by Tawny Weber
What had her mother got in the bargain?
Her godparents came to claim her parents for grownup conversation and Tabby was left alone with her siblings. Zach sent Bowie to get them something to drink. Some things never changed.
“I can’t believe he wore his uniform,” Zach muttered once they were alone. She didn’t have to ask, she knew he was talking about their father.
“Why not? He looks good.” Except for the scar, Zach was the spitting image of their father, yet he didn’t understand the man at all. “He wore it because he’s proud of you.”
“He wore it to show off his chest full of medals.”
“He’s still proud of you, and so am I.” Of her two brothers, she felt closest to Zach, though it was often in a competitive sort of way. Even if she was the only one competing. Everything came easy to Zach.
“He only has two hands, Zach,” Michelle Dann scolded him as she joined them, carrying two beers in each of hers. “Bowie’s bringing the food.”
“I only sent him for drinks,” Zach said in self-defense.
Michelle thrust one of the bottles at him and handed another to Tabby. Was it her imagination or was Zach standing up straighter? The two families had vacationed together every summer since forever. She and Michelle had been friends just as long.
“Thanks for coming, Tab.”
“She came to see me.”
“Grow up, Zach,” Tabby and Michelle said, together.
“Did Zach tell you we’ve received orders to the same fighter squadron aboard the USS Enterprise?”
“No, he didn’t.” Tabby looked pointedly at her brother.
“It must have slipped my mind.”
“Speaking of which,” Michelle said. “I forgot, Dad wanted pictures of the two of us.” Michelle and Zach left in search of Admiral Dann just as Bowie arrived balancing four plates loaded with food.
“I was hungry,” he explained, setting them down at a nearby table.
As the afternoon wore on, Tabby mingled, met new people, anything to avoid being alone with her parents. But the time came when the three of them were alone and she could no longer avoid some of their more pointed observations.
Obviously Uncle Mitch had said a little more than she had.
“What business does Gromley have throwing her into the snake pit?” her mother wanted to know. “You see what’s going on here, don’t you? The woman knows there’s not a SEAL alive who’d dare touch a hair on Tabby’s head because she’s your daughter.”
Her dad studied her while her mother continued her tirade.
“Are they going to let you into BUD/S?” her mother asked her directly.
“I don’t know,” Tabby answered honestly.
“BUD/S is only the first obstacle,” her father said.
That was true. She could make it through BUD/S and the Teams could still blackball her. She was relieved when Zach pulled him away for some political debate with the Top Gun instructors.
Her mother brushed the hair from Tabby’s forehead, making her feel about ten years old. “This study was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Dad didn’t say much.”
“That’s probably for the best. He needs time to take it all in,” was her mother’s sage advice. “I’ve never seen you afraid of him before.”
“I’m not afraid of him.” Tabby put her arms around her mother. “It’s his voice in my head that tells me I can do anything, be anything... What if he doesn’t truly believe it?”
“Then you’ll just have to knock him off his pedestal,” she said. “I’m your mother and I’m telling you right now I don’t want you to do this.”
“I’m going to get into BUD/S. And I’m going be a SEAL!”
“Then that’s exactly what you tell him. If he disappoints you, Tabitha, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”
1900 Saturday
COMMANDER MILLER’S OFF-BASE RESIDENCE,
Coronado, CA
Marc tugged at the tie to release the bow. Staring at his reflection, he tried again. In his starched white tuxedo shirt with upturned collar, he measured the tie ends, adjusted them, but his normally nimble fingers refused to cooperate when he tried to make the bow.
The problem wasn’t his fingers. It was the sixteen inches of material wrapped around his sixteen-and- a-half inch neck. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn his formal dress uniform.
He yanked at the tie end again.
Whose bright idea was it to tie him up anyway?
It was all he’d been able to think about since yesterday morning at the lap pool. It should’ve been no big deal. He could swim like a seal with his hands and feet bound. A Navy SEAL to be exact. But she’d brought up the issue of trust and a trickle of conscience had broken through.
Hell, he couldn’t even trust himself when she was around. Because of the way he’d started to feel about her? Or because he couldn’t give up control in any area of his life and felt so damn out of control around her?
Okay, so he wasn’t a Boy Scout, he’d told her as much. But he did have his own code of ethics. Honesty, integrity and loyalty were the core values he lived by.
Lately, he wasn’t measuring up to them.
He frowned at his reflection, but managed to get the bow tied. Turning down his collar, he checked his face in the mirror. If he’d been paying attention, he never would’ve cut himself. He removed the blood-spotted toilet paper and slapped on some aftershave, first cooling, then burning his abraded skin.
Why was he going to all this trouble for the CO’s party? A party he didn’t even want to attend. Because she’d rooked him into it. The woman should write a book on the guerrilla tactics necessary to manipulate your Commanding Officer. She’d certainly delivered him all trussed up and without the benefit of ropes.
1955 Saturday
CORONADO NAVAL AMPHIBIOUS BASE HOUSING,
Coronado, CA
“Evening, sir.” The non-rate stuck with valet duty saluted. Marc had parked his own car a couple blocks over so he wouldn’t have to wait when he wanted to leave. He returned the salute and trotted up the steps towards another saluting non-rate posted at the front door.
