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Diary Of A War Bride
Lauri Robinson
The land girl and the US OfficerJuly 1942Dear Diary, Despite the war raging around me, I find I can’t stop thinking about the American officer Sergeant Dale Johnson. I’ve never known anyone as brave, kind and handsome! But I promised myself I wouldn’t care this much about a man again—especially when he could be transferred at any time. Yet that only makes me want to relish our time together. Now, fighting my heart feels like the biggest battle…
The land girl and the US officer
July 1942
Dear diary, despite the war raging around me, I find I can’t stop thinking about the American officer, Sergeant Dale Johnson. I’ve never known anyone as brave, kind and handsome! But I promised myself I wouldn’t care this much about a man again, especially when he could be transferred at any time. Yet that only makes me want to relish our time together. Now fighting my heart feels like the biggest battle...
“Readers will laugh, cry and rejoice.”
—RT Book Reviews on In the Sheriff’s Protection
“Robinson’s latest Harlequin Historical entry will delight both longtime and new fans alike.”
—RT Book Reviews on Married to Claim the Rancher’s Heir
A lover of fairytales and cowboy boots, LAURI ROBINSON can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men—and women—who pull on a pair of boots before riding off into the sunset…or kick them off for other reasons. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home, and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren. Visit: laurirobinson.blogspot.com (http://www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com), facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 (https://facebook.com/lauri.robinson1) or twitter.com/LauriR (https://twitter.com/LauriR).
Also by Lauri Robinson (#u739ddb39-624e-5a33-b137-8be3ebbde695)
Saving Marina
Western Spring Weddings
Her Cheyenne Warrior
Unwrapping the Rancher’s Secret
The Cowboy’s Orphan Bride
Mail-Order Brides of Oak Grove
Winning the Mail-Order Bride
Western Christmas Brides
Married to Claim the Rancher’s Heir
In the Sheriff’s Protection
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Diary of a War Bride
Lauri Robinson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07386-8
DIARY OF A WAR BRIDE
© 2018 Lauri Robinson
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my uncles, Ralph and Dale.
This one’s for you.
Contents
Cover (#uf0a69ec0-a1bb-5074-9e95-4d7bda3b35c8)
Back Cover Text (#u438225ae-c6ba-50c6-bdc9-886dfbaa2511)
About the Author (#ub74d9fd2-1f73-5cee-85df-c4966af7caed)
Booklist (#ubed85b9e-6851-5a8c-88f2-8e31b1603897)
Title Page (#u56da3de8-2dba-5147-91c1-39247accb7da)
Copyright (#u1fd0d519-2953-55e1-9037-5ac251452a7e)
Dedication (#u0ac89b38-c80a-57f9-9f9a-18b9c2983d3a)
Prologue (#u82ad08df-b8eb-5cd2-887c-140171a39813)
Chapter One (#u6dffa848-6ba4-5dde-a17c-cf51f95399e7)
Chapter Two (#ua3451e5c-9704-5029-9e95-f205588c3cf7)
Chapter Three (#u45a114c9-5308-582e-8c03-9e6bc58c4678)
Chapter Four (#u6bbd48ff-d63a-5b3a-a209-6b4d19e2134a)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u739ddb39-624e-5a33-b137-8be3ebbde695)
1st of January, 1943
Dearest Diary,
Little did I know how important you would become when Charlotte gave you to me. You’ve been my confidant in what has proven to be the greatest journey of my life, and though I’m saddened that our time together has come to an end and I shall never forget the people I wrote about between your pages, it’s a new year and I’m embarking on a new journey, one of being a married woman...
Chapter One (#u739ddb39-624e-5a33-b137-8be3ebbde695)
26th of April, 1942
Dear Diary,
Our life in the country has been so very different from those who remained in the cities, where bombs have destroyed so much and killed so many, and I fear all that is about to change. Lately, I’ve insisted that the children sleep holding on to their gas masks, ready to put them on at my command, and wear their clothes to bed so they’ll be somewhat warm if we need to run to the bomb shelter. It’s so very frightening.
I wrote about the arrival of American troops back in January. How everyone claimed the Americans will help us give the Nazis what they deserve. I can’t say that has happened, but I can tell you this. They built a Bomber Command Station right here in High Wycombe!
