“She mentioned her upcoming arrival, not yours and Priscilla’s—a pleasant surprise.”
Hattie nodded. “It’s refreshing how you and Priscilla get on so well since ending your courtship. I think it’s admirable. I truly do.”
Why bother to correct her? “Where’s Jordane?”
“Duty called him aside, something to do with meeting an officer of high standing. He expects to return, but who knows when?” She raised her palms upward.
Typical of Jordane to ditch a gal to wiggle his way into the brass’s good graces. Hattie’s open smile sent his heart tripping. If he didn’t pull himself together, he’d give away all of his secrets.
Loneliness nagged even the strongest soldiers, making everyone hungry for conversation with a female, if only for an afternoon. To leave Hattie risked a random soldier snaring her. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Since you and I are outdoors people, why don’t we stroll the grounds until your friend returns?” Arno nodded toward the door. “I can point out the more interesting sites, such as the library.”
Hattie scrambled to her feet. “You don’t suppose we dare venture inside, do you?”
“If the door’s unlocked, sure.”
They roamed for an hour, Arno pointing out the writing room, mess hall, base hospital, and drilling ground. She applauded with gusto when the infantry band played. In the library, she ran a finger along book spines, tugging a few volumes off the shelves to leaf through pages.
Back outside, she relayed details of her first train ride and the awe of seeing the big city of Des Moines firsthand. Her overnight stay at Priscilla’s relations hadn’t played out as expected. The cousin and her spouse had locked onto an argument for half the night. Hattie counted the experience an adventure, albeit a noisy one.
In a swoosh of words, she detailed the morning’s Brigade meeting, emphasizing her nervous excitement and resolve to chair the Butler County committee. According to her, she’d either succeed or perish while attempting her hometown best.
Hattie gasped, halting her spiel and steps.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve talked your ear off, and I’m sorry.” With her fingertip, she tapped a pearl on her necklace. “Will you please tell me the million and one new things about your life since arriving at boot camp?”
Her earnest expression cranked up his pulse. Twice in one afternoon. “There’s not much to tell. But answer me this—am I the world’s best tour guide?”
She mirrored his stance—one hand on her waist and a tilt of her head. “First, you tell me this—who makes more outrageous statements—you or your sister?”
“It’s not even a competition. Lena is borderline ridiculous, and I’m,” he waved a hand in the air, searching for the perfect words, “witty.”
“And vain.”
“Only on Saturdays.” They laughed together, continuing their tour in an easygoing companionship.
Hattie’s cheeks flushed pink from either the chill or the laughter, likely both. Angled toward the sunlight, wisps of brown hair had escaped her stylish hat and now floated with the breeze. She smiled at the horizon.
His breath hitched. Mother had once dubbed Hattie a cutie pie. Back then, he’d admired her scrappiness more than anything else. But then she leapfrogged from a rough-and-tumble tomboy into a five-foot … heartstopper.
Annoyingly, the other soldiers noticed Hattie too. No matter where they’d walked, men stole glances. Some grabbed a second look, and others flung wide grins, but she appeared oblivious. Vanity wasn’t part of her nature.
While she scanned the grounds, she twirled a squatty hat on her finger until the headpiece sailed into the dirt. They both bent, with Arno retrieving it first.
“Where’re the flowers?” He brushed it off.
Hattie gaped at him.
“What? Did I miss a speck?”
“No, I’m surprised you noticed I tend to adorn my hat with fresh flowers.”
“My guess is everybody notices. It’s your calling card, same as how everybody knows Lena speaks her mind, and Priscilla bathes in perfume. Hattie Waltz wears flowers.”
“I’ll be jiggered.”
“I know plenty about you.” He raised a finger. “For one, you prefer to ride bareback and not with a saddle. Also,” another finger joined the first one, “you prefer ice skating to sledding.”
She picked up a maple leaf and then twirled the stem, stretching the silence. “Much to your surprise, Mr. Smarty, there’s plenty you don’t know about me, at least not anymore.”
“I suppose you’re right. But it’s funny, the things a person recalls. Once upon a time, you liked to kneel in your pasture, braiding flower stems for hours. What were you, five or six?” Only Catfish Creek and a fence line separated Kreger land from Waltz property, and it felt like yesterday when he’d watched her do that.
Hattie blinked, her beautiful brown eyes almost doubled in size.
What if he kissed her? Would she run? Slap him? Or return the favor?
“Hattie.” Jordane approached with a clipped tone, hooded eyes, and stern face to deliver a loud and clear message—I’m jealous. He dropped a possessive hand onto Hattie’s shoulder, tucking her under his arm and against his side. “Thanks for looking after my gal, Kreger.”
Arno fought the urge to shove Jordane’s offending hand into the next county. “Your gal?” he asked.
Nobody spoke until Hattie wiggled free, distancing herself from both men by a couple of steps. Hands on her hips, she squared her shoulders. “Although I’m apt to shock the pair of you, I don’t require looking after, haven’t for some time now.”
She’d knocked Barrett down three or four pegs with that. The girl possessed more moxie than a dozen other women combined. Satisfaction widened Arno’s grin.
Still, Jordane left with the girl, steering her back toward the Y. But not before she tossed Arno a heart-thumping smile.
His stomach leaped like a feisty trout in a sleepy stream, and it took a minute to collect his wits. The couple disappeared around the corner of the post office. Twice Arno had lagged like a dimwit, watching Barrett lead Hattie away. If he had any say in the matter, there wouldn’t be a third.
But why moon over the one woman whose pa hated him? Arno rubbed at his tight neck muscles. Of all the women in the world to snag his attention, why her? She was practically small enough to fit into his hip pocket or a saddle bag. He’d wager his next paycheck that Hattie was the type who dreamt of happily ever after. He, on the other hand, preferred happy-for-now. Regardless, he charged after the pair.
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
Instead of paying attention to the soldier at her side, Hattie replayed her conversations with Arno in her head, especially the part centered on picking wildflowers in the pasture. He’d watched her way back when. Arno Kreger had studied her from afar.
She caught snippets of Barrett’s speech. Disappointment she’d not waited for him and elation over an anticipated promotion at the next round of formal appointments. Little else.
“Someday, I’ll make captain, and—” Barrett cleared his throat. Coffee lingered on his breath. “I think it’s important I told you how I feel. Don’t you agree?”