Navy Woman

She was dedicated and hardworking, and she’d fit in easily with the rest of his staff. She wasn’t a complainer, either. Before he’d left the office that evening, he’d checked over the duty roster and was surprised to note that he’d assigned Catherine duty every Friday for four weeks running. He hadn’t realized his mistake. Anyone else would have pointed it out to him, and rightly so. Her name had drifted easily into his mind when he learned Lieutenant Osborne was going on sea trials and a substitute coordinator was needed to take over the physical fitness program.

He knew Catherine wasn’t overly pleased by the assignment. Her eyes had flashed briefly with rebellion, but that was the only outward sign she’d given that she wasn’t thrilled with the added responsibility.

That woman had eyes that would mark a man’s soul. Normally Royce didn’t pay much attention to that sort of thing, but her eyes had garnered his attention from the first moment they’d met. They shimmered, and seemed to trap pieces of light. But more than that, they seemed warm and caring.

He liked her voice, too. It was rich and sweetly feminine. Female. Hell, Royce mused, he was beginning to sound like a romantic poet.

Now that thought was enough to produce a hearty laugh. There wasn’t a romantic bone left in his body. His wife had squeezed every ounce of love and joy out of him long before she went to the grave.

Royce didn’t want to think about Sandy. Abruptly he turned and walked toward his car, his strides hurried, as if he could outdistance the memory of his dead wife.

He climbed inside his Porsche and started the engine. His house was on the base, and he’d be home within five minutes.

Before long, however, it was Catherine who dominated his thoughts again. He wasn’t overly thrilled with the subject matter, but he was too damn tired to fight himself over it. When he arrived home, his ten-year-old daughter, Kelly, would keep him occupied. For once he was going to indulge himself and let his thoughts wander where they would. Besides, he was curious to analyze his complex reaction to Catherine Fredrickson.

Not that it was important. Not that he needed to know anything more about her than he already did. He was simply inquisitive. He supposed when it came right down to it, he didn’t feel one way or the other about her.

No, that wasn’t true, either. She intrigued him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t understand it. He wished he could put his finger on exactly what it was about her that fascinated him so much. Until that afternoon, he hadn’t even been aware of it.

She wasn’t that much different than the other Navy women he’d worked with over the years. Not true, he contradicted himself. She had a scrubbed-clean look about her, a gentleness, a gracefulness of heart and manner that piqued him.

Another thing he’d learned about her this evening. By heaven that woman was bullheaded. He’d never seen anyone run with cursed stubbornness the way she had. It wasn’t until it had started to rain that Royce recognized the unspoken challenge she’d issued. Absorbed in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed she was on the track until she’d zoomed past him and then smugly tossed a look over her shoulder as if to announce she’d won. Hell, he hadn’t even realized they were in a race.

As if that wasn’t enough, she wouldn’t stop. They both had reached their physical limits, and still that little spitfire continued and would have, Royce was convinced, until she dropped.

He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. His hands remained on the steering wheel as a slow smile spread across his features. Woman, he mused, thy name is pride.

The drape parted in the living room, Kelly’s head peeked out. Just the way the drape was tossed back into place told him the ten-year-old was angry. Damn, Royce wondered, what the hell had he done this time?

Kelly usually ran outside to greet him. Not tonight. Whatever it was must have been a doozy. His daughter could be more stubborn than a Tennessee mule. This must be his day for clashing with obstinate women.

Chapter Two

Fresh from the shower, Catherine dressed in a warm robe, and wrapped her hair in a thick towel. She sat in the living room, her feet propped against the coffee table with Sambo nestled contentedly in her lap.

Sipping from a cup of herbal tea, Catherine mulled over the events of the day. A reluctant smile slowly eased its way across her face. Her dislike for Royce Nyland didn’t go quite as deep as it had before their small confrontation on the racetrack. The man wasn’t ever going to win any personality awards, that was for sure, but she felt a grudging respect for him.

Sambo purred and stretched his furry legs, his claws digging deep into the thick robe. Catherine stroked her pet, letting the long black tail slip through her fingers as she continued to mull over the time she and Royce had shared the track. The realization that she actually enjoyed their silent battle of wills warmed her from the inside out. For some unknown reason, she’d managed to amuse him. Because of the dark, Catherine hadn’t been able to witness his stern features relax into a smile. She would have liked to have seen that, taken a picture to remind her that the man could smile.

Her stomach growled, and Catherine briefly wondered what was stashed in her freezer. Hopefully something would magically appear that she could toss in the microwave. She definitely wasn’t in the mood to cook.

On her way into the kitchen, she paused in front of the photograph that rested on the fireplace mantel. The man staring back at her had deep brown eyes that were alive with warmth, wit and character.

Catherine’s eyes.

He was handsome, so handsome that she often stared at the picture, regretting the fact she had never been given the chance to know him. She’d been only three when her father had been shipped to Vietnam, five when he’d been listed as Missing in Action. Often she’d reached back as far as her memory would take her to snatch hold of something that would help her remember him, but each time she was left to deal with frustration and disappointment.

The man in the photo was young, far too young to have his life snuffed out. No one would ever know how he’d died or even when. All Catherine’s family had been told was that his Navy jet had gone down over a Vietcong infested jungle. They never were to know if he survived the crash or had been taken prisoner. Those, like so many other details of his life and death, had been left to her imagination.

Catherine’s mother, a corporate attorney, had never remarried. Marilyn Fredrickson wasn’t bitter, nor was she angry. She was far too practical to allow such negative emotions to taint her life.

Like a true Navy wife, she’d silently endured the long years of the cruel unknowns, refusing to be defeated by the helplessness of frustration. When her husband’s remains had been returned to the States, she’d stood proud and strong as he was laid to rest with full military honors.

The only time Catherine could ever remember her mother weeping had been the day her father’s casket had arrived at the airport. With a gentleness and a sweetness that impressed Catherine still, her mother had walked over to the flag-draped casket, rested her gloved hand at the head and brokenly whispered, “Welcome home, my love.” Then she’d slumped to her knees and sobbed until she’d released a ten-year reservoir of submerged emotions.

Catherine had cried with her mother that day. But in death, as he had been in life, Andrew Warren Fredrickson remained a stranger.

In choosing to become a Navy attorney, Catherine had followed both her parents’ footsteps. Being a part of the military had brought her as close as she was likely to get to understanding the man who had given her life.

Lulled by her thoughts, Catherine ran the tip of her finger along the top of the gold frame. “I wonder if you ever had to work with someone like Royce Nyland,” she said softly.

She did that sometimes. Talked to the photograph as though she honestly expected her father to answer. She didn’t, of course, but carrying on a one-sided conversation with the man in the picture eased the ache in her heart at never having known him.

Sambo meowed loudly, announcing it was well past dinnertime, and Catherine had best do something quickly. The black feline waited impatiently in front of his bowl while Catherine brought out the pouch of soft cat food.

“Enjoy,” she muttered, wincing as she bent over to fill the food dish. Holding her hand at the small of her back, Catherine cautiously straightened. Her pride had cost her more than she’d first realized.

“But, Dad, I’ve just got to have that jacket,” Kelly announced as she carried her dinner plate over to the sink. She rinsed it off and set it in the dishwasher, a chore that went above and beyond her normal duties. As far as Royce was concerned, she was going to have to do a whole lot more than stack a few dishes to change his mind.

“You have a very nice jacket now,” he reminded her, standing to pour himself a cup of coffee. He supposed he should be grateful she’d chosen to overlook the fact he was forty minutes later than he’d told her he would be. After her initial protest she’d been suspiciously forgiving. Now he knew why.

“But my jacket’s from last year and it’s really old and the sleeve has a little tear in it and no one is wearing fluorescent green anymore. I’ll be the laughing stock of the entire school if I wear that old thing.”

