Behind Enemy Lines


Behind Enemy Lines

Chapter 1

The night sky was filled with acrid smoke and the smell of burning fuel as Lieutenant John Massey’s silk parachute brought him closer to the dark and unknown ground below. It had all happened so fast. One minute they were on course with the other bombers, making preparations for the final approach to their designated target coordinates, the next instant the cabin of the huge RAF B17 Flying Fortress, Miss Lilly, shook violently and a huge gash appeared in the fuselage not ten feet from where he sat. Air rushed through the aircraft and men and equipment were thrown about the cramped compartment, the sound of the rushing air almost drowning out the screams as the men, his friends and comrades, were sucked out into the night sky.

He remembered gripping onto a piece of torn metal to keep from being jettisoned, then realized with a sickening feeling that the angle of the plane had changed and it was now plunging downward steeply. His hand instinctively went to the parachute strapped to his chest, then without even thinking he pushed himself toward the tear in the belly of the plane. He felt a sharp searing pain in his left ankle as he cleared the fuselage, but quickly forgot about it as his parachute opened and he was suddenly jerked sharply upward before beginning his descent through the black smoke of the German anti-aircraft shells exploding all around him. He closed his eyes, expecting at any minute for one of the huge shells to explode close enough to violently end his life before he reached the ground.

But that never happened. The ground suddenly rushed up at him in the darkness and he landed hard, pain shooting up his leg from his injured left ankle. He lay sprawled on the dewy grass, fighting the pain for a long moment before his training kicked in and he pushed himself to a sitting position and reached for his parachute lines. He began to frantically reel in the large silk parachute, a dead give-away to any Nazi patrols out looking for downed flyers.

He managed to retrieve his chute and looked around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He was in a meadow somewhere in northern France and he could make out a line of trees about a hundred yards away. He needed to get to cover quickly so he mashed his chute against his chest and tried to stand. He cried out in pain and immediately fell back to the ground.

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   A cursory examination of his left ankle told him it wasn’t broken, but his hand came away bloody and it was starting to swell. Working quickly, he tore a strip from his parachute and tied it tightly around the cut on his lower leg, then gingerly attempted to stand again, wincing. He found he couldn’t put much weight on the injured ankle, but he thought he could make it to the trees.

He began a slow hobble, all the while keeping alert for any sounds of an approaching patrol. He couldn’t see any sign of his downed plane and hadn’t seen any other parachutes during his landing, but that didn’t mean he was safe. This was 1942 and he was a downed Canadian airman in occupied France. Until he was back across the English Channel, nowhere was safe from enemy patrols.

After what seemed an eternity, he reached the trees and collapsed into some thick brambles. His ankle throbbed and the trek had left him exhausted. He pulled his 45 automatic from his holster and checked the clip. It was full and he had two more in his pack. He snapped the clip back in place, flipped the safety off and lay back, closing his eyes with the gun gripped firmly in his right hand.


When he awoke, it was daylight. He groaned and pushed himself up to a sitting position, drawing his injured foot closer. It had swollen even more while he slept and he wasn’t sure now he’d be able to remove his boot without cutting it off.

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   He carefully removed the piece of silk from the cut and examined it. It wasn’t that serious and had already stopped bleeding, but he replace the bandage to keep it clean. His concern was the sprained ankle, not the cut. It would drastically hinder his movements and seriously reduce his chance of escaping back across the English Channel.

He took a look around as he painstakingly massaged his injured ankle. The sun was well up and a quick glance at his watch told him it was almost seven am. It had been somewhere around three am when they’d been shot down so he’d slept for several hours. His ears strained for any sounds that didn’t fit his surroundings but he heard nothing unusual. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard the sound of a babbling brook. He needed water. Perhaps if it were cold enough, it could even ease the swelling in his ankle.

He picked up a short stick and began to dig a hole in the soft earth to bury his parachute. If it were found, the Gerries wouldn’t stop looking until they found him. He buried it and spread leaves and other debris over the freshly disturbed earth. Looking around, he found a sturdy branch with a ‘Y’ at one end and broke it over his knee so it was the proper length for a makeshift crutch.

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   He slowly got to his feet, leaning heavily on the stick. It held his weight and he began to move through the thick brush in the direction of the water.

After what felt like a mile of struggling through the bushes, he finally arrived at the stream. It was about ten feet wide and less than a foot deep except for a few small pools, but the water was cool and refreshing. He drank, then untied his boot and began to work it from his aching foot, grimacing as even the slightest movement shot a fresh surge of pain shooting through his ankle. Determinedly, he grit his teeth and gave it a good pull, and it finally came off. Pain shot up his leg and he had to force himself not to scream. When the pain once again subsided to a dull throb, he worked his sock off and examined the wound again. His ankle had swollen to almost twice as big as normal and rubbing it only brought on more sharp stinging pains. He gingerly placed it into the water and sighed as the cold water soothed it.

He took out his 45 again and looked around, carefully scrutinizing every bush, his ears tuned. The brook made listening difficult and he didn’t like being so exposed. But he needed to bring down the swelling and this was the only way. He moved closer to a thick clump of brush next to a tree, hoping his olive drab fatigues would offer some camouflage, and leaned against the tree, basking in the warm morning sunshine as the cool water soothed his aching appendage.

He must have dozed off because he suddenly sat bolt upright with a start.

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   A glance at his watch told him he hadn’t slept long and he silently cursed himself for letting his guard down. He surveyed the area, wondering what it was that woke him. Nothing appeared different, and he could hear nothing except the sound of the babbling brook. He carefully pulled his ankle from the water and rubbed it. It was still swollen, but the cold water had helped a little. He knew he should keep it in the water for a while longer, but it was simply too dangerous to remain here.

Gingerly, he tugged his sock back on, then stuck his toes into his combat boot. Setting his jaw, he gripped the boot with both hands and pulled hard. Once again, the pain welled up and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a small yelp as his foot sunk into the tight leather boot. He waited until the almost nauseating pain subsided, then tied his boot loosely, picked up his makeshift crutch and pulled himself to his feet, his eyes always searching the dense brush.

He needed to find help, a change of clothes, and a place to hide while his ankle healed. His uniform was one dead giveaway of who he was, but he also spoke no French, other than the few words and phrases all soldiers were taught. He could ask for food, directions, etc, but it would be painfully obvious to anyone that he was a foreigner and as such, suspicious. His only hope was to find someone active in the underground who may have the contacts to get him back to England.

