Debbie Macomber's Navy Box Set

by Debbie Macomber

  Royce didn’t know what the hell he’d been thinking. That was just it. He wasn’t thinking. Thank God Catherine had the presence of mind to call an end to matters when she had. She was right. If they made love, neither one of them would have been able to continue with the pretense. True, Catherine was far more readable than he was, but Royce knew himself well enough to recognize there would be problems with him, too. Major problems.

  “Can I call Catherine?” Kelly asked, reaching across the table for the comics.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  Royce wasn’t in any mood to argue with his daughter, and his voice was sharp when he spoke. “Because I said you couldn’t. I don’t want any arguments about this, Kelly. Catherine is off-limits.” To them both, unfortunately.

  Kelly gave him an indignant look, scooted out of her chair and stalked out of the kitchen. Just before she reached the doorway, she bolted around and glared at him. “Sometimes you’re an unreasonable grouch.”

  If Kelly thought he was bad now, give him another six months of working side by side with Catherine, knowing he’d never be able to hold her or kiss her again.

  * * *

  “What’s with Commander Nyland?” Elaine Perkins questioned when Catherine returned from a session in court early Friday afternoon. Catherine had been in and out of the office all week acting as prosecutor on a series of criminal trials. If Royce’s mood had been anything other than normal, she hadn’t noticed.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, setting a load of files down on her desk.

  “If I knew that I wouldn’t be asking you. He’s been in a bad mood all week, making unreasonable demands on himself and everyone else. You would think once he found out his daughter wasn’t badly hurt he’d be in a good mood. If anything it’s gotten worse.”

  “If Commander Nyland has a problem, trust me, he isn’t going to share it with me.” Catherine did her best to maintain the pretense that she and Royce did nothing more than work together. She hadn’t talked to him outside the office all week. The fact didn’t trouble her; they both needed distance to put order to their thoughts.

  Now that she thought about it, Catherine was willing to admit that Elaine did have a point. Royce seemed to be putting in plenty of hours, making too many demands on himself and consequently everyone else. He’d never gone out for any personality awards, nor was he in a popularity contest. If that were the case he’d lose hands down.

  A couple of the other clerks rolled back their chairs. “Ever read much about arctic seals, Lieutenant Commander?” Elaine Perkins asked as the others slowly gathered around the secretary’s desk.

  “No.” Catherine wondered what the men were up to.

  “Apparently when danger is near they gather on a floating iceberg. The problem is they don’t know when the danger has passed and so a sacrificial seal is thrown into the water. If he survives the others know it’s safe to leave the iceberg.”

  Catherine stared at the small party of men gathered around Elaine’s desk. A couple had leaned forward, pressing their hands to her desktop. “So?” Catherine demanded, not liking the sounds of this.

  “We just voted you to be our sacrificial seal.”

  “What?” If she hadn’t been so amused, she might have been concerned. Apparently she hadn’t done as good a job as she’d hoped, hiding her feelings for Royce. The staff seemed to think she had some influence with their XO. A dangerous sign.

  “It makes sense for you to be the one to approach him,” Elaine explained before Catherine could ask why they’d bestowed the dubious honor upon her. “Commander Nyland may have all the sensitivity of seaweed, but he’s still a man, and as such he’s as susceptible as the rest of us to a pretty face.”

  “And what exactly am I supposed to say to him?”

  “I don’t have a clue. You’re supposed to figure that out yourself. Just do whatever it is you do to put a man into a better mood.”

  “Please do it soon,” Seaman Webster added. “I’ve had to type the same paper five times. He wants it perfect. The last time I had a comma out of place, and you would have thought the free world was in jeopardy.”

  “Sorry, fellows,” Catherine said, walking back into her office, ignoring them as much as possible. She was staying away from this situation with Royce with a ten-foot pole. “You picked the wrong lady to do your dirty work for you. If Commander Nyland’s in a foul mood, you’ll ride it out together the way you always have. Furthermore I find your attitude highly chauvinistic.”

  “Oh, I agree,” Elaine Perkins commented. “But we’re desperate.”

  “I said no,” she returned crisply. “And I mean it.”

  There was a fair amount of grumbling, but the staff gradually returned to their desks. Elaine Perkins, however, continued to study Catherine. “I thought you and the commander were friends.”

  “We are,” Catherine said, doing her best to keep her tone light and unaffected.

  “I understood that the two of you jogged together most afternoons.”

  Catherine wondered when she’d heard that and from whom. “Not anymore. I usually run in the mornings.”

  “Damn. I was hoping you might be able to talk to him casually some afternoon, find out what’s bugging him. There isn’t any need to make the rest of us suffer just because he’s unhappy about something.”

  “Are you suffering, Mrs. Perkins?” Royce demanded from behind Catherine’s secretary in a voice so cold, the words froze in midair.

  Elaine went pale. “No, sir,” she answered briskly.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He hesitated long enough to look toward Catherine. “I’d like the Ellison report on my desk before you leave tonight.”

