovna. I’ll stay with you awhile.” She glared, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Only until your leg’s better. After that I head west.”
“West?” He looked puzzled. “Why aren’t you rejoining—”
“I can’t rejoin my regiment, because I’ll be arrested. I’m no deserter,” she flared, seeing the flick of his eyes, “and I’m no coward either. My father spoke against Comrade Stalin, and my entire family was denounced.”
She could see him doubting her. Anyone would. She hoped he’d do the cautious thing, tell her to leave him. Then she wouldn’t be stuck nursing a green boy with a bad leg when all she wanted to do was run.
“I believe you,” he said.
Nina almost groaned. “Why?”
“You killed that German and saved my life,” he said simply. “You’re no coward. And if you can’t bring yourself to desert a stranger like me, you wouldn’t desert your regiment unless you had to.”
Nina did groan then. “I can’t believe someone as trusting as you has managed to live this long, Englishman!”
He smiled. “My friends call me Seb.”
Chapter 42
Jordan
August 1950
Boston
Well, Jordan thought, this is awkward. In fact, you could take a snap of this group standing here on the airfield and caption it Ex-Fiancés: A Study in Awkwardness.
“Hello,” she said as cordially as possible, considering she hadn’t seen Garrett Byrne since she’d handed his diamond back and he’d told her to take her advice and shove it. And now they’d bumped into each other at the tiny airfield outside Boston where Garrett had first taken her flying, which wouldn’t have been so bad had Jordan been alone, but she had Tony at her side, standing there with eyes that danced hilarity at all the things that weren’t being said. For a man who had spent years interpreting the spoken word, Tony was remarkably good at interpreting the unspoken ones. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Garrett.”
Her former fiancé wore oil-stained coveralls, very different from the summer-weight suit he wore to work beside his father. “I work here full-time now, helping in the hangar and piloting the joyrides. I bought a part share,” he emphasized. “I’m looking to make something of the place, eventually buy out Mr. Hatterson. Dad wasn’t too happy at first, but he’s come around some.”
So you took my advice, after all, Jordan thought. Garrett looked far more natural in coveralls than in a suit. She managed not to say I told you so! but he could probably tell she was thinking it.
“What are you doing here?” Garrett folded his arms across his chest, eyes drifting to Tony, who had slung an arm around Jordan’s waist. “We’ve met, haven’t we? Timmy?”
“Tony. Rodomovsky. Nice to meet you again, Gary.”
“Garrett. Byrne.”
“Right.”
Jordan shook Tony’s arm off. Really, men. “I wanted to take some shots of the mechanics, if they’re willing.” A Mechanic at Work—her shots of the local boys at the Clancy family garage hadn’t come out, there