He mentally flipped a coin and decided to head downstream, moving as quietly as possible through the thick brush, hoping the sounds of the water would work to his advantage and hide any noise he might make.

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   He gripped his pistol in his right hand and made his way along the bank of the stream until he came to a break in the trees. He stood behind a thick oak and peered out. At the far side of the clearing sat a small house and barn. He could make out a few chickens pecking at the ground and heard the low mooing of a cow, but could see no people.

He began to work closer, still staying in the cover of the trees, until he was close enough to see the windows. As he watched, a shadow passed across one of them. So there was someone home. He waited patiently, chewing on a piece of beef jerky from his pack and watching the house to determine how many people might be there. The chances were good that they would help a downed Canadian who was fighting to free them from the Nazi tyranny, but he couldn’t afford to take chances. There were many Nazi collaborators in France.

After about half an hour, the door opened and a woman emerged from the house and made her way over to the barn. She appeared to be in her twenties, with a slim figure and her dark hair pulled into a tight bun at her neck. She wore typical French clothing for the time, a gray threadbare skirt that fell just short of her ankles and an equally worn white blouse that billowed in the breeze. Her feet were bare, probably due to necessity. Everything was in short supply in Europe, especially in occupied France, and the people had to make do with what they had.

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As he watched, she opened the barn door, turning toward him so he could see her face for the first time. She was quite pretty, and she looked a little older than he had initially guessed, but not much. Perhaps thirty. But he could be wrong. This appeared to be a poor farm, and the hard work required to operate it could age a person beyond their actual years. Still, she was quite lovely, and at thirty-one he was in no position to judge.

She went into the barn and he could hear her talking in low, hushed tones, then she emerged leading a gaunt-looking cow toward the small fenced in pasture. All the while she continued talking to it and rubbing its head affectionately. She released the lead and smacked the cow gently on the rump, sending it sauntering into the pasture, then she closed the gate and went over to a hand pump about halfway between the house and barn. She began pumping the handle and filled a pail of water, then turned toward the house.

“Genvieve!” she called, “Vien ici!”

John sank deeper into the bushes and watched as another girl came out of the house. She was younger than the first girl, maybe a sister, in her late teens. Possibly a daughter, but the woman didn’t seem old enough to have a daughter her age. Unlike the woman’s dark brunette hair, the girl’s was light blonde and was tied in a long pony tail down her back. She too wore clothes that had seen much usage, a light cotton skirt with some kind of faded pattern on it and a loose-fitting sleeveless top.

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   She was also barefoot.

The woman said something he couldn’t make out and the girl went back into the house, coming back a few seconds later with a wooden bucket in each hand. She went over to the pump and together they filled those as well, then carried all three buckets of water back into the house.

As much as John wanted to go to the house and ask for help, he knew it would be best to wait it out for a while. They may be alone at the farm for now, but a husband or father could show up at any time and he needed to know exactly how many people lived here before he made any kind of move. He settled down to wait, thankful that instead of just trees to look at, he had two lovely ladies to watch and help take his mind off his dire situation.

As the day turned into afternoon, he had observed the woman and girl going about their chores. He decided they must be sisters. Despite the difference in hair color, there was a definite family resemblance and they were too close in age to be mother and daughter. As the afternoon wore on, he tried to think of a scenario that would leave two young girls alone to work the small farm. It was entirely possible that their father was taken by the Germans. From what he’d heard, they were more likely to imprison a person on suspicion, rather than facts. Stories of Nazi brutality were everywhere and he knew it wasn’t all propaganda.

A new scent suddenly reached him, not strong, but wafting to his nostrils on the light breeze over the regular barnyard smells. Chicken.

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   His stomach growled at the thought of a plump chicken roasting in the kitchen of the small farmhouse. The hardtack biscuits and jerky in his pack kept him from starving, but the idea of a roast chicken dinner literally caused his mouth to salivate.

He shook his head as if to clear the thought from his mind. He had to focus. This was life or death, or at the very least a long and unpleasant vacation in a Nazi POW camp. Neither outcome was very appealing. If there was anyone else in the household, they would soon be returning for dinner. Food was also in short supply and if there was something as succulent as a chicken dinner waiting at home, no Frenchman would miss it.

He waited for two more hours, trying in vain to erase the thought of the succulent meal only a few yards away. When the blonde girl finally came out carrying a bucket of dirty dishes, he knew for certain dinner was over and that no one else had shown up. He decided to make a move. As the girl knelt by the pump and began rinsing the dishes, he stood and emerged from the cover of the trees. He hobbled forward, focusing on her. She wasn’t looking in his direction, focused instead on her task, and didn’t see him approaching.

A sudden scream caused them both to stop and turn to the house.

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   The dark-haired woman stood there, staring at him with wide eyes. The girl looked back at her then followed her gaze and saw him, freezing in place instantly. For a long moment, no one moved or spoke, then John raised his hands cautiously to show he meant them no harm.

“Bonjour,” he said in poorly accented French, looking from one to the other. Without taking her eyes off of him, the woman gestured to the girl and she rose to her feet, cautiously moving over to where the dark-haired woman stood. John attempted communication again.

“Uh, je suis Canadian,” he said, trying hard to remember the little French he knew. The woman grasped the girl to her and they both stared at him. He realized his appearance was probably quite disheveled and could hardly blame them for their fear.

“What do you want?” the older woman asked in heavily accented English.

“You speak English?” John asked, trying to give them a friendly smile.

“Une peu,” she replied, “A little. ”

John nodded and took a tentative step closer. They shrunk away and he stopped, not wanting to scare them any more than they already were.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you.

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   I need your help. My plane . . . ” he gestured toward the evening sky, “ . . . was shot down last night. ”

The older woman seemed to relax just a little and she pointed to his makeshift crutch. “You are hurt, yes?”

“It’s just a sprain, but I need to rest for a few days. Will you help me? S’il vous plait?” he smiled again, hoping that his attempt to speak their language would endear him and help his plea.

She studied him for a moment, then whispered something to the girl. She nodded, her blue eyes never leaving him, then turned and went into the house. John swallowed. She may be going for food or medicine, or she may be going for a gun.