  “Yes, sir,” Catherine returned just as crisply. She was hours from being anywhere close to finishing the report. Royce must have known it. Apparently she, too, was to receive the brunt of his foul mood, but then why should she be different from anyone else?

  With that, Royce returned to his office and closed the door.

  Elaine slumped back into her chair and released her breath in a slow exercise. “He wants you to have that report done by tonight?” she moaned.

  “Don’t worry, it won’t take me long.” Longer than she would have liked, but that couldn’t be helped.

  “Do you want me to stay and type it up for you?”

  Catherine appreciated the offer, but it wasn’t necessary. “No, thanks, it won’t take me long.”

  “Aren’t you furious with him?” Elaine asked under her breath, her gaze leveled on the closed door that led to Royce’s office.

  “No.” Maybe she should be, but Catherine had learned long before that Royce’s bark was far worse than his bite. She said as much to Elaine.

  “Right, but you don’t seem to be the one he’s biting all the time.”

  The humor drained out of Catherine. The more she thought about Elaine’s comment, the more concerned she became. Was it true? Had Royce given her more slack than the other members of his staff? Apparently they’d all felt the brunt of his bad mood in the past several days. But if what Elaine Perkins said was true, something had to be done, and quickly.

  Catherine waited until later that same afternoon when Royce went down to the track. She gave him enough time to run several laps before she joined him. He looked over at her and frowned, his look so dark and uninviting that a shiver of apprehension moved over her. “The Ellison report is on your desk.”

  “Is there a problem?” He hadn’t decreased his speed any, and she was having a problem maintaining his pace.

  “Ah…ever hear of a sacrificial seal?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing…forget I said that.”

  They ran half a lap, then he turned to stare at her again. His eyes were cold, his look detached. That should have pleased her, should have assured her Elaine was imagining things, but it didn’t. “We might have a problem.”

  “Is that a fa
ct, Lieutenant Commander? Thank you so much for taking it upon yourself to inform me of this.”

  “More than…the usual problem.”

  “And what, tell me, is the usual problem?”

  “There isn’t any need to be so damned sarcastic,” she said, affronted by his attitude.

  “Isn’t there?” he returned. “What do I have to do, order you off this track? I thought I’d made myself clear about the subject of us jogging together.”

  “You did, but…”

  “Then kindly respect my wishes.”

  The wall was back in place, so firmly erected that Catherine was left to wonder if everything that had blossomed between them was a figment of her imagination. Royce was so cold. So caustic.

  “What about my wishes?” she asked softly.

  Royce came to an abrupt halt. His blue eyes had never been more piercing. “Listen, Lieutenant Commander, you have no wishes. If you didn’t learn that early in your Navy career then we have a real problem. I’m your executive officer. You will do what I say, when I say it, without question. Is that understood?”

  Catherine swallowed back a cry of protest. She blinked and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now stay off this track from five o’clock on.” He made it sound like a direct order, when in fact he had no right to tell her when she could or couldn’t be on the track.

  “Is that clear?” he demanded.

  “Very clear, sir.” The “sir” was shouted.

  “Good.” There was no regret in his voice. No emotion. Only a wall so high and so thick, Catherine doubted she’d ever be able to scale its heights again.

  Chapter Six

  The phone was ringing when Catherine let herself into her apartment Saturday afternoon. Setting the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and ignoring Sambo’s protest over being ignored, she lurched for the receiver.

  “Hello,” she said, fighting breathlessness.

  “Hi.” It was Kelly, that much Catherine could tell, but it sounded like Royce’s daughter was talking with her head inside a bucket.

  “Kelly?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that I’m not supposed to be calling you, and if Dad finds out I’m in big trouble. I’ve got the phone cord stretched into the closet and I’m whispering as loud as I can. Can you hear me all right?”

  “Just barely. Now tell me what’s up.” Catherine did her best to ignore the pain of Royce’s most recent order.

  “You still like me and my Dad, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, sweetheart, of course I do.” But it was more complicated than that, and Catherine couldn’t allow the youngster to go on thinking matters could continue the way they had. “There are problems, though.”

  “I know, Dad explained everything to me.” Kelly paused, and Catherine could hear the frustration and disappointment hum over the telephone wire with every word the youngster spoke. “Sometimes I hate the Navy.”

  “Don’t,” Catherine pleaded softly. “Those rules were made for a very good reason.”

  “But Dad said we couldn’t have you over to the house anymore and that we couldn’t go to the movies or go out to dinner or things like that. He said it would be best if I forgot all about you because that was what he was going to do.”

  Kelly’s words went through Catherine like a steel point. The pain was so sharp and so real that she swallowed hard and bit her lower lip.

  “I don’t want to forget about you,” the ten-year-old whispered, her voice trembling as if she were close to tears, “I kept thinking that Dad and you…that you might be my mom someday. I asked God to send me a mom, especially one with pretty fingernails, and then Dad met you and he was listening to me when I asked him about getting me a baby sister and then all of a sudden…”

  “And now everything looks so bad. I won’t forget you, sweetheart, and the Navy doesn’t have anything to say about the two of us being special friends.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “Not in the least. We’ll give your dad and me time to work matters out at the office, and once everything is settled there, I’ll invite you over for the night and we can order pizza and rent a movie and we’ll do our fingernails.”

