Enchanted Canyon: Yesterday’S Tomorrow

ENCHANTED

CANYON

Yesterday’s Tomorrow

Somewhere between now and then

by

Truman Rock

An Adventure Between Two Times

A Love Story in Time

A Story That Cheats the Trickster That Is Time

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©

Copyright 2012 Truman Rock.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn:

978-1-4669-1189-5 (sc)

isbn:

978-1-4669-1190-1 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012900849

Trafford rev. 05/07/2012

7-Copyright-Trafford_Logo.ai www.trafford.com

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Dedication

A Moment with the Author

PART ONE

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

PART TWO

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

PART THREE

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

PART FOUR

Chapter 31

Acknowledgments

Again to Joseph Kennedy, my cousin, for his help rough-drafting my handwritten pages and for his timely suggestions.

Again, also, to Patricia Serio for typing all the rewrites.

To my editor, Connie Pollock, for such an excellent job with

Enchanted Canyon.

The cover design and illustrations are by the author,

with assistance from TLC Publishing, Roseville, California.

Enchanted Canyon is dedicated to the memory of Skip Spotts Jr. of North Platte, Nebraska, my hunting buddy and friend.

Dedication

Enchanted Canyon is a moment that reflects stories and places the author experienced during hunting trips to western Nebraska. Enchanted Canyon is dedicated to the memory of my hunting partner Skip Spotts Jr., who passed away in 2008 before this book was completed. It is also dedicated to his wife Cathy.

Skip was a friend, a hunting partner, and a fellow veteran of the U.S. Navy. He and I spent many a cold day out on the Frenchman Hunting Preserve, thinking we were hunting deer, when it was all about developing a friendship. Whether we produced a deer or not, there were always stories about old Fort McPherson, the Nebraska Sand Hills, the Oregon Trail, and very old abandoned farms and ranch steads, each making the Nebraska hills come alive for me. It was never just a deer hunt. For me it was a life exposed.

The photo is Skip and me after a day of hunting. Skip is on my left, and I am the wild-looking one with sunglasses.

A Moment with the Author

You must write

it as if you dreamed it, that’s where living one’s life comes in. If you have never traveled, never visited ancient places, even touched remnants of ancient past civilizations, never loved or lost, never won, or received a gift beyond your expectations, or gifted from your heart, then it’s difficult to have your words form pictures and have weight.

After all, that’s what writing fictional stories is about. Bringing it together, creating characters and imagined lands, and setting down daydreams. If what develops as a story seems to be real, then the words have weight. It is my attempt at these weighted words that produced Enchanted Canyon, now a memory for me.

PART ONE

An adventure between two times

A story that cheats the trickster that is time

Prologue

YESTERDAY

An Ancient Luminal Flash Ship’s Voyage to Earth

There is only one of me in all of time and in the entire universe, thought Siren, captain of the luminal flash ship E-DON, as they began to drop from light speed. Her abstract thinking echoed again, All of time, one of me.

The luminal starlight in the command center gave everything a blue glow. Occasionally a chime sounded, short tones followed by longer tones. Talking was not the norm as the ship soared in orbit.

Siren noticed a light coating of dust on some equipment. The environment officer smiled. Nice touch.

Siren nodded. It did connect all of this stellar travel with home. Obviously it was intentional. Dust, what a subtle thought.

She felt something, like billowing storm clouds building and signaling change. The E-DON had just made a seventy-light-year crossing, an eclipse of a day in Siren’s time. Nothing in the universe is a single journey, there is always a starting and then a truth or a deception that defines the next step.

The sleep ships of old, she thought. Hundreds of years of travel lost to time. What they had tried to outrace, to cheat and bypass, had itself passed them. She touched her chest where her heart beat, feeling a kinship with those other captains and crews, aboard ships that lived forever in eternal sleep heading for yesterday’s dawn, a thousand years of tomorrow. Somewhere out there . . .

With her hand still at her heart, she gazed out upon the universe, considering the sleep ships and the E-DON being at their destination when they arrived and awoke. Here she was, her craft about to drop from luminal speed, arriving at her stellar destination and finding no evidence that she had overtaken any of the earlier, more primitive sleep star ships. Had they not survived the crossing?