   He thought about his Colt 45 in the holster on his hip, but didn’t make a move for it. Someone had to show some trust here. He saw the woman glance at his holster as if reading his thoughts, but her expression remained impassive.

A moment later, the girl emerged from the house carrying a small canvas bag. She gave it to the woman, who looked up at John.

“We will help with your . . . ” She paused, searching for the word, then continued. “. . . injury . . .

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   and give you some food, but you cannot stay here. ” She removed some bandages from the bag and indicated for him to sit on a low bench next to the pump. “I am sorry, but it is too dangerous. ”

He hobbled over to the bench and slowly lowered himself onto it, sighing as he took the weight from his aching ankle. The woman came over, followed by the girl, and they both knelt at his injured appendage and began to remove his boot.

“Je m’appelle John,” he said, once again attempting his French.

The woman looked up at him, then bent back over his foot. The other girl spoke for the first time, her voice sweet and high.

“Allo, Jean. I am Genvieve and this is my sister, Jeannette. ” She smiled sweetly at him and he found himself suddenly thinking very impure thoughts about the beautiful young girl kneeling before him.

Jeannette shot her sister a disapproving look, but said nothing and roughly yanked his boot off. He winced, but managed to keep from crying out despite the extreme pain. She removed his sock and began to probe at the injured ankle.

“It is not broken,” she said, looking up at him.

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   “But it is a bad sprain. ” She muttered something in French to Genvieve, who smiled at him again and daintily rose to her feet. She ran to the house, her skirt swirling around her slender calves. Jeannette began to wrap his ankle tightly. “You must not walk on this for two, maybe three days,” she told him. “So it appears that you will be staying after all. ” She continued to wrap his ankle. “You may stay in the barn, but you must not come outside. ” She cinched the bandage tight, causing him to wince, and looked up at him.

“Thank you . . . merci,” he said, offering her a smile.

She seemed to have a melancholy air about her, but she returned his smile thinly and stood up, offering her hand. “Come, I will show you.

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He picked up his crutch with one hand, took hers with the other and she pulled him to his feet, her strength surprising him. He followed her toward the barn and Genvieve came running up carrying some blankets and a bundle as they reached the door. Jeannette led him into the barn with Genvieve following close behind them. She pointed to one of the empty stalls. “You will sleep there. ”

He nodded his thanks as Genvieve bounced over to the stall and laid out the blankets on the loose straw. Unlike her sister, she seemed genuinely happy that he was there and never failed to give him a warm smile, her sky blue eyes sparkling. He immediately liked the pretty young girl, and found his thoughts drifting carnally as she crawled around on the blanket to make up his bed. Her slender legs poked out from under her dress as she moved around, and he found himself wondering just how old she was.

Jeannette’s hand on his arm brought him out of his little fantasy. She pressed the bundle into his hands, her eyes telling him that she knew what he was thinking and that her sister was off limits. “Some food,” she said, her eyes meeting and holding his. “We do not have much to eat, so this is all we can give you. ”

“I . .

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   . ” he began, not wanting to take food from their mouths, but the truth was, he needed it. His meager rations would’nt last long. He gratefully accepted the bundle. “Thank you. ”

She nodded and turned to her sister. “Vien tois. ” Genvieve finished fussing with his bed and came over, the smile still on her face.

“Sleep well, Jean,” she said, touching his arm. “I will see you a demain, tomorrow, n’est pas?”

Jeanette took her sister’s arm as John smiled and nodded. “Yes, and thank you again. ”

The two girls left the barn, with Genvieve smiling back over her shoulder at him. He watched until they went into the house, then went over and pulled the double doors closed. He turned around and looked over at the cow, who was watching him and chewing on a mouthful of hay.

“I guess I’m your new bunkmate,” he said and made his way over to his bedroll.

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   He opened the bundle of food and picked up a piece of the chicken he had smelled roasting earlier. As he lay there chewing on the tender meat, he tried to think of a way to get back home, but all he could see was Genvieve’s smiling face and the cute way she crawled around making his bed. “Dammit,” he said out loud and closed his eyes.


Chapter 2

The dream was surreal. Images of the crash were replaced by those of Genvieve, only she wasn’t wearing the worn out skirt and top. Instead, she was dressed in a lacy white corset, with nylon stockings clipped to garters around her creamy thighs. She came to him, her lips red and ready to be kissed, her breasts swelling from the top of her tight corset.

Then, just as he was reaching for her, Jeanette stepped between them, wearing a Gestapo uniform. She suddenly had a luger pointed at him, and she spoke in a harsh German accent instead of French. “Leave my sister alone!”

He awoke with a start, his heart racing. The dream seemed real, so real that he was sweating and his cock was rock hard, straining at his pants. He flopped back on his bed and tried to bring his heart rate back down. Eventually, he drifted back to sleep, this time dreamless.

He awoke before dawn and stretched, then caressed his ankle, which felt a little better. He stood and tested his weight on it and his delusions of a speedy recovery were soon shattered.

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   The pain returned with a vengeance and he had to lean against the stall to keep from falling. “Damn it to hell,” he muttered.

Just then, the door creaked open and he automatically swung a hand to his leather holster, tensing. He relaxed when he saw Jeannette come in carrying a bucket.

“Good morning,” she said without smiling, “Did you sleep well?”

He nodded, remembering the vivid dream that had disturbed his sleep, although now it seemed to be fading from his memory. “Yes, very well. ”

She picked up a stool and settled down to milk the cow. Soon the sound of milk shooting into the bucket could be heard as her hands expertly massaged the teats. He found he had to look away. Just the image of her hands moving like that brought erotic images to his mind and he didn’t want to sprout a raging hardon in front of her.

Genvieve, perhaps, he thought, grinning to himself, but somehow he got the impression that big sis would not find it at all amusing.

“So,” he said, “just you and your sister live here?”

Jeanette kept milking and didn’t reply for a moment. “Yes,” she finally said without looking up. He wanted to ask her more, but she didn’t seem the type that would open up to him. She surprised him by continuing.

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   “Our parents are dead. I lived here with my husband. When our parents died, Genvieve came to stay with us. ”

A husband. That might be a complication. “Where is your husband now?”

Again, there was a pause, this one even longer. Just when he thought she wasn’t going to answer him, she stood up, her bucket full. Her dark eyes met his. “My husband . . . ” she shrugged, “ . . . is probably dead.