“That ‘old thing’ as you put it, will do nicely. The subject is closed, Kelly Lynn.” Royce was determined not to give in this time. He was walking a fine line with his daughter as it was, and loomed dangerously close to overindulging her. It was easy to do. She was a sweet child, unselfish and gentle. Actually it was something of a wonder that Kelly should turn out to be such a considerate child. The ten-year-old had been raised by a succession of baby-sitters. From the time she was only a few weeks old, Kelly had been lackadaisically palmed off on others.

Sandy had only agreed to have one child, and she’d done so reluctantly six years into their marriage. Her career as a fashion buyer had dominated her life, so much so that Royce doubted that his wife had possessed a single mothering instinct. When she’d been killed in a freak auto accident, Royce had grieved for her loss, but their relationship had been dead for several years.

If Kelly had been shortchanged in the mother department, Royce wasn’t convinced she’d done much better with him as a father. Heaven knew Royce’s reputation was that of a hard-nosed bastard. But he was fair and everyone knew it. He did the best he could, but often wondered if that was good enough. He loved Kelly and he wanted to do right by her.

“All the other girls in school have new jackets,” she mumbled under her breath.

Royce ignored the comment and between sips of coffee placed the leftovers inside the refrigerator.

“I’ve already saved $6.53 from my allowance?” She made the statement into a question, seeking a response.

Royce returned the carton of milk to the shelf.

“Missy Gilbert said the jackets were going to be on sale at J. C. Penney and with next week’s allowance I’d have almost one fourth of the total cost. I’m trying real hard on my arithmetic this year, you know.”

“Good girl.” The two of them had suffered through more than one go-round with fractions.

Kelly turned her big baby blues full force on him. “What about the jacket, Dad?”

Royce could feel himself giving in. This wasn’t good. He should be a pillar of strength, a wall of granite. He’d already told her once the subject was closed. The jacket she had now was good enough. He remembered when they’d bought it last year. Royce had been appalled at the outrageous shade of putrid green, but Kelly had assured him it was perfect and she would wear it two or three years.

“Dad?” she asked ever so sweetly, the way she always did when she sensed he was weakening.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she cried, rushing across the room and hugging his waist. “You’re the greatest.”

An odd sense of self-consciousness attacked Catherine when she went down to the track the following evening. As she suspected, Royce was there ahead of her, running laps, as were several other men.

Royce hadn’t said more than a handful of words to her all day, which wasn’t unusual. He was as polite and as cool as always. When he came into the office that morning, he’d glanced her way, and Catherine could have sworn he was looking straight through her. His hard blue eyes had passed over her without so much as a flicker of friendliness. If she were to take the time to analyze his look, she suspected it had been one of cool indifference. It wasn’t that Catherine expected him to throw his arms around her and greet her like a long lost friend. On second thought, maybe that was the problem.

They’d shared something on that running track, a camaraderie, an understanding and appreciation for each other. Catherine didn’t expect warm embraces, but she hadn’t expected him to regard her so impersonally. Apparently she’d read more into their talk than he intended.

That was her first mistake, and Catherine feared she was ready to commit mistake number two.

Squaring her shoulders, she traipsed down the hillside to the running track. She was later this evening than she had been the night before. No thanks to Commander Nyland. For the past two hours she’d been reviewing files and charting progress as the substitute coordinator for the physical fitness program. Her eyes hurt, her shoulders ached and she was in no mood to lock horns with the executive officer, unless, of course, he started something first.

Catherine completed her warming-up exercises and joined the others circling the quarter-mile track. She needed to unwind, vent the frustration she felt over being assigned this extra duty, which was an imposition she didn’t need. It seemed that the commander had seen fit to delegate CDO duty that Friday night to someone else. Lucky for that someone.

Her first lap was relaxed. Catherine liked to ease herself into running, starting off slow and gradually gain her momentum, peaking at about the second mile and finishing off the third in a relaxed stride.

