Her Blue-Eyed Corporal (Soldiers 0f Swing Book 2)

by Linda Ellen

  “Dumb doesn’t even cut it, Corporal,” she sneered back. “What were you thinking, driving for so long in the wrong direction—”

  “I said I’m sorry!”

  “Well, sorry’s not good enough!”

  He reeled back from that and then in one stride got right up in her face. “’Scuze me for livin’, lady. You ever made a dumb choice? Or are you Miss Perfect?”

  She blinked at that, and a fraction of her anger seemed to begin to fizzle out. But then she rallied again and jabbed a finger at his chest in an attempt to push him back. “Of course I have, this was all just so unnecess—”

  At that moment, a loud clap of thunder boomed directly overhead and they realized that while they had been trudging along and arguing, the unseasonably warm day had been the perfect breeding ground for stormy weather. Very quickly, blue sky had given way to angry clouds barreling over the tops of the trees. Their heated emotions had rendered them both oblivious.

  Switching in a heartbeat from anger to dread, Mary June met his eyes and murmured, “Oh no…if it starts to rain – what will we do?”

  Before he could say a word, the rain hit – an instant deluge.

  “Steve!” Mary June shrieked and brought her sweater up over her head.

  “Come on!” he yelled, grabbing her hand and pulling her along with him as she tried to keep her sweater up with the other hand. They were squealing and grunting, slipping and sliding, on the now wet railroad ties as they came the last of the way around the curve. Steve looked over to the right and there, just visible through the woods, was an old cabin. Is that what I think it is? It is!

  Without hesitating, he yelled, “Look there! Come on!” and helped her negotiate over the rails and into the woods. In about a minute, they were banging on the door of the old place – although they both knew no one was there, it was obviously deserted.

  The rain was coming down in sheets and they were quickly becoming soaked.

  “Oh Steve, do something!” Mary June screeched, and he threw caution to the winds and took action. Looking around he spied a rock on the ground, picked it up, and broke the corner of the window nearest the door. Carefully reaching through, sputtering rainwater drizzling down his face and lips, he growled and stretched until he felt the bar and handle.

  “Hurry!” his companion shrieked, bouncing up and down, the saturated sweater over her head providing practically no protection at all.

  “Hang on…almost got it…” he gave a soggy grimace. With a little creative maneuvering, he managed to get the bar to move and the door swung open, much to his relief.

  Steve immediately ushered her inside and shut the door firmly after them, sliding the bar back in place against the force of the rain and wind.

  Then, they both stood dripping and looking around at their temporary shelter…such as it was.

  Once Mary June’s eyes adjusted to the murky light coming from three grimy windows, she could see that they were standing inside what appeared to be a very old one-room cabin. The walls were chinked logs, and the pitched ceiling overhead had been fashioned from planked boards and rafters through which, surprisingly, no rain was dripping.

  A creek rock fireplace was inset in the wall opposite the door, with several old cast iron pots hanging from a black metal rod. On the hearth lay evidence of the last fire that had burned there, who knows when. Unexpectedly, a neat stack of firewood occupied the corner to its right. The wall on the left sported a small bed with a very dusty looking patchwork quilt and an old pillow, an apple crate and other items piled at the end. In the midst of the room stood a scarred wooden table with two spindly chairs, while a shelf on one wall held what appeared to be an assortment of bottles, jars, cans, and several tin plates.

  “What is this place?” she spoke into the musty air. The din of the storm beating down on the roof and against the windowpanes was blessedly muffled, although a spray of cold rain blew through the hole in the window Steve had broken to gain access.

  Steve had been looking around as well, and now he raised his hand to vaguely point out objects, as if to validate his realization. “I know what this place is…it’s an old hunting cabin. Gene told me about it. He said the locals sometimes use it if they’re out deer hunting. Even though it says No Trespassing on the signs, if the army doesn’t catch you, they can’t do anything. Anyway, he said this place was built in the early 1800’s, long before the government purchased the land for Fort Knox. When tracks were run through here, they just left the cabin the way it was. Gene said he and his dad and brother even spent the night here once when they got caught in a storm…something like we just did.”

