One Star-Spangled Night

by Rogenna Brewer

  ONE STAR-SPANGLED NIGHT

  Rogenna Brewer

  One Star-Spangled Night

  Copyright © 2013 Rogenna Brewer

  Covers by Rogenna http://www.sweettoheat.blogspot.com

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Except for use in review, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed by any means without written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material. Purchase only authorized editions.

  USS Enterprise CVN-65 1961-2012

  The Enterprise has been a secondary character in many of my books.

  This one is for her.

  Any liberties I’ve taken or mistakes I’ve made in the interest of fiction are my own and no reflection on the ship, her crews or the United States Navy.

  Life is full of second chances...

  Sleep is the last thing on Captain Doug Reese's mind when he finds himself in charge of a disabled aircraft carrier and a disheartened crew. Once the ship pulls safely into dry dock, however, his insomnia becomes an issue and Doug is ordered into counseling.

  Instead of seeing a shrink, Doug seeks out the lowest ranking Navy Chaplain he can find.

  Lieutenant Lindsey Alexander might be fresh out of seminary, but she's not as naive as the world weary Captain believes. She knows he has no interest in her advice. So she makes him an offer he can't refuse: Lunch--and he's buying. One hour a day for ten days.

  By the time his sentence is up, sparks are flying between the Naval Aviator and the Navy Chaplain. Until past mistakes threaten their sparkling future.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Author’s Note

  CHAPTER ONE

  Hat in hand, he stood in her office doorway. From spit-shined shoes, up military creases, to the eagles pinned on khaki collar points, he commanded attention. The rank of captain gave him the authority to demand it.

  Lieutenant Lindsey Alexander marked her already forgotten place and closed the ancient tome. Her desk chair creaked as she straightened her spine. How long had he been standing there, staring?

  How long had she?

  Removing her reading glasses to cover her embarrassment, Lindsey set aside the funky frames and theology lesson before pushing to her feet, the proper show of respect for his rank. “May I help you, Captain?”

  From his superior height he frowned down at her, at the world in general—she couldn’t be certain. Lindsey smiled her brightest, but he didn’t seem to appreciate the effort. His scowl deepened, drawing jet-black brