Sergeant Darling

Ray Darling looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Well, Nurse Pritchard. I didn’t know you cared.”

The nurse tried not to smile, but Ray could see that the corners of her mouth had begun to twitch. Still, she did have that hypodermic needle in her hand.

So Sergeant Darling sucked it in and did as he was told. Getting a gamma globulin shot because somebody who worked in the base snack bar had contracted hepatitis B was bad enough, but having the “Ice Princess Nurse,” Prickly Pritchard, give it to him made it twice as bad. It surprised him that she’d actually responded to his lame line.

Prickly Pritchard was probably the best-looking nurse in the flight surgeon’s clinic. Ray was just as attracted to her as anyone else at Hurlburt Field, but more experienced men than he had tried to pierce her icy reserve and failed.

“Fire away, ma’am,” he said. He was a combat controller. He was tough. He could handle one small needle.

It was worse than he expected. Ray bit back a groan as the serum went in. He couldn’t help wondering if Prickly Pritchard got her thrills out of inflicting pain.

“Pull ’em up, Sergeant. I’m finished,” Nurse Pritchard said. “You can go.”

Dear Reader,

I’ve read so many romances that portray military men as rough, tough caricatures that I felt I had to write about the wonderful, three-dimensional men I had a chance to know when I was growing up as an army brat, and as an adult with an air force husband. Sure, these men are physically fit and trained in weapons and covert techniques, but they have hearts and minds and feelings, as well.

Most of these guys can certainly assault a building with guns in both hands if they have to, but more often they are Little League coaches and Boy Scout leaders. They eat MREs (Meal, Ready to Eat) if they have to, but they can also grill a steak and toss together an omelet. If they have any shortcoming, it’s that they fall in love too hard, and too fast.

Ray Darling is one of those guys, and he has to work hard to get Prickly Patsy Pritchard to give him a second glance. When she finally does, it’s magic. I hope you’ll love Ray (Radar) Darling as much as Patsy and I do.

Fondly,

Bonnie Gardner

Books by Bonnie Gardner

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

876—UNCLE SARGE

911—SGT. BILLY’S BRIDE

958—THE SERGEANT’S SECRET SON

970—PRICELESS MARRIAGE

Sergeant Darling

Bonnie Gardner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mud, as always.

To all the men who’ve had to leave their women behind to fight for their country, and all the women who waited at home with yellow ribbons on their mailboxes and in their hair.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Drop your pants, Sergeant.”

Ray Darling looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Well, Nurse Pritchard. I didn’t know you cared.”

The nurse tried not to smile, but Ray could see that the corners of her mouth had begun to twitch. Still, she did have that hypodermic needle in her hand.

So Sergeant Darling sucked it in and did as he was told. It was bad enough to have to submit to getting a gamma globulin shot because somebody who worked in the base snack bar had contracted hepatitis B, but to have the “Ice Princess Nurse,” Prickly Pritchard, give it to him made it twice as bad. It surprised him that she’d actually responded to his lame line.

Prickly Pritchard was probably the best-looking nurse in the Flight Surgeon’s Clinic at Hurlburt Field, near Fort Walton Beach on the northern panhandle of Florida. She had a curvy figure that could put any underwear model to shame, blond hair, blue eyes and flawless skin. Unfortunately, the good nurse was as prickly as a cactus. Not that that seemed to matter to the servicemen who came to her clinic. Her signature rebuffs to anyone who showed the slightest attraction to her only succeeded in fanning the flames of interest and speculation by every red-blooded male on base.

Ray was just as attracted to her as anyone else on Hurlburt, but more experienced men than he had tried to get through her icy reserve and failed, so he had never tried. It sure would be a big boost to his ego if Ray were able to get to first base when the hotshot aviator types who believed they were God’s gifts to women hadn’t been able to melt through her icy shield.

It was worth a try. Just not today.

He might be an excellent sergeant after ten years in the air force, but he still hadn’t perfected his social skills. That had been one of the drawbacks of being a “boy genius,” something he’d done his best to conceal when he’d enlisted, mostly by keeping his mouth shut to keep his larger-than-average vocabulary from being apparent.

