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Sarah Sundin is the author of A Distant Melody. Her great-uncle flew with the US Eighth Air Force in England during WWII. Sarah lives in California with her husband and three children.

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Can they overcome the past to find a brighter future together?

Major Jack Novak has never failed to meet a challenge--until he meets army nurse Lieutenant Ruth Doherty. When Jack lands in the army hospital after a plane crash, he makes winning Ruth's heart a top-priority mission. But he has his work cut out for him. Not only is Ruth focused on her work in order to support her orphaned siblings back home, she also is determined not to give her heart to any man.

As the danger and tension of World War II rise to a fever pitch, Jack and Ruth will need each other more than ever. Can Jack break down her defenses? Or are they destined to go their separate ways?

From the English countryside to the perilous skies over France, A Memory Between Us takes you on a journey through love, forgiveness, and sacrifice.

"Sundin's excellent grasp of historical context provides vivid details of military life during the war in Europe. This rich tale will delight historical romance fans."--Suzanne Woods Fisher, bestselling author of The Choice and The Waiting

"Sarah Sundin seamlessly weaves World War II aviation history with a deeply emotional romance to continue her fabulous Wings of Glory series. She displays a talent that destines her for stardom in the genre."--Cheryl Bolen, winner of the Holt Medallion, Best Historical Romance

"Fans of historical romance will be captivated by this exciting story. From the first page, Sarah Sundin planted me in the midst of World War II and into the lives of her characters. This captivating romantic ride through the fascinating and horrifying days of World War II is a must-read."--Bonnie Leon, author, the Sydney Cove series and Alaskan Skies series

Sarah Sundin is the author of A Distant Melody. Her great-uncle flew with the US Eighth Air Force in England during WWII. Sarah lives in California with her husband and three children.

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A MEMORY BETWEEN US

Revell

Chapter One

March 3, 1943

Lt. Penelope Ruth Doherty braced open the window and drank in cool air to settle her stomach. "There, gentlemen. Isn't it nice to have fresh air in here?"

In the bed next to the window, Lieutenant Lumley snorted. "Ma'am, I'm from Arizona. To me, this soggy English air is more lethal than Nazi bullets."

Ruth smiled at her patient, who had broken an ankle when his P-38 Lightning crashed on landing. "Good air circulation is important for wound healing." And for clearing the nauseating smell of breakfast sausage from the tin can of a ward.

"Say, Red, you know what would heal my wounds?" The new patient, Lieutenant Holmes, pointed to his lips and dropped Ruth a wink.

Ruth gave him a sweet smile. "You'd like another dose of castor oil?"

"And it's Lieutenant Doherty to you." Ruth's medic, Technical Sergeant Giovanni, set his supply tray next to Lieutenant Holmes's bed. "Now, time to swab your wounds." A German shell had filled the navigator's back with shrapnel.

"Besides, her hair is more auburn than red." Lieutenant Lumley's gaze had a softer cast than usual. Thank goodness, he was due to be discharged.

"I'll be back with the morning meds." Ruth passed one of the potbellied coal stoves in the aisle.

"Ouch!" Lieutenant Holmes cried out.

"Whatza matter? Does it sting the widdle baby?" Sergeant Giovanni's voice oozed fake sympathy.

"Better not be iodine. Makes my throat swell up something fierce."

Ruth's feet stopped along with her heart, and she slowly turned to her medic. Sergeant Giovanni's burly face stretched long in horror. Of course he was using iodine.

Anaphylaxis. She needed to act quickly without alerting her patient, keep a level head, and control her emotions as she had been trained. Panic would make his condition worse.

She returned to Lieutenant Holmes's bed and put on her cheeriest smile and voice. "What would feel good on those wounds would be a nice rinse with cool water. Sergeant, would you please fetch Dr. Sinclair? I'd like to discuss Lieutenant Lumley's discharge with him." She locked her gaze on her medic. "Now," she mouthed.

"Sure thing, boss." The sergeant strode for the door.

Ruth grabbed towels from the drawer in the bedside table and braced them on either side of her patient's torso, and then gently poured water over the brown stains and dabbed them with another towel. Too late, but she wanted to reduce the amount of iodine in the poor man's system. "Now, doesn't that feel nice?"