Inside the foyer, he removed his white gloves and stuck them in his upturned hat, which he checked with yet another non-rate.
“Your saber, sir?”
“I’ll keep it.” Marc patted the sheathed sword dressed to the satin stripe on his tailored navy blue formal dress pants. “An officer never surrenders his weapon.” It was probably a good thing the kid hadn’t seen the holstered side arm he wore underneath his white dinner jacket.
“You’re a Navy SEAL!” The seaman could barely contain his excitement. It was then Marc realized it wasn’t the saber holding the kid’s interest.
Above the rows of service ribbons and medals pinned to his chest, he wore his pride and joy. The Navy Special Warfare Insignia, also known as the Navy SEAL Trident—an American Eagle gripping a cocked flintlock in one claw and Neptune’s trident in the other.
He’d earned it with his sweat and blood, even tears, when he was about the same age as the young man standing before him.
“Begging your pardon, sir. My request chit was just approved for SEAL training. I made the cut for the entrance requirements.” He reddened in the face of his own boast. It was an impressive accomplishment, however, and the young man deserved to feel proud.
“What’s your name, Seaman?” Marc asked, making note of the nametag and rating badge as he spoke, but giving the kid the opportunity to answer.
“Armstrong, sir. Radioman Scott Armstrong.”
“Armstrong, I’ll see you in about a month. But do me a favor.” He carefully modulated his tone to be encouraging without promoting too much familiarity. “Gain about ten pounds, because I’m going to sweat it off you. But put it on with bananas, not Big Macs.”
“Sir! Yes, sir!”
With Armstrong’s awed gaze still on him, Marc adjusted his satin cummerbund, checked the shine of h
is shoes and proceeded down the hall to join the party.
Stopping beneath the entry arch to the formal drawing room, Marc sized up the crowd.
First thing Monday, he’d kill Lieutenant Chapel.
He was overdressed.
Every other officer present wore dress whites.
Though the civilians were in black tie, he stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. His hostess spotted him and he saw a hasty retreat was out of the question.
“Commander! Commander Miller, come in. Come in. My, how dashing you look this evening.” Mrs. Peck latched on to his arm. “I can’t tell you how surprised I was when your secretary called and said you’d be attending. I can barely get the married officers to my little soirees, let alone the bachelors.” She smiled at him with genuine pleasure. “The flowers are absolutely beautiful. And so thoughtful.”
Marc had to think about that for a moment. Flowers weren’t very high on his agenda, but then he realized Tabitha must have sent something in his name.
With his credit card.
After an hour or so Marc knew the reason Captain Peck’s wife didn’t get too many bachelors at her parties. The get-together was boring with a capital B.
He wasn’t really very good at the kind of brown-nosing required here. Wandering from room to room, he discovered one held dancing, another a buffet. In the latter, he stopped in front of a table with tiny bite-size food and debated whether or not they were actually for eating.
Taking a plate, he calculated a polite departure time. He also decided to torture Lieutenant Chapel before killing her. And for the first time that evening his mouth turned up at the corners.
He’d half expected her to show up at Manny’s last night, even though he knew it was unlikely she’d make it back from graduation. But it didn’t stop him from looking for her then, and it didn’t stop him from searching the room for her now.
When had he become dependent on her presence to lift his mood?
Marc bit into a barbecue cocktail wiener and loaded more onto his plate. He passed on the paté and anything else he couldn’t identify, though he’d eaten worse and under artillery fire. Grabbing cheese and crackers, he rounded out his meal with veggies and fruit.
With his plate overflowing, he settled into an obscure corner of the drawing room, which looked like a living room to him, and leaned against the wall. He didn’t know what drew his attention to the archway, but suddenly the object of his desire was walking in on her godfather’s arm.
Tabitha wore a little black number that didn’t even remotely resemble a uniform. The hemline cut across her thighs and the back dipped so low it left little to the imagination.
He met her gaze across the crowded room, and gave the belowdecks nuclear activity a warning order: Do not launch the Trident missile.
She turned to the Admiral and whispered something in his ear, then headed Marc’s way. Ogden entered behind the pair. The two men wore formal dress, which made Marc stick out less.
The Chief of SEALs’ appearance had probably made Seaman Armstrong’s night.
Marc put down his plate and napkin and dusted the crumbs from his fingers. Locking his hands behind his back, he set his scowl firmly in place. He couldn’t wait until Tabitha got her cute little butt over to him.
How dare she advise him on what uniform to wear, then show up in a knock-down, drag-out, punch-in-the-gut civilian dress.
Several minutes passed with no sign of her. He’d thought she’d been headed his way. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. If she didn’t want to talk to him, fine. He wasn’t playing this game with her. He headed for a side door.
“Sneaking out early, Commander?”
Chapter 12
Tabitha stood where he’d been. She looked out over the room instead of directly at him.