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   They took him away almost two months ago. ” She turned to go and he didn’t try to stop her or ask any more questions. She paused at the door without looking back. “I will bring a basin and water so you can bathe. ” Then she was gone. Despite her obvious pain at telling him about her husband, it lifted his spirits. If the Nazis had indeed taken her husband, chances were good that she was no collaborator.

He went back to his bed and sat on the blankets, eating some of his rations and sipping on some water. He longed for a cup of coffee; even the ersatz stuff would have tasted good right now. He finished his breakfast, such as it was, and lay back again on the blankets, his thoughts once again working on a way of getting out of the country, with regular thoughts of Genvieve and even her morose sister intruding often. Despite Jeannette’s less than appealing demeanor, she was still a very attractive woman.

A short time later, the door swung open and was quickly pulled closed. Knowing that the girls were up and going about their daily chores had eased his nervousness somewhat, but he still kept his hand on his gun whenever the door opened. This time he was pleasantly surprised when Genvieve came over to the stall. She smiled her beautiful smile and knelt down on the edge of the blanket, smoothing her skirt over her knees.

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“You are comfortable?” she asked, her eyes sparkling and her accent making even such an innocent question somehow erotic. No doubt his own less than pure thoughts helped with that. She was definitely what his buddies would call a looker.

“Yes, thank you, er, merci beaucoup,” he said, grinning at her.

She laughed daintily. “You speak some francaise,” she said, settling into a more comfortable position.

He held up his hand, holding his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. “Une peu,” he replied. She giggled again and he found himself wanting to hear her laugh again. It was sweet and innocent, like her.

He decided that she may be more forthcoming with information than her sister had been. “Tell me, Genvieve,” he asked, meeting her striking blue eyes, “Why does your sister seem so . . . sad?” He decided to play dumb and not let on what Jeannette had told him.

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“Ah, oui, c’est vrai . . . it is true. She misses Rheal, her husband. ”

John tried to appear surprised. “Husband? I thought you two lived alone here?”

She nodded, glancing nervously toward the closed barn door. “Oui, we do. But she was married. The . . . the Germans . . .


  said he was a spy . . . and they took him. ” Her face took on an uncharacteristic sad look. “Then she lost the baby. It was so sad, so sad . . . ” Her voice trailed off as if the memory were too much for words.

“She had a baby?”

She shook her head. “Non, non, she was . . . how do you say .

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   . . with child?” John nodded to show he understood. She continued. “But the shock of what happened . . . it was born dead. So sad . . . a little boy. ” She fell silent and John couldn’t think of anything to say. It was no wonder Jeannette was like that. The loss of her husband and then a child in such a short period of time would leave anyone with a big empty hole where their heart once was.

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“Losing Rheal was . . . tres difficile, but more than anything in the world she wanted to be a mother,” Genvieve said. “That is what made her so sad more than anything. ”

“I understand,” John finally said, meeting her eyes.

She smiled sadly, then her expression brightened. “But what about you? Tell me how you came to be here?”

He related the story of how his plane had been shot down, struggling as he remembered Lou, Bobby, and all the rest of the crew he had come to know and love as brothers. He wondered if any of them had made it out of their burning plane. Genvieve reached out and touched his hand in consolation, her pretty eyes telling him she felt his pain. Her touch was soft and delicate and he thrilled at the warmth of her fingers on his skin. He continued with the story of his hike through the woods and how he had found their little farm. She shook her head in wonderment.

“I think . .

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   . ” she said thoughtfully, “. . . that you are a very brave man. I know if there are more like you, France will once again be free one day. ” She smiled and leaned in, planting a soft kiss on each cheek. Her smell was wonderful and he had to physically resist the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her full on the mouth. Just having her this close, with her warm breath on his skin was making him hard. She moved back and smiled. “Jeannette is warming some water for you to bathe. She will be coming soon and she will not like me being here alone with you. ”

She stood up, brushing pieces of straw from her dress. She gave him a quick curtsey, then turned and left before he could think of anything to say. He touched his cheek where her soft lips had pressed and inhaled a deep breath.

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   Was this an infatuation or was he really falling for her?


Chapter 3

A short while after Genvieve’s visit, the door opened again and she and Jeanette entered carrying a large tin basin, big enough for him to take a bath in. They set it down near the door and went back out without saying a word. John stood and hobbled over to the basin using his crutch. He looked out and saw them each coming with two large pails of steaming water. He couldn’t stand by and watch women carrying his own bath water and dropped his crutch, testing his ankle. It was still very painful, but he could do it. He hadn’t taken one step before he heard Jeannette’s voice.

“Non! Arretes tois! Stop!”

He looked up as she came closer, the hot water splashing over the rim as she hurried to get to him. Her face bore the expression of a chiding schoolmarm. “You must not walk on your injured foot! It will only delay your departure. ”

“But I can’t stand by and watch you two ladies carrying that water. I want to help. ”

She fixed him with hard stare. “You can help by resting so you can be on your way. ” She glared at him for a moment, then picked up the pails and dumped them into the basin.

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   He obediently stood aside and watched as Genvieve poured in her water as well, giving him a wink and a little smile when Jeannette’s back was turned.

They made two more trips with hot water, then poured in several pails from the well to fill the tub and cool the steaming bath a little. Jeannette handed him a dingy towel, a washcloth, and a bar of soap. She left some clothes that she said belonged to her husband and told him to leave his dirty combat fatigues by the barn door. She turned to the door as John began unbuttoning his shirt. Genvieve, standing just outside the door, watched with an amused smile as each button revealed a little more of his thick chest. He noticed her watching and hurriedly finished, taking off his shirt a few seconds before the door was closed and he was once again alone. He smiled to himself as he finished undressing and slipped into the hot water. She appeared to be as enthralled with him as he was with her.


Jeannette led her sister back to the house after closing the barn door. She could sense the attraction between them and while she would never stand in the way of Genvieve’s happiness, a tryst with a stranded Canadian soldier, while very romantic, would bring her nothing but pain and trouble in the end.

“Come, Genvieve,” she said, taking her hand and pulling her reluctantly inside. “Give him some privacy. ”

Genvieve followed and plopped down in one of the straight back chairs around the kitchen table. “Do you not find him handsome?” she asked, eyeing her big sister with a doe-eyed expression.

