The gold, orange and yellow orb’s vibrant artful paintings swept across the horizon as evening dawned. The crisp, sharp salutes near their eyebrows’ edges didn’t waver as the rigid, hard bodies in camouflage uniforms and red berets stood at attention. Pure white light illuminated the Star Spangled Banner in brilliance as two soldiers’ hands moved in careful cadence on the pulley strings lowering the flag down the metal pole positioned at the bottom of the long concrete steps of the post headquarters building.  The last solemn, somber strains of a sole trumpet playing “Taps” dissipated magically into the evening’s horizon.
     This routine occurred daily and despite their best efforts to avoid it, had caught the four buddies. The enthusiastic mixture of young single soldiers had hoped to leave and start their typical weekend celebrations earlier that Friday but as always duty had held them longer than they had expected and wanted. Now the rhythmic tempo of black combat boots double timing led them closer to their liberty in the parking lot on the post’s perimeter. If they licked their lips the foursome could taste it. The longing and anticipation of the freedom, adventure and excitement they’d find and have off post for the weekend awaited them. Soon it’d be in theirs.
        Smooth, rhythmic breaths pursed through his lips. “Geez,” drawled Sergeant Raoul Domingo with a Latin flair reflecting his Puertan Rican heritage. “Do they have to do that every day?”
    His friends and fellow noncommissioned officers chuckled. It was a typical compliant. None of them liked the military requirements of stopping, standing at attention and saluting at the post headquarters twice a day. Every morning as the flag ascended to its glory at the apex of the flag pole, the blathering ringing   “Revelry” was like an alarm clock signaling another day of their military to report to their commitment of duty, honor and service to country as well a reminder to soldiers they’d better be in formation for PT or they’d regret the consequences.
     Still, this wasn’t their first day, and they weren’t privates any more. The routines they had endured and their experiences had become customs and habits. They were ingrained and instinctive as if they were second nature to them. They’d come to expect such standards as normal.
       As the four men flashed in a blur, shadows cast an artistic aesthetic finesse to an older, antique looking brick Southern plantation, its roof draped with tendrils of Spanish moss on the border of post. The estate seemed odd and usual against the traditional, orthodox, ordinary military surroundings and buildings. Why that property had been placed in its particular location definitely was a perplexing, interesting question that remained a mystery.
     In the dimness, his eyes caught glimpses of a sultry, curvy, lithe feminine silhouette. The denim of her short tugged accentuated her nice, firm buttocks and showed off her long shapely legs. The beige tank top emphasized the piqued rounded firm mounds among the many appealing delights hidden mysterious beneath her attire. Her green plastic water can gracefully posed in her hand as she leaned over sweetly whispering while she gave healthy drinks to the flowers and plants neatly arranged in colorful displays in the beige plastic boxes on her expansive porch.
     “He didn’t hear a damn word we said,” chortled Sgt. Dwayne Blackwell doubled over slapping his knees. “Because he’s distracted by a woman.”    
      “There are multitudes of hot, sexy, fly honeys in town,” replied Domingo with wistful curls at the corners of his lips. “We’ll have many conquests.”
     “Yeah,” returned the scrawny, lanky African American from Virginia, “but this one is really stacked.”
      Blinking his eyes Sgt. Zane Harris tried to dismiss the fantasy he saw but his eyes remained fixed on the beautiful creature puttering with an ordinary task on her porch. He had the instinctively strong feelings he’d seen her before but he wasn’t sure as the hodgepodge of his daily duties, responsibilities and activities whirled through his mind like a kaleidoscope.
    Shifting his gaze toward the porch, Sgt. Mason Riley leaned close to his friend. “I’d leave that one alone if I were you.” Stern seriousness marked the tone of the red-haired young man from Alabama.
     His hands moved to perked positions on his waist, Blackwell’s eyebrows arched in curious intrigue, “Why?”
     “She’s a vampire and a witch,” hissed Riley sharply.
    Blackwell howled in laughter. “How do you know?”
    Bristling, his body rigid, Riley’s lip displayed a disapproving, serious frown, insisting, “I know.”
