“Mary told me Howard said you were being reposted, but…” She shook her head, coming alive, and backed out of his grasp, leaving him holding air.
Damn it, Howard.
“Scarlett, honey—”
“We’ll ‘figure it out?’” She gripped the back of the kitchen chair and took a deep breath. “When?”
“A matter of weeks,” he answered, lowering his arms.
“No, when did you find out?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Just this morning.” He mentally cursed Howard for telling Mary before he’d even seen Scarlett. “I know it’s complicated, but I looked into married quarters on station before my flight—”
“What?” Her voice rose, which was as good as a Mayday when it came to her temper. The woman barely—if ever—lost that calm, collected cool of hers.
“I know it’s a jump to assume you’d be willing to ask for another transfer, especially with Constance…” Barely breathing. His sister-in-law had become a veritable ghost since losing Edward, and there was no chance Scarlett would leave her, no guarantee, either, that Constance would want to go. “Anyway, housing is full, so we’d have to live off-station like we are now, but I can start looking for digs.”
“Willing to ask for another transfer,” Scarlett repeated, her eyes catching fire. “What makes you think I can transfer there, Jameson? There’s not…I can’t…” She rubbed the bridge of her nose.
She couldn’t tell him because her job required more clearance than his. Of course he knew what she did—he wasn’t born yesterday—but that didn’t mean she came home and divulged where the other filter rooms were, or the radar stations. Too much knowledge was dangerous for a pilot who could easily crash into enemy hands. And sure, it was fine to know where she currently worked; sector operations were— Holy shit, that’s it. “There’s no sector operations at Martlesham,” he guessed quietly.
She shook her head in answer. “What Constance and I do, the training involved…” She met his gaze, and the pain he saw there dug its claws into his soul. “Command isn’t exactly going to let us go become drivers or mechanics. We are what we are.” She was as—if not more—essential to the mission as he was.
“You’re remarkable.” His stomach churned, knowing this meant an already difficult situation was about to become impossible. Just the thought of waking up without her, of not laughing together as they burned whatever they’d been trying to cook, of falling asleep without her in his arms for weeks on end was enough to make his heart scream in protest. What the hell would it be like in actuality?
“Hardly,” she blew him off. “Just highly trained and nimble-fingered, neither of which is working in our favor at the moment. Martlesham is hours away. They’ve cut practically all our leave, and you won’t be getting much, either. We’ll never see each other.” Her shoulders hunched as she tucked her chin.
His heart damn near broke as he crossed the distance between them and pulled her against his chest. “We’ll figure it out. My love for you didn’t fade when half of England separated us. A few hours is nothing.”
But it was everything. Forget a Living Out pass; it was too far to get a Sleeping Out pass unless he took forty-eight hours, and she was right, their days of easily attained leave were a thing of the past. It could be months between visits, depending on how the war went.
He uttered another curse word under his breath. They’d come so close to losing each other during that raid at Middle Wallop, and if something happened to her now… Bile rose in his throat. “You could always go to Colorado.”
She stiffened in his arms, then looked up at him like he’d lost his mind.
“I know you won’t,” he said softly, tucking a strand of her hair that had come loose from the pinks. “I know your sense of duty won’t allow it, and you won’t leave Constance anyway, but I’d be a shit husband if I didn’t at least ask you to go, to be safe.”
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not American.” She raised her hands to his T-shirt-covered chest—neither of them ever cooked in full uniform. They’d learned that lesson early in their marriage to the detriment of two otherwise perfectly good jackets.
“I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but you’re not exactly British anymore, either.” Thank God the WAAF had no problem taking foreign nationals. “We both seem to be in between countries at the moment.”
She huffed a small laugh. “And how exactly are you hoping to get me into your country? Fly, then push me out over Colorado?” she teased, pressing a kiss on his chin.
“Now that you mention it…” He grinned, loving that she could always find the levity in a situation.
“Seriously, though, let’s scrap that as a possibility, because it isn’t one. You can’t even get into your own country without being arrested right now.”
“Actually…” He tilted his head as his thoughts raced. “I never renounced my citizenship. Never swore loyalty to the king, either, so I’m not treasonous. Did I break neutrality laws? Yes. Would I be sent to jail if I headed home? Probably. But I’m still American.” He glanced at his uniform jacket as it hung over a kitchen chair, the eagle bright on the right shoulder. “You didn’t break any laws, and you’re my wife. You’re entitled to American citizenship. We’d just have to get you a visa.” A spark of hope glimmered in his chest. He had a way to get her out of this war—to ensure she lived through it.
She flat out laughed and pushed out of his arms. “Right, and that takes a year, if not longer, from what I’ve read in the papers. The war might very well be over by the time that happened. And besides, you’re right. I won’t leave my country—even if it’s technically not mine anymore—when it needs me, and I won’t abandon Constance. We swore to see this through together, and we will.” She took his hand and placed a kiss on his wedding band. “And I’ll never leave you, Jameson. Not if I can help it. A few hours are nothing compared to thousands of miles across an ocean.”
“But you’d be safe—” he started.
“No. We can discuss this again when the war is over or our circumstances have drastically changed. Until then, my answer is no.”
Jameson sighed. “Of course I had to fall for the obstinate girl.” Yet he wouldn’t have loved her had she been anyone else.
“Obstinate, headstrong girl,” she corrected him with a small smile. “If you’re going to quote Austen, do it correctly.” She pressed her lips in a firm line. “What’s the farthest you can live from the station and still have a Living Out pass?”