“I wasn’t sneaking. If I had been you wouldn’t have caught me. Sneaking is a SEAL specialty.” He moved closer to her side, but still kept several feet between them and pretended to ignore her as well.
“But you weren’t having a very good time?”
“No,” he admitted.
“Maybe you should try coming out of your corner once in a while.”
How’d she know? “Maybe you should’ve told me dress whites would do. Then I wouldn’t feel so out of place.”
“Out of place?”
From the corner of his eye he caught her giving him a once-over and smiled to himself.
“The reason I suggested formal dress,” she continued, “was to make you stand out, and it worked. According to Mrs. Peck, you look very handsome this evening, Commander.”
“The woman only thinks that because I sent her flowers.”
“Who sent her flowers?”
The corners of his mouth quirked, but his eyes remained fixed on the crowd. To the casual observer, they weren’t engaged in conversation or any form of fraternization. He was not a Commanding Officer flirting with a Lieutenant in his command.
Inside, he knew better. And as long as she didn’t seem to mind, he had no intention of stopping. “We’re getting off the subject,” he said.
“Which is?”
He managed to glimpse a mischievous glint in her eyes and forced his attention elsewhere. “Uniforms. You’re at an official function, Lieutenant, and you’re out of uniform.”
“Your problem is you’re stuck in that monkey suit. Read your regs, Commander, cocktail dresses are appropriate eveningwear for female personnel. Even at official functions.”
He liked the snap in her voice, and the fact he couldn’t stump her with a regulation. “That hemline is at least six inches up your thigh,” he grumbled. “And I thought you said I looked handsome in this monkey suit.”
“I said Mrs. Peck thought you looked handsome.”
He snorted.
“I think you look very sharp this evening, Commander.”
He was about to return the compliment when an older gentleman stepped forward. “Ms. Chapel, so good to see you again, my dear. May I steal you away for a dance?” The problem with standing five feet apart was you couldn’t claim to be together. “Congressman, I’d be delighted,” she answered, taking his arm and leading the man to the adjoining room.
Marc decided right then and there the congressman was a tailor-made rather than self-made man. And he had no business dancing with a girl half his age.
He grimaced. He wasn’t bitter because he couldn’t ask Lieutenant Chapel to dance, was he? Deciding he didn’t want to explore that thought, Marc wandered toward the room set aside for dancing where a four-piece Navy ensemble attempted a big band sound.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Tabitha. Every pass tortured him with the memory of their dance. When she smiled at him over the congressman’s shoulder, his collar tightened to a stranglehold.
Damn bow tie.
“Is that a saber in your pocket or are you just happy to see me, sailor?” The gravelly voice intruded on his thoughts.
Marc knew he wasn’t being that obvious. Adjusting the hilt of his sword, he turned to the woman at his side. She couldn’t be more than five feet in the sensible pumps that peeked from beneath the floor-length skirt of her formal dress uniform. And yet, the woman was a powerhouse in D.C.
“Rear Admiral Gromley,” he acknowledged.
“Armed and dangerous as per usual, Commander Miller?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So are you expecting trouble this evening?”
“No.” But she’d still walked in the door.
“And how are you getting along with my little protégée?”
“We don’t exactly see eye-to-eye on the issue, ma’am.”
“I don’t expect you to, Commander. But I do expect your full cooperation. You may not like the idea of training women to be Navy SEALs, but if Congress approves, you had better do a damn good job of it. Understood?”
“Understood, ma’am. As long as you understand I’m not going to lower my standards so a few women can make the grade.” He kept his tone even
and free of insubordination.
“I wouldn’t want that either, Commander. We’re talking about very special women, like Lieutenant Chapel,” she nodded toward the dance floor, “who are a cut above.”
He continued to watch the Lieutenant in question. To his relief, she parted company with her dance partner. “All the more reason to keep her out of the line of fire,” he said with sincerity.
“Shouldn’t that be her choice?”
Any answer he gave would reveal too much about what he was feeling. He needed air. “Excuse me.” Marc left the Admiral’s side and slipped outside through a pair of sliding glass doors. A warm breeze welcomed him, and he headed for a dark corner.
“What took you so long?” Tabitha spoke from the shadows.
He took a deep fortifying breath and moved toward the concrete balustrade she leaned against. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me.” He dropped his voice to an inviting rumble.
With nothing and no one keeping their flirting in check, an awkward silence fell between them. As if both of them sensed it was possible they were about to go too far.
But losing control was not an option for Marc.
He didn’t give his car keys to valets, check his weapons at the door, or even delegate his workload. He controlled his craving for cigarettes with candy. And he controlled his other needs with abstinence.
This time, he controlled his desire to flirt by changing the subject. “I never asked about your brother’s graduation.”
“Still trying to recruit him?”
He shrugged. “Your father going to drop in anytime soon? Maybe I should be ready for a surprise inspection.” Prince showing up for a visit to check on his daughter had been in the back of his mind. He hadn’t realized how possible it was until he spoke the words aloud.
“I don’t think so. My mother’s keeping a pretty tight rein on him. They just flew in for the graduation. They’re leaving tomorrow and Zach can keep them busy until then.”