  At that, Mary June whipped around and stared at him with wide eyes. “Do you think…we’ll have to stay the whole night?”

  He cleared his throat and shook his head. “No, no, probably not. I’m sure the rain will stop and then we can keep on going down…the track,” he added, remembering her near melt-down at how far they had come and how there seemed to be no civilization in sight.

  Mary June shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. “How can we stay here? It’s so…so dirty and…dusty…and there’s no food…I’m starving.” She paused, looking at him with pleading eyes, and added, “And I’m cold and wet.”

  Indeed, they were both making puddles on the dusty floor where they stood.

  That seemed to spur him into action and he flashed her a bright smile. “That I can fix. Gimme two shakes,” he said as he moved over to the woodpile, chose several pieces, gathered some kindling, and scooted over to hunker down and arrange the items in the hearth. Once he was satisfied, he reached into an inner pocket for his lighter, about which he quipped, “Gene’s been after me to quit, but one good thing about the smoking habit – I always have fire when I need it.” Finding an old piece of paper, he rolled it up and lit the end, then held it under his A-frame fire set until it took off. Soon, he had a nice, warm fire beginning to light the interior and chase the shadows away, making the old place feel cozy.

  Mary June had hung her dripping sweater from two pegs on the mantel above the fireplace and now reached toward him.

  “Give me your jacket and I’ll hang it up to dry.”

  “Thanks,” he murmured as he peeled off the wet wool garment. Handing it and his soaked Garrison to her, he looked around and spotted the shelf she had seen earlier.

  “Now for the solution to another of our problems. Wonder if any of our intrepid hunters left anything edible that could tide over some starving stranded vagabonds.”

  Glancing over from arranging his jacket and cap, she smirked with mock insult, “Speak for yourself, Bucko. I’m no vagabond.”

  He laughed for the first time in hours and shot her a wink. “No, ma’am, you most certainly are not.”

  Thunder cracked overhead and lightning flashed, brightening up the interior as their eyes met and held. She wondered if he was thinking about the fact that they very well could be stuck there, together, all night. The thought made her shiver again, but not merely due to the chill. He had taken care of that problem, and the little cabin was on its way to feeling quite comfortable. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to spend that much time in his presence…especially if he turned into a Grumpy Gus again.

  However, he’d noticed her shiver and nodded toward her blouse. “Why don’t you take off that wet blouse—” he hesitated as her eyes opened wide and then hurriedly continued, “and put on that old shirt hanging there while yours dries. You’ll get warm quicker.” He gestured at his own shirt, adding, “Mine’s just damp.”

  Swallowing, Mary June gave him a shy little nod before turning and spotting an old plaid flannel shirt hanging on a peg and she walked to it, took it down, and shook out the dust.

  Steve looked around the room again, and then walked over to rummage through boxes and stacks of items, making sure he kept his back to his companion. She looked over her shoulder and watched him as she quickly unbuttoned her blouse, let it slide off her arms, and then wr
iggled into the too-large shirt. She quickly buttoned it up before looking down at herself with a giggle, and then set about rolling up the sleeves and tying the bottom into a knot at her waist.

  She glanced back at Steve, pleased to find his back still turned as she stepped over to the mantel and hung her blouse on another peg, and then looked around and picked her way across to the broken window. Searching for something to fit the windowsill, she found a piece of wood on the floor near the wall. She picked it up and wedged it into place, pleased that although it blocked some of the light, it kept the rain and wind from finding its way inside. Stepping back, she brushed her hands together and mumbled, “That helps.”

  Mary June turned her head and spotted an old broom propped against the wall with a cloth draped on the handle. Picking them up, she figured it couldn’t hurt to sweep and wipe a little of the debris, cobwebs, and years of neglect away—if they were going to make the place home for a while. She set about doing just that and in a few minutes, their little abode felt much more comfortable.

