Author's Note: This story has a couple of origins. One was from a dream I had, probably close to a year ago. The other, far more important origin, was a discussion I had with i1976 - Blu Notte some time back. Her view of Daisy's character arc struck me, because I am not entirely fair to Daisy much of the time. I don't see her as clearly as I see the boys. But having discussed Daisy's character arc during the series (especially in relation to Enos) I found myself wondering why Daisy and Enos started as they did in the series.

So here's a prequel, which has a greater emphasis on Daisy and Enos than my usual stories, but is really centered on the Duke family as a whole, and their unique relationship with the law.

So, special thanks to i1976 - Blu Notte for making me think differently about characters that I've been writing for a long time now. And thanks to all who have read and supported my stories over the years.

One: The End... and the Beginning

November 30, 1974

She wasn't much for looking back. The childhood loss of her parents saw to that – there wasn't much in her past that was easy to think about and no amount of daydreaming about those that were gone could bring them back or make them real again. So she faced firmly forward and generally figured that life was fairly bright there. In her future, where anything could happen. Good things, because there was no point in predicting bad things.

Late autumn had settled in thick, with low-hanging fog that never moved or lifted, just made its damp way under any jacket she might wear. Tangled itself through her hair and left it half-curled and unmanageable, got breathed in and chilled her from the inside out, and it was on those bitter mornings that limped their way toward cold afternoons and icy evenings that she could feel it still, sometimes. The warmth of his fingers woven between hers, the tickle of breath in her ear as all the fevered dreams of a lifetime got whispered there.

But that was the past. Not as far back as her lost parents were. Not even as far back as the flavor of champagne that had been offered up in shallow splashes at the bottom of cheap stemware during the class of 1974's graduation party last spring. Not as far back as the first sweaty heat wave of June or the rustle of a forgetful breeze making its way through the early-summer tassels of summer corn. Not even as far back as that impulsive haircut that she'd gotten to fend off the dog days and had hated every day since she'd gone and done it, even now that it was almost long enough to touch her shoulders again.

The last time Enos had touched her with anything like warmth and affection felt like yesterday. Felt like a hundred years ago.

It was exactly one hundred nineteen days, two hours and a thirty minutes ago (plus or minus five minutes) and she wished with everything she ever was or ever would be that she could turn around and find herself back there, or even better, back before the whole bittersweet summer even properly began.

June 8, 1974

For Daisy, it started at the annual carwash fundraiser. Every year, Hazzard High's senior class bilked the townsfolk out of a few dollars in spare change so they could scrape together enough cash for a bus trip to Atlanta to celebrate their upcoming graduation. One last time to have fun together before they had to get serious (or get married, as more than one class couple was planning to do) and settle down. Or ship off – some to the military and others to college, but that had been too much to think about right then, when they still had two weeks before any of that could happen.

Standing in the high school parking lot, sun burning into the skin that was exposed around the baggy, belt-cinched, cut-off shorts (that had been Luke's jeans back when he was about twelve and had been too threadbare at the knees to be passed down to either of his younger cousins until she'd cut off the legs) and the tank top that gave her about as much shape as a flagpole. Her hair, frizzy with the humidity, hung down her back in a girlish ponytail and she had suds stuck to her in odd clumps here and there. A wad of bills in her pocket as she greeted folks she'd known all her life, took whatever cash they offered her and pointed off to the right where a dozen or so girls wearing even less than she was were wielding hoses and commanding the few boys that had agreed to come out and help. Standing on their toes and showing off any curves they might have as they pointed out dirt on roofs and smashed bug carcasses on windshields for the boys to scrub at with their rags and sponges.

Right about then, with her hand on her hip and her head turned to yell at Bo for flinging a soapy rag at her for about the fourteenth time that morning, the summer started. Though it was technically still spring, and she was pretty sure no one else counted the summer by that particular day. Bo probably thought it started with graduation itself, since he'd only been waiting for the day with no amount of patience since sometime in about the second grade. Jesse probably counted it by the first dry spell that lasted long enough for them to have to get water out to the fields, and for Luke it was probably the fire. But for her it started when she turned back from her hollering to greet the next customer and got caught up in the sweetest grin she'd ever seen. Apple cheeks pulling up the corners of stretched lips to show a row of perfect white teeth. And above that, bright eyes that were focused tightly on her, like she was the only thing worth looking at on such a beautiful, blue-sky morning.

"Hi, Daisy," he said, voice raised just enough to be heard over the rumble of the car's engine. It wasn't much of anything as far as cars went, just a tan, boxy Ford that looked like it had been washed just yesterday. Nothing more than a light coating of dust over the paint and there was no way to drive from one side of Hazzard to the other without gathering at least that much. (Which was part of what made this annual fundraiser ridiculous, and yet people came and got their cars washed at it every year anyway.) "All I got is two dollars. Reckon that's enough?"

"Enos!" she said and her voice sounded every bit as high and breathy as a little girl exclaiming over a puppy. Which was silly, it was just Enos Strate, the same boy that had played basketball with her cousins, back when they all had short legs and big teeth that were still growing together in the middle. He never had been able to run and dribble at the same time, so he'd mostly been the one who stood under the basket and waited for the ball to be passed to him. "I ain't seen you in a dog's age!"

And he'd – grown wasn't the right word; he couldn't be less than twenty-one now and his growing years were behind him. But he'd changed. Maybe his shoulders had broadened, though it was hard to tell, squinting into the shadows of a car. Maybe it was the wideness of his chin or the slight shadowing there that hinted at the need to shave a little more closely, or maybe it was just in that smile. The tilt of his face upward to see her instead of down in shyness, the confident grip of his right hand on the steering wheel that suggested a man who knew how to handle a vehicle as well as the next guy. (And considering that the next guy closest to them was probably Bo, that was a lot of handling.)

Enos' hand – his hand, she'd been so busy assessing his smile and his chin and his shoulders that she'd forgotten to even notice that his left hand was hanging out the window, brown and tan plaid sleeve rolled up to his elbow – waving in the air a bit to get her to respond. To remember, even, that she'd been asked something.

"Two dollars is plenty," she assured him. Took his money, crammed it into her pocket with the rest of what she'd collected that morning and thought maybe she should ask him where he'd been, why she hadn't seen him in – could it be a year? More than that? Hard to say when he'd graduated three years ago and without the four walls of school to contain them she couldn't swear she'd seen him since. (But she must have. It couldn't be three years.)

Didn't matter what she might have wanted to say or ask when he smiled again. Not quite as confident or relaxed.

"Best you duck, Daisy," he suggested.

Duck? Why would she—

And Enos' smile got just that much wider, looked strained like maybe he was pulling muscles somewhere between his cheeks and ears, and his eyebrows popped up like there were strings tugging at them.

"What?" she said, but by then it was too late. Cold water on her legs, her back and up into her hair and there was nothing to do but whirl around and holler. "Bo!" And get squirted in the face.

And that was how the summer started, with her standing in the high school parking lot, dressed like somebody's kid brother, hollering at her hose-wielding cousin and soaked to the skin while Enos Strate smiled and secretly, silently worked his way into her heart and mind and soul. And he hadn't seen fit to leave any of those spaces since.