This chapter was edited to correct a date discrepancy/error that was driving me crazy -- no more, no less. Everything else in the story is exactly the same.
Thanks again Techsan for editing this piece. I hope my gratitude doesn't start to get boring. As always, all comments are welcome and appreciated.
DISCLAIMER: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS NO STEAMY SEX. NONE. NADA. ZIP. IF THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE LOOKING FOR...SORRY. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.
However, those of you interested in the dynamics of the two main characters, this chapter might be important to you. Hang in there...the steamy stuff is coming...I promise
Chapter 5
Ste-Mere-Eglise, France, June 6, 1944
That hot June evening almost three years ago and its aftermath always left a bitter taste in Daniel's mouth whenever his thoughts would turn to her. He should have handled it differently. Maybe then he would have had the chance to tell her how much she meant to him — how much he loved her; how that one night in her arms, in her room, had changed him forever.
Instead, he'd taken the coward's way out. He'd denied his feelings for her and lied to himself, wasting precious moments with the one person whose memory was now keeping him alive. Now, he was fighting for her and she didn't even know it.
Daniel shifted uncomfortably on the bed and bent down to loosen the tourniquet. He'd almost forgotten about that...almost. The throbbing in his leg began anew and in earnest now that he was no longer distracted, lost in thought. After he'd checked his leg and determined that the tourniquet was doing its job, he turned back to the window and the fireworks display the view provided him - courtesy of the Allied Forces and the Germans' resistance.
Had he known that the average life-expectancy of some of his fellow officers landing on the beaches of Normandy was about 32 seconds, he would have realized that he'd already beaten the odds just by surviving this long. Gratefully, he had no idea of the horrific casualties that the Allies were suffering on that day.
At this moment, his only thought was of surviving — one more second, one more minute, one more hour. The farm woman would come back for him. Of this he was certain. How could she not? The fates had been smiling on him this early morning -- but for how long?
By all accounts he should have died when his aircraft transport had veered off course from the target in the inclement weather only to come under heavy fire. He should have died when the wind carried him away from the drop zone and right in the center of their target, Ste-Mere-Eglise, precisely at the same moment the townsfolk, supervised by German soldiers, were in the midst of battling a fire.
With the town's alarm bells clanging, and the inhabitants yelling and bustling below in their futile attempts to save the burning house, Daniel couldn't have imagined a more dramatic entrance as he watched some of his comrades practically land in the Germans' laps. From his vantage point in the air, he could see that one unfortunate soldier's parachute had gotten caught on one of the spires of the town's church. The wretched soul hung there helplessly awaiting detection by the enemy, unable to free himself from his certain death-trap. Daniel's fate had been kinder.
Instead of being shot at like a fish in a barrel or landing directly in the chaotic conflagration below, he'd landed just outside the town...and shattered his leg. For precious seconds as he lay there awaiting inevitable detection and capture, he heard the screams of his fellow soldiers as they were cut down like clay pigeons on a skeet shooting range. The tragic farmers had rescued him from certain capture because fate had intervened.
Daniel was fated to become a farm woman's savior, not a martyr. At least that was what he hoped as he leaned his back against the ornate headboard of his impromptu hospital bed and turned his thoughts back to her, and everything he'd done wrong that following morning—after their encounter, after their near detection.
At the very least, he hoped he live long enough to erase some of his regret. He'd have to live long enough to make things right between them.
Plagued by thoughts of his own mortality and the countless reasons why he'd have to live, Daniel didn't notice the passage of time. He didn't notice that the throbbing in his leg had stopped, replaced by...nothing. He didn't even notice when his head dropped onto his chest and his eyes closed.
He thought he'd just rest his eyes for a second. If he closed them tight and concentrated, he could conjure that lovely cinnamon face that he'd held in his hands that sweet June evening. If he closed his eyes, just for a second, he could remember how she tasted; how wonderful she smelled; how enraptured he'd been when she arched her back and allowed him to give her infinite pleasure.
If he could just close his eyes for a second, he would be with her again.
If he just closed his eyes for a second...
Just one second.
He closed his eyes and he was with her again.
**************************************************
Raleigh, North Carolina— July 1, 1941
As always, morning came too soon for everyone in the Carven house, but it came much earlier for Daniel. Relieved Lu's mother hadn't stopped by to "speak" to him about his and Lu's "argument," Daniel still felt more than a little uncomfortable about the turn of events of the previous day and last evening. To make matters worse, he'd now resigned himself to the impossible task of avoiding Lu for the rest of the summer.