  Then, Steve walked over to the table with his arms full. “I found a couple of old cans of beans on that shelf, and a pack on the floor over there,” he said as he laid the items down. “The pack must have been left here some time ago. I found some jerky and some corned beef, a box of raisins, and a small tin of instant coffee,” he grinned. Then raising his eyebrows teasingly, he reached down into one of the pockets of his jacket and produced a small object wrapped in foil. “And for your added pleasure, a pack of salted peanuts—I got ’em at the movies a few weeks back and didn’t eat ’em.”

  Mary June’s eyes widened and she gasped, “Oh! I forgot…” She reached for her pocketbook and rummaged around until she found a Hershey’s bar, producing it with a flourish. “Dessert!”

  They both laughed and stood for a few seconds, smiling into one another’s eyes.

  Mary June got the distinct impression that Steve was feeling the same thing as she – that their fiasco of an afternoon had just taken a turn for the better and become, for both of them, an adventure in the woods.

  CHAPTER 16

  Steve propped himself back on his elbow and smiled at his companion. It mattered little to either of them now, that the freak autumn storm was still raging all around their cozy little nest in the woods. They were warm, dry, contentedly full, and relaxing in front of a lovely blazing fire.

  Mary June had suggested they drag the mattress off the bed and position it in front of the fireplace for extra warmth and comfort after they had eaten their fill of the scavenged dinner.

  Earlier, Steve had reached out the back door and set one of the pots under the rushing stream of water pouring off the roof. Filling it up, he washed the utensil out the best he could, dumped two cans of beans and a tin of corned beef inside, and positioned it on its hook over the fire.

  Mary June had wiped out the tin plates, as well as two tin coffee cups, filled an old coffee pot with rain water, and they had worked together to prepare surprisingly palatable cups of instant coffee, sweetened with bits of chocolate. Then, with everything they had foraged in place, they managed to put together a filling and tasty meal. By mutual agreement, they had decided to save the beef jerky for their trek out – whenever that would be.

  Once the small table was set, they stood back and congratulated themselves on a job well done. With a gentlemanly gesture, as if they were a married couple, Steve seated her in one chair and he took the other. They had grasped hands, bowed their heads, and said grace over their meal—thanking God for the provision and for their wonderful haven in the midst of the storm. Both agreed that beans and corned beef had never tasted so good.

  Now, he relaxed as he watched his companion slowly and thoughtfully combing through her hair with a comb she had dug out of her purse. The Victory Rolls from earlier were long gone—melted away by the force of the rain…but not in the steam of passion, he silently quipped.

  She glanced at him and caught his perusal. However, not wanting her to read his provocative thoughts in his eyes, he cleared his throat and cast around for something to say. “Sounds like the storm isn’t letting up yet.”

  “Yeah,” she replied softly, looking over toward the window, but she couldn’t see out – evening had come and darkness had descended. They both knew that even if it stopped raining that instant, they were still stuck until morning. Neither had any desire to even attempt to find their way through a wet forest in the dark.

  He stared into the fire, trying not to let himself think about the very fetching young woman sitting no more than two feet away. If he were the sort to take advantage of a girl, this would be the perfect opportunity. But then, what kind of “hero” would that make him? Besides that, even though he wasn’t normally a church-going man, he had a healthy respect for God and His commandments. Basically, he didn’t want to cross Him.

  Mary June pleasantly sighed and drew her stocking-clad legs up, wrapping her arms loosely about them and tucking her skirt modestly underneath. She’d discarded her shoes long ago, and placed them near the hearth to dry. Now, she absently rubbed one foot as she stared contemplatively into the flames.

  “Are your feet okay…after all that walking in those heels?”

  With a nod, she turned her focus his way. “Yes. No blisters, thank God.”

  “That’s good.”

  He let his eyes run over her profile. Her smooth, lightly freckled face, her slender fingers with glossy, red polished nails, her shapely calves and delicate feet, the old shirt she was wearing—it amazed him that she could look good even in faded flannel, and her long wavy hair flowing down her back, highlighted by the flickering firelight, altogether made a lovely picture.

