by Tawny Weber
“I understand your position and I’m on your side. But...”
“But?”
“Get used to having Tabby around for a while.” The Admiral glanced over his shoulder at his aide and motioned him forward. “Why don’t we discuss this in your office. Say, 0800 Monday. That gives us an hour before our scheduled meeting with Tabby.”
Tabby leaned over the sink in the deserted ladies’ room, splashing cold water on her face. She’d found Master Chief Thomas surrounded by a group of chiefs and delivered the package. It had been years since she’d seen him. He, of course, lectured her for what she was trying to accomplish.
News traveled fast through the Navy SEAL community. It was only a matter of time before her father found out.
She’d stayed while the Master Chief and the others recounted their old sea stories. Many involved her father. To them he’d always be the Toad. To her he was simply, Dad.
She learned Miller used to be a smoker—a chain-smoker with insomnia, according to the Master Chief. While going through SEAL training, he’d almost burned down the barracks, and for that he’d been tagged “the Torch.” Her father had threatened to kick his butt if he ever caught him smoking after lights out. Miller’s nicotine addiction got the best of him, though, because he got caught again.
Only the stupid or the brave defied her father.
Tabby could picture it now, a teenage, buzz-cut version of Marc Miller standing toe-to-toe with the Toad—eyes watering as he tried not to choke on smoke and give himself away. He’d probably burned a blister on the roof of his mouth putting out the embers.
Miller’s story had a happy ending, at least. He never touched a cigarette again.
“I’m not leaving until you swallow,” were the Toad’s words, according to Master Chief Thomas.
Miller should have just coughed up the cigarette butt.
Her dad hated deception. As kids the punishment was always worse when they skirted the truth. She should pick up the phone and call him. Before he heard what was up from someone else. He’d be proud and supportive. And if he wasn’t?
Well, that was the real question, wasn’t it?
What if he sided with the rest of them? With Miller?
If it came to a showdown between her and Miller which one of them would swallow their pride first?
She was the one hiding out in the ladies’ room.
Tabby let out a puff of air. She’d hoped to sell Miller on the idea of the study before mentioning her connection to the Chief of SEALs. She knew how it looked. A high-profile father and a high-ranking godfather equaled privileged, and discounted the value of all her hard work. If only she actually had that kind of pull. She might have knocked off a year or two of overcoming objections.
It had taken climbing a mountain of bureaucratic red tape to get this far. And that wasn’t the whole of it. She was fighting an uphill battle and it wasn’t just her sex dragging her down. The cutoff age for BUD/S was twenty-eight.
In a year’s time they wouldn’t even need gender as an excuse to keep her out of the program, they’d simply tell her she was too old. That’s why this study had to be now. And why she had to pass every physical training test to the SEAL standard and not some gender modified standard that allowed for push-ups on her knees.
Men did love to put women on their knees.
Who could blame her for using what little leverage she had?
I look forward to our next tango, Lieutenant. She supposed from his perspective she’d been leading him on from the moment they’d met.
She hadn’t anticipated the attraction. But heightened arousal was to be expected when the adrenal system got involved. This was her fight or flight moment.
She should have come clean about Uncle Mitch though and shouldn’t have rubbed Miller’s nose in it after the fact.
“Real smart, Chapel. Push the man’s buttons—”
“You must be Tabby.”
Tabby lifted her startled gaze to the mirror and stared at the blonde’s reflection. Petite said it all. The woman was everything Tabby was not, and wearing a formfitting, black knit dress to boot.
“I’m Carol, Brad’s wife.”
Tabby smiled in return. “I guess you caught me talking to myself.”
“You’ll have to tell me exactly what buttons those were.” Carol set her purse down on the vanity and rummaged through it. “You were talking about Marc, right? I know women who’d pay for that information.” She pulled out a tube of lipstick and applied a bright pink color.
Tabby reached for a paper towel and propped a hip against the sink. She pretended to consider the possibility. “How much?”