She dropped her hand from her heart, setting it on her command seat’s armrest. She had marveled at the E-DON’s crossing, which had been launched after a beacon from the Sleep Ship T.K.K., more than thirty-three thousand years away. The images recovered from the returning beacon so excited everyone on Siren’s planet Edon that a decision was made to send the newest star ship in pursuit, and the advanced star ship had crossed the universe in one day. Siren was excited about meeting those from her world, thirty-three thousand years back.

Sometimes these feelings overwhelmed her, especially now that she was the captain of the first luminal star ship. Her take-charge attitude often overrode her womanly nature. Certainly she had chosen this important position, which required a certain professional distance from her personal emotions. But there were always those moments when she boiled over with loneliness and the simple desire to be just a woman loved by her man.

Siren possessed a quality that caused everyone to notice her. Other women found themselves lacking when they compared themselves to her, so Siren had few female friends. Men longed for her, but they also, in comparison, found themselves falling short and did not approach her, fearing rejection. This added up to a lonely life for Siren.

In reality, Siren was no different from others who lived on Edon. The exceptions were that she was the daughter of the world’s mother, a way-knower and Edon’s next mother, and she had achieved the lofty position of star ship captain.

Siren had the high brow of her family, and her granite-gray eyes spoke of the mysteries she had witnessed. Her prominent cheekbones and slightly tapered eyes gave her an exotic appearance. She wore her rich, deep chestnut hair swirled atop her head or loose to brush her shoulders. Either way it always shimmered with a quiet red flame. Her alabaster white skin at times reflected a bluish hue, as if washed in a full moon’s radiance. Her lips were as soft and plush as her full breasts, so much so that anyone who gazed too long at either feature might forget what they were saying to her. Those who stared into her eyes might experience a fright, seeing in there such a fierce determination of purpose that they backed off, fearful of taking the chance of getting to know her.

Siren’s reverie was shattered by the flight officer. Captain, we are reversing reflectors to drop out of light speed. We are right on course.

The engineer smiled. He had rigged up two computers, one looking back and one scanning the pulse stars. Siren admired the engineer’s ingenuity. Advanced science always required a degree of improvisation.

Star travel like this was so new to everyone. How lucky her home world had been. The star closest to it—just half a light year’s distance—had produced technology that allowed luminal ships to evolve in a way that made journeys of great distances possible.

Siren stood, her eyes surveying the command room. She pondered her planet’s decision to travel to the world the ship T.K.K. had found. Thirty-three thousand years’ distance in time—what would that produce? Did the T.K.K. repair and continue? Did it remain, and, if so, did the crew survive? Survive? A colony without support? Siren thought that would have been very difficult, to say the least.

She wrapped her arms around her torso. She needed a close contact at this moment, a small comfort that being in command never offered. In a flash, she glimpsed the warmth of a man’s embrace. Again, her daydream moment was interrupted.

Captain, the ship’s navigator announced, the ship is slowing and has transcended luminal speed. Siren glanced at the fore and aft screens. A beautiful brilliant light in the forward screen signaled that they had made the crossing, the star system they were heading for was in sight. Wow.

Reflectors are reversed and we are thirty-eight light minutes out at sub-light speed, captain, the navigator continued. Right on target. The three pulsing beacons have confirmed that our position is correct.

Siren turned to her command officers and saw in their faces a sign of accomplishment. Open all emergency frequencies and have a signal broadcast on every possible frequency in case there is an automated receiver response from the T.K.K., she ordered.

Yes, captain, came the response in chorus. The crew was excited about being so far from home and preparing to orbit in a new star system.

The assistant flight commander spoke up. Thirty-three thousand years—is it possible anyone or some piece of equipment will hear us?

We have to try, Siren intoned. We have to try! she repeated. We can’t just go out like a flame.

The engineer, a woman as lovely as Siren, announced, Reflectors are retracted and stowed.

Siren nodded, and the engineer continued reporting the standard in-flight data. Siren’s eyes were fixed on the blue-white, almost blinding, light from the star her ship had searched for, found, and approached for a rendezvous with a thirty-three-thousand-year-old question. The probe from the ship T.K.K. had indicated the star—an M class clustered with five known worlds of inhabitants—was now in front of them. She wondered about the crew of the T.K.K. For sure the crew’s influence would have advanced the civilization there. Siren absorbed the light of the star before her and let it warm her soul.

