Dru Harmon craned her neck and watched Clyde Manning sweep the sidewalk in front of his father’s hardware store. Heat flamed in her cheeks as she studied the rippling muscles in his arms. Just then he looked her direction and she hid her face behind a newspaper.
She’d heard he wanted to join the army. And she hadn’t had time to declare her love, to tell him what he meant to her. Why were there rumors of war? Again? Germans this. Russians that. Who cared? Why couldn’t America just keep to herself, close the borders and ignore that mess in Europe?
She studied the front-page headline: France Breaks Off Diplomatic Relations with Britain. Running her finger across a map, to indicate place, she cursed that man Hitler.
Why now? Why during her prime of life?
War, armies, folks struggling to come back from the crash, it was all too much. Love was supposed to be wild and free and full of illicit passion. At least it was in her fantasies.
She tapped her pen on the table. There had to be a way to break through Clyde’s resolve? A man with a mission could look right through a woman. Still, he was a man. She smoothed her soft floral sundress, straightened the seams on her nylons and stood, shaking her long golden hair.
1940 happened to be a Leap Year and well…all was fair in love and war.