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Jeannette laughed humorlessly and shook her head. “He is not for you, my foolish little sister. In a few days he will be back in England. Or he will be captured by the Germans. He might even be killed if they have a mind to do so. It is not for us to know. ” She spoke without emotion, merely stating the facts.

Genvieve’s face darkened in a look of horror. “Oh, Jeannette, do not say that! Do not even think it!”

Jeannette went to the table and took the chair opposite her sister. She reached across the well-worn wooden table and grasped her hand. “Genvieve, I understand how you feel. I truly do. But you must be practical. The world has been turned upside down and this is not the time or place for such things. You must put him out of your mind.

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  ” She smiled across the table at her. “You are such a beautiful girl. After the war, you can . . . ”

Genvieve pulled her hand away and stood up abruptly, her face a mask of anger. “After the war?! After the war?! Will the war ever end?!” She paused, her anger building even more. “You had a husband once! You had love! What about me?!” By now tears were streaming down her face. “You have no right! I am not a little girl anymore and I love him!” She glared at her sister for a few seconds then turned and ran outside and across the yard.

By the time Jeannette made it to the door she was already disappearing into the trees behind the barn. She sighed and decided it was best just to let her go sulk for a while. This was Genvieve’s way of dealing with conflict. Jeannette knew she would eventually come to her senses and come home, and also knew from past experience that it wouldn’t be until it began to get dark. She closed the door and began to gather up what meager food she could find for lunch.


Genvieve rushed outside and past the barn, running headlong into the woods.

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   Pinecones and small twigs jabbed at her bare feet but years of going barefoot had toughened her soles and her blind anger at her sister’s nonchalant dismissal of her feelings only aided in lessening the pain from the rough forest floor. She finally stopped only a few dozen yards from the barn and collapsed to her knees, sobbing.

What right did Jeannette have to talk to her that way? She was a woman, with all the needs and feelings women had, but her older sister was still treating her like a little girl. She was eighteen now, old enough to take a husband. Older, in fact, than many girls her age who were already married and starting to raise families. She wanted a man, and she had chosen Jean, the handsome and brave soldier from Canada.

She was jealous; that was it. She wanted him for herself. That had to be the reason. Her anger boiled and she wiped away her tears, wondering if Jeannette was out there with him now, helping him bathe. She continued to seethe for several minutes, thinking desperately on how to thwart her sister’s advances on the man she had chosen for herself.

Some time later, after her anger had eased and she was able to think more rationally, she realized that was an absurd thought. Deep down she knew Jeannette harbored no romantic feelings whatsoever for the handsome airman. She was simply giving care to a man who was selflessly risking his life to save her country from the hated Nazis. It was her only her imagination working overtime.

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Her thoughts drifted back to him alone in the barn at that very moment. She swallowed hard at the thought of him naked in the bathtub, his manly chest and strong arms he had bared to her for only a brief moment shiny and wet. And what about his other parts? She tried to imagine what he would look like below the waist. She had once dared a schoolmate to show her his penis, but they were only ten at the time and it really wasn’t that impressive to her. A curiosity, yes, but nothing more. Surely a man would look different. She knew what sex was, of course. She even knew how to touch herself in a way that made her feel all warm and tingly inside. If sex felt like that, she definitely wanted to do it!

After a few moments, she wiped her remaining tears and began to walk through the familiar forest to her special place, a spot on the riverbank where she often came to be alone with her thoughts. She needed to think. If she wanted the handsome and daring Canadian to fall in love with her and not her sister, she would have to come up with a plan to win him.


Chapter 4

Jeannette finished her lunch of bread and cheese and stood looking out at the still closed barn door. Her hand absently went to her empty belly and a tear spilled down one cheek as she remembered the sense of loss when her precious baby was born dead only one week after her husband was taken from her by the brown shirted Nazi storm troopers. If only her baby had lived her life would have some purpose; some meaning other than trying to exist here on their tiny farm under the constant threat of the Germans coming for her and her sister as they had for her husband.

As she stood there, the barn doors opened and she watched as John tiik a quick look around the yard, then grasped the handle on the end of the heavy basin and dragged it outside and over toward a ditch.

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   He struggled with his nearly useless ankle, but Jeannette simply watched from the window of the house, making no move to help or lecture him for risking aggravating his injury. He was wearing the pants of Rheal’s she had taken to him, but he wore no shirt and she watched as the muscles on his back and arms rippled under his skin, unable to pull her eyes from his trim, muscular body. He opened the drain tap at the end and sat on the edge of the metal tub, wiping his brow and watching as the water slowly drained. When he regained his strength, he pulled himself to his feet and half walked, half hopped back into the barn.

Jeannette watched all of this without moving. Her hand was still on her belly but her tears had stopped, leaving tiny streaks down her soft cheeks. Maybe there was a way to bring purpose back into her life.

She turned suddenly from the window and went into her bedroom. She stood before the mirror and examined her image. She was still a very attractive woman, she surmised. Although she no longer spent the time she used to on her appearance since the loss of her husband, she hadn’t failed to notice the looks of some of the men when she went into the village. She picked up a cloth from the wash basin on her dresser and began to wash her tear streaked face. Then she reached behind her head and undid the tight bun of her hair. She pulled it free and the dark tresses spilled down her back and framed her face, completely altering her appearance from that of a hard working farm wife to that of a beautiful young woman still very much at the height of her sexuality and desirability. She picked up a brush and began to brush her dark hair slowly until it shone with an almost inner luminescence, then she unbuttoned the top button of her blouse to show just a hint of cleavage.



She licked her lips and took a final look in her mirror. If she was going to do this, it had to be now; before she chickened out or Genvieve returned. Taking a deep breath, she turned and strode purposefully through the kitchen, then out the door and into the yard. Her eyes were fixed on the still open barn doors and she could feel her excitement at what she was going to do starting to build in her stomach, and in her dampening sex.

John returned to his bed, panting from the effort of dragging the bath tub out to drain. In spite of Jeannette’s earlier warnings, there was no way in hell he was going to stand and watch while the sisters pulled the heavy tub outside. It had been difficult, but he managed without putting too much extra strain on his sprained ankle. He was lying back with his eyes closed when he heard footsteps and the light in the barn dimmed as the doors were pulled shut. He propped himself up, his hand reaching for his gun as he peered around the corner of the stall, but he stopped short when he saw who it was.

