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      Navy Husband

      by

      Debbie Macomber hails from the state of Washington. As a busy wife and mother of four, she strives to keep her family happy and healthy. As a prolific author of dozens of romance novels, she strives to keep her readers happy with each new book she writes.

      To Geri Krotow, Navy wife, with appreciation for all her assistance. Dream big dreams, my friend.

      Dear Friends,

      Here it is—the very last book of my Navy series. A lot has changed since I wrote those first five books in the late 1980s and early nineties. There have been huge technological advances that affect our everyday lives—and life in the Navy, too.

      Even after all these years, I’ll never forget my first sight of an aircraft carrier when the Nimitz sailed into Sinclair Inlet that day in 1988. I still feel the excitement and joy experienced by the crowd of people waiting to see their loved ones. But I felt more than joy that day—I also felt pride and respect. All of those emotions led me to bring my hand to my heart and join in the singing of “God Bless America.”

      As you’ve probably worked out by now, I live in a Navy town. The Bremerton shipyard is directly across Sinclair Inlet from Port Orchard. Many of my neighbours are active or retired military families and a number of the women who attend my local autographings are Navy wives. (I’ve even met a few Navy husbands!) I’m proud to be part of this community, proud to support the military and their families. We are the land of the free because of the brave and I don’t ever want to forget that.

      I hope you enjoy Navy Husband. In case you’re interested, the Navy tradition in my writing continues in the Cedar Cove series published by MIRA Books. (The next one, 44 Cranberry Point, is available in February 2010.) This fictionalised town is based on Port Orchard and has lots of references to the Navy and the shipyard.

      Thank you for reading my books. Now sit back, put your feet up and enjoy Navy Husband.

      Warmest regards,

       Debbie Macomber

      PS I love hearing from readers. You can reach me through my website, www.debbiemacomber.com (write your comments in the guest book) or write to me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.

       Chapter One

      “This is a joke—right?” Shana Berrie said uncertainly as she talked to her older sister, Ali, on the phone. Ali was the sensible one in the family. She—unlike Shana—wouldn’t have dreamed of packing up her entire life, buying a pizza and ice-cream parlor and starting over in a new city. Oh, no, only someone completely and utterly in need of a change—correction, a drastic change—would do something like that.

      “I’m sorry, Shana, but you did agree to this parenting plan.”

      Her sister was a Navy nurse stationed in San Diego, and several years ago, when she’d asked Shana to look after her niece if necessary, Shana had immediately said yes. It had seemed an unlikely prospect at the time, but that was before her sister became a widow.

      “I did, didn’t I?” she muttered lamely as she stepped around a cardboard box. Her rental house was cluttered with the makings of her new life and the remnants of her old.

      “It isn’t like I have any choice in the matter,” Ali pointed out.

      “I know.” Pushing her thick, chestnut-colored hair away from her forehead, Shana leaned against the kitchen wall and slowly expelled her breath, hoping that would calm her pounding heart. “I said yes back then because you asked me to, but I don’t know anything about kids.”

      “Jazmine’s great,” Ali assured her.

      “I know, but—but…” she stammered. Shana wasn’t sure how to explain. “The thing is, I’m at a turning point in my own life and I’m probably not the best person for Jazmine.” Surely there was a relative on her brother-in-law’s side. Someone else, anyone else would be better than Shana, who was starting a new career after suffering a major romantic breakup. At the moment, her life still felt disorganized. Chaotic. Add a recently bereaved nine-year-old to the mix, and she didn’t know what might happen.

      “This isn’t a choose-your-time type of situation,” Ali said. “I’m counting on you, and so is Jazmine.”

      Shana nibbled on her lower lip, trapped between her doubts and her obligation to her widowed sister. “I’ll do it, of course, but I was just wondering if there was someone else…”

      “There isn’t,” Ali said abruptly.

      “Then it’s me.” Shana spoke with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, although she suspected it must sound pretty hollow. Shana hadn’t had much experience as an aunt, but she was going to get her chance to learn. She was about to become her niece’s primary caregiver while her sister went out to sea on an aircraft carrier for a six-month deployment.

      Shana truly hadn’t expected this. When Ali filled out the “worldwide availability” form—with Shana’s name—she’d explained it was so the Navy had documentation proving Jazmine would have someone to take care of her at all times, ensuring that Ali was combatready. It had seemed quite routine, more of a formality than a possibility—and of course, Peter was alive then.

      Ali had been in the Navy for twelve years and had never pulled sea duty before now. She’d traveled around the world with her husband, a Navy pilot, and their daughter. Then, two years ago, Peter had been killed in a training accident and everything changed.

      Things had changed in Shana’s life, too, although not in the same unalterable and tragic way. Brad—Shana purposely put a halt to her thoughts. Brad was in the past. They were finished. Done. Kaput. She’d told her friends that she was so over him she had to force herself to remember his name. Who was he, again? That was how over him she was. Over. Over and out.

      “I don’t have much time,” Ali was saying. “The Woodrow Wilson’s scheduled to leave soon. I’ll fly Jazmine up this weekend but I won’t be able to stay more than overnight.”

      Shana swallowed a protest. For reasons of national security, Shana realized her sister couldn’t say any more about her schedule.