"I'd rather have a kiss."

"And I'd rather have a million dollars, but neither is going to happen."

"I don't know about that. I can feel that kiss already. My lips are all tingly."

Ruth's hand tightened on the towel. He was going into anaphylaxis, but where was Dr. Sinclair? Only he could give the adrenaline needed to save this man's life. "Excuse me. I'll be right back."

At a fast clip, Ruth went to the medication room, where Lt. Harriet Marshall was completing her narcotic count from the end of her night shift. "Excuse me. I need to get some adrenaline and morphine. Lieutenant Holmes is going into anaphylaxis."

Harriet's elfin face blanched. "Oh no. Thank goodness Dr. Sinclair is on the ward."

"Not yet." Ruth grabbed a tray and put two sterilized syringes on top.

"So-so why are you already getting the meds?"

"I want to be ready when he comes. I can't waste any time." One vial of adrenaline.

"But he hasn't ordered them yet."

Ruth leveled a look at the girl. "I know the treatment for anaphylaxis."

"That-that's presumptuous of you. You'll make the doctor angry."

Ruth pulled a vial of morphine. "I don't care about the doctor's feelings; I care about my patient's life." She ignored Harriet's gasp and returned to Lieutenant Holmes's bedside.

He stared up at her with wild eyes. "My throat-it itches, it's swelling up. Was that iodine?"

"Yes, sir, it was, but Dr. Sinclair is on his way." She gave him her most soothing smile. "Now, let's get you in a more comfortable position." Ruth patted his back dry and helped him roll over.

Lieutenant Holmes clawed at his throat. "I can't-I can't breathe." Red hives dotted his fair skin.

"Sure, you can breathe. Stay very calm. Very calm, and think about something else. Where are you from, Lieutenant?"

"New-Hampshire." His chest heaved out the words.

Ruth filled a syringe with adrenaline. "So you're used to this cold weather, unlike Arizona over there. Me too. I'm from Chicago. In fact, this must feel warm and balmy to you."

The patient's only response was a series of raspy, labored breaths. Where on earth was that doctor? "Lord, help me," she whispered.

Ruth pulled up a dose of morphine and chattered about the way the snow filled the streets of her slum and made them look clean for a change, until the thaw made them look worse than ever. But as Lieutenant Holmes gasped for air, all she could see were Pa's last breaths as the blood clot settled in his lungs and Ma's wheezes as she wasted away with pneumonia.

As a nursing student, she couldn't help her parents, and now as a nurse, she couldn't help this young man. She glanced at the clock on the wall. If Dr. Sinclair didn't come in the next sixty seconds, she'd give the adrenaline herself.

And lose her position? As the oldest of seven, she had a responsibility to her brothers and sisters. How could they get by without her support?

Images of those beloved faces swam before her-her purpose, her joy. Why did it always have to be this way? Why did she have to choose between doing the right thing and protecting her family?

Dr. Sinclair burst through the door, his white lab coat flying, and Ruth let out a deep sigh.

"Lieutenant Doherty, get me some adrenaline."

"Right here, sir." She handed him the syringe.

He stared at it. "Three two-hundredths of a grain?"

"Yes, sir."

His jaw jutted forward, but he administered the dose and followed it with morphine.

Within the course of an hour, they had stabilized Lieutenant Holmes. Ruth cleansed his wounds, replaced his dressings, and changed the wet bedding. Then she took the empty syringes and vials back to the medication room, where she dropped the syringes into a pan filled with blue green bichloride of mercury solution.

"I suppose I should be mad at you." Dr. Sinclair leaned his tall frame against the open door.

Ruth shook the pan until the syringes were submerged. "My job is to care for the patient."

"And to anticipate my needs. I'm flattered."

"Don't be. I know proper treatment."

"You should have been a physician."

Ruth shook her head. If he only knew what she had to do to scrape up money for nursing school. "Too smart for that."

His chuckles drew nearer, and Ruth stiffened. She didn't feel like fending off another pass from this man.

"I know this great restaurant-"

Ruth turned and glared at him. "How would your wife feel if she heard you talk like this?"

Dr. Sinclair lifted one salt-and-pepper eyebrow. "Come on, Ruth. There's a war on. All the rules have changed. Besides, you talk one way,...