Twelve-year-olds in high school didn’t date, and when he’d enrolled in college at fourteen, he hadn’t had much time to try. And when he had, he’d struck out with the older women in his classes. After a while, he’d just quit trying.

And after he’d defied his parents and joined the air force instead of going on to graduate school at eighteen, he’d spent so much of his time learning how to be a good sergeant and trying to be a “regular guy” that dating hadn’t been a priority. Now at twenty-eight, he wished he’d had as much training in that particular area as he’d had in all things air force. Unfortunately, no book taught that particular skill. Not in any useful way, anyway. Although, the tired old line he’d heard in the movies had seemed to put a tiny dent in Nurse Pritchard’s armor.

“Fire away, ma’am,” he said, flinching as he felt the swipe from the alcohol wipe and steeled himself for the jab of the needle. He was a combat controller. He was tough. He could handle one small needle.

It was worse than he’d expected. Ray bit back a groan of pain as the serum went in. Damn. He’d thought he was prepared for it, but this was nowhere close to what he’d expected. He couldn’t help wondering if Prickly Pritchard got her thrills out of inflicting pain.

“Pull ’em up, Sergeant Darling, I’m finished,” Nurse Pritchard said, her tone all business. “You’ll be sore, but you’ll live. You can go.”

Ray half expected her to slap him on his butt, but thankfully, she didn’t. Figuring now wasn’t the best time to try anything with her, Ray pulled up his trousers and made a rapid exit.

He wasn’t really beating a hasty retreat. He’d been summoned by his commanding officer, for what he didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to hang around and trade shots with Pritchard, even if he thought he’d gotten in a couple of points with that twitch of a smile. She’d already won anyway, he thought with a wry smile, and resisted the urge to rub his rump, as he strode away.

“YOU KNOW, that one’s pretty cute, Patsy,” Senior Airman Nancy Oakley, the receptionist, commented to Nurse Pritchard as she stepped into the waiting room to call her next patient. “If I didn’t have my own personal sweetie, I might give him a run for his money,” she continued, patting her pregnant stomach.

“I’m sure Andy would love to hear that,” Patsy said with a smile. Nancy was right, though. Sergeant Darling was as cute as his name. No, he wasn’t cute, he was downright gorgeous. “And you know my rule about not getting involved with men that come through the clinic, so that leaves both of us out,” she added as she considered the man who’d just left the examination room.

The sergeant certainly qualified as tall, dark and handsome, in spite of the thick plastic government issue glasses he wore. The guys called them B.C., for birth control, because they were so darned ugly. But even with the glasses, or maybe in spite of them, Ray Darling could turn heads. And if Ray Darling could turn hers, he could turn anyone’s.

“You know, he’d really look great if he’d take off the glasses,” Nancy said, handing Patsy the file for her next patient.

Patsy laughed. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing. But then the glasses work for him. They make him look smart and kind instead of dangerous like some of the other guys he works with. And I think he really is different from those macho bruisers in the special operations squadron. He’s always so quiet and polite when he comes into the clinic.”

“Yeah, I like that tongue-tied, shy-with-girls kind’a thing,” Nancy said. “And the glasses do nothing to disguise that square jaw.”

“So true,” Patsy agreed, thinking less about Sergeant Darling’s jaw than his broad back, narrow waist and well-shaped buns, which she’d seen at close quarters. And if Sergeant Darling’s little quip was any indication, he’d started getting over his shyness. And she rather liked that.

Not that it made much difference.

She didn’t have to worry about Sergeant Darling or any of the other men assigned to Hurlburt Field making passes at her. She’d rebuffed so many advances from men who came through the clinic that only the worst egomaniacs kept asking. Sometimes she wished the others would persist, too.

Patsy drew in a deep breath, or maybe it was a sigh. Today, because of her brief exchange with Sergeant Darling, was one of those times.

RED BERET IN HAND, Ray rapped on the jamb of Colonel John Harbeson’s open office door before stepping inside. “You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked when the colonel looked up.

Harbeson beckoned Ray inside. “No, Radar,” he clarified, then he smiled. “Actually, my wife wants to speak to you.”