“A lot.” Carol laughed, then sobered. “And not nearly enough if you’re interested in keeping him all to yourself.” She dropped the lipstick back in her purse.
“I’m not.” Tabby tossed the wadded paper into the trash. She only had one use for Marc Miller. And that was to back her study with his expertise. So why had she felt the need to antagonize the man?
“Too bad. He’s really a nice guy.”
That was the second time she’d heard that tonight. Nice wasn’t exactly the word she’d use to describe Marc Miller. Nice butt. Nice bod.
But nice, not so much.
“Carol?” Brad burst into the ladies’ room. “There you are. Oh, Tabby.” He blushed the exact shade of pink as the candy-striped wallpaper. “Sorry.”
“Looking for a little privacy?” Tabby gathered up her things. “I was just leaving.”
“Not necessary.” He grinned.
“What’s up?” Carol asked.
He offered his wife an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”
Carol heaved a sigh. “Go, get out of my face so I can start missing you already.”
“Keep the car. I’ll ride in with the guys.” He planted a quick kiss on his wife’s mouth, then left.
Carol was left holding the keys to the Bailey family car. “Such is the life of a Navy SEAL wife,” she tried to sound stoic, even with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Hormones,” she explained, wiping them away. “Now I’ll have to wait until he gets back to tell him.”
“You’re pregnant?”
Carol nodded.
“You could still catch him if you hurry—”
Carol shook her head. “He doesn’t need the distraction right now. His mind needs to be on the mission, not me.”
How many times had Tabby’s mother gone through the same thing?
Life with a Navy SEAL wasn’t easy. A wife wasn’t privy to even the smallest details of her husband’s job. Like when he’d be leaving, and when he’d be coming home.
Tabby didn’t know whether to offer sympathy or break into a rendition of Stand By Your Man. But when it became painfully obvious the other woman wanted privacy, Tabby excused herself.
The bar crowd thinned as Brad’s team filed out.
What Tabby wouldn’t give to be going with them...
Uncle Mitch sat at the bar with Alan. Tabby squeezed her godfather’s shoulder in passing to keep him seated. His knees were probably killing him by now, though he’d never admit it. Alan stood and moved down a stool so she could sit between them.
“Here you go.” Setting a beer in front of her, Manny twisted off the cap. “With Miller’s compliments.” He nodded in the general direction.
Tabby turned and found the man in question sitting alone in a booth across the room. Why did the word lonely come to mind? According to Carol the man could have any woman he wanted. Not that she needed Carol to tell her that.
He saluted with his bottle. She lifted her bottle in return. They weren’t through yet. Not until she was through with the feasibility study.
Not until she was a Navy SEAL.
“Would you care to dance, Ms. Chapel?” Alan asked.
One of her favorite songs filled the air. “No thanks. I don’t feel much like dancing.”
Chapter 5
Marc watched Tabitha follow her godfather out the door. In jeans s
he tended to stride rather than swing, but he liked the view just the same.
With the departure of Team One the bar had cleared to half the patrons. Leighton and Perry played pool with the petty officer’s Friday night girl and a couple of her friends. A boisterous group of chiefs and retirees occupied the back room where the retirement party was still in full swing. And some guy at the bar looked like he’d have to pay to get lucky tonight if the woman draped all over him was any indication.
But the place hadn’t seemed empty until now.
He remembered the Admiral’s words. Get used to having Tabby around for a while. That was the problem. He could easily get used to it. Until Monday when Lieutenant Chapel shoved the fact she was staying down his throat. Hopefully his earlier meeting with the Admiral would shed some light on why they were letting her go through with this.
Carol emerged from the ladies’ room looking lost and a little disheveled. She spotted him and headed toward his table.
Meeting her halfway, he noted her pale complexion and led her back to the isolation of his corner booth. “Sit. You look awful.” He signaled their server.
