Homecoming

Props to Techsan for the editing job. Techsan, I am in awe of your patience and skills. Once again, I have to say that although Lt. Col. Vandervoort and his shattered ankle are entirely real, Daniel is pure fiction.

For those of you who have stuck by this story, I thank you profusely for reading it and voting. For those of you just discovering this story, I'd ask you to read all the chapters and vote, vote, vote.

Thanks again one and all.

Chapter 10

Ste-Mere-Eglise, France, June 6, 1944

A life for a life: that had been the bargain Madame Renault had struck with God in the wee hours of the morning on D Day. She'd save the young soldier's life, not just because he'd saved hers, but because she truly believed that in doing so, the life of her own daughter -- a soldier with the French Resistance -- would be spared.

Even in the face of reality, the lifeless body of her dead husband which had been removed from the kitchen floor and placed reverently in the small sitting room, the farmwoman was convinced that her Claire would return home to her. She'd made a bargain with God. She'd kept her end of it.

Notwithstanding the fact that saving the wounded soldier's life was a means to an end, Madame Renault's maternal instinct would not let her rest until she'd witnessed the medic deftly tending to her charge. She wouldn't be satisfied with anything less that saving the Lieutenant's leg. He'd probably walk with a limp, but there was no reason why he wouldn't be able to walk on his own two limbs.

The farmwoman had patched many similar injuries with the skill of a field surgeon. Surely a trained medic could do the job just as well. She hovered over the medic, a Corporal barely out of his teens, barking out instructions to him in English sprinkled with French.

"Non, non...vous dois...you must take that off carefully...he's been bleeding," Madame Renault instructed pointing to the dark crimson bed sheets beneath the man she now knew as 1st Lieutenant Daniel Carven -- they'd finally made their introductions upon her return.

"Yes, ma'm...I think I can handle it from here," the besieged Corporal looked to his commanding officer, desperate for a respite from his

assistant's

overzealous attention to his newest patient.

Since the start of this day, the Corporal had seen quite a few fractures...and worse. Significant blood-loss notwithstanding, the Lieutenant was in pretty good shape. The first aid administered by the animated Frenchwoman had saved his life and probably saved his leg.

Lt. Colonel Vandervoort looked on at the spectacle with guarded amusement. Clearly this farmwoman had the training of a seasoned senior medic and was frustrated that she had to leave her patient in the hands of some young, albeit qualified, kid. Hiding an appreciative grin in light of the circumstances, Vandervoort cleared his throat before speaking sternly to the Corporal.

"Corporal Gaffs," the Lt. Colonel gently admonished, "this good woman risked her own life to save one of ours...and she's done a damn fine job of it from what I can see."

Again, the Lt. Colonel looked down grudgingly at his own make-shift splint and then to the seemingly professional job on 1st Lieutenant Carven's leg -- a work of art performed by the Madame of the house.

"If I were you, I'd take advantage of having an extremely able assistant and listen to what she has to say. After all, the town isn't completely secured yet and I imagine you're going to have more patients than you can handle within the next few hours."

The commander grimaced at this admission. He knew that taking the town was one thing but holding it long enough to keep the Germans from barreling through in aid of their comrades on the beaches and precluding the Allied Forces from securing a deep-water port in Cherbourg was quite another. Without this port, the Allies would be severely hampered in bringing in badly needed reinforcements. The town had to be held at all costs.

So far, however, the liberation of Ste-Mere-Eglise, the first French town to hold that distinction on this day, had been a surprising success in light of everything that had gone wrong already. Thanks in good part to the efforts of the French Resistance whose job it had been to destroy all lines of communication, the Germans' ability to adequately spread the alarm as the invasion was underway had been severely handicapped.

However, another related matter hung unsettlingly in the commander's mind. Vandervoort frowned when he'd heard a stoic Lieutenant Carven introduce himself to his

Florence Nightingale

only a few moments before. He'd overheard the robust woman give her family name as she enthusiastically pumped Carven's hand, relieved to finally formally introduce herself to her guardian angel. The name, her name, sounded familiar.

Stepping up to the demanding woman who had now taken to forcibly removing the flustered Corporal's medical supplies from his hands in order to pantomime exactly what he needed to do in order to save Carven's leg, Vandervoort touched Madame Renault's arm to get her attention.

