Navy Woman. Debbie Macomber
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the fact the man looked at her as if she were little more than a mannequin was vaguely insulting. Okay, she was being unreasonable, Catherine mused. If she had recognized a flicker of interest in those cobalt-blue eyes of his, that would have been worse.
“Yes, sir.”
“As I was saying,” he continued, “I’ve had my eye on your work.”
She noted that he made a simple statement of fact without elaborating. If he’d been watching her, then she’d admit, not openly of course, that she’d been studying him, too. He may be disagreeable, and to her way of thinking, ill-tempered, but he was respected and generally well liked. Personally, Catherine found him to be a real pain, but her thinking was tainted by a four-week stint at standing duty on Friday nights.
Politics existed in every office, but there seemed to be more in Bangor than the other duty stations Catherine had been assigned. As the executive officer directly below Captain Stewart, Commander Royce Nyland was empowered to run her legal office. He did so with a detached, emotionless ability that Catherine had rarely seen. In many ways he was the best officer she’d ever worked with and, in others, the worst.
It was apparent the man was a born leader. His lean, muscular good looks commanded attention. His office demanded it.
Actually, now that she had an uninterrupted minute to analyze the commander, she was willing to admit he was fairly attractive. Not handsome in the classic sense. Appealing, she decided. Not ordinary.
His features weren’t anything that would cause a woman to swoon. His hair was nearly black. Its darkness coupled with his deep blue eyes was a contrast not easily ignored. He was broad shouldered, and although she knew him to be of medium height, an inch or so under six feet, he gave the impression of power and strength in everything he did.
Her scrutiny didn’t seem to bother him. He leaned back in his chair, expelled his breath and announced, “I’m pleased to tell you I’ve chosen you as a substitute coordinator of the physical fitness program for the base.”
“Substitute coordinator,” Catherine repeated slowly. Her heart beat dull and heavy before it dropped like a lead weight to her stomach. It took a second to right itself before she could respond. If there was one after-hours duty she would have done anything to avoid it was that of coordinator of the physical fitness program. It was by far one of the least envied jobs on base.
The Navy was serious about keeping men and women in top physical condition. Those who were overweight were placed on a strict dietary schedule and exercise regime. As coordinator, Catherine would be subjected to endless meetings to chart the individuals’ progress. She’d also be expected to formulate an exercise program designed specifically to meet each person’s needs. In addition, she would be given the painful task of having someone discharged from the Navy if they failed to meet the requirements in regard to weight and fitness.
“I believe you’re qualified to handle this job effectively.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, biting her tongue to keep from saying more. Tackling this duty, even on a substitute basis, meant she wouldn’t have time to breathe. It was a time-consuming, distasteful assignment. If the executive officer had been actively seeking to destroy any chance she had of developing a social life, he’d done so in one fell swoop.
“Lieutenant Osborne will meet with you and give you the necessary paperwork at 1500 hours. If you have any questions, you should gear them to him.” Already he was looking away from her, dismissing her.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, struggling with everything in her not to let her irritation show. She left his office and closed the door with a decided click, hoping he’d believe the wind had caught it. Hell, he was fortunate she didn’t tear the damn thing right off its hinges.
With as dignified a walk as possible, she returned to her office. She set the pad down a little too hard, attracting the attention of Elaine Perkins, her secretary, who occupied the scarred desk outside Catherine’s office.
“Problems?” she asked. As a Navy wife, Elaine was well acquainted with the difficulties of military life.
“Problems?” Catherine echoed sarcastically. “What could possibly be wrong? Listen, do I have something repugnantly wrong with me?”
“Not that I’ve noticed,” Elaine was quick to tell her.
“I don’t have bad breath?”
“No.”
“Does my slip hang out from under my skirt?” She twisted around and tried to determine that much for herself.
“Not that I can see,” Elaine assured her. “What makes you ask?”
“No reason.” With that, Catherine stalked out of the office and down the hall to the drinking fountain. Her hand trembled slightly as she leaned forward and scooped up a generous mouthful, letting the cold water soothe her injured pride.
Catherine wished she could talk to Sally. The two were the only women officers in a command of several hundred men, but that wasn’t possible now. Once she’d composed herself sufficiently to return, Catherine did so, forcing a smile.
“I’m pleased to inform you you’ve been chosen as the substitute coordinator of the physical fitness program,” Catherine mumbled under her breath as she traipsed toward the running track several hours later. Dusk was settling over the compound, but there was enough time to get in a three-mile run before dark.
Pleased was right. Commander Nyland had looked downright gleeful to assign her the task. The more Catherine thought about it, the more furious she got.
Venting some of this discontent seemed like a good idea. Clouds threatened a downpour, but Catherine didn’t care. She’d just received the worst collateral duty assignment of her career, and she needed to vent the frustration and confusion before she headed home to the apartment she rented in Silver-dale. Taking giant strides, she crested the hill that led to the track, then stopped abruptly. Several runners circled the course, but one runner in particular stood out from the rest.
Commander Nyland.
For a long moment Catherine couldn’t keep her eyes off him. There was a natural, fluid grace to his movements. His stride was long and even, and he ran as if the wind were beneath his feet. What struck her most was his quiet strength. She didn’t want to acknowledge it. Nor did she wish to find a single positive attribute about this man.
If there was any justice in the world, lightning would strike him dead. Glancing to the sky, she was depressed to note a touch of blue in the far horizon. Typical. Just when she was looking for rain, the sun had decided to play a game of hide-and-seek with her. If lightning wasn’t going to do the good commander in, then all she could hope for was a bad case of athlete’s foot.
Once again she grumbled under her breath, seriously considering leaving the base without running. If she did go down to the track, it was likely she’d say or do something that would get her into trouble with the commander.
Evidently she’d done something horrible to warrant his dislike. After he’d ruined four weekends straight for her, he’d topped himself by giving her the least desirable assignment on base. What next? KP?
Catherine started to turn away, then abruptly changed her mind. She wasn’t going to allow this man to dictate her entire life! She had as much right to run on this track as anyone. If he didn’t like it, he could be the one to leave.
With that thought in mind, she stepped alongside the court and went through a series of warm-up exercises. Actually, the more she thought about it, she was downright eager to get onto the track. She was petite, but she was a fine runner. She’d been on the varsity cross-country teams in both high school and college and did a consistent seven-minute mile. If there was an area in which she excelled, it was running.
She did the first lap at a relaxed pace, easily lapping a couple of the overweight men. Commander Nyland didn’t acknowledge her one way or the other, which was perfectly fine with Catherine. She’d hadn’t come out here to exchange