Debbie Macomber's Navy Box Set

by Debbie Macomber

  When she was finished he handed her a damp washcloth. She held it to her face, letting the coolness soak away some of the terrible red heat. Her eyes burned like fire, her throat felt gritty and coarse, and her hands shook.

  “Here.” Rush handed her a glass of water.

  She felt an abundance of shame at having allowed him to see her like this, and worse, that he should be the one to take care of her. She sank to the edge of the tub, afraid her shaky legs could no longer support her.

  “You’re going to be all right now,” Rush told her confidently. “It’s over.”

  She couldn’t look at him but nodded because it seemed the right thing to do. Rush had no way of knowing what Paul had done to her. No way of knowing that the man she’d loved and planned to share her life with had married another woman while Lindy proudly wore his engagement ring. Rush Callaghan didn’t know a damn whit about shattered dreams or the pain of a broken heart. He would never allow himself to be hurt this way.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you into your room.”

  She stood with his help, and he tucked his arm around her waist as he led her into her darkened bedroom. Gently he brushed the wet strands of hair from her face and lowered her onto the mattress in a sitting position.

  “I trust you don’t need anyone to undress you.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “It’s a damn good thing,” he said, and there was more than a trace of a smile in his words.

  He started to walk away from her but paused just before he reached the door, turning back to her. “You’re a beautiful woman, Lindy Kyle, and someday there’ll be a man who will love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

  Her mother had said almost those identical words to her. At the time, Lindy hadn’t been ready to accept them; she wasn’t sure she could now. All through college there’d only been Paul. Every thought of the future had been linked with him. Every dream. Every ambition. She felt as if fate had sent her tumbling into oblivion, uncaring what ill fortune befell her.

  But it wasn’t in her to argue with Rush. Instead she brought her feet up onto the bed and pressed her head against the feather pillow. Her eyes ached unmercifully and she closed them.

  “Did you hear me?” Rush demanded softly.

  She wanted to shake her head that she hadn’t, but there wasn’t enough spirit left in her to challenge him. “I’m too selfish to pine away for Paul Abrams,” she said, her soft voice trembling. “I’m not willing to be miserable any more.”

  Her words seemed to please him. “You’re one hell of a woman, Lindy, and don’t you forget it.”

  “Right.” She couldn’t contain the sarcasm. Although she kept her eyes closed, Lindy knew it was a long time before Rush left the doorway. His presence all but filled the room. Only when he’d slipped away did she feel comfortable enough to relax and sleep.

  Lindy woke around two, her throat dry and scratchy. Her temples throbbed, and her eyes were red and swollen. She didn’t turn on any lights as she made her way into the kitchen, preferring the shield of darkness.

  The drapes were open and the city lights flickered in the distance. Taking the cold glass of water and the aspirin with her, Lindy stood at the window and expelled her breath in a long sigh. She’d made such an idiot of herself in front of Rush. The thought of facing him in the morning was almost more than she could bear.

  Fresh tears dampened her face at the memory of the humiliating way she’d sobbed and moaned and rocked with grief. She exhaled a quivering breath and brushed her cheeks free of moisture.

  “It’s over, Lindy, there’s no need to cry anymore.”

  She whirled around to discover Rush sitting in the darkened room, watching her.

  “I’ll cry if I damn well please,” she hissed.

  “There’s no need to now.”

  Lord, she hated it when men thought they were so wonderfully logical. Everything seemed to be so cut-and-dried for them.

  “Who made you king of the universe?”

  He chuckled at that.

  “I don’t find that the least bit amusing. I honestly want to know what makes you think you know so damn much about human nature that you can decree when enough tears have been shed?”

  “I know.”

  Lindy slapped her hand against her side in an action meant to reveal her disgust. “So the big lieutenant commander has spoken.” She whirled around and placed the water glass down with such force that the liquid sloshed over the sides.