"Excuze-moi. Comment vous appelez-vous? Renault...Madame Louisa Renault?" the Lt. Colonel struggled with the language.

"Oui... Je m'appelle Louisa Renault. I am called Louisa Renault. Why do you ask?" the woman's eyes widened with what Vandervoort understandably perceived was apprehension.

The commander reached into his pocket to retrieve something before responding. His face was unreadable.

"There's something I need to tell you about your daughter...votre fille, Claire Renault," the imposing Lt. Colonel's eyes softened as he addressed the mother who'd already lost a great deal this day.

At the sound of her child's name, Madame Renault's heart leapt. But her side of the bargain with God had been kept...had it not?

***************************************

Raleigh, North Carolina— July 4, 1941

A goddess of moonbeams and velvet midnight sky -- Lula stood before Jordan at the water's edge. The soft, deliciously smooth curves of her naked body were on display for his eyes alone. What had he done to deserve this gift? More importantly, would he accept it?

Jordan was at a crossroads -- accept his childhood sweetheart's offer at his own peril or behave like the gentleman his father and mother had always raised him to be and spare them both awkward regret. Staring at the embodiment of beauty before him, Jordan knew what his choice would be. He was only a man. He was only made of flesh and blood after all.

"Jordan, come on...what are you waiting for? You've always been a sissy about cold water," Lula teased, her arms outstretched toward him

She seductively beckoned him to follow her, like the Sirens in Homer's Odyssey; those mythical beguilers of mariners whose beauty and melodic voices led men to their watery doom. Even though it was Lula who was calling him into the water and not a temptress of mist and fantasy, like those ancient mariners, Jordan knew his fate had been sealed from the moment she'd suggested they steal away to go skinny dipping.

They weren't kids anymore; Lula was well aware of the affection Jordan had for her. He'd been unable to think of little else but her since their kiss under the oak tree.

Sensing his hesitation, Lula turned away from him and plunged into the water. She swam far out to where she knew she could plant her feet on a sandbar; the water reached the bottom of her lip, but she didn't have to tread water.

She'd done this in order to allow the water to recover some of the modesty that she'd relinquished. She'd guessed that her reluctant swimming partner would feel more comfortable if he couldn't see

all

of her. The strategy had worked.

Jordan gasped when Lula's flawless form disappeared beneath the shimmering, inky waves. He'd not had enough time to drink in the vision her body had afforded his eyes. The sight of her standing in front of him a few seconds earlier was like a drug to him -- an addictive stimulant.

His body responded before his mind could tell him to think things through. He'd nearly broken his neck in an effort to shed his own clothes and join her in the cool, bracing waters.

Contrary to Justine's earlier tales, Lula was decidedly inexperienced. Her first sexual encounter with a man was still fresh in her memory. Her evening with Daniel had opened the door to her desire for an intimate relationship with someone for whom she cared deeply. If that someone could not be Daniel, she would have to love someone else.

As much as she thought she wanted this, she'd been ill-prepared for the sight of Jordan, gloriously nude and strolling unabashedly into the water to join her. She could not pull her eyes away from the sight of masculinity personified and, from what she could make out from her sandbar, aroused.

As he approached the water's edge, Jordan could sense that Lula was staring; however, with her back to the moon, Lula's face was hidden in silken shadows. From her vantage point, Lula had the advantage of being the spectator in a moonlit theater with the shoreline serving as the stage.

Every emotion on Jordan's face was as naked for the world to see as his own perfectly chiseled form. Watching the portrait of masculine beauty enter the water and swim towards her, Lula felt a tinge of guilt tugging at her heart.

Was this what she'd been waiting for? Was

he

what she'd been waiting for? Lula knew that soon, the answers to those questions would be irrelevant. She'd invited him to take her; he'd accepted the invitation.

She couldn't blame her desire on the peach wine even though it had served as liquid courage to motivate her to make the first move on Jordan. She couldn't even blame Daniel's open hostility and indifference towards her; Daniel had been trying hard not to be such an ass lately and had made quite a show of his affections for Justine -- the new woman in his life. Lula could only look to her own emotions and needs if she needed to blame anything for this impetuous behavior.