     The foursome had spent most of their day in the field in the muggy humid 100 plus degree summer heat with 50-pound ruck sacks strapped to their backs, brandishing M-16s and playing war games training for an upcoming deployment to an unknown war zone abroad.  Riley I think you’ve been out in the sun too long.”  Blackwell shook his head rejecting and disbelieving his friend’s ideas. “Witches and vampires. That’s a bunch of superstitious bull shit, Man!”
    “I’m serious,” Riley insisted. “She’s a vampire and a witch.”
    Skeptical laughter rained around the men and that resulted in them returning their focus to their exciting, fun weekend plans.  Certainly not taking his friend’s warnings and notions with much seriousness or consideration, Zane disappeared without his friends’ notice. Slowly easing his way along the curved cobblestone walkway to the estate, Zane had a casual, relax stance as he approached the house carefully and with caution. His usual tact when it came to women.
      With the property standing in front of him, Zane noticed the house in a state of perfection matched by its well-manicured lawn and landscape. The dazzling, obvious sensations of wealth and spotlessness implied the plantation’s owner insisted on immaculateness. Surely she didn’t maintain it by herself. She probably had a large staff she employed to keep the estate in its pristine condition.  The estate harkened memories of his youth growing up on a luxurious ranch in Texas. A grin spread across his lips he related since he’d lived a life much like the powerful affluent Ewings in “Dallas.”
     Her long curly blonde locks swayed as her head and body turned together in timely synchronization, almost as if she’d sensed his presence there. A warm stunning smile highlighted her lips. The plastic watering can carefully clasped between her two hands as she regarded him. “Hi.”
     There was that Southern charm and hospitality with which he was familiar; he wasn’t surprised she’d extend it. “Hi,” Zane returned politely with a matched smile. He had been staring at her. He couldn’t help it. She was attractive and sexy. “I have a feeling I know you. Do I? Have I see you around post?”
    Her amusement showed her pleasure. “We’ve never met before and we didn’t know each other until now.”
     A multifaceted white, gray and black stone attached to a black ribbon hung around her neck. It looked antique and unique. “Your necklace is beautiful and fascinating.”  Her fingers thoughtfully rubbed the stone as if it were her habit. “It strikes me as having calming and soothing qualities as well as being very spiritual and significant. 
     “Thanks. You’re very perceptive.”
     He shifted to insecurities, nervousness, uncertainties or vulnerability to her – hide the oddness, nervousness and awkwardness he was feeling. He didn’t want to reveal any of those qualities -- not yet, if ever. “This is an awesome place. I thought it was a fairy tale because I haven’t seen or been to a place like this in years.  It reminds me of growing up on my family’s ranch in Arlington.”        
      Her eyes twinkled alight she relating and understanding to his experience. She too had lived with class, in the upper echelons of breeding, wealth and extravagance.  It suited her well but much like him she never flaunted it. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your family’s name?”
         “Harris,” he replied intrigued by her and admittedly curious to know her. He considered her. “Have you heard of them?”
      She pondered this handsome man and soldier for a long moment. Did she know his family? She couldn’t really recall. She knew so many people. “I’m afraid not,” she shook her head negatively. Her hand flicked toward her elaborately designed black screen door. “Would you like to come inside and talk about them?”
     He felt his smile broaden. There was that Southern charm and hospitality again. His mind twitched as common sense and his military training came to the fore. He was a stranger. It wasn’t right. Still he wanted to accept her invitation. His intent had been just to say hello and that had been accomplished. Shouldn’t he move on and rejoin his friends? After all they had plans. He was a grown man and he could change his mind about his decisions and choices whenever or however he wished; his wish was to be where he was and in his present company. He was content there.
    “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” Zane answered shifting back and forth as he weighed his options and desires. “I really should catch up with my friends.”
     Laughter lightly danced from her lips. “Doesn’t the military always say, ‘never leave your buddy behind.’”
     Sharply glancing at where his friends last were he saw they were nowhere in sight. “Damn!” He murmured softly and his face flushed in chagrin. “My apologies for my language.”
   Her mirth rang out melodically again. “No apologies are necessary. I grew up with three older brothers and a father whose profanity and curses put most sailors to shame.” Her hazel eyes sparkled as gazed at him. “So what are you going to do now Sergeant Harris?” Her eyelashes fluttered a few times. “That is if it isn’t too forward of me to ask.”