Jeannette was coming toward him slowly, one hand toying with the buttons of her blouse. She had let her hair down and the change in her appearance was so amazing that he could only stare open mouthed as she came closer. While he had always considered her attractive, she was now breathtakingly beautiful. She came over to the stall and stood there, her dark eyes darting around; looking at him, then elsewhere, never meeting his for more than a brief second. He was speechless, wondering what had brought on this change and why she was acting like this. Finally, he found his voice.

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“Jeannette, I . . . I’m sorry for taking out the bath, but I couldn’t . . . ”

She raised a finger to her rosy lips, shaking her head. Her long, silky hair swayed across her shoulders and fell forward over one breast. He stopped speaking and she dropped to her knees at the edge of his bedroll as Genvieve had done earlier. He swallowed and finally their eyes met. Until now, her dark eyes were sad, almost lifeless. Now they held a wild look that he had never seen before.

He watched as her eyes moved down over his bare chest and lower. He swallowed hard as the realization of what she wanted suddenly dawned on him and he felt an immediate response in his groin as her eyes locked there while she nibbled seductively on her lower lip. Her fingers were still toying with the buttons of her blouse and he watched as she undid another one, revealing more of her ample cleavage to his hungry eyes.

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   She brought her gaze back to meet his eyes and he could see the look of pure animalistic lust, although there was still a trace of sadness in them.

He shifted his weight slightly, feeling his cock begin to grow harder as another button was released. He could now see that she wore no undergarments and he was getting a good look at most of her milky white breasts. She dropped her hands from her blouse and looked again at his crotch, where his manhood was now showing a definite bulge. She looked back up to his eyes, then without speaking, she leaned forward - her heavy breasts almost falling from her near open blouse - and began to unfasten his pants. He watched her, unsure of what to do or say. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before and he was at a loss at what to do. He decided to just let her take control, whatever her reasons may be.

She quickly had him unfastened and reached inside, her fingers gripping his now fully hard member. She looked up at him and he thought he saw the slightest trace of a smile before she began to stroke his seven inch cock. He closed his eyes and leaned back as her fingers milked him as expertly as they had milked the cow that morning.

After a moment or two, he felt her release his cock and he opened his eyes in time to see her get to her feet. With her eyes locked on his, she undid the remaining two buttons of her blouse, letting it fall open, then unfastened her long skirt. As it fell to her feet, he swallowed hard. She had a beautiful body, her muscles well toned from years of farm work.

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   She wore a pair of white bloomers which she gripped in both hands and wriggled down over her smoothly curved hips. John found he couldn’t move or take his eyes of this beautiful woman baring herself to him. Her reasons for doing it weren’t of any consequence to him and Genvieve was far from his thoughts at this point in time.

She bent over and pulled her underpants from her feet, then stood before him wearing only her open blouse. His cock throbbed as his eyes took in her slender legs and the thick bush between her thighs, her dark curly pubic hair already beading with her juices. She took a step toward him, spreading her legs so that her feet were on either side of his legs. He was looking straight up at her excited pussy and his nostrils caught the scent of her arousal mixing with the sweet smell of the hay. She looked down at him, his hard cock sticking out of his open fly, then knelt down, her bare knees meeting the hay as she straddled his legs.

She glanced up at him briefly, then gripped his pants by the waist band. Taking the hint, he lifted his hips from the blanket and she quickly slipped the pants down, allowing his cock to stand fully upright. She looked down at it for a long moment, then seemed to come to a decision. She took it in her hand, then bent over and brought her mouth close to his throbbing purple head. She paused and he realized he was holding his breath, then she parted her lips and kissed the tip before taking it inside her warm, wet mouth. He gasped and propped himself up on his elbows so he could watch her silky hair spill across his bare stomach while she took him deeper into her mouth.

Her tongue moved along the underside while she sucked him in and out.

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   He groaned and reached down to caress her hair, gently pushing her head down. She responded by taking even more of his thick cock into her mouth and throat. She was obviously not new to cock sucking and her moans indicated that she was also getting some pleasure from doing it.

She kept it up for several minutes and John had to fight to keep from losing it more than once. When she finally released him and looked up at him, her eyes were even wilder. She sat up suddenly, her lips still wet with his juices, and slipped her blouse off, leaving her completely naked. Her heavy breasts swayed as she leaned over him, her hard nipples centered in her crimson areolae. She moved further up his legs until the thick pubic hairs of her pussy were touching his hard cock. She leaned over and kissed him quickly on the lips, then moved her lips to his ear.

“Make love to me, Jean. Please!”

Her words were urgent, her breath hot in his ear. He felt her move closer and the heat from her excited pussy on his throbbing hardon was almost more than he could bear. He placed his hands under her butt and lifted her up until she was poised over his cock. She looked into his eyes and began to lower herself, both of them gasping in unison as he penetrated her hot little cunt and sank deeper into its warm wetness.

For a moment, they remained still, John’s cock buried to the hilt in her; her eyes closed and her tongue moving across her slightly parted lips.

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   Eventually she began to move, slowly at first; a gentle rocking motion that worked her hard clit against his pelvic bone. She grasped her breasts, tugging on her nipples and moaning softly. John watched her, amazed by her intense sexuality that he never thought she possessed. She started moving faster, then began to raise up and down, his hard cock thrusting again and again into her depths. He began to rock his hips in time to her movements, thrusting upward as she pushed down. Every few pumps, she would pause and resume the rocking motion, then return to the pumping thrusts with even more vigor.

John watched as her arousal grew more intense by the second. Her chest was flushed a deep red and her hair flew as her movements increased, sometimes completely obscuring her face. She gasped, grunted and moaned as her arousal increased. She was fucking him harder; faster, until he knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold off.

“J. . . Jeannette, I . .

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   . ” he moaned, feeling his balls constrict.

“Yesss . . . ” she hissed, opening her eyes and leaning down, her hands bracing on the hay by his head. She began to move even faster, as if her single purpose in life was to make him cum. Her jaw was set and her eyes burned with lust. “Give it to me, mon cherie,” she gasped. “Give it to me . . . ”

Her words were the final straw. John felt his cum boiling as his orgasm began. He thrust upward, burying his cock to the hilt inside her hot little pussy.