“Thanks. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” She attempted a smile, but it remained as flat as the sarcasm. “I’m just feeling a little woozy.”
“Too much to drink?”
She clicked her tongue. “You know I don’t drink. Even when I wasn’t—” she cut herself off.
“If you’re sick—”
“I’m not sick.”
“I can take you to the E.R.”
“Marc, would you please quit fussing. There’s nothing wrong with me...it’s morning sickness. Only it’s twenty-four hours a day. I’m pregnant.” She softened her last words. But they still hit with the force of a two-by-four to the gut.
“Congratulations.” The sentiment was sincere enough. He knew how badly Carol wanted children. The fact that he didn’t was the reason they weren’t together any more and she was married to his best friend.
A gum-snapping bleach-blonde in short shorts and cropped T-shirt with a your-place-or-mine smile appeared at his elbow. “What can I get y’all?”
“Nothing for me, thanks,” Carol said.
“Club soda and another Corona.”
“Sure thing.” Kewpie Doll picked up his empty bottle and collected more on her way back to the bar.
“And crackers,” Marc called after her before returning his attention back to Carol. “Soda and crackers will settle your stomach. At least that’s what my sister says.”
Carol reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “I wanted Brad and I to tell you together. But I haven’t had the chance to tell him yet.”
“I’m okay, really.”
“I know you are.”
Marc had introduced his swim buddy to his high school sweetheart last year when Brad had accompanied him to his fifteen-year class reunion. He really was okay with it.
There’d been a time when Carol had been the girl of his dreams. But dreams faded and changed. And they didn’t share the same ones anymore.
Drinks arrived, giving him a much-needed break from his thoughts.
“More peanuts was the best I could do.” The barmaid leaned in, displaying ample endowments.
He dug out his wallet and threw the money on her tray, including a generous tip. She tossed him a wink and a book of matches in return before sauntering off with a follow-me shake to her generous hips.
Marc flipped open the matchbook and read the name—Connie—and the penciled digits. Closing it, he tapped the book every quarter turn. He needed a smoke.
“She’s not your type,” Carol commented.
“What’s my type?”
“I like Tabby.”
Marc snorted. “Definitely not my type.” Not unless he was in self-destruct mode. Fraternizing with the Lieutenant could cost him his career. “It’s my own damn fault I lost the best thing that ever happened to me. And Brad would have every right to kick my ass if he heard me talking to you like this.”
“As if I’d believe you anyway.” Carol squeezed his hand. “I wasn’t the one, Marc Miller, and you know it.”
True. But the clincher had been his refusal to even consider children. And now it was too late to change his mind. A preemptive decision cost him the chance of ever becoming a father. Never mind that his reason for having a vasectomy was still the same.
Damn but he needed a smoke.
His needs had been simple when he’d walked in the door. Play a little pool and relax. Now he wanted to get drunk, get laid, but mostly he just wanted a cigarette.
A man should never try and give up more than one bad habit in a lifetime.
Behind the bar, Manny rang the ship’s bell. “Last call.”
Marc checked his watch. There wasn’t enough time left to get drunk. His gaze settled on Kewpie Doll Connie eyeing him from across the room, waiting for an answer to her invitation.
Outside in the parking lot, Tabby waved goodbye to Uncle Mitch. Her ears were still ringing as the limousine drove out of sight. He’d given her a well-deserved dressing-down for this latest escapade. And it had taken forever to convince him she had a ride.
She still had hopes of hanging around long enough to apologize to Miller to talk about the feasibility study. And if Carol hadn’t already left maybe she’d catch a ride with her. The other woman could probably use some company.
Tabby stepped back inside the bar, her eyes adjusting easily to the dim light. The first thing that caught her attention was all the open space. The second was the couple holding hands in the corner.
She made a hasty retreat back outside.
Standing alone in the near-empty lot, she tried to decide what to do next. The broken floodlight overhead left her in almost total darkness. Another illuminated only a small circle while kamikaze moths dove into the source. The same thing she’d been doing all night. And it looked as if she’d just gotten burned.
