Jim and Arch had been warned that isolationist sentiments ran high in Boston, and that wearing civilian clothes might be wise. But Jim was too proud of the smart dress blues he’d longed to wear all his life.
“Say, what do we have here?” The burliest of the men locked gazes with Jim. “A tea-drinking Brit-lover, that’s what.”
Jim’s breath stilled. Not only would it be wrong for an officer to have a confrontation with a local, but he didn’t want to make any waves. Someone was sure to get hurt, especially since Jim and Arch had excelled at boxing at the Academy. The only good course was to sweep away on the current.
Jim put his hand on the small of Mary’s back and guided her toward the church. “Excuse us, please. We’re just taking a Sunday stroll.”
The brute stepped right into his path, eye to eye with Jim, a grungy brown cap low on his thick forehead. “Why don’t you stroll on over—”
“Ralph Tucker?” That was Mary. Speaking in a pleasant voice, as if she’d run into her oldest friend.
Tucker blinked and glanced at the brunette. “Miss—Miss Stirling?”
“I assure you the ensign had a good American cup of coffee with his lunch, strong and black.”
Bushy eyebrows disappeared beneath that ratty cap. “Yes, miss. No offense meant.”
“None taken.” Jim gave him half a smile, half more than he deserved.
The men skedaddled in the other direction.
Jim pretended to wipe his forehead. “Well, Arch. Thank goodness we brought along Mary as our bodyguard.”
“Speak for yourself.” Arch’s eyes glowed with blue fire. “I’ve always wanted to get into a good honest fight.”
Jim motioned toward the three men who’d show him a good fight, all right. “Be my guest.”
Gloria tugged on Arch’s arm. “Don’t be silly. I like your face as is, with two eyes and a nose and a mouth in their customary positions. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Besides, Jim needs to find a spot of tea.”
A joke from Mary Stirling? He followed her toward the Old North Church. “Isn’t it illegal to drink tea in Boston? Don’t they throw you into the harbor for that?”
“Only during parties.”
Jim smiled, nodded, and tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. She’d make a fine companion while he was based here.
He drew next to her. “So those three fine specimens of manhood—”
“Work at the Navy Yard.”
“Please don’t tell me they worked on theAtwood.”
“They did.”
Jim groaned. “Poor ship will fall apart at the seams.”
Mary laughed. “Don’t worry. The men are full of hot air, but they’re excellent at their work. And they enjoy their paychecks. Have you been on board yet?”
“Tomorrow. Can’t wait.” His feet twitched, threatening to add an ungentlemanly skip to his step. “An assignment to a destroyer is the best thing for an officer.”
“Oh? I’d think you’d want to be on one of the big ships—a battleship or a cruiser.”
“Nope.” The trees on either side marked a straight path before him. “Almost all the great modern-day officers served on destroyers. ‘Tin cans’ are special, small, close-knit. With only two hundred men, you have to work together. The commanders train you in all departments, from gunnery to engineering to communication, so any man can step in where needed.”
“That makes sense.”
“And destroyers are scrappy little ships.”