If kissing Jordan under the oak tree had revealed anything to her, it revealed that Daniel wasn't the only man who could arouse sensual stirrings in her. She couldn't deny that her feelings for Daniel were still very deep; every lustful look he stole at Justine was like a knife in her heart. She couldn't deny that she'd hoped that Daniel would be her first; but it was clear to her now that such fantasies were madness -- Daniel didn't want her in

that

way and he was convinced that it was wrong.

How could she enjoy being with Daniel if it only served to fill him with bitterness and regret?

Jordan had created a stirring in her that was different from the stirring that Daniel had created -- different, but not altogether less erotic or strong. Daniel's flame burned hot, wanton and reckless; Jordan's burned steady, temperate and strong. Both men were desirable; only one was obtainable.

Jordan was safe passion. Jordan was a rock. Lula was through beating her head against a wall.

In a few seconds, Jordan would be upon her. Lula swallowed a small lump in her throat in anticipation of the inevitable. She shivered and lightly chattered her teeth as she tread water; it was not the chill of the pond that had pricked her skin with goose bumps.

The consummate athlete, Jordan had caught up with Lula in just a few effortless strokes. He stood to his full height, his feet touching the bottom and the water just a few inches below his chin. Slipping a strong arm around Lu's waist, he supported Lu and pulled her to him until her lips were just a breath away from his.

His hand rested on the curve of her lower back; the length of their bodies pressed against each other. She felt good against him -- every inch of the woman she had become molded to his frame. He could feel her heart pounding inside her chest; he could hear the soft wisps of breath escaping her lungs -- shallow puffs of air quickening in rhythm with her heartbeat. She was clearly aroused.

His own enthusiasm pressed sure and strong between them; his intentions made obvious by the physical manifestation of his arousal, an arousal that not even the icy waters could belay. Every fiber of his being wanted to dive into her gentle embrace; to cling to her and inside her and never let her go. He thought his heart would burst with need.

"Lu, darlin'," Jordan's voice could hardly contain his want even though he was careful to speak softly and slowly, "I'm not sure I want to stop whatever is happening here tonight, but I will if you're not ready. We don't have to do anything more than swim."

Touched by his display of self-control, Lula took his face in her hands in response, "Jordan, if I didn't want to be here with you now, I wouldn't. I promise you, I know what I want tonight -- right here, right now."

As if to emphasize her point, Lula wrapped her legs around Jordan's powerful frame and squeezed her thighs together. The carnal man in Jordan leapt in response. Impossibly, the erection that pressed against their bellies stiffened still.

More surprisingly, Lu was fascinated and intrigued by this response and reached down between them to touch the thick, smooth member. What her eyes could not see beneath the water's surface, her hand comprehended as beautiful.

She'd made the right choice. Jordan was the man to whom she was meant to give herself. She was sure of it. Jordan loved her beyond measure and she truly loved him.

But did she love him enough to forget another set of steel-gray eyes that had pierced her soul every night for the past four nights in her dreams?

Jordan could make her happy, as she could him.

But would she be as happy as she could have been with Daniel?

Overcome by lust, Lula shook off these troubling doubts. There was no reason, not one, for her to consider abandoning her attentive paramour for a man who obviously didn't want anything to do with her in that way. She could make Jordan happy. She would make him happy.

Besides, she was horny as hell -- a fact that the practical side of her refused to let her forget.

Apparently, Jordan's own need was as pressing as hers. Lula could barely catch her breath when Jordan pulled her into a lingering kiss, deeper and more intense than the first one they'd shared under the majestic old oak. She had no intention of reasoning away the emotions behind

this

kiss.

Instead, she responded in kind, her soft tongue urgently insisting on entrance into his mouth. Jordan was happy to oblige. He could not deny his Lula anything she desired -- more's the better if the object of that desire was him.

As their kiss deepened, the tentative battle being waged by their tongues took on a life of its own. Jordan's strong, capable hands held the face of his beloved as he willed their souls to meld through that one powerful kiss. The kiss was the beginning of the end for both of them. The kiss was the end of their innocent childhood relationship; it signaled the beginning of Lula's introduction to the tenderness that could be shared between two souls.