Royce passed her easily on the first go-round. Catherine fully expected that he would. Once again she was impressed with the power and strength she felt as he shot past her. His skin was tan and his muscles bronzed. It was as if he were a living, moving work of art, perfect, strong and male. Her heart raced much faster than it should. A rush of sensation so powerful it nearly knocked her off her feet took her by surprise. On the heels of that emotion came another, one more potent than the first. Anger. He zoomed past her again and it was all she could do to hold herself back from charging ahead.

On the third lap she couldn’t help herself, and she let loose, running as though she were in the Olympic time trial and this was her one and only chance to make the team.

The sense of satisfaction she gained leaping past Royce was enough to make her forget how hard she was pushing herself to maintain this stride.

The feeling of triumph was short-lived, as she knew it would be. Royce stepped up his pace and quickly charged around her. Then he slowed down and waited for her steps to join his.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Commander,” he greeted, cordially enough.

“Commander.” She wasn’t in any mood to wish him a pleasant anything. Once again he’d managed to irritate her. No man had evoked such heated feelings from her, whether they be reasonable or unreasonable. It was all because of Royce Nyland that she’d been the one poring over a carload of files late into the afternoon.

Royce increased his stride, and Catherine struggled to keep even with him. She had the feeling that he could have left her to eat his dust at anytime, and was simply toying with her the way a cat enjoys playing with a cornered mouse. None of that seemed to matter as she pushed herself harder than ever.

After a couple of laps, Catherine sensed his amusement. No doubt she and her damnable pride were a keen source of entertainment to the obstinate executive officer.

Somehow Catherine managed to keep up with Royce for three complete laps, but she knew she couldn’t continue the killing pace any longer. It was either drop out now or collapse. Catherine chose the former.

When she pulled back, slowed her pace to a fast walk, Royce raced ahead, then he surprised her by turning around and coming back. He kept his arms and feet in motion as he matched her speed.

“You all right?”

“Just ducky.” She barely managed to breathe evenly, and prayed a sufficient amount of sarcasm leaked through to convey her mood.

A crooked smile slanted his mouth, his look cool and mocking. “Do you have a problem, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Off the record?” she asked, without hesitating. A month of frustration could no longer be contained, and she was bursting to let him know exactly what she thought of him.

“By all means.”

Catherine might be digging herself in deeper than she dare, but her patience was shot. “Is there something about me that troubles you, Commander?” She didn’t give him time to respond, but rushed ahead, “Because something’s rotten in Denmark, and frankly, it isn’t my problem…. It’s yours.”

“I don’t treat you any differently than anyone else,” Royce inserted smoothly.

“Like hell you don’t,” she shot back heatedly. Thankfully the others had left the track, which might or might not be a blessing.

“I don’t see you assigning anyone else to stand duty four weeks straight. For some unknown reason you’ve chosen to destroy my weekends. I’ve spent eleven years in this man’s Navy and I’ve never stood duty more than once a month. Until you were assigned my XO. Apparently you don’t like me, Commander, and I demand to know why.”

A nerve twitched in his lean, hard jaw. “On the contrary, I find your dedication to duty to be highly commendable.”

Catherine didn’t actually expect him to admit his dislike of her, but she wasn’t willing to listen to his military rhetoric, either. “I suppose my dedication to duty is what made you decide to bless me with this plush job of coordinating the physical fitness program? Was that supposed to be a bonus for all the extra hours I put in on the Miller case? If so, find another way to thank me, would you?” She was trying to talk and draw in deep breaths at the same time and doubted that Royce could make out more than a few words.

Royce stiffened. “Is that all?”

“Not quite.” She was only beginning to gain her momentum. “Off the record, Commander, I think you’re a real jerk.”

When she finished, Catherine was overwhelmed with a feeling of release. She started to tremble, but she wasn’t sure if the shaking could be attributed to the fact she’d pushed herself physically to the point of collapse or that she’d stood on a military compound and shouted insults at her executive officer at the top of her lungs.

His look was impossible to read. The feeling in the pit of her stomach was decidedly uncomfortable.

“Is that a fact?” he demanded.