Captain, the ship has settled into sub-light speed. We are twelve light minutes out from the system. Will we orbit the Twins?

Siren gave the command for orbit preparation. Yes, the Twins will be fine. Navigation, light up the system and show me the five planets the probe indicates are inhabitable and especially the Twins.

Yes, captain. The larger screen lit up projecting the solar bodies of the system they were heading for. Instantly everyone gasped.

Holy E-DON! Captain, this is all so different. Look! The Twins are gone and only rubble orbits in their stead.

What happened? one of the navigation officers blurted. No one responded, still in shock after seeing the Twin planets gone.

Siren’s second flight captain said, A round-trip journey of one hundred seventy light-years is a long time exposed to change.

As the E-DON crew members surveyed the system before them, it became obvious that the Red planet, fourth from the sun, was desolate and absent its water and its heavy atmosphere of one hundred seventy light-years ago. The White Pearl, second from the star, was eight times its original heat, and the third planet out from the star was now blue, not green. The planet looked flooded, compared to the way it had looked one hundred seventy light-years back.

Head to number three, Siren ordered. The Twin planets, fifth and sixth from the star, were now orbiting asteroid rubble.

The silence in the command space of the luminal ship reflected the silence of deep space. Siren caught her breath. What’s happened. Any life signs? Any technology?

No, captain, the probe officer replied. Nothing is vibrating.

Not even the third world? Siren asked.

Nothing artificial, came the response. Nothing is making any noise, but it should have life. Good atmosphere and the temperature is in our range.

Someone should be home, Siren murmured. Coming back to her command behavior, the captain said briskly, Thank you, navigation. Then she gave another order again, Orbit the third one.

Yes, captain.

Send out a scout to survey the other worlds.

Yes, captain.

Excuse me, captain, we are in orbit, the sub-commander spoke.

Navigation, Siren ordered, play the tapes of the probe sent out from T.K.K.

Siren watched the screen. Mars looked like a soft, ripe orange-red fruit dotted with azure oceans and puffy white clouds. Next the Twins, one was a land with a few oceans and another water world with a smattering of islands and white clouds. The smallest one, with pearl-white clouds filling the sky, showed no ground features. Last, the green planet, three, showing lakes, oceans, and land masses, with its lush emerald growth on the surface.

Captain, we are in a fixed orbit at number three.

Thank you, Siren answered softly, belying the intensity of wonder and apprehension swelling in her soul.

Chapter 1

She walks in darkness, like the void of space.

Her voyage in time, in time for her to love.

She is the song that eludes memory, but strikes the heart’s notes forever.

THE NEBRASKA SAND HILLS

1859

THE STAR SHIP E-DON ORBITS ABOVE

On planet Earth,

near a cow town in Nebraska, North Platte, to be exact, in 1859, a few cowhands and townsfolk saw a quick flash of colorful light in the sky. It faded quickly, and they returned to what they were doing.

A few miles out of town, as the gentle prairie breeze blew the cottonwood leaves against the tree line next to the windmill water tank, two trail hands, Slim and Dakota, stopped for a smoke.

Hear how dry them leaves are? Dakota said.

Going to be an early winter, look at all them ants and the prairie dogs packing in the chow, answered Slim, whose wind-worn complexion had been tanned by the hot summer’s sun and frostbitten by winter’s snow. Slim slung his left foot, encased in sharp-toed boots, from the stirrup and shot it across his saddle horn.

His horse whinnied. Shush! Slim whispered to his mount, and the horse calmed down, its withers flinching. Out of Slim’s shirt pocket came a cloth bag of cut tobacco. He opened it with his teeth, pulling on the string, and retrieved a cigarette paper, which he cradled between his two forefingers. He shook out a measure of tobacco into the paper, pulled the drawstring shut with his teeth, and using two fingers and the thumb of his left hand, he rolled his cigarette. He licked the paper, finishing the job of a custom smoke, and he planted it between his time-worn lips.

Dakota, who also exhibited range-worn brown skin and was in need of a haircut and a shave, not to mention a bath, had cut a chaw and was giving it hell as he worked it into a pliable mass that he could cheek and begin spitting.

Spitta! Dakota’s sun and wind-parched lips puckered and out shot a tar-colored mass that splattered atop an anthill that both riders were staring at as they took a break from fence riding on the North Platte range. Look at them fuckers squirming in my spit! Dakota mumbled as he watched the ants struggle in the sticky juice.