  “How could you possibly know about loving someone and then losing them? You can’t imagine what it’s like to have your heart ripped from your chest and be left with a gaping wound that refuses to heal.” She was yelling at him now, but not because she was angry. The memory of the way she’d broken down in front of him was more than embarrassing. Heated words were her only defense.

  Rush was out of the chair so fast that it shocked her. He loomed at her side like a dragon, his jaw as tight and contorted as she’d ever seen it.

  “I know more than I ever cared to.” Each word dripped with ice, his message clear.

  They stood, their gazes locked in the moonlight, glaring at each other, refusing to look away. She saw his pain then, as raw and jagged as her own. His guard was down. He’d lowered it for her tonight when she’d spilled out her heart, leaving himself exposed and trapped in pain-filled memories.

  “Rush,” she whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Slowly, she lifted her hand and touched his shoulder, wanting to offer him comfort the way he had helped her. “I didn’t know.”

  He reached for her then, crushing her in his arms, burying his face in the curve of her neck. He didn’t fill in the details. He didn’t need to.

  Chapter 4

  Lindy slept on the davenport across from Rush, but the sweet luxury of oblivion escaped him. Even now, hours later, he couldn’t forget the unselfconscious way she’d wrapped her arms around him and held him, her tears soaking through his shirt. Rush wasn’t sure who she was crying for anymore: him or her. It didn’t matter.

  Her body felt unbelievably good against his own, and her warmth had chased away the arctic chill that had seemed to cut all the way through to the marrow of his bones. He didn’t like to think about Cheryl and rarely did these days. But somehow being a witness to Lindy’s anguish had brought the memory of his own bobbing uncontrollably to the surface of his mind. Like a cork, the remembrance of his love and foolishness had refused to sink, and he’d been left to deal with the pain that had suddenly seemed as fresh and real as it had been eight years ago.

  The memory of Cheryl had weighed on him like a steel cloak, tormenting his heart and mind. He’d loved her with a love that was pure and innocent. A love so rare that he never hoped to feel such deep, heart-wrenching emotion again. Leaving her to go to sea had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. Every day of the tour he’d written to her, spilling out his heart. On payday he’d sent her every penny he could, living on a bare minimum himself because it was important to him that she have the things she needed.

  When he’d reached home port, he couldn’t get off the aircraft carrier fast enough. After six months at sea, he was dying to hold her again, dying to love her. But she hadn’t been at the dock. Bitterly disappointed, the only thing Rush could reason was that she was ill. Well, he’d been partially right. Only her sickness was of the nine-month variety. From what he’d learned later, sweet innocent Cheryl had shacked up with another sailor a week after he’d left San Diego. She’d apparently hoped to pass the baby off as Rush’s. Rush, however, hadn’t needed a degree in math to calculate the dates.

  It might have made things easier for him if they’d fought. He might have been able to release some of the bitter anguish he’d experienced over her infidelity. But instead he’d simply told her goodbye and walked away, the diamond engagement ring he’d intended to give her seeming to sear a hole through his palm.

  In the weeks and months that followed, his mind played crazy tri
cks on him. He tried to convince himself the baby was his, although God knows it was impossible. He heard from a friend that Cheryl married some poor schmuck fresh out of officer training within a month after Rush had left her.

  A couple of years later he’d run into her in a bar. Her big blue eyes had clouded with tears as she’d told him they’d let something good slip away. With a wedding band on her finger, she’d placed her hand high on his thigh and suggested they get together for old times’ sake. Rush had thought he was going to vomit, she repulsed him so completely.

  He never saw her again, never wanted to. Cheryl had taught him valuable lessons, ones destined to last a lifetime. She’d destroyed a part of him that could never be resurrected.

  The first faint light of dawn seeped into the sky, extinguishing the stars one by one, and still Rush couldn’t sleep. But the even meter of Lindy’s breathing as she lay sleeping on the sofa was a soothing balm and gradually he felt the rigid tension leave his limbs.

  They’d sat for hours, his arm around her, her head nestled over his heart. Neither had spoken—or wanted to. It was a time to remember. A time to forget. When she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep, he’d gently slipped free of her hold and lowered her head onto the sofa.