“Yes.” Her voice wobbled with uncertainty, sounding as though it were coming from the bottom of a well. She drew in a deep breath, knowing she’d stepped over the boundaries of what should and shouldn’t be said to a superior officer. The blood that seemed to have been pounding in her ears like ringing church bells suddenly went silent.

With her hands knotted into tight fists at her sides, she braced herself for the backlash. If she thought to clear the air, she was sadly mistaken. If she’d accomplished anything it was to sabotage her own career.

Royce didn’t say anything for several moments, but the nerve in his jaw continued twitching. Then he nodded as though they’d casually been discussing the weather, turned and resumed running. Catherine was left standing alone to stare after him.

Catherine spent an uncomfortable night, tossing and turning and finally talking over her troubles with Sambo. To her way of thinking, Royce would either ignore her outburst or see to it that she was transferred to a Third World country. However he reacted, she would be getting exactly what she deserved. No one spoke to their XO the way she had. No one.

For hours she lay awake analyzing what had happened. After several soul-seeking sessions, she still didn’t know what had caused her to get loose enough to say the things she did.

The following morning, Royce was already at his desk, behind closed doors when she arrived. She glanced cautiously toward his office. If there was a merciful God, then Commander Nyland would be willing to forget and forgive her outburst from the day before. She would apologize, grovel if need be, but leaving matters as they were was clearly unacceptable.

“Morning,” she said gingerly to Elaine Perkins. “How’s the great white hunter today?” she asked, hoping her secretary had had a chance to judge Royce’s mood.

“Same as usual,” Elaine told her, sipping coffee from a thick ceramic mug. Her voice drawled with a thick southern accent. “He asked me to send you into his office when you arrived.”

Catherine felt the starch go out of her knees. “He asked to see me?”

“You heard me right. What are you looking so worried about? You haven’t done anything, have you?”

“Nothing,” Catherine whispered in reply. Nothing except stick her head in a noose and sling the other end of the rope over the highest branch in the tree.

Squaring her shoulders in her best military form, she walked across the office and knocked politely on the commander’s door. When she was ordered to enter the room, she did so with her eyes focused straight ahead.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Sir.”

“Relax, Catherine.” He leaned back in his chair, his chin resting on folded hands as though he were still weighing his decision.

Relax, he’d told her to relax, only Catherine hadn’t figured out how she was supposed to be at ease when her career was on the line. She hadn’t joined the Navy like so many other women with her head in the clouds, seeking adventure, travel and a paid education. She knew from the beginning about the rigorous routine, the political infighting and the fact she’d be dealing with world-class chauvinists.

Nevertheless she loved being part of the Navy. She’d worked hard, and her efforts had been rewarded. Now this.

“Since our recent discussion I’ve been having second thoughts,” Royce said flatly.

Catherine swallowed against the heaviness in her throat. She doubted if she could have spoken if she tried.

“From everything I’ve read about you, you have an excellent record.” He leaned forward and closed her file. “Effective immediately, I’m removing you as the substitute coordinator of the physical fitness program, and assigning Lieutenant Johnson the duty.”

Catherine was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. Her eyes, which had been trained on the opposite wall, skirted to his. A breathless moment passed before she could speak, “You’re removing me from the physical fitness program?” She couldn’t have been more surprised had he announced he was working for the KGB.

“That’s what I just said.”

Catherine blinked, not knowing what to say. “Thank you, sir,” she finally managed.

“That will be all,” he said, dismissing her.

She hesitated. She’d wanted to apologize for her outburst from the day before, but one look told her Royce wasn’t interested in listening to her list her excuses.

As it was, her knees were knocking so badly that she walked over to her desk, slumped into the chair and held on to the edge as though it were a lifeline.

Catherine didn’t see Royce for the remainder of the day, for which she was grateful. It gave her time to sort through her emotions, which were as confused and tangled as thin gold chains. She didn’t know what to make of the executive commander. Every time she had him figured out, he’d do something more to confuse her. Complicating the matter even further were her muddled feelings toward him. He was by far the most virile man she’d ever met. She couldn’t be in the same room with him and not experience that magnetism. Yet, she found herself intensely disliking him.