Two Days Of A Dream (3 page)

She felt glad that she hadn’t let them use her, even if that meant being alone.

Kelly didn’t notice when her phone quit ringing, too focused to notice the subtle social change around her. Now the only thing the men in her company wanted her for was to bulldoze their projects or to have someone to blame if they fall flat. They didn't want a strong woman as a partner for their life and Kelly didn't want a weak man for hers. But here she stood eight years later. Where had she gone wrong?

Meanwhile, most of the women around her had married and moved on. She pondered how the time slipped away as she rushed to be the best. Few in her original crowd, weren’t already hooked up with someone, leaving her fewer men to choose from. Kelly found that she was a fifth wheel wherever she went.

Other than Mark, the guys had stayed clear. Nattie in HR, who was getting married next month, told Kelly she intimidated the men.
Okay, maybe I do intimidate them,
she admitted,
well ... I have to
. If she didn't, they wouldn't follow her lead and nothing would get done. Brinker, today, had been a prime example. The game had the same rules for everyone. The difference: Kelly
always
won.

The same old questions hounded her. Where did all of this leave her? What kind of man did she want?

A demanding, unappreciative person, her father never had a kind word or action for anyone. She wasted her youth trying to please him. She certainly did
not
want anyone like the monster that drove her mother into an early grave.

She shook herself and breathed deep before forcing her feet forward, away from the pity party. Try as she might though, she couldn't ditch the thoughts and, they followed her through the condo. Where could she find a strong man who wasn't a control freak and denigrator? If there were any in her company none lifted their heads. She wanted a strong man who was an honorable leader and would make a worthy partner for the rest of their lives. She wanted someone to be the man so she could be the woman, someone like John Wayne or Ronald Reagan. Kelly didn't think they made them like that anymore. She sighed. If only life were like an old black-and-white movie where there was always a hero.

Chapter Four

The morning’s brilliance blinded Captain Duran’s sleepy eyes, so he put on his field sunglasses. Another cloudless, hot, dry day deep in the Middle East. Here in this desert, he temporarily made his home. Only three more months before his rotation was up.

When he received orders for his squadron to ship out he was excited about seeing this part of the world. But after the first week here, he’d seen it all. Duran and his men scanned the bland, desolate scenery so often they named the sand dunes after mountains back home. Even the tan mountains in the far distance no longer held any interest for him.

He missed the rolling plains of Kansas. He once thought the common sights of his childhood home bland and lifeless. He snorted under his breath at the memory. When he turned his back on home to go to college and join the Marines he had no idea what lifeless really meant. He found it funny that whenever he allowed himself to think of home, he missed weeding the family vegetable garden the most. The chore that he complained about more than any of the others became his most cherished memory. The thought made him smile. What he wouldn’t give right now to be on his knees weeding beans with his younger brother, Thayne, tossing insults and stories back and forth. Then later with one of his mother’s blue-ribbon tomatoes – bigger than one hand could carry – he’d rest from his labors under the old oak tree in the side yard while he ate the juicy, meaty vegetable like an apple.

I sound like an old man,
he grumbled,
and I’m barely into my thirties.

He passed the Mess tent and his stomach grumbled. He needed sleep more than he needed food and shushed the complaint. Besides, he doubted there would be any blue-ribbon tomatoes within a hundred miles. The cacophony of voices emanating from the tent made him smile. Not even the rash of nighttime attacks had the men down.
On the contrary
, he thought
, they were pumped at the challenge.
Their eagerness bubbled over into boisterous conversations that exploded with laughter. Duran reveled in the sound.

What brought on these attacks? It had been six months since the last firefight and three months before that. This time the attacks came three nights in a row. Well, they were supposed to have an attack last night, at least that’s what the Intel’s informant said. Up all night, Duran waited with his men but nothing happened. Not having a decent night’s sleep since all this started, he hoped they had given up and moved on to another target. A man could hope, right?

He rounded the last turn and spotted his tent down the long row, a welcome sight for his exhausted eyes.

Home, sweet, sandy home.

Chapter Five

Kelly switched the light on and her bedroom blossomed to life. She loved the large room with the king-sized wrought-iron four-poster bed. A white Irish Chain quilt – her grandmother made for her high school graduation – lay folded over a light pink down filled comforter.

She threw herself across the bed, a tear wringing her throat as it tried to get out. She refused to allow herself to cry. She never cried ... well, almost never. Pulling the extra pillows to her chest she hugged them until the weakness passed. Running her fingers over their shiny embroidered tops distracted her pain. Flicking the tassels, she breathed in deep a few times, and then sighed.
Wallowing isn’t going to get me anywhere,
she chided herself.

With effort Kelly placed the pillows back where they belonged and forced herself to her feet. A click and a small lamp warmed the room with a golden glow that puddled on the little white vanity that was inherited when her mother died. She sat and ran her fingers over the top. The memories of her gentle mother flooded her heart. She still missed her every day.

The mirror, hanging on the wall, showed her blue eyes ringed in red, even though she'd kept the tears at bay.
I look pale and need more sun
. Maybe after the Stevens account is done, I’ll treat myself to a trip to California where I can walk on the beach
. She turned her back on her tired, drab face.

Kelly's eyes fell on a small porcelain figurine of two lovers holding hands, which always sat atop the vanity. Mark had given that to her while they dated. Shopping together one day she spotted it in a jeweler’s window and fell in love with it. Being part of the store’s background display, it was not for sale. Kelly had pouted for a moment before letting the want go. Mark went back the next day and talked the jeweler into selling it to him. He never told her how much it cost, but it had to be expensive. She knew she should have given it back to him when she broke off their engagement. But the love the statue represented brought too much comfort for her to part with it.

