Over the Mediterranean March 25, 1944

For Lt. Kay Jobson, flight nursing meant more than physical care. It meant reconnecting a broken soldier with the shards of his humanity.

Kay assessed her planeload of patients en route from Italy to Tunisia. A restless lot, downhearted. That wouldn't do.

She headed to the front of the C-47 cargo plane, past six men confined to litters and eleven in seats along the sides of the fuselage. The soldiers had been wounded on the battered beachhead at Anzio or in one of the many bloody failed attempts to take Cassino. "Say, fellows, what do you think about the '44 baseball season? Starts soon, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does." Seated to her left, Sergeant Logan gave her a don't-worry-your-pretty-little-head look.

She knelt beside the patient and took his wrist to measure his pulse. What was more fun—showing o$ what lay inside her pretty little head or shocking people? "Do you think the Cardinals can come back from their World Series loss?"

"Um, sure." One bushy eyebrow sprang high. "But I'm a Tigers fan myself."

Kay rolled her eyes. "Hal Newhouser might be a great pitcher, but the Cards have Stan Musial, and he batted .357 last season. Mark my words, they'll take the whole shebang this year."

Logan's mouth opened and closed around nonexistent words.

Kay tapped him under the chin. "I don't just follow the game, I play it. If I weren't a nurse, I'd be the star of one of those girls' teams."

"Well, I'll be."

Swishing her hair over her shoulder, Kay turned to the rest of the patients. "So, boys, who do you like this year?"

Over the roar of the twin engines, the men called out their favorite teams and players and stats.

After Kay noted Logan's vital signs, she scooted over to the next patient, a die-hard fan of the Philadelphia Athletics despite their dismal showing in '43. Friendly arguments arced through the stuffy air of the plane, and Kay smiled, her goal accomplished.

She loved everything about this job—the glamour of flight, the challenge of nursing, and the game of lifting spirits. Now she just needed to sweet-talk chief nurse Lt. Cora Lambert into recommending her for the Army Air Forces' chief nurse training program.

If only she could have an in-flight emergency to highlight her skills.

All the fun stuff happened to her friends. Mellie Blake put down a riot and dealt with medical trauma. And three days ago, Georgie Taylor evacuated an entire flight full of patients after her C-47 ditched in the Mediterranean. Kay could hardly be jealous of her friends' crises, but why couldn't a little adventure come her way?

"Improving morale again?" A deep voice rumbled behind her. Lt. Grant Klein, the pilot of the C-47 and one of her boyfriends.

"Always." She tilted a smile to him. "Shouldn't you be flying this bird?"

"Singleton's got it under control. I wanted to talk." His name and dark good looks used to remind her of Cary Grant, but a little flight time together had dimmed the resemblance in her eyes.

"I'd love to talk, but I'm busy."

"Come on. Let Dabrowski finish. Just give me a minute."

Rarely did she give in, but she handed the flight manifest to her surgical technician. "Sergeant Dabrowski, please take vitals while I slap some sense into our pilot."

"Sure thing."

Kay took her time leading Grant to the back of the plane. She straightened her gray-blue service jacket, tucked in loose blankets, and lit a patient's cigarette since no one required oxygen. Grant's purpose in this conversation was obvious—and futile.

Sure enough, at the back of the plane, Grant leaned one hand against the fuselage behind Kay. "Are you free tonight?"

"Sorry. I have a date."

"But I haven't seen you in forever."

Kay leveled her gaze at him. "It's Saturday. We went dancing on Wednesday."

"It feels like forever." He coiled a strand of her hair around his finger, strawberry blonde around tan, and he leaned in for a kiss.

Although his kisses were delicious, she planted her hand on his chest. "Not in front of the patients. You know that."

"I also know I need time with you."

"Not tonight. It's Harry's turn, and he hasn't seen me in two weeks."

Grant's eyes narrowed. "You'd rather go out with a dentist than with me?"

"He's a swell dancer and a lot of fun."

"And I'm not?"

Oh brother. She stepped to the side and opened the medical chest to get the meds for the litter patients. "Of course you are, but you know how—"

"Come on, baby. I miss you. I never get much time with you."

That was the idea. Kay pulled out the aspirin bottle. Maybe she should take a tablet herself. "When we started dating, right up front I told you how it would be. I date five or six fellows at a time. I'm not going to change."

"I don't want you to change. You're perfect. But I don't want to share you anymore. And I want ..." He cleared his throat.

She faced him, dread slowing her movement and stealing her speech. This wasn't the kind of in-flight crisis she wanted.

He coughed into his fist, then gave her a silken gaze. "It's time we ... it's time we got closer."

Kay's chest tightened. He'd never been pushy, always a gentleman, but now it was over. "I don't —"

He stepped nearer, his eyes smoky. "You told me when it was time ..."

"It isn't time."

His forehead crumpled into accordion pleats. "But, baby, we've been seeing each other almost a year. How much longer?

When will it be time?"

It never would. When you gave a man your body, you gave him control of your soul. Kay had never fallen into that trap, and she never would. "I need to get back to work."

He grasped her hand. "How much longer?" She wiggled her fingers out of his grip. "I don't know."

"What about the other fellows? That dentist? Is that why you're so eager to see him?"

"That is none of your business."

"I'll say it's my business. You're my—"

"It isn't your business, and I'm not your anything." Kay planted her fists on her hips. "We're no longer dating."

"What?"

"We're no longer dating." She kept her voice calm and low. "I told you from the beginning—no commitment, no pressure. You just broke both rules. That's the end of it."

His mouth stretched wide, like a dog aiming to bite something.

She flipped up her hand. "Don't make a scene. It wouldn't make a di$erence anyhow."

His gaze darted over her head and down the aisle of the plane, where over a dozen patients would relish a scene. A snarl rose in his throat. "Who do you think you are, you little—"

"Don't. I've heard it all before anyway." She marched down the aisle to her tech. "How are we doing, Sergeant?"

Dabrowski handed her the flight manifest, and she listened to his report on the patients, asked the right questions, and made the proper notations. More importantly, she kept her hands and voice from shaking. Even when Grant stormed past.

Yes, she'd heard it all before. Floozy. Tart. Tease.

Her father's voice barked in her mind's ear. Irredeemable little sinner.

Kay sucked in air through her nostrils and knelt beside the patient in the lower litter on the right. "How are you doing, Private?"

Control. Only control silenced the voice.

* * *

Sorrento, Italy

"Wake up, Coop. You're dreaming."

Lt. Roger Cooper opened one eye, breath...