Ray winced at the nickname he hated, but he wasn’t about to correct his commanding officer, and it sure beat “Darling,” which some of the guys had tried to tack onto him when he’d been new to combat control. It was his name, but still…

Once inside, he could see that the colonel wasn’t alone. He hadn’t noticed Mrs. Harbeson sitting on the long couch that took up most of the wall just inside the door. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said as he folded his beret and stuck it into one of the many pockets on the legs of his uniform. “I didn’t see you there.”

He couldn’t imagine what she could possibly want to see him about. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Please, Radar, call me Marianne. I’m not your commanding officer,” she said, gesturing for Ray to sit beside her. “John is.”

“Yes, m—I mean, Mrs. H—I mean, Marianne.” That had been hard. Mrs. Harbeson was closer to the age of his mother than any of his friends. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stand.” To reinforce his statement, Ray settled into the parade rest stance, infinitely more comfortable than sitting would have been today. After all, he’d just had an injection in his keister.

“Suit yourself,” Mrs. Harbeson said. “I suppose you’re wondering what I could possibly want from you.”

Ray nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Harbeson arched a well-shaped eyebrow at the ma’am, but she didn’t correct him again. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Ray blinked. “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I give up.”

“Ma’am?”

“Call me anything you want, Radar. Just don’t call me sir.”

“No, ma’am.” Ray wished Mrs. Harbeson would just get on with it.

Smiling, she said, “My women’s club is holding a bachelor auction to raise money for an addition to the enlisted widows’ home, and I was hoping that you’d agree to be one of the bachelors we could auction off.”

“Excuse me?”

He could not have heard her right. She wanted him to be auctioned off? No, that was not possible. Why would anyone want to spend good money on him? Even for charity. He was, now, and always had been, a quiet, smart guy. Not quite a geek, but close enough. Hell, he even wore glasses. He’d heard about the kinds of guys they used for those charity things. They were celebrities, hunks. Hell, they knew the right things to say in those kinds of situations. They knew how to talk to women. He was more comfortable programming a computer.

“You heard me, Radar. I want you to be one of our eligible bachelors. You are eligible, aren’t you? You haven’t gotten engaged or married since we chatted at the Christmas party last year, have you? You aren’t going out with anyone special?”

“No, ma’am,” Ray said, still shocked by the woman’s request. “Are you sure you want me?” There had been quite a marriage boom in his squadron recently, and Ray supposed that Mrs. Harbeson had been forced to scrape pretty close to the bottom of the proverbial barrel. Why else would she be asking him to participate?

Mrs. Harbeson’s request had him sweating suddenly, and Ray wiped his damp hands on the legs of his BDU—his battle dress uniform. He was sweating because he was actually seriously considering accepting. Maybe the shot he’d had earlier had affected his brain.

“Yes, Radar,” Mrs. Harbeson said. “I think you’d be perfect for this assignment.”

Considering that a request from his commander’s wife was as good as an order from her husband, he’d best accept, he thought. Even if it was against his better judgment. Besides, he might actually meet someone interesting.

Yeah, right.

“All right, ma’am. You’ve got your bachelor.” Ray turned to the colonel who had been strangely silent during this weird conversation. “Do you need me for anything else, sir?”

The colonel grinned. “Nothing, Ray. Marianne will fill you in on the details later. Thanks.”

Ray stepped out of the office.

“Oh, and Radar,” the colonel called. “Send Sergeant Murphey in to see me.”

“Yes, sir,” Ray said. And he promptly hurried out to find his buddy Danny Murphey, who, apparently, was about to get pressed into service as well.

“I DON’T CARE if you do have two tickets, Aunt Myrt. I will not participate in that disgusting example of sexism,” Patsy Pritchard told her aunt emphatically as she watched Myrtle primp for the Women’s Auxiliary Bachelor Auction and Dinner.

Patsy knew exactly what her Aunt Myrtle was up to, and she wasn’t about to encourage her in any way. “If, or when, I decide to start dating again, I’ll do it on my own terms, not because I had to buy someone to take me out.”

“But, Patricia, it’s been years since your husband died. A beautiful young woman like you shouldn’t be sitting at home alone at night with her cats. You need to be out having fun, seeing people.”