She sighed.
I really should give it back to him
.
But the colors in the porcelain match the room so perfectly.
Another sigh, she was only rationalizing and she knew it.

Standing, she wiggled her toes in the plush, light carpet as she surveyed her she-cave. Everything was in its place. Everything was well built, orderly, and not too much, but not too little either ... like her. Over the years, she had carefully crafted the perfect personal space for a woman, a gentle cocoon to go when the world became too much.

Then why did it feel as though nothing filled the room but an echo?

There is no number three or number fours
, the echo repeated, day after day.

Why aren’t men interested in me?
There was that pout again. She pushed her lower lip in and would have chuckled at herself for being so childish, but couldn't quit find the humor in it.

She caught her image in the long mirror mounted on the closet door. Never a raving beauty but still pretty, Kelly took care of herself. Her long blonde hair, styled to compliment her oval face, was not too frilly, just enough to soften her strong jaw line. Although she was no fanatic, she ran consistently and saw the inside of a gym three times a week to keep her body from getting frumpy. At first, she went to the gym as something to do, but hoped to meet number threes. That didn't work out so well. Lots of guys but no number threes.

She peered down her body, turning slowly in the mirror. In her ratty old sweats and an even worse T-shirt, with her hair pulled haphazardly into a ponytail on top of her head, - to her horror - she looked frumpy. In management classes, all the teachers had said you must dress the part for success. At the moment she dressed to be an old maid. She stared at the proof of how low she had sunk.

Dress the part!

Remembering something she bought on a whim when she was twenty-three and in Chicago on her first business trip, she rushed to her dresser and yanked open the bottom drawer. She bought it in hopes of wearing it someday on her wedding night. With all her planning, she figured number three would be just around the corner, so she tucked the gown away for the near future. As each year ended, though, the gown was shoved further to the back of the dresser, eventually moved to lower drawers.

She rummaged through everything until she found the silky, folded material. The white satin slid through her fingers like water. She held it by the shoulder seams and ran her eyes over her abandoned dream.

She first saw the gown caressing a mannequin in a large vintage clothing store in the heart of the windy city. A light breeze rippled the mesmerizing fabric and the shimmer caught her eye. Others walked by as though the magnificent creation weren’t there. She couldn’t fathom why they didn’t rush to oogle the beautiful design. And try as she might she could not turn her back on the tantalizing gown. Modest by today's standards the gown possessed classic sensuality. Upon the mere sight of it she knew she wanted it. She reached her hand out and was zapped with static electricity and at that moment she would have paid any price for it.

For a instant she was swept away into a black-and-white movie where the heroine paced back and forth on the balcony waiting for her true love to come rescue her. Kelly never understood why the woman waited to be rescued by the man. Why didn't she just take things into her own hands and rescue herself? That's what she would do. Or would she? Could she ever trust a man to save her? She shook the ridiculous day dream away.

The gown represented the kind of woman she wanted to be. The kind of woman she wanted to be for her husband. You might say she bought it for him.

If I wait for 'him' I’ll never get to wear it
.

She wondered if it still fit and stripped down to her worn underwear. She slipped the gown over her head. It flowed like a cascade of luxury down her body, washing away the ugly. After twirling once she felt this lovely gown deserved better than worn underwear. She rifled through her top drawer and found another abandoned dream waded up under an old athletic bra. The treasure was lacy, French cut, and pure white to match the gown. There, now it was complete. She felt as though every inch of her was beautiful.

Turning to view the stunning outfit at different angles, she pulled the rubber band from her ponytail and let the hair fall across her shoulders. The stress from the week melted away and a softness, she had forgotten flowed out.

It still fit her like she remembered. It clung from her shoulders all the way to her waist, accentuating all her positives. From her hips it draped magnificently all the way to the floor. She twirled and the material fanned out, coming to a gentle swaying rest at her bare feet.

The same feeling of joy when she first saw it heated her body and she hugged herself.
Ah, to share this with someone special, to share me with someone special. Someday I will find my number three. A number three that wants to and isn’t afraid to commit to only me.
Until then, I will enjoy this special gown.
Tonight she would sleep in it and have wonderful dreams. Folding back the crisp, clean sheets she slipped between the covers and luxuriated in the feel of satin that caressed her body.

Before snapping off the light she blew a kiss to her mother's picture and whispered, "Good night, Mom," like she did every night.

Chapter Six

Duran’s tent, located in the middle of a war zone, could be considered spacious. Considering his six foot-two bulk the tent felt a little cramped to the captain, but since he didn’t spend much time awake under its thick canvas, it would do. The last three days he’d spent even less time than usual. His cot, barely sufficient for his needs, sat untouched and beckoned his tired bones.

As he untied the laces he noticed his boots needed shining, but they would have to wait. Tugging them off with his toes, he placed the boots upright next to his footlocker. A spray of sand dusted the floor. That would have to wait, too. He stripped down and neatly folded his fatigues, laying them on top of the footlocker under the cot. He smelled his uniform getting a little ripe but there hadn’t been time for laundry duty all week. This set, his second to last, was on its final leg. He saved the last pair for tonight when he woke and could shower. If careful, he could get three days out of each set. Within the next three days, he had to make time to wash, at least the tops. There hadn’t been enough wind lately to air out the tent and he had trouble with the buildup.

Peeling back the thin cover on the cot, his aching body slid in with a moan of gusted air.

His mind had already shut down, snoring in the back of his skull, when he felt his shoulder shaken.
It can’t be time to get up already?