Slim pulled a tin bandage box from his other shirt pocket, opened it, and took out a wooden match, the kind you could strike anywhere. Raising it to the just-rolled cigarette hanging from his lips, he popped his thumbnail on the match tip and it flared in a yellow-orange sulfurous flash.

Instantly he moved the flame to his cigarette and drew in. The cigarette’s end glowed red as his eyes caught another flare of light up in the sky—a brilliant sort of rainbow in an unusual shape. Even thought there was not a rain cloud in the sky, there was a tremendous clap of thunder that shook both riders to the seat of their britches. Both horses bolted. Slim went flying off into the sandy prairie grass, and Dakota, nearly swallowing his chaw, held his seat. He caught the reins of Slim’s horse and settled it down.

Getting up, cigarette still lit and clamped between his lips, Slim grumbled, Goddamn! That’s the first time ol’ Jebb has ever thrown me! Dusting off his jeans, he remounted.

What the fuck was that? Landing in his saddle, he added, Have you ever seen a round rainbow? Where is all the gold?

In the center, Dakota joked and spat.

Looking back into the western sky, neither rider saw any more evidence of what had just spooked their mounts and had momentarily dazzled their squinted eyes. But the luminal ship E-DON was now in a stationary orbit over North Platte, about a hundred miles above Earth’s surface.

*       *       *

Captain, we are in stabilized orbit. We are viewing many settlements of various sizes, however, there seems to be no electronic chatter or other com noise. If the old ship’s crew were stranded here, there is no evidence.

Chapter 2

If it weren’t for winter, how would you know summer was at hand?

Were it not for a pocketwatch, you would never wonder where time went.

It would all just be sun-up, sunset, day in and day out.

Where does the summer go?

CALIFORNIA

NOVEMBER, 1992

Fall again, cooler

days and colder nights, trees flaring in gold and red, fiery leaves rattling in the rustling breeze—Traver was relieved. The long days of summer heat were behind him, no more of that get up at 5 a.m., grab a cup of coffee, go out to the field, pack and cut fruit for shipping and drying till 4 p.m., go into the house for a shower, eat, and sleep. Then repeat, for seven days a week. Now he was preparing for a deer-hunting trip to Nebraska.

The pungent smells of summer—of ripe fruit, freshly disked dirt, weed and grass aromas—had given way to the acrid aromas of the busy LAX airport, jet fuel and fast food, lightened by the occasional and delightful fragrance of French perfume on a passing female passenger.

But his destination, the sand hills of Nebraska, with their quietness and stillness, with the scent of cedar trees and the absolute aloneness of where he deer hunted, crowded his senses. This was so attractive to him after an intense summer of work. He couldn’t wait to leave California.

Deer hunting didn’t always mean that a buck was shot. That sassiness of thinking reflected Travers’s life experiences. Looking at his large hands, calloused from the summer’s farming, he saw all sorts of memories surfacing as instant flashes in his thoughts as he sat in the terminal at LAX. He was a fit older person, though not the figure he cut as a combat Marine in Vietnam. He still had that military haircut—high and tight—but his hair was now silver instead of the black of his youth. That thousand-yard stare remained a part of how he evaluated a situation. And yet those soft brown eyes could be the quality everyone remembered. His lips did not move in idle chatter, his graying mustache covered his upper lip, nothing special, just a run-of-the-mill mustache.

He had a youthful complexion that hid his years. His six-foot-two-inch height was commanding and he never slouched. He had been called antisocial and corrected the speaker. He was choice social. He had been accused of being non-aggressive. That always made him chuckle. They should have been in Vietnam with him. But these comments, usually made by women, showed how unlikely he would be to create a deep relationship with the speaker.

He had always felt comfortable in not rushing into a relationship. It usually turned out that the goal of his interest had a fantasy image of herself reflective of what TV suggested a woman should be. He looked at romantic relationships as assets, but he knew that his heart was a better judge of female character. He did not have a lot of girlfriends, but those he chose to date all had that special something—that honest view of self he valued. So Traver Wells was just one of the few men satisfied with where he was, a man still searching for that very special partner.