Not that again, Patsy protested to herself. Why couldn’t Aunt Myrtle understand that she was perfectly happy with the way things were? “I am not a hermit. I see plenty of people every day.” She paused, then went on when it looked as if Aunt Myrtle was going to object. “And I know perfectly well that when you say people, you mean men. I have a job where I see men daily. If I wanted to go out, I would not have any problems getting a date,” she said archly.

Not that she wanted any. Now that men had pretty much given up asking, she was perfectly happy with the status quo. Most of the time.

She’d had a man. She’d had a husband and a family. She wasn’t ready to replace them. She and Ace had been head over heels in love, and it had been too hard to lose him. She’d become a widow at twenty-one when Ace and the kids had been killed in a traffic accident. It had been a blow she’d very nearly not gotten over. “Besides, they’re your cats. I have a dog.”

Myrtle positioned her red pillbox hat over her gray-and-white streaked Gibson-girl upswept bun and secured it with a hat pin. Setting the scarlet-colored ostrich plume at a jaunty angle, she glanced in the oval mirror above the table by the front door and fussed with the ruffle of her purple silk blouse. She pinched her cheeks and smacked her lips to spread her fire engine red lipstick. “I’m ready.” She turned to Patsy and posed. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

“Not a chance. You give that other ticket to someone else.”

“DAMN, I FEEL LIKE a gorilla in this monkey suit,” Ray grumbled as he and Danny made last-minute adjustments to their formal “dress-mess” uniforms backstage before the auction. Thank goodness they’d been permitted to wear those rather than the tuxedos he’d heard some of the other bachelors were wearing. At least, he and Danny wouldn’t look like penguins.

While Ray viewed the event as nothing short of torture, Murph actually seemed to be looking forward to it. Of course, Danny’s prowess with women was legendary, and he’d even lived with a woman for a while. Ray hadn’t had any such experience to fall back on. As far as he was concerned, this was worse than any military inspection he’d ever endured.

He stuck a finger under the collar of his uniform and tried to loosen it. He had opted for the clip-on version of the regulation black bow tie, but his shirt collar was still tight against his Adam’s apple.

“Stop fidgeting,” Mrs. Harbeson said, appearing suddenly, and Ray snapped to attention. “You look very handsome, Radar. I am so glad you wore your good glasses.”

“I only wear the B.C. glasses on duty,” he said.

Mrs. Harbeson smiled. “I’m happy to hear that. Now relax. Have a good time. I expect you to bring the Auxiliary a good price.”

“I’ll do the best I can, Mrs. H.” Ray had finally relaxed enough to begin calling Mrs. Harbeson that, which she seemed to prefer to ma’am.

She turned to Danny. “You look handsome as ever tonight, Danny. Will you try to get Radar to loosen up for me, though?”

Danny grinned. “Doing my best, Marianne. But you have to know that I’m going to bring in the most money. Can’t let Ray Darling outdo the Irish Don Juan.”

Someone called to Mrs. Harbeson. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. Chuckling to herself, she hurried away to see what the other woman wanted.

“What say, Radar? You think you’ll do better than me in this auction?”

“Don’t know, but are you interested in making a friendly little bet?” One that Ray was certain to lose. Murph was known for his way with women.

“You got it in one, my man,” Danny said, his green Irish eyes smiling. “Loser has to spring for a case for the team.”

“You’re on. Just bear in mind that I get to pick the brew if I win.” Ray grinned. “And I go for the imported stuff.”

“Yeah, right,” Danny snorted. “You win this thing, and I’ll eat my little black book.”

Ray grinned. Now, that would be worth seeing, but the chances of it happening were pretty slim, as far as Radar was concerned. He’d just be happy to get this dog-and-pony show behind him.

The lady from the local television station who’d been invited to emcee took her place at the podium to the side of the stage. Someone in the wings called for everyone to be quiet and then she directed the bachelors to the waiting area in the wings.

They’d barely found their places when the emcee announced the first bachelor. Ray breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t he. Then he settled back to see how the other guys handled the job. He knew everything there was about infiltrating an enemy camp or setting up field communications under fire, but here he was completely out of his element.