  “Oh, Catherine, could we really? I’d like that so much.”

  “I’d like that, too.”

  There was a bit of commotion behind Kelly that sounded like a door being jerked opened. “I’ve got to go now, Missy,” Kelly said deliberately loud, placing heavy emphasis on her friend’s name.

  “I take it your dad just opened the closet door?” Catherine asked, unable to contain a smile.

  “Right.”

  “All right, sweetheart. Now listen, it probably would be best if you didn’t phone me again for a while. But I promise I’ll talk to your dad…”

  “Only do it soon, okay?” she pleaded.

  “I will, I promise,” Catherine pledged, feeling more depressed than ever.

  * * *

  The despair had grown heavier and more oppressive a week later. Royce hadn’t spoken one unnecessary word to her in all that time. It was as though she were invisible. A necessary body that filled a space. Necessary to the legal department, but not necessary for him. If Royce did happen to glance in her direction it was by accident, and it seemed he looked straight through her.

  The weekend hadn’t been much better. Catherine couldn’t remember a Saturday and Sunday that felt more empty. On Saturday she’d done busywork around her apartment and answered mail. At least her good friend Brand Davis from Hawaii was happy, she mulled, reading over the wedding invitation. Then on Sunday, after church services, she’d attended a matinee and cooked a meal she didn’t feel like eating, and ended up giving the leftovers to Sambo, who apparently wasn’t interested, either.

  Outwardly everything was as it always had been, but inside Catherine felt empty. As empty as a black hole. How stark her life felt, how barren. Until she’d met Royce, she’d been blissfully unaware of the lonely nothingness of her life. Royce had stirred her soul to life, and now she hungered for someone to share the everyday routine, someone to give meaning to her bleak existence.

  The single red rose in a crystal stem vase was sitting on her desk waiting for her when she walked into the office Monday morning. Her heart quickened at the beauty of the delicate flower, but she knew immediately it couldn’t, wouldn’t be from Royce. He wasn’t a man who would allow a rose to do his speaking for him. He wasn’t a man to indulge in such romantic extravagances.

  A card was pinned to the shiny red ribbon attached to the narrow vase. Catherine stared at the envelope for several moments, calculating in her mind who would have given her a rose.

  “Aren’t you going to read who it’s from?” Elaine asked, much too casually to fool Catherine.

  “In time.” She unpinned the card and slipped it free of the small envelope. The name was scrawled across the face of the card in bold, even strokes. She grinned, somewhat amused. It was exactly who she thought it would be. Knowing Elaine was watching her, she replaced the card in the envelope, then set the rose on the edge of her desk.

  “Well?” Elaine demanded impatiently. “Who sent it?”

  “My my, aren’t you the nosy one?”

  “If you must know, it’s a little more than idle curiosity.”

  Catherine pulled out her chair and sat down. “I suppose you’ve got money riding on this.”

  “Ten bucks.” Then without hesitation, she asked, “Commander Parker, right?”

  Catherine grinned and nodded.

  “I knew it all along,” Elaine said, grinning broadly.

  Catherine was pleased her secretary took such delight in the fact Commander Dan Parker had seen fit to flatter her with a red rose, but frankly, her secretary was more thrilled about it than she was.

  Her lack of appreciation, Catherine realized, could be attributed to the fact she realized what was sure to follow. An invitation she didn’t
want to accept. It happened just as she suspected, just when she was preparing to leave the office that same afternoon. Commander Parker strolled into the room, grinning boyishly.

  “Good afternoon, Catherine,” he greeted, and struck a casual pose. He was tall and reasonably good-looking, his features well defined. From the scuttlebutt Catherine had picked up around the base, Dan Parker had the reputation of being a playboy.

  “Good afternoon, Commander,” she responded formally, wanting to keep it impersonal.

  His gaze drifted over to her desk, where she’d left the rose. “I see you found my little surprise.”

  “It was very thoughtful of you,” she said, eyeing the door, anxious to get away. The office was deserted, and she didn’t want to get stuck in a long, boring conversation with a man she had no interest in cultivating a relationship with.

  “I’m pleased you enjoyed it so much.”

  “It’s lovely.” She reached for her coat and slipped into it, doing her best to give the appearance that she was about to leave. Anything that would cut short this game of cat and mouse.

  Commander Parker would ask her out, and she’d decline. Then he’d give her his well-practiced hurt-little-boy look, and she’d be required to spend the next ten minutes making up some excuse why she wouldn’t go out with him. Something that would soothe the ruffled feathers of his substantial male ego.

  “I don’t suppose you have plans Friday night?” he asked right on cue.

  “Sorry, I’m busy.” Which was true. She planned on changing Sambo’s litter box. Not exactly an exciting prospect, but it gave credence to her words. She looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder, determined not to play the game.