Traver looked about the waiting area LAX Terminal 3. What a mixture of people all heading somewhere. The PA system blared, Flight 87 is now boarding, Gate 38-D. First class and special needs passengers first, please. He stood up, grabbed his carry-on, and picked up the trash magazine he had bought at the coffee shop on his way to the waiting area. He had considered leaving the magazine, but he had not read it completely, and the article about two children from 1862 found on a national historic Civil War battlefield back East had caught his interest. A boy twelve years old and a girl six, wearing clothes in the style of the 1860s, were discovered wandering and dazed. How did this occur and who determined they were from the 1860s? The possibility of this being true interested Traver, and he hoped the article wasn’t a bunch of crap. He had some feelings about time travel and was hoping it was really true.

After he gathered his stuff and lazily walked over to 38-D, he handed his boarding pass to a handsome gal. Their eyes connected for a moment, she smiled, her lips parted, and she wished him a pleasant flight, handing back half of the boarding pass. He took that extra moment of eye contact and thought how he would enjoy getting to know this gal.

As he had grown older, he had become comfortable living by himself and had begun to enjoy flirting with women more than dating them. If he wanted to be quiet, he could do so without being continually nagged, What’s the matter? He smiled inwardly. What’s the matter? Equals, Nothing! He truly did not miss that irritating behavior by a gal who thinks she can discover something very valuable to tease their date with.

Still looking at the ticket agent attendant, in that space of a millisecond, Traver wondered if she would exhibit some of those behaviors that he disliked so much? He clutched his half of the boarding pass and tramped down the jetway. The jet fumes were so strong that he sneezed and then coughed. Boy, will I be glad to get out of the airport and all the pollution! Sometimes he thought that the technological advancements that produced all the junk in the air weren’t worth it. Maybe a slower life and simpler technology would be better. That’s why he enjoyed sitting out in the cold, open canyons, sipping hot, black coffee and hoping no deer would come along to interrupt that. I don’t need to kill a deer to have a great hunt. Out in the Sand Hills he lost track of time.

The clot of passengers began to disappear as passengers found their seats. He entered the plane’s hatchway, and two flight attendants greeted him and pointed out row six for him.

Ahhh . . . Traver flopped down, totally relaxed, in the business-class seat of the Boeing 737 Mid West Express Jet. Embraced by soft leather, he closed his eyes, forgetting the long drive from Fresno, the crazy traffic on the 405 in L.A., and the T.S.A. hassles. All that behind him, Traver was ready for three hours of napping. Relaxing and reading for enjoyment, perhaps starting a letter or two, and having a few Pepsis. His eyes were closed but his ears were absorbing the activity of passengers loading, storage bins banging closed, seat belts snapping shut, and the various levels of talking. Suddenly, his nose was tickled by a delicate fragrance. It had to be a woman. He grinned. Well, some men in California had a tendency to smell good. He focused on that faint and fragile scent. It brought up memories of a warm Florida evening, a mixture of rain shower, orange blossoms, and a touch of magnolia. That led to thoughts of the smoked mullet at the Sea Breeze restaurant out on the 22nd Street causeway and its crab cakes with Tabasco sauce and lemon. Then he was snared back to the fragrance, no doubt belonging to a goddess. What was that scent? Maybe it was an exotic scent he had smelled at Penney’s perfume counter the other day when he had gone to the mall to shop? He always enjoyed seeing the fine-looking gals there trying on different scents. One attractive blond there had blue sparkling eyes with a glimmering hint of emerald. She had requested Opium perfume. She was smartly dressed in a western shirt that showed off her breasts, faded jeans that accented her rear, and polished Western boots lifted her to at least five-eight or five-ten. Nope, this scent wasn’t Opium, but he had smelled it when he was a kid in Florida at his uncle’s place. He began to think of his home as a young kid growing up.

Excuse me, you are in my seat. A soft feminine voice spoke with a warmth that complemented the fragrance he had scented. His eyes opened, and his head turned. There stood a striking woman in a gray business suit, rather chesty with a well-developed physique. He looked up to her face, crowned by brown hair and accented with dark eyes, red lips, and a smile that undid every bit of structure he had. Immediately, Traver thought this girl was surely a dream. He would wake from a nap quickly. A second or two passed. No dream. She was standing there, boarding pass in hand, looking at him.