  She was going to be all right now.

  So was he.

  * * *

  Lindy squinted as the sun flooded the living room and seemed to rest, full force, on her face, disturbing her deep sleep. Her neck ached, and it was then that she realized that her only pillow had been the small flat decorative one from the couch. She felt disoriented until the memory of what had happened between her and Rush gushed through her mind like melting snow rushing down a mountainside during a spring thaw. She groaned and covered her face with her hands, embarrassed anew.

  Slowly, almost against her will, she sat up and opened her eyes. She felt empty inside, depleted. Shaky.

  A quick survey of the room told her Rush wasn’t anywhere in the immediate vicinity, and she sighed with relief.

  Coming to her feet, she brushed the mussed dark hair away from her face and stumbled into the kitchen. The coffee was made and a note propped against the base of the machine. Lindy reached for the slip of paper and blinked several times in an effort to clear her vision. Rush had duty and wouldn’t be home until late afternoon.

  Thank God.

  She wasn’t up to confronting him. Not now, anyway. What could she possibly say to him after she’d stripped herself emotionally naked and exposed her soul? Lord, she didn’t know, but she’d figure it out later. Right now she wanted a hot bath and some breakfast, in that order.

  By five that afternoon, she’d washed windows, baked a fresh apple pie and scrubbed the shower. Occupying herself with a dozen domestic tasks until she was forced into the inevitable confrontation with Rush.

  She was frying pork chops for dinner when she heard the front door open, and she tensed, instantly filled with dread.

  An awkward silence ensued when he stepped into the kitchen. Since she wasn’t sure how to begin, she glanced around nervously and offered him a falsely cheerful smile.

  Rush was frowning and she watched as his gaze bounced around the apartment, growing darker and more irritated with each passing moment.

  Despite her best efforts, Lindy felt completely unstrung, and still Rush just stood there, looking straight through her with those impassive blue eyes of his.

  “I baked a pie.” It was an absurd thing to say, but Lindy was quickly losing a grip on her determination to be cheerful and pleasant.

  “That’s not what I smell.”

  Lindy saw him wrinkle up his nose a couple of times, sniffing. “What are you?” she asked, forcing a light laugh. “A bloodhound?”

  Obstinately Rush refused to respond to her attempt at good humor. If anything, his face grew more marred by dark shadows and anger kindled in his eyes. “It smells like pine needles in here.”

  “Oh.” Why, oh why, couldn’t he play her game? He had to know how difficult all this was for her. “I scrubbed down the cupboards. I think I was supposed to dilute the cleaner more than I did.”

  Her back was braced against the counter, her fingers gripping the edge. She could feel a pulse come alive in her temple. She’d had all day to make up her mind what she was going to say to Rush, how she was going to act, but her conclusions had been vague and fearful. That was when she’d decided she wouldn’t utter a word about what had happened, praying he wouldn’t, either. She should have realized Rush wouldn’t let her forget it.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  She nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I decided to spruce up the place a bit.”

  Her efforts didn’t appear to please him. Damn, but she wished he’d say or do something to help her. He had to know what she was going through.

  “You said something about pork chops being your favorite dinner,” she offered next, almost desperate. All the while, her eyes pleaded with him. She’d just found her footing with this man, and now she was floundering again, her feet slipping out from under her every which way she turned.

  “That was thoughtful.” Still he frowned, his brow crowding his eyes, darkening them all the more.

  Lindy rushed to the stove and used a cooking fork to turn the sizzling meat. She dared not look at him, and when she spoke the words strangled her. “I wanted to thank you, I guess.”

  “For what?”

  Obviously Rush wasn’t going to exert the least bit of energy to help her. The stoic look of the wooden Indian was properly in place once more and she wanted to hate him for his ability to disguise his emotions so effortlessly.

  “Lindy.”

  She ignored him, flipping the frying meat when it was totally unnecessary.

  “Lindy, turn around and look at me.”