      “Well,” his thumb repeatedly stroked the right side of his mouth as he thought about his options. “If your invitation still stands, I’d like to accept, but I wouldn’t want to be any bother or trouble.”
      Her smile brightened as she nodded. “But of course. It’s not any bother or trouble at all.” She gestured beckoning him to come follow her into the house.  “You’re welcome, and I’d enjoy the company. We can visit and have some dinner and wine if you like.”
    His grin broadened. He wouldn’t be missing out spending time with his friends. Their weekends repeated themselves over and over. Usually a few brews and drinks and afterwards the typical buzz or the rare drunk blackout, often sex. Their weekends yielded the same result. Nothing different. Personally he was tired of it. It was getting old, routine and boring. He longed for something different. Maybe this was it? Admittedly this was better than the plans he’d had with his friends. Possibly better.
**
The screen door softly whooshed closed as the pair entered the house; Zane grabbed his beret crumpling and then securing it in his left cargo pocket of his camouflage uniform pants. His eyes swept over the large cherry wood door with the oval that had a colorful patterned interlaced design occupying it. The design looked like a family crest. A well-groomed brown Cairn terrier with a pink bow tied in its head hairs scurried to greet her followed by the blurs of gray striped petite, fat white and black spot and orange calico cats weaved affectionately against the ankles of her legs as she gracefully strode  through the short ante way. Various paintings to include several Impressionist pieces decorated the walls but his eyes riveted to the water lilies on a pond.  “Is this a Monet?”
     Her eyebrow arched impressed and  intrigued. Was he just impressed? She didn’t think so. Absolutely he had taste. Perhaps he was educated? Cultured? Well breed? Or all the above? “Very good, Sergeant,” her gaze swept over the brown hair cut in a high and tight, “but what’s a man like you who can recognize a Monet doing as an enlisted man?”
     Zane didn’t answer continuing to peruse the house. On the left in the living room and den was a fireplace covered by an elaborate metal gate along. In addition, there was an expensive state of the art entertainment center, rectangular wooden coffee table, plush coffee colored couch adorned with a vibrant afghan and matching love seat. On the right, a shabby chic yellow curio filled with fine china and matching cups, silver, Wedgewood pieces, Illadros and Hummels was situated behind a large dining room table. The table’s centerpiece had a crystal vase filled with white daisies accented by an exotic pink flower and a candy dish packed with yellow, white and pink mints. Her fingers snuck under the cover, plucked a candy and popped it in her mouth. Perspiration rolled gracefully down the side curves of the glass pitcher in which ice cubes floated among the lemonade next to Waterford glasses. The hostess gestured toward the pitcher. “Would you like some?”  
     “No, thanks,” he added the later as an afterthought because he was distracted by the aromas of oregano, parsley, basil and rosemary drifted tantalizingly through the house; his stomach rumbled reminding him of his needs. He and friends usually went out for dinner before hitting the weekend club/bar scene.
      The long, white wicker candles alit flickered adding ambience to the table set with neatly folded white napkins, fine china and silverware. His eyes drifted to the open entrance to the kitchen where a robust black matron, her hair streaked with gray, dressed in a maid’s uniform. Her strong, immaculate hands were folded on top of the white apron tied around her waist. “Dinner is almost ready, Mistress. Will you be requiring my services tonight?”
     “No, Liessa, I can manage,” she smiled warmly at the black woman.  “I know you have plans tonight, so go on now and scat.”
     The matron flashed a straight gleaming tooth filled grinned. “Yes Mistress. Good night.”
     “Good night Liessa,” she returned as the woman disappeared into the kitchen and then she turned toward her. “You must be famished. I insist you stay for dinner.”
     “I couldn’t possibly,” he protested maintaining his politeness. He jerked his thumb behind him toward post. “I’m sure the mess hall is still open. I’ll just grab something to eat there.”
     “Seriously? You don’t like tossed salad, lasagna, garlic bread and key lime pie with strawberries? All of which I made with my own two hands.” She remarked amused. “When was the last time you had a home cooked meal, Sergeant?”
       “Like forever,” he grinned unable to recall the last time. Arguably a home cooked meal would be remarkably better than the mess hall or the junk food or MREs he had back at the barracks. “And tossed salad, lasagna, garlic bread and key lime pie with strawberries sounds absolutely delightful.”