  No doubt about it, she drew him like a moth to a flame, as the old saying went. His hands tingled with the yearning to hold and caress her…

  He pulled a deep breath in through his nose as a tiny spark of desire suddenly ramped up to a roaring blaze, and silently admonished, Get your mind on something else, Corporal!

  Casting around, he cleared his throat and offered, “Um…I think there’s a checkerboard over there…would you want to play?”

  She looked over at him, her expression a trifle dreamy. “I guess.”

  “Okay, good,” he grinned, feeling relieved, and turned to roll off the mattress; sock footed, padding his way over to where he’d seen the board. Pretty soon, he came back with it and the checkers. “I think they’re all here.”

  She scooted back and made room, as he laid the homemade game board down in the center of the mattress, dumping the loose checkers—made from old bottle caps painted red and black—on top. She giggled when she saw the hand-fashioned items.

  “Dibs on red!” they both called, and then burst out laughing.

  “Since I pride myself on being a gentleman,” he bowed from the waist in a courtly display. “You may have it.”

  “Thank you, Sir Stephen,” she demurred with the air of a princess. He plunked himself down with a lopsided grin and they both set about setting their pieces in place.

  When they were finished, he glanced up and grinned over at her, thinking, this will be a short game. “Thou mayest have the first play, milady.”

  She nodded again, and made a careful move.

  Steve raised an eyebrow, and moved a corresponding piece on the other side of the board. She moved again, as did he, then back and forth until his only option was to move into position for her to jump two of his pieces. He stared at the board, wondering how he – the checkers champion of Carmel, Indiana – could have let himself get in such sad shape so fast. Hoping she wouldn’t realize the fix he was in, he moved. Her eyes were twinkling up at him, and he knew he was about to be torpedoed. She jumped two of his pieces, her soft laughter tinkling as she put them next to the board on her side.

  With a sigh, he moved again, and it wasn’t long before she bested him. He looked up at her and growled. “I haven’t lost a game of checkers in fifteen years.”

  “Neither have
I,” she giggled. “I used to play all the time with my brother, and learned all of his moves. Then, once he couldn’t beat me anymore, he quit taking my challenges.”

  He shook his head. “I’m stuck in a cabin with a checkers shark. Who’da thunk?” Then turning her way again, his perusal landed on the old shirt she was wearing, and then her blouse still on its peg, and he inclined his head, tongue-in-cheek. “She’s fond of wearing plaids and checks—that should have clued me in.”

  She laughed and picked up several of the pieces, gesturing as she asked, “Best two out of three?”

  He shook his head and flopped over on his side. “Nah. One is all my pride can handle, I’m afraid.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Bock bock.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  He shook his head again and grinned. “No, Kemo Sabe. Tonto smart Indian. He savvy who win game if play again.”

  She gave a carefree lift of one shoulder and plopped down on her side facing him, with the board between them. Reaching out and fingering one of her unused pieces, she let herself study him from his socks to the top of his head. Watching the journey of her eyes, he felt tingles run up his body and back down, as if he could feel a physical touch from the force of her gaze.

  Without thinking, he murmured, “You like what you see?”

  Her face colored, but she gave another little shrug and met his eyes. “Maybe.”

  He raised his eyebrows and gave a slow nod. “Ahh.”

  Then, as if she realized she was heading into deep waters, she moistened her lips and swallowed, backpedaling as she cast about for something to say. Finally, she met his eyes again and asked, “What’s it like at the plant? I’ve never even seen more than the front gate…”

  Steve pursed his lips, picturing the huge facility. He’d been there eight months and even he hadn’t seen it all.

  “It’s so huge, you just can’t believe it once you’re in there. Not just the grounds, but the manufacturing buildings, too. Everything is massive. The powder plant itself—the production lines go on and on with thousands of workers making the smokeless powder for cannons and rifles…hundreds of employees moving product around to the shipping and storage areas. The finished munitions are stored in 177 barrel-shaped, earth-covered magazines—igloos made of steel and reinforced concrete.