Time dragged on. Danny went for $450, one of the higher totals, and Ray didn’t hold out much hope that he’d best his buddy. Meanwhile, the suspense was killing him. He was going to be the last guy to be called out on stage!

At last he was introduced by the emcee. “And now, saving one of the best for last, give me a round of applause for Staff Sergeant Ray Darling!”

He didn’t know what was worse: having to participate in this circus act, or having to go out on a date with a perfect stranger.

He was firmly convinced that any woman who had to resort to buying a date was probably a long way from being anyone he wanted to go out with…

IMPATIENTLY PRESSING on the doorbell, Patsy Pritchard stood outside her aunt’s house waiting for her to answer the door. It was so like Aunt Myrtle to summon her over on a wild-goose chase when Patsy had plans for the evening. She wondered what it was this time.

She focused herself to remember that Myrtle was her only living relative, and without her aunt, she would be all alone in the world. She jabbed at the doorbell again and knocked loudly on the door for good measure. Was Aunt Myrt starting to lose her hearing?

“I’m sorry, Patsy dear,” Myrtle said, her voice breathy and flustered as she opened the door. She was wearing a silly, ruffled blouse with a collar that reminded Patsy of something in a portrait of Queen Elizabeth I, but otherwise her aunt seemed to be dressed to the nines.

“Did you say we were going out?” Patsy asked, glancing down at her khaki slacks and powder blue sweater set. It was fine for a movie at home, but not for the likes of the places that Aunt Myrtle usually preferred. “Was I supposed to dress up?”

“You look lovely, dear,” Aunt Myrtle said, hooking a large crocheted handbag over her arm. “Yes, we’re going out to dinner at the Blue Heron.”

“But that place must be thirty-five miles from here!” Patsy said with alarm. She had planned a private popcorn party and B-movie marathon at her apartment tonight. It hadn’t been easy to find those old Ed Wood movies, and she had been looking forward to them.

“Pish,” Aunt Myrtle said as she closed the door firmly behind her. “Those old movies aren’t going anywhere.” Had the woman read her mind?

“I didn’t say anything about movies,” Patsy protested as Aunt Myrtle steered her toward her behemoth of a car. “Why can’t we go someplace in town?”

“Because we’re meeting a nice, young man at the Blue Heron,” Aunt Myrtle said, as she opened the driver’s door of her ancient Cadillac. “And you’re always staying at home watching old movies. How do you expect to meet anyone like that?”

“I don’t expect to. I don’t want to. That’s why I stay at home.” Suddenly, Patsy realized that Aunt Myrtle was up to something. She stopped in her tracks. She would not be dragged out on another one of Myrtle’s arranged dates. Not only did she have zero desire to meet anyone, but Myrtle’s taste in eligible men had always been deplorable.

“Oh, but you must, Patsy dear. I paid a thousand dollars for him.”

“You did what? Surely, I did not hear you correctly. What could possibly have possessed you to hire an escort! She hadn’t meant to, but Patsy had allowed her voice to go shrill with the last word.

Aunt Myrtle shook her head as she climbed inside. “Really, Patricia, you have been reading the wrong kind of literature. Or did you get that foolish idea from those old movies you’re always watching?” She paused long enough to take a breath, but not long enough for Patsy to come up with a decent answer. “He’s one of the bachelors from the auction. If you had gone with me, you could have had the pick of the lot. My treat!” She slid across the bench seat and pushed open the passenger door. “Instead, I had to do the choosing myself.”

Patsy stood with one hand resting on the top of the pink Cadillac, closed her eyes and sighed. One thousand dollars! Even though Aunt Myrtle could easily afford it, it was still a great deal of money. Much more than Patsy could afford to squander on a night out. But Aunt Myrtle would be there with them, so it wasn’t exactly like a blind date. She just hoped that Myrtle’s taste in men had improved since the slope-shouldered accountant she’d fixed her up with the last time.

“I give up.” Patsy couldn’t believe she was really going to do this. “I can’t let you have wasted all that money. I’ll go, but under duress,” she added emphatically. And I won’t enjoy it, she didn’t say out loud.