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   He briefly considered the consequences of cumming inside her, but it was too late to do anything to stop it now, even if he wanted to. With a loud groan, he expelled his hot seed deep inside her womb, her tight pussy milking it from deep in his balls.

She tensed when he came and he felt her pussy tighten on his spurting cock. He vaguely heard her cry out through the fog of his climax and opened his eyes to see her leaning back, her mouth open and her hands clenching her breasts. She shook and trembled, then suddenly leaned forward, bracing herself on her arms, her hair falling forward to cover her face.

They lay like that for a long moment, each panting and shuddering with occasional aftershocks after their intense simultaneous orgasms. Finally John’s cock began to shrink inside her and he slipped out, releasing a warm flood of their mixed cum. Jeannette quickly rolled off and lay on her back next to him, still panting to catch her breath.

They lay there for several minutes, neither saying anything. John was still having trouble believing what had just happened. Jeannette had never given him any indication that she was interested in him sexually, or even in a friendly matter. Just the opposite in fact. While she was always accommodating and somewhat courteous, she was never what he would call warm to him.

He turned to her and opened his mouth to ask what had prompted this little tryst when she sat up and reached for her blouse. “Genvieve will be returning soon,” she said without looking at him.

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   She got to her feet and pulled on her bloomers, then picked up her skirt. She seemed to be in a hurry.

“Jeannette. . . ” he began, but she shook her head as she refastened the buttons of her skirt and blouse.

“You are happy, no? It was pleasurable pour vous?”

He nodded, pushing himself to a sitting position, his pants still down. “Yes, of course, but. . . ”

She interrupted him again. “Then there is no need for words. We are two adults who took pleasure from one another, that is all. ” She turned toward the door and stopped with her hand on the latch. She spoke without looking back at him.

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   “Do not mention this to my sister, please. She . . . she would not understand. ”

“No, of course not,” he said, watching as she pulled the door open, then left him there, confused and exposed on his meager bed.


Chapter 5

Genvieve arrived at her special spot and sat down on the soft grass. She loved it here; it was so calm and peaceful, where the hard work of the farm and the horrors of the war could be forgotten, if only for a short while. She leaned back on her elbows and looked up at the nearly cloudless blue sky through the thick leaves of an ancient oak and let her thoughts drift back to the handsome man hiding in their barn. She’d felt a strong attraction from the moment she had first seen him, and it only grew stronger with each moment they spent together. And the brief glimpse of him shirtless had caused her heart to skip a beat. She had to have him; give herself to him completely.

She lay back on the cool grass and closed her eyes as the midday sun warmed her face. Her hand absently went to her breast and she lightly brushed along its soft curves, imagining how his touch would feel on her skin. Her nipples responded immediately, becoming rock hard and sensitive.

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   She traced the outline of one over her thin cotton blouse, inhaling a deep breath as her fingers stimulated the sensitive nub.

Before she was conscious of what she was doing, she had two buttons undone and her fingers were pinching her nipples under her blouse, making her sigh and moan softly. She could feel her arousal growing exponentially, her thoughts on Jean and the things he could be doing to her ripe and ready young body. She felt a growing heat between her legs and reached down with her other hand to stroke her pussy over her skirt. It felt so good that she wished she was naked, masturbating until she came hard. She opened her eyes. Why not? She sat up and looked around. The little clearing was well concealed by thick brush and the sound of the water would hide any noise she may make. She smiled to herself. And it would be so naughty!

She stood up, still looking around, and began to undo her blouse. When it was completely undone, she took another cautious look around, then shrugged it off, dropping it to the grass at her feet. She closed her eyes as the warm breeze caressed her bare breasts, feeling like soft fingers gently teasing them. She was becoming highly aroused and lost in the wonderful feeling of exposing her firm young breasts and began to tug at the buttons of her skirt, suddenly anxious to finish undressing and be completely naked.

Seconds later, her skirt lay at her feet in a crumpled heap and she was bent over removing her frilly bloomers from her dainty ankles. She stood upright, the soft wind blowing her blond hair slightly.


   Her skin was pale in the bright sunlight, and she had never felt so free in her life. She ran her hands over the curve of her bare hips, then to the wispy blond hair that lightly covered her swollen and wet slit. It was so light and fine that it almost appeared at a glance that she had no hair at all on her pubic mound. Her fingers traced her opening and she expelled a small gasp from her slightly parted lips as she touched on her erect and sensitive little clit. She knew from past self-gratifying experiences that this was where she could derive the most pleasure from her own touch. She moaned softly as her fingers moved in a slow circle over the hard little button, causing her juices to flow even more. She gripped one of her breasts with the other hand, squeezing it roughly, then pinching her knotted nipple. Her entire body began to tingle and she found her knees becoming weak.

She opened her eyes and knelt down on the ground, the soft grass tickling her bare legs in a most tantalizing way. Then she lay down on her back, her knees up and legs spread wide. Her hand went back between her legs immediately, her fingers seeking the spot to rekindle the erotic pleasure she had initiated. She pictured Jean’s shirtless image and it only took her a few seconds to locate the sweet spot. She began to work it again, her breathing now coming in short gasps. Her other hand massaged and tugged on her firm young breasts, increasing the sensations that were growing stronger and stronger in the pit of her stomach. She pressed her finger between her outer lips, then rubbed it along the sensitive flesh inside before returning to her clit.

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   She was almost there. What had started as a wonderful tingle was rapidly building to an immense climax. She could feel the waves of pleasure emanating from her womb outward until her fingers and toes were also tingling. With a loud cry, she came hard, her tight little ass lifting from the soft grass as her body tensed under the force of her climax. She tossed her head from side to side, whimpering and grunting in the throes of her intense self induced orgasm and she felt her virgin pussy seeping wetness onto her hand. She began to rub it with her palm until her orgasm eased and her body relaxed and settled back down on the grass, her chest flushed and heaving.

She lay there like that for what felt like a long time, letting her body slowly come down from the most intense orgasm she’d ever experienced. Finally she opened her dazed eyes and stared up at the oak branches swaying gently above her. A sleepy smile came to her lips and she wondered if it was imagining it was Jean making love to her or the fact that she was completely naked and exposed outdoors that had caused such an incredible rush of pleasure. She sighed and lay a forearm over her eyes to block out the bright sunshine. Whatever it was, her orgasms were getting better every time she masturbated and she couldn’t wait to experience one at the hands of a lover.