I am? Traver stuttered and got up. She looked at her ticket. Business Class, C-6, aisle, she said. He pulled out his boarding pass: Business Class, C-6, window.

He smiled. Sorry. He scooted into the window seat and sat back down, buckling his seat belt, looking back at her and smiling.

Thank you. Her eyes held him a moment before she sat down in the aisle seat he had just occupied.

Jeee, how lucky can I get? A hot chick to visit with on the flight to Omaha. He leaned over, said Excuse me, and reached to the pouch on the seat in front of her for his trash magazine. She smiled. You don’t believe all the stuff that’s written in there, do you?

Traver grinned. I do and I don’t. For example, look at the headlines. He opened the magazine to the article Children from Civil War Battle Grounds Show Up from the 1860’s.

Well, that’s interesting, she said. I think that’s possible.

He said casually and grinned, Or it’s a crock of shit!

How so? she said in a rather genuine way.

How so? he repeated. Dimensionally I suspect anything is possible, but I wonder how a physical property can transcend dimensions or planes? It’s like, did the two time dimensions, the 1860’s and today, touch and the children pass from one to the other or did something cause their physical makeup to change and reassemble in the future? He paused and looked over at her. What makes it sound phony is the article says the government has the two children in a secluded place. Well, if two children from the Civil War were found wandering around a battlefield in today’s time, someone other than a trash magazine would surely know about it. You know, like WOLF News.

I know what you mean, the lady said. The headline is a grabber, but the story turns out to be very questionable at its conclusion.

Your seat belt, sir. The cabin attendant touched Traver’s shoulder.

Oh, yes, thank you. He turned to continue his conversation, but the C-6 aisle goddess had closed her eyes, her hands clasped and resting in her lap. He observed her for a long moment. Her curly dark brown hair had hints of gray, her cheekbones were a bit pronounced, and her lips were perfect. Under her business suit jacket her ample chest was rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. Discreetly Traver glanced at a bit of her thighs as her skirt had hiked up past her knees. Strong leg and thigh muscles, this lady was in very good physical shape. Traver respected that, wondering for a moment what she did for a living.

As the passengers settled down, the intercom came active with a flight attendant going through the emergency procedures. Traver peeked to see if the lady had opened her eyes. No, she was still in the same position. Maybe I won’t get to visit with this goddess if she sleeps the entire trip. He didn’t like that thought.

His thoughts were going everywhere, things popped up and as quickly disappeared. He thought about the two Civil War children. He was sure the picture in the magazine was posed with present-day models. The article mentioned how calm the children were regarding where they had come from and where they had found themselves.

Where HAD they come from? The article said the 1860’s. He thought that was probably literary license. What would these two kids be thinking? Were they on the battlefield or in a home not far from the battlefield? Traver felt like he was on the battlefield, the roaring jets sounding like the booming of cannons. He heard small arms fire snapping and popping, as seat belts were clicked open, and the slam of an overhead bin sounded like a rifle shot close by. Quickly he became part of the article.

He felt himself behind a fallen tree, with his men on either side, firing and reloading their rifles. This was not an easy battle and lots of men were being hit. Cannon fire was becoming more accurate. He frantically thought it was time to shift their position because soon a cannon might acquire their range. BOOM! The ground behind them exploded. He yelled as he was thrown against a log. The plane lurched Traver out of his dream. He was being shaken and he yelled again. He was now being shaken very hard.

Sir! Sir!

Sweat was running down his armpits, his breathing was fast, swirling in his thoughts was cannon fire.

Sir!

His eyes fluttered open. The lady in the seat next to him had her hand on his shoulder and she was shaking him and her red lips were forming the words, Sir! Sir!

Yes! Traver gasped. Yes, I’m okay. He leaned forward and brought his hands to his face. Jesus! That was too goddamn real! He felt the woman’s hand leave his shoulder. He raised his head and turned to look at her. 1 was dreaming. It sure seemed real. He sat up straight and ran his fingers over his hair.

It felt like I had been hit with cannon fire.

The lady pointed to the trash magazine in my lap. The article, she said, smiling.

Most likely, Traver agreed. It sure felt like a battlefield action. He looked around and then whispered to her, Did I yell real loud?

A beautiful smile broke across her lips and a small chuckle came from her. Loud enough to startle me from my dream.

Oh, he said, a little embarrassed.

It was pretty loud, and I heard those two old ladies say that you were probably drunk.