  She shook her head.

  “Those pork chops are going to turn into rubber if you cook them much longer.”

  Forcefully she turned off the burner and slapped the cooking fork on the stove top. “I could hate you for this,” she muttered between clenched teeth.

  “Well don’t, because it isn’t any easier for me.”

  Her chest was heaving with indignation when she slowly turned so that they faced each other once more. Nothing about him said he was the least bit uncomfortable. They could have been discussing the weather for all the reaction Rush revealed.

  “Well?” she demanded, not having a single clue as to what he was thinking. He wore the hard mask of disciplined self-control, and she longed to slap it from his face.

  “I’m embarrassed, too,” he admitted finally.

  “You? Whatever for? I was the one who made a complete idiot of myself. I was the one who was wailing like a banshee.” She whipped the hair from her face. “What could you possibly have to be embarrassed about?”

  He looked as if he were going to answer her, but Lindy wasn’t about to let him. An entire day of worry and frustration was banked against her fragile control.

  “Why couldn’t you have let it drop?” she continued. “Trust me, I was willing to forget the entire incident. But, oh no, Mister Know-It-All has to rub my nose in it.”

  The muscle in his clenched jaw leaped so hard his temple quivered, and a strange light flared in his eyes. “I didn’t want any pretense between us.”

  Defiance and pride filled Lindy’s breast and her long nails threatened to snap as she continued to grip the countertop behind her. “I don’t, either,” she whispered after a moment, willing now to release her resentment and accept the wisdom of his words.

  “I’d like us to be friends.”

  She nodded, dropping her gaze to the freshly waxed kitchen floor. “Lord knows, I could use one.”

  He smiled at that, and when she glanced up she noted that his eyes had softened perceptibly.

  “How did you know apple pie is my favorite?”

  Relaxing, Lindy returned his smile. “A fine naval officer like you should know the answer to that. Apple pie has to rank right up there with hot
dogs and the American flag.”

  They both laughed aloud then, but not because she’d been especially clever. The matter had been settled between them and they were on an even keel once more. They could be friends.

  * * *

  “Well, how do I look?” Lindy asked Rush Monday morning. She stood beside the kitchen table, where he sat reading the paper and drinking coffee. Her interview wasn’t scheduled until noon, but she’d been dressed and ready since eight, pacing the living room. Lord, he swore she’d straightened the same stack of magazines ten times.

  “You’re going to do great.”

  “You didn’t even look at me,” she accused, her hands clenched together in front of her. She was a picture of efficiency in her dark blue business suit, white blouse and navy pumps. If it were up to him, he would hire her on the spot.

  “You look wonderful,” he said, meaning it. Too damn good for his own peace of mind, if the truth be known.

  She checked her wristwatch and nibbled nervously on the corner of her bottom lip. “I think I’ll leave now.”

  “Good idea.” To be truthful, he’d be glad to have her out of the apartment. But not because she was making a nuisance of herself. Oh sure, her pacing was beginning to get on his nerves, but far more profound than that—Lindy was beginning to get to him. Bad.

  She reached for her purse. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Break a leg, kid.”

  “Thanks.”

  Her quick smile ate like a sweet-tasting acid all the way through him. He’d been a fool to think their nonrelationship would fall neatly back into place after Friday night. He’d been a first-class idiot to believe they could just be friends. Oh, they were that all right, but God knew he hungered for more. Much more.

  Rush’s breath escaped on a long, disgusted sigh as he pushed his coffee cup aside. Every time he looked at Lindy his body started to throb. It wasn’t even funny. In fact it was downright embarrassing.

  He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest, trying to reason matters out. Lindy was years younger than he. Ten, at least. And she’d been hurt, the pain much too fresh for her to trust her feelings. To further complicate the situation, she was Steve Kyle’s little sister. Rush might be able to overlook the first stickler, but not the second or the third. Lindy was too vulnerable now, too susceptible. And Steve Kyle was much too good a friend to lose because Rush couldn’t maintain his self-control.