       “Good,” she said decidedly knowing the matter had been settled. “I’m not dressed appropriately for dinner, so I’m going to go change.” Southern traditions and customs. Again he didn’t mind because they were normal, habits engrained in him. She gestured toward her expansive, luxurious den and living room. “You go ahead, make yourself comfortable and relax. I’ll try not to be long.” Turning, she disappeared down the long hallway toward the back bedrooms.
    Without hesitation, Zane drifted toward the couch and took a seat. His fingers instinctively moved to loosening the black laces of his combat boots before removing them. His black socked feet wiggled on the floor as he peeled off his camouflage uniform shirt and laid it over the top of the couch. On the wooden end table at the right end of the couch lay the remote for the TV. Picking it up, his finger pressed a button and the scrolling screen of more than 300 channels including Amazon Prime, HBO, ESPN and Showtime.
    The fabric of her long sleeved, formal medieval style gray and turquoise hooded gown swayed quietly as she returned to the den. The blonde beauty momentarily watched him in silence. The channels clicked rapidly by across the screen without him being interested in any of them. He was merely relieving his boredom by distracting himself until his company returned.
      She didn’t really know him but she felt connections to him; certainly she felt chemistry and attraction. Perhaps he was the one?
      Removing the pitcher of lemonade from the table, she glided into the kitchen and placed it in the well stocked refrigerator. Taking out the Tupperware bowl with the tossed salad, followed by the piping hot freshly made basket of garlic bread, hand crafted denim potholders carried the pan of lasagna to the table.  A bottle of red Merlot wine added the finishing touches. With a swift glance she ensured all the serving utensils she needed were available.  Satisfied her work, she gently called. “Dinner’s served Sergeant.”
    Flipping off the TV, he returned the remote to its spot on the end table. Slowly rising from the couch, he turned to his hostess. The stunning dress and dark silver star drop necklace around her necklace sucker punched him deep in his gut and took his breath away. Suddenly he felt inappropriately too casual and undressed for the occasion. Quickly dismissing his misgivings, Zane approached the table and stepped behind his hostess. Pulling out her chair, the young soldier lips gracefully brushed the knuckles of her right hand as he whispered huskily, “Call me Zane. My friends do.”
      “Zane,” she liked the way his name sounded on her lips. As he took his seat across from her, she introduced herself. “My name’s Katerina. Call me Kat if it’s easier.” She smiled. “My friends do.”
      Carefully peeling thin threads of paper away, the cork gave a sophisticated pop. Her fingers wrapped around the thin shaft of the Waterford glasses as she poured red wine into them. “So, Zane, tell me about your family.”
   Wine wasn’t his preference but it’d work. Selecting his own glass, he took careful sips before answering. “What’s to tell I come from a long line of wealthy Texas ranchers?” Like her, he wasn’t boastful about his upbringing or wealth. The plastic tongs gathered a healthy helping of salad filled with thin shavings of carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, green peppers and croutons mixed with light layers of Caesar dressing into a light red glass bowl in front of him. He gazed at her curiously. “And you Katerina?” He savored the way her exotically unique name sounded on his lips.
     The spatula excavated and lifted out a healthy portion of lasagna onto a plate that she served to him. “Liechtenstein.”
     He nodded. His fork dug into a piece of the lasagna and then he tasted it. His dark eyes rolled with pleasure. “God this is absolutely heavenly.”
    Her eyes danced playfully. “Better than the mess hall?”
    “Hell yeah!” Zane grinned then flinched in chagrin. “Sorry for my language.”
     Katerina waved dismissively. “No apologies.” Eager to continue their conversation she continued. “I’m sure you’re wondering how a woman from Liechtenstein ended up living here in the Southern comforts of Savannah, Georgia, in your United States of America. I came here with as a sophisticated fine, highly educated young woman to visit relatives here. That seems like ages ago.” Her bluish green eyes twinkled like diamonds. “I liked it so much I fell in love with America and decided to stay here. Eventually I decided to become an American.”
    Sitting back relaxed, Zane gazed at his hostess. Yes, this could out turn out to be a very intriguing, appealing and enjoyable evening. He was definitely interested in seeing where it’d go.