February 14, 10 NE
Pookie –
I was teasing about expecting a poem from you, but I loved it. I'm going to keep it in my scrapbook. One day our greatgrandchildren will know that you were not only a hunter and legend, but also a poet.
You said all you wanted for Valentine's Day was a dirty letter. I'm terrible at writing dirty letters. Really terrible. Trust me on that one.
So instead, I thought I'd just act out one for you. Sweetheart is at Gunther's. We have until 6:00 PM before we have to pick her up, and then our godsons are coming over at 7:00. But that still leaves us nearly four hours all to ourselves.
I'm waiting for you behind the drapes.
Love,
Carol
[*]
Carol's never worn sexy lingerie in her life, but she's wearing it now. Last week, Shannon showed her where it was stored, in a metal footlocker in a dim corner of the storehouse, safe from moths and dust. "God knows what Captain John Smith was thinking when he looted all this from the storage room of Victoria Secret," Shannon said. "I think he got it for the whores, but they only chose a few items. The rest that's left, it's all new, still in the plastic garment bags."
Carol made a selection and washed it twice, for good measure, because there's no such thing as new after ten years. There's only never worn.
She's fed the wood stove, and the heat is piping lightly through the cabin, but she feels cold, because she's sitting atop the comforter, on the edge of the bed, in a skimpy, red silk negligee with nothing under it but a pair of crotchless panties.
She feels suddenly ridiculous. She's about to get up, change into her sweat pants and sweatshirt, and rip up the note she left on the kitchen bar when the cabin door opens.
So instead she stills where she sits and listens. Somewhere on the other side of the thick, opaque drapes, Dog barks. Daryl tells him to heel. The door creaks shut. There's the clattering of boots being kicked off and hitting the wall, and then the softer sound of Daryl hanging his crossbow and shedding his coat. "Hell's it so warm in here?" he asks Dog. "Ain't no one home."
Dog whines.
"Fuck. Carol left the stove on. Could of burned the whole damn cabin down." Floorboards creek as he treads toward the kitchen. Then there's silence. He must have found her note.
There's another creak of the floorboard, and then a smack, furniture skidding, and a jumbled curse, as if he stumbled back into a kitchen chair in surprise. Then it grows quiet again. Maybe he's re-reading the letter.
The next thing Carol hears is the clattering of metal. What is he doing?
When the drapes are abruptly pulled back, she realizes the sound she heard was a loosened belt buckle jangling as a pair of pants were dropped to the ground. Daryl stands there, stark naked, and already half erect. He blinks when he sees what she's wearing, licks his lips, and then huffs out a happy laugh. "Hey," he says.
Carol smiles. "Hey yourself."
[*]
Daryl's panting finally slows, and the heat of his breath fades from Carol's shoulder. They're lying half off the bed, feet on the floor. He slides a finger under the thin strap that holds her negligee over her shoulder and twines it partially around his fingertip.
He didn't want her to take it off the entire time, but he did want to watch her sit on the edge of the bed and toy with her own breasts through the silky fabric, and then spread her legs as the negligee rode up to her hips, and play with herself through the opening in the crotchless panties. After she made herself cum, he pushed her back onto the bed and drove hungrily into her.
"Where'd ya get this?"
"My secret."
"Like it."
"I gathered."
He smiles dopily. "Damn."
Carol smiles in return. "Happy Valentine's Day."
He turns his head slightly and kisses her. "Yer goddamn beautiful."
"Can we get under the blankets and cuddle for a while? I'm getting cold."
"Mhm." He stands, helps her up, and then pulls back the blanket. She begins to shimmy out of the negligee, and he says, "Nah, don't take it off."
"It's uncomfortable, Pookie."
He frowns, but he doesn't protest further as she crawls naked beneath the covers. When they're cuddled under the heavy warmth together, he kisses her bare shoulder. "How much more time we got?"
"Plenty. Why? What did you have in mind?"
He grins sheepishly. "Honest? Maybe a nap, if we're gonna have to deal with Gary all night."
Carol laughs. "A nap sounds just about perfect to me."
She drifts off quickly in his arms and awakens an hour later to the feel of his strong hands fondling her lazily from behind, first one breast, and then the other. She rolls to face him, presses her erect nipples against his chest, and tastes his lips and tongue. They make love slowly, lazily, and fade into sleep once again.
Next time, it's a rapping on the cabin door that awakens her. Carol scurries to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a dark t-shirt, slips between the drapes, and pads over the cold, wooden floor of the cabin to answer.
Gunther is standing there, in his thick, tan, canvas winter work coat, his farmer's hat pushed down over his ears, but no gloves, hands red from the cold. Sweetheart, bundled up in a thick pink winter off-the-rack coat and her homeknit white mittens, hat, and scarf, rides his hip. "Mama!" she cries when.
"You said six," Gunther tells Carol. "And I promised Dianne I'd shave and spiffy up before I took her out to dinner at the tavern. She's about to get off work."
"What time is it?"
"Six thirty."
"I'm so sorry," she tells him as she takes Sweetheart from his arms. "We fell asleep."
Gunther smiles gently. "Well, it sounds like you had yourself a lovely Valentine's."
"I really appreciate you watching her."
"Anytime." He puts a hand on Sweetheart's cheek and bends down to kiss the top of her head. Sweetheart smiles up at him when he draws back. "And I do mean anytime. We had fun together, didn't we, little one?"
"Fun!"
"And since I won't be having any of my own, I'm happy to play uncle."
"Well you don't know that," Carol says. "Dianne's young yet."
"Oh, I thought everybody knew everyone's business in a small town. I had the old snip snip in the Old World."
"Ah."
"By request of my first wife, after the third child. And then she left us all for another man. Probably had three more babies with him for all I know. So Sweetheart's welcome." He waves his fingers one by one at her.
"Say bye bye," Carol tells her.
The toddler waves back vigorously. "Bye bye, Gun Gun!"
He chuckles, tips his farmer's hat to her, and turns to head back home.
Carol shuts the front door, sets Sweetheart on her feet, and gets her out of her outer winter clothes. Daryl emerges, yawning, from behind the drapes in nothing but a pair of gray long john underpants.
"Daaaaadeee!" Sweetheart says in that voice she uses when Daryl's being intentionally silly with her. "No shit!"
Shit is how she says shirt. It's a bit embarrassing in public, but at home they've gotten used to it.
"Yeah," Daryl tells her. "I'll get m'shit together."