Her brief time with Daniel had introduced her to passion. This moment with Jordan had introduced her to the tenderness that was lovemaking. No guilt, no fear of rejection -- just the fulfillment of intimate desires unfettered from anxiety and shame.

Lula wanted all these things -- love, passion, desire. She wanted them as any normal woman wants to be adored and loved. She wanted what Justine appeared to have in Daniel -- contentment.

Jordan pulled away from Lula and the kiss so that he could steal a glimpse of the beauty he'd had the unbelievably good fortune to claim as his own. The sadness he detected hanging between them like the delicate strands of a spider's web was discounted as Lula's reluctance to give up her last bastion of childhood security -- her friendship with Jordan.

He'd make sure she knew that no matter what happened this night, he'd always be her friend. He'd never stop loving her. He simply didn't know how to stop loving her; he wasn't quite sure he wanted to learn such a cruel trick anyway.

"Lula sweetheart, I am never gonna make you do something you don't want to do. You'll always be 'My Lula' no matter what happens tonight or twenty years from tonight. I will always love you," he promised through a gaze drunk with lust but tempered with adoration.

Lula shivered involuntarily before raising her eyes to meet his with her confident reply, "Jordan, if I'd thought otherwise, the world would probably cease to turn. I trust you. I care for you. I want you and I want to make you happy."

The fact that Lula was unable to declare her undying love for him was not lost on Jordan. However, he reasoned with himself that he'd loved her all his life -- Lula was just getting used to the idea of loving him the same way he loved her; she was unfamiliar with the intimacy that they were about to share. He'd make sure he didn't mislay the trust she'd given him. As if to seal this promise to her, Jordan pulled Lula into another intimate embrace.

As he held his precious intended, he allowed his large, calloused hands to caress the smooth, liquid planes of Lula's back. His left hand came to the apex of the firm, sculpted flesh of her ass before pulling her nearer into his own hard form. Lula mewled with satisfaction in response and tightened the embrace her thighs held around his waist.

They held each other in the cool July waters of the pond; each was captivated by the moment, ravenously devouring the other's lips in voracious desperation to release the coils of tension and desire squeezing their hearts.

This was only the second time Lula had let a man touch her so intimately and the feeling of Jordan's flesh against hers had made her realize that she didn't want this time to be her last. Jordan was euphoric with the sweet anticipation of consuming all of Lula and losing himself in exploration of her. In that moment, there was no one else; there was nothing else, but them.

Jordan had waited a lifetime to feel the smooth, taut flesh of Lula's belly against his naked flesh. He'd dreamt of running his fingers through her copper-tinted coils and tasting parts of her that were hidden from the eyes of her other admirers.

He'd come so far since taking that wooden bat to the head, courtesy of the eight-year old imp the woman in his arms had once been.

Now, on this night, Jordan would consummate his promise of undying love to her. He would claim her and make her his; he'd turn the lie he'd told his admiring comrades into the truth. He'd make Lula Corning "Big Jordan's" girl.

Lula wanted nothing more than to lose herself in Jordan's massive arms. She wanted and needed to taste his full, firm blossom of his lips; she wanted her tongue to taunt and lick the smooth flesh of his sculpted onyx chest. She wanted to consume him as much as she knew Jordan needed to consume her.

As if capable of reading each other's minds, the newly formed couple, lost in the Eros of that seemingly endless July evening, began their insatiable exploration of each other. Lula placed both of her hands on either side of Jordan's face and pulled him into another kiss -- this one almost punishing in its force.

Jordan responded in kind, his tongue once again demanding entrance to the tender trap of her sweet mouth. The hand that had so lovingly caressed the valleys just above Lula's derrière slipped lower to the soft folds of her clit where Jordan began gently stroking the supple, swollen petals of her entrance.

The sensation of Jordan's deft manipulation of her delicate womanhood forced Lula to throw her head back and emit a feral moan; her nails dug into the stone-carved flesh of Jordan's back as she fought to maintain a hold on reality. The familiar warmth between her thighs spread like a wildfire to her lower belly where it continued to feed itself -- stoking the pyres of a desire she'd wanted to release since the moment she'd invited Jordan to go swimming with her.