She lay there for several more minutes before sitting up and looking around. All was as it was before, with only the regular sounds of the forest and nearby stream. She looked down at her naked body. Her grapefruit sized breasts sat firm and high on her chest and her nipples were still hard, poking out nearly a half inch from the pink circles of her areolae.

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   She touched her pussy and gasped in shock at the still sensitive flesh. Her body was coated in a light sheen of perspiration which was starting to dry in the breeze. She looked over at the stream. There was a small pool here, maybe three or four feet deep and a refreshing dip would feel good and cool her overheated skin.

Pushing herself to her feet, she wobbled slightly on unsteady legs before regaining her balance and stepped gingerly over to the water’s edge. She stuck her toes in and sighed at the coolness of the water. It was a warm afternoon and her act of sexual stimulation had made her even hotter. She waded slowly out into the water, her eyes scanning for any indication of observers. Seeing none, she went out to the deepest part, which came just over her waist, then lowered her entire body into the cool water. It felt wonderful, instantly cooling and refreshing her. She moved to a shallower area where she could sit on a smooth rock so that just her shoulders and head were above the dark water. She rubbed between her legs, hopefully washing the scent of her sex away. She liked the smell, but didn’t want Jeannette to catch a whiff of it and suspect what she was doing.

She finished washing her pussy, then leaned her head back, soaking her long blond hair in the cool, dark water. It felt so nice on her sweaty scalp that she kept her head in the water for almost a full minute before raising her head back up.

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   She splashed some water on her face and scrubbed it with her hands, then stood up and waded back over to the grassy bank. She lay down to let the sun and air dry her, her thoughts once again returning to Jean and wondered if he was thinking about her as well.

She awoke with a start some time later and pushed herself to a sitting position. She was still completely naked in the little clearing, her clothing lying in a crumpled heap next to her. The sun was much lower in the sky and she realized she must have dozed most of the afternoon away. She began to dress, hoping that no one happened along and saw her lying naked out here in the forest. The scandal would be enough to ruin her reputation in the village and she would never find a husband, even though she had her sights firmly set on the man in their barn. She buttoned up her blouse as she began the hike back to the farm, trying to think of a plan to get rid of Jeannette for a few hours so she could seduce the unsuspecting airman.


Chapter 6

John sat on a wooden crate just inside the open doors of the barn. On his knee he had spread out a topographical map of the area and was trying to concentrate on it so when it came time to escape, he would have some idea where roads, rivers, and villages were. The sun was beginning to sink a little lower and he was using the remaining light to see by.

But his thoughts kept drifting back to the encounter with the dark and mysterious Jeannette, whom he thought he had pegged as a no-nonsense type of woman who merely tolerated his intrusion because he was fighting the good fight against the Nazi invaders and helping him was the right thing to do. What had made her come to him and, without even allowing him the opportunity to properly seduce her, had stripped down and fucked him right there on the hay, then left again just as abruptly? He’d puzzled over this all afternoon and had finally come to the only logical conclusion - she recently lost her husband and, being accustomed to regular sex, simply saw an opportunity to satisfy her lust. Perhaps she was embarrassed afterward and that was the reason for her hasty departure. He’d hoped she would come back out so that they might talk about it, but she’d remained inside the little house all day and he didn’t want to risk exposing himself.

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   She would be back sometime and they could talk then.

He straightened out the map and found the small stream he’d followed to the farm. There was a small village about five miles downstream at the fork of a larger river. He wondered if there were anyone in the French underground in the vicinity who may be able to help him safely out of the country.

He was pondering this when he caught movement in the yard in his peripheral vision. He was far enough inside that for someone to see him they would have to be close and be looking directly at him but his hand was on the butt of his gun before he even looked up. He sighed in relief and let go of the gun as he watched Genvieve walking toward the barn on her way to the house. He’d been wondering where she’d been all day and decided to ask her. He stood up and using the rail of one of the stalls, hobbled over to the open door. She noticed him and smiled, altering her course toward him.

“Bonjour, Genvieve,” he said in his best French accent, smiling at the pretty blonde.

She returned his smile, her beautiful face lighting up as she bounced over to him. “Bonjour, Jean,” she replied, stopping in front of him, her long dress swirling about her feet. “How are you feeling?” Her bright blue eyes moved down to his injured ankle then back up to his. He couldn’t help but smile even wider; her innocent and carefree demeanor was infectious.

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   And there was something in those pretty eyes, something mischievous and even a little intoxicating.

“I . . . uh, I’m feeling better,” he managed to say. He put some weight on his ankle and took a tentative step. “See, I can almost walk on it now. ”

She grinned and clapped her hands together. “Oh, Jean, c’est magnifique! That is wonderful!”

She stepped closer and hugged him and he could smell her scent even stronger, like a mix of fresh flowers, the scent of pine, and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He hugged her back, his hands pressing into the small of her back and holding her firm young body tight to his. He felt a stirring between his legs at her nearness and didn’t want to let her go.

They held the embrace for maybe a little longer than was proper, as if neither wanted it to end, then she slowly pulled away. When she looked into his eyes again, her smile had disappeared and her eyes had a sad look. “But, if you are better, that means you will be leaving soon, no?”

John nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so.

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They both stood there silently as a long moment slipped by, then Genvieve reached out and took his rough hand in her dainty one. She gave it a squeeze and offered a sad smile. “I will bring you something to eat,” she said, then slowly released his hand and turned to go to the house. He watched her go, his eyes drawn to the sway of her delicious hips under her thin skirt. He was no expert on women, but knew enough to recognize that she did not want him to go, and her eyes told him why. And deep down, he knew he could really fall hard for the sweet young French girl.

Genvieve entered the kitchen and saw her sister stirring a pot on the stove. She looked up and Genvieve sat at the table, but then went back to stirring without saying anything. Finally she turned to her little sister and sighed.

“Genvieve, I am sorry for saying those things. You are right, I have no business interfering in your life like that. ” She came over to the table and stood looking down at Genvieve. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I love you very much and you are all I have in this world. ”

Genvieve sat there quietly for a long moment, then looked up at her.

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   “I know, Jeannette. And I am sorry, too. I must stop running off like that whenever we have a disagreement. ” Jeannette pulled out the op.

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