So she preferred kissing to talking. Falling in love with a quiet woman had its advantages.
“Found them!” A flash of light illuminated the boat, bright as star shells.
Mary whirled around in his arms, and Jim blinked away the spots in his eyes.
Two men stood on the pier, one with a camera, one with a notepad. For crying out loud. Reporters.
The journalist pointed at Jim with his pen. “So you’re the fella who chased down a ferry in a sailboat.”
Mary groaned and covered her face with her hand.
A giant protective impulse swelled inside, and he pulled her close under his arm. “Must have been someone else. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my girlfriend and I were about to go for a sail.”
“Ah, come on, Ensign. We know it was you. Got a great description from folks on the ferry. Dark-haired officer in blues, dame in a red coat. Why, you look like the Fourth of July, you two. Great story.”
“It’s all right, Jim.” Mary gazed up at him. “I don’t mind.”
How he loved this woman. “You don’t have to, sweetheart.”
Mary’s face glowed. “People do love a happy ending.”
“You admit it?” the reporter said.
Jim sighed in resignation. “That was me, all right.”
“Swell. Betcha this will make the front page tomorrow. Roddy, get a shot of these two. Yeah, just like that with his arm around her, with the sail and the harbor in the background.”
Mary snuggled close to his side, and Jim embraced her slim shoulders.
The flashbulb popped—once, twice, three times.
“So, Ensign, give us the whole scoop.” The reporter poised his pen over his notepad and licked his lips. “Start at the—”
“Roddy! Chuck!” Another man loped down the pier, bracing his hat, his black overcoat flying behind him. “Boss is looking for you two. Story of the century! We need every hand.”
Chuck’s shoulders slumped. “Story of the century. Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Least once a week.”
“No, this is it.” The newcomer stopped, rested his hands on his knees, and panted. “This is the big one. The Japanese—they bombed our naval base in Hawaii.”
Jim went stiff. “Pearl Harbor?”
“Yeah, that’s what they called it. Bunch of our ships have been sunk—battleships and cruisers. Hundreds of men killed, maybe thousands. This is it. This is war.”
Roddy and Chuck let out the same expletive, then the three newsmen raced down the pier.
Jim’s arm clamped around Mary’s shoulder, and his mind reeled. Pearl Harbor? How many ships had been sunk? How many of his friends from the Academy had been killed? Injured?
“Oh, Jim.” Mary rolled into his arms. “It can’t be. It can’t be.”
He rubbed her slender back, determined to cheer her up. “On the positive side, now your picture won’t be on the front page of theGlobe.”
She looked up, her expression saying she couldn’t believe he was joking at a time like this, but she appreciated the effort. Then she buried her face in his coat. “We’re at war now, aren’t we?”
“Ask any man in the Atlantic Fleet. We’ve been at war for months.”
“I know, but now it’s official.”
Jim gazed over her head at the buildings of the city. “Now maybe the nation will back us up. Maybe we’ll be united. Maybe we’ll put aside this stupid arguing once and for all.”