Shortly after the American servicemen arrived, the headmistress of Wycombe Abbey girls’ school received an official notice to evacuate all the girls within a fortnight to make room for the United States Army Eighth Air Force.That caused a tremendous influx of students into the small village school. Local children now attend lessons in the mornings and the evacuees in the afternoons, which includes all of the nine children living here with Norman and Charlotte. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, the past week planes started flying in and out of the base like flocks of birds. There is nothing to stop the German bombers from following those planes, intent upon dropping bombs on the base, which would have them flying directly over the farm!
Norman insists Father assured him there is nothing to worry about, that having the base so near should make us feel safer and that air raid sirens would sound if the German planes flew near, but there are no sirens close by us. Furthermore, by the time the sirens sound, it could be too late. That has happened elsewhere. No one can say it hasn’t.
When I was evacuated out of London, here to Norman and Charlotte’s, I did feel safe and have continued to for the past couple of years, but I truly fear there is no safe place in our country right now. Nowhere that families are safe. I also fear there soon won’t be anything left of the country we are all working so hard to protect.
I also wonder why we are expected to put so much faith in the Americans. These aren’t their homes. Their families. Their children.
I don’t mean to sound so harsh, but I am weary, Dear Diary, and dare only share these thoughts with you. Unlike so many others, I can’t put all my faith in the Americans. If they really cared about us, about what has been happening the past two years, they would have arrived long ago. Long before our cities and villages were little more than piles of rubble and long before our children became orphans.
Those planes flying overhead scare me, almost as if I somehow know one of those planes will change my life for ever.
The rumble of planes growing nearer sent Kathryn’s nerves on edge. She tried to pedal faster, but the road was rutted and wet from the heavy spring rains that had fallen the night before. Her hands and arms, even her legs, shook as the noise overhead grew louder. Afraid to look, but unable to stop herself, she twisted enough to glance towards the sky behind her.
Fear grasped her entire body. Not only was the sound deafening, she’d never seen a plane so close. It was flying right at her, would hit her. Frantic, she tried to steer the bicycle off the road, but it wobbled uncontrollably and then toppled.
She hit the ground so hard, the air was knocked out of her. It was a moment before she could gather the gumption to cover her head as a powerful gust of wind tugged at her scarf and coat.
The noise was so great that her ears were ringing and she felt as if time had stopped, or wondered perhaps if this was how it felt when time ends. Life ends.
It was a moment or two before she realised the noise was fading and another before she concluded the plane hadn’t landed on her. That it was still in the sky, flying higher now and away from her.
A sense of relief washed over her, until she saw the contents lying around her. The eggs, cheese and milk that had been in the wicker basket attached to the handlebars of her bicycle. Anger began to coil its way through her system. Every morsel of food was precious right now.
She scrambled on to her knees, reaching for an egg, hoping to salvage at least a few, when a powerful force grasped her from behind and lifted her completely off the ground.
‘Miss, are you hurt?’
The egg she’d been about to save tumbled to the ground, cracking and oozing into the muddy gravel.
‘Are you hurt?’
A boot, a man’s boot, stepped right on the egg she’d been hoping to rescue and a shiver raced over her as her gaze travelled upwards, over the brown trousers tucked into the boots, a waist-length leather jacket and finally a billed hat that sat a bit off-kilter atop a short-cropped head of brown hair.
Twisting, she broke the hold he had on her and stepped aside, trying hard to swallow. ‘N-no, I’m not hurt.’ He was tall, very tall. She had to swallow again.
‘I’m sorry.’ He gestured towards the plane disappearing into the horizon. ‘Rooster wasn’t trying to scare you. He was fooling with us.’
‘Fooling?’
He pointed towards an army vehicle. An American one. ‘Yes, the pilots do that once in a while, fly low over one of the Jeeps, just as a joke.’ The two dimples that formed, one in each cheek as his grin grew wider, showed just how humorous he found the situation. She didn’t find anything about any of this funny. Not in the least.
‘A joke?’ Anger rippled every nerve in her body. ‘With an aeroplane?’
He shrugged slightly. ‘Yes. I’m really sorry. I’m sure he didn’t see you.’
So mad she wanted to scream, Kathryn took a deep breath and glanced towards the ground, trying to gather her wits and nerves into some sort of semblance.
‘Are you sure you’re all right? Nothing’s broken, is it?’
No! She wasn’t all right. She’d nearly been scared to death.
He frowned as he gazed to the ground near his feet.
Anger had her hands balling into fists. Disgusted, she snapped, ‘What’s broken—ruined—is a week’s worth of food!’
‘That’s hardly a week’s worth of food,’ he said.