Drunk? Traver looked shocked. I haven’t had a drink in, oh . . . He looked at his watch. Minutes! He grinned at his joke. I don’t drink, but if you do, may I share a drink with you for all the trouble I’ve caused you? I’ll have a Pepsi.

She looked at me an extra moment. I’ll have a rum and Coke, thank you. Lots of lime.

She reached her right hand over to me. I’m Donna Williams.

He took her hand. Traver Wells.

Traver? she said and squeezed his hand. Traver, she repeated, it’s good to meet you, sir.

He sensed that fragrance again. It was as if she had heated up and that caused her fragrance to radiate out in profusion.

Donna, Traver said. What’s that fragrance you are wearing?

It’s kerosene, hydraulic oil, and toilet water.

Well, by God, Traver played along, you wear it well.

Actually it’s a gardenia-jasmine mix. It’s not too strong, is it?

Yes! That’s it! He thumped his armrest. No, no, I mean, it’s actually just right! It’s quite nice, just a hint now and then. He was quiet a moment. Hey, what did you mean by all that kerosene and hydraulic oil stuff?

Smiling, she said, I’m a pilot in the military, Air Force, and I was teasing you.

You’re a pilot? he answered with a hint of surprise.

I sure am. She reached her hand to me again. Actually it’s Colonel Donna Williams. I took her hand again and held it a bit. Warrant Officer, U.S. Marines, retired, Traver said, squeezing her hand rather firmly. Her eyes began to sparkle. A War Horse! She pulled back her hand, which felt warmer and softer as the seconds ticked by.

You stationed at Offutt? he asked since their flight was ending at Omaha.

Not yet. Just been transferred there from Travis Air Force Base in California. She took her hand from his to grab the drink the flight attendant had brought, and she took a sip. Ummmm, good! Donna continued, My new job is flying a DC-9 Looking Glass.

Looking Glass? he asked. That’s still in operation?

She focused on his eyes. You know about Looking Glass flights?

Mostly over in the east. I don’t think Russia and China are that much of a threat nowadays. I operated with Looking Glass in Vietnam.

What do you do now? Donna asked as she took another sip of her drink.

I farm now. I’m on my way out to my buddies to hunt deer. Sort of makes working my ass off during the summer all worth it to be able to hunt during the fall.

The cabin is warm today. Donna said, putting down her drink and leaning forward to take off her jacket, thinking, The plane’s not too warm, it’s this man next to me that’s heating me up.

Just that morning, as she was toweling dry after her shower, she had that empty feeling of not having a special man in her life. Being divorced had not bothered her so much. But this man sitting next to her was stirring her emotions big time.

Donna took a deep breath. How long had it been since she had that feeling? A couple of years, she decided. When she got divorced she put her hormones on hold and put her energy in her career and helping her children get through college. Right now, however, her hormones were making a jail break. It had been so long that she experienced deep sexual feelings that she felt a little clumsy responding to this man. Respond? I need to bang his brains out! And my brains, too!

As she leaned forward to remove her jacket, he lifted the back of her collar and helped ease her out. Whew, that’s better! she exclaimed.

Traver thought it was indeed better, for Donna’s breasts were large and just so beautiful tucked away in her blouse. He was a breast lover, and Donna’s breasts were breathtaking. Her nipples began to press through her blouse, and he became disconnected from the world around him as he focused on the hardening points. A couple of great C’s.

Do you dream often when you’re sleeping? he heard her asking, as if from a distance.

I’d like to dream about her breasts.

Uh, no, I don’t, he said. Only when I’ve eaten a lot of food late and when something distracts me.

Distracts you? she asked seductively. That could get to be a problem.

It sure could. He sighed and sipped his Pepsi. Well, here goes the hunting trip. I’m going to see if I can get a date with her.

I was going to ask her for her phone number and where she would be staying in Omaha when she said, Traver, are you staying in Omaha before you head out for deer hunting?

No, he said quickly. I plan to pick up a rental car and get on the road.

She sipped her drink and turned to me. Do you suppose I could hitch a ride out to Offutt with you if it’s on the way? To the BOQ, she said.

Bachelor Officer’s Quarters?

Donna smiled. "Yes. I’m not married any more and I don’t have an apartment yet. I’ll get a place pretty quick, but