With Every Letter by Sarah Sundin Page A

never seen anything like it. An ornate carpet of red and blue and gold, a high vaulted ceiling, and walls and alcoves covered with frescoes and tiles and carvings in the Spanish baroque style, all in those riveting reds and blues and golds.
    “Don’t you feel like doing the flamenco?” Georgie struck a pose, one arm curved overhead, the other flung around her waist.
    “Not now, Señorita Tayloroso.” Rose linked her arm with Georgie, then extended an arm to Mellie. “Coming, Señorita Blakerado?”
    With a slight hitch, Mellie lifted her arm. “ Sí , sí , Rosita.”
    “Rosita. I like that. Better than Señorita Danilovez—can’t even say that—goodness! Maybe the fellows would like me better with a name like Rosita.”
    Georgie led them up the carpeted stairs. “If you stopped fussing about the fellows, they would like you better. Now smile sweet at those flyboys.”
    Three men in leather flight jackets and pilot’s “crush” caps trotted down the stairs toward them. “Be still, my heart,” the shortest of the men said with a lopsided grin. “Do I see three lovely ladies in need of escort?”
    “Nope.” Rose pushed ahead, right through the threesome, Georgie and Mellie in her wake. “You see three lovely ladies about to ship out, perfectly capable of entertaining themselves, thank you.”

    Masculine laughter billowed up, and the tallest of the men trotted after them. “A spunky one. The blonde’s mine.”
    Rose spun to face them. “The blonde is her own woman, and if she belonged to anyone, it wouldn’t be to a cocky flyboy with more nerve than brains.”
    Georgie shot a funny look at Mellie behind Rose’s back, and Mellie covered her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh.
    The flyboy took off his cap to reveal wavy blond hair, and he bowed. “I’ve got brains enough to know when I’ve met my match. Lt. Clint Peters, and I’m in awe.”
    “That makes one of us.”
    The third officer laughed. He had a square jaw and auburn hair peeking from under his cap. “Clint, you’re outmatched. Ladies, I’ll get him out of your hair.”
    “Uh-uh, Coop.” Clint grabbed his buddy’s arm. “This is Lt. Roger Cooper and this is Lt. Bert Marino, both single and available.”
    “But not looking,” Roger said. “Now be a nice boy and leave the girls alone.”
    “I’m looking.” Bert grinned at Georgie. “How ’bout you, curly-top?”
    “That’s sweet of you.” She flushed and smiled. “But I have a boyfriend.”
    “Ah, they always do. You too, toots?” His gaze turned to Mellie and swept from her shoulders to her toes. A slow smile enveloped his round face. “Tell me you’re single. Please.”
    Mellie’s face and fingers tingled. Her jaw drifted down. Never had anyone looked at her or spoken to her like that. “Uh . . . I’m . . . not looking. Not looking.” It worked for his buddy, why not her?
    “Even if we were looking, we’re not looking for the likes of you.” Rose spun on her heels and marched up the steps. “Come on, ladies.”

    Mellie’s feet felt like an elephant’s, heavy and clumsy and too big. She almost tripped on a step but managed to catch up to the others.
    Georgie laughed. “You sure told him, Rosita. But did you really want to? Didn’t you just say you wanted the fellows to like you better? He sure likes you, and he’s cute too.”
    “And full of himself.”
    “Maybe. But Mellie would be wise to stay away from that Bert.”
    She stopped at the top of the stairs and stared at Georgie. “No one’s ever looked at me like that.”
    “Never? With a cute figure like yours? Oh, I doubt that. And you have the prettiest eyes, very exotic. Why, you’ll get gobbled up if you’re not careful.”
    Mellie’s thoughts tumbled like a kaleidoscope. Papa always said she had an exotic beauty, but he was biased. She’d never heard that from anyone else. Mellie ventured a smile. “Rose knows how to beat them off.”
    “Stick with me, sister.” Rose strode into the theater