If she was being honest with herself, she’d admit to sticking around for the company. But it seemed he’d already found some. Brad and Marc were friends. Naturally Carol and Marc were too, right?
She wasn’t going to assume anything else.
So unless she intended to hang out in the parking lot with her wayward thoughts, she needed to get going.
The crunch of glass and gravel beneath heavy boot-steps put her on alert and she turned to face the sound.
Ogden stepped from the shadows.
Tabby put a hand to her heart. “Alan, you startled me.”
His tag was ‘Sleeping Giant.’ His lumbering gait made him appear slow, but she imagined his sheer size was all he needed to bring down the enemy. She knew he was as much her Uncle’s bodyguard as his aide. That’s why she’d assumed he was in the limo even though she hadn’t actually seen through the tinted divider to the front seat.
“Can I give you a ride back to base, Ms. Chapel...Tabby?” he asked politely in his slow Southern style, using her name now that they were alone. “I’ve rented a car.”
She shook her head. “I have a ride, thanks.”
“Okay then...good night.”
“Good night, Alan.” She waved him off with a twinge of guilt. The SEAL was always asking her out in D.C. and she was always turning him down. He was nice enough, even tall enough, but she just wasn’t interested.
She waited until he drove off in a dark blue rental car. She didn’t want to be caught in a lie that would get back to Uncle Mitch. While she considered her own two feet adequate transportation, her godfather might not.
When she turned around, Tabby slammed straight into Hugh Leighton. For the second time that night she felt like jumping out of her skin. She hadn’t even heard him approach.
“Evenin’,” he drawled. Tipping his Stetson, he staggered away.
“Lieutenant Leighton,” she called after him. “You shouldn’t be driving.”
He dangled his car keys and kept walking. “You’re welcome to take me home, darlin’
.”
Tabby caught up with him and snatched the keys. “I’ll get the Commander’s yeoman to drive you.” At least she thought she’d seen him playing pool. The thought of going back in the bar and running into Carol and Marc was a bit unnerving, but she couldn’t let a man drive drunk. She took a quick look around the parking lot.
Where were those designated drivers?
“Or you could drive me.” He stepped closer. Close enough for her to smell his heated breath. What she didn’t smell was the overpowering stench of alcohol. In the dim light, his clear blue gaze remained unwavering. In her best guess-timation, he wasn’t even intoxicated.
“I get your game, Leighton.” She tossed the keys onto the trunk of a nearby car. Black and sporty, it looked like something the SEAL would drive.
“Come on, darlin’. It’s not safe out here.”
She let out a huff. “You got that right.”
“Let me drive you home.” He retrieved his keys and inserted one into the door of a dark blue sedan similar to the one Ogden had rented.
“I’m quite capable, thanks.”
“I meant my home,” he confessed with a grin as wide as the state of Texas. Hardly the same man who’d thrown the fit in the Commander’s office.
“I know what you meant.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” he said as she started walking off.
“It’s not your heart I’m breaking, cowboy.”
His laughter faded into the night.
Shifting the backpack on her shoulder, Tabby shoved her hands deep into her jacket pockets and headed toward the base. Her footfalls echoed on deserted concrete.
Crossing an alley, she almost ran down a transient who appeared out of nowhere pushing an overflowing grocery cart. The man cursed with vague mutterings when the stacked items threatened to topple.
Compliments of one lost game of eight ball, Tabby tossed a couple bucks from her pocket at him and picked up her pace, nixing the idea of stopping to help with the cart. She was alone. And she wasn’t looking for trouble. Though she was certainly bumping into a lot of people.
In the distance a cat yowled. A metal can crashed to the ground. She heard the purr of a fine-tuned engine coming up behind her. At this hour traffic was almost nonexistent. It didn’t take long to realize the vehicle was following her.