His plan — he believed — was a good one. He'd decided to wake up before the crack of dawn to make repairs to the smokehouse and barn and then head into town to order parts for the skeletal remains of the tractor. The tactic was designed to stay out and away from the house in order to avoid sitting at the breakfast table with the three women. At least this way he would put some additional time and the light of day between him and Lu and the turn of events from the night before.
The only problem with that strategy was that Lu had also decided to wake up with the tradesmen and make an early morning of catching up on chores that she'd neglected the day before. Spotting Daniel hauling planks of lumber in the direction of the smokehouse, Lu had decided that a dark, isolated building would be just the place to finish their "discussion" from last night. Besides, she needed a distraction from the conversation she'd had with her mother; and, the sight of Daniel's sweat-drenched body, his wet T-shirt already slick with perspiration and clinging to his body like a second skin, was simply too delectable to ignore.
Using a steaming cup of coffee as an excuse to venture out to the smokehouse, she sauntered out the door and towards the small building. She struggled to keep the cup level and the hot liquid in its place, but her shaking hands protested mightily, resulting in a few minor splashes. She burned her hands with the steaming brew and cursed bitterly under her breath as she walked down the path towards the smokehouse.
"Damn, girl!" Lu muttered to herself as she approached the building, the sounds of hammering and grunts concealing her approach. "Keep it together...you're just going to walk up to him and offer him a cup of coffee — no big deal, you idiot."
As she rounded the corner to the back of the smokehouse where Daniel was working and weaving a colorful tapestry of obscenities himself, Lu nearly lost what little was left of her composure. Whatever they were feeding him at West Point should have been packaged, patented and sold to all the men in Raleigh.
Lu had seen pictures of sculptures by masters who celebrated the male form — impossibly sculpted torsos, chests, legs and arms adorning smooth marble images of gods. Daniel could have served as their creator's muse. Somewhere between the time he'd disappeared behind the smokehouse and she'd had an opportunity to follow him, he'd shed his sweat-drenched t-shirt.
The skin of his bare torso, now glistening with perspiration, looked like it had been painted on top of the muscles underneath. His sun-kissed back and arms exploded with power even when his body wasn't in motion. She'd caught him unawares with his back to her, leaning his head against the rotted slats of the smokehouse and muttering unintelligibly to himself.
She couldn't be sure but Lu could've sworn that he was muttering obscenities as he inexplicably banged his forehead on the old wooden planks. He seemed frustrated beyond consolation; and, she wasn't sure she was supposed to see him in this state. Unfortunately, she couldn't tear her eyes away from him either.
Her hands ached to stroke the sculpted muscles of his back. She wanted to run her fingers through his dampened tendrils of coal-black hair, now a mass of unruly curls from the errant attentions of Daniel's large hands absent-mindedly running through them.
Thinking better of it, Lu made herself known by softly clearing her throat — she was desperate to find something witty and nonchalant to say in order to break the tension caused by her sudden invasion of what was obviously a private moment. The words didn't come fast enough. Startled, Daniel spun around on his heels to face a very meek and slightly embarrassed Lu holding a cup of coffee.
"I uh...I thought maybe you could use this since they probably made you give up cigarettes your first year at West Point," Lu fumbled — a weak attempt at levity and a reference to the previous night's activities.
Daniel studied her with annoyance, wondering just how much of that display she'd witnessed. He'd started working on removing the rotted slats in the back of the smokehouse, lost his concentration because of thoughts of her, and brought the claw-end of the hammer down on his fingers while trying to pry a particularly stubborn nail from its place. Although his finger had paid the price for his wandering mind, it was the realization that he was once again thinking of Lula that had brought the stream of curses and head-banging.
"What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me like that, Lu? You could have gotten yourself smacked in the head with a flying board or this goddamn hammer," Daniel scowled, once again over-compensating for other emotions he was trying to suppress.
"Oh, stop being such a pain in the ass curmudgeon," Lu waived a dismissive hand at him — she was actually grateful that he'd shaken her out of her Adonis-worship with his harsh tone.
"It's not like you're building the fucking sisteen chapel or anything," she scoffed.
"It's a freaking glorified outhouse for Christ's sake. Any average moron can fix the damn thing. Get it together, man. Here's a cup of coffee — or maybe you've already had too much of the stuff?" She withheld the steaming cup with mock suspicion before finally offering it up to him.
Daniel's eyes narrowed for a moment. He had suspicions of his own.
Since when did little miss "get it your own damn self" fetch coffee without being asked?
He reached out and took the offering from Lu's hand as if he half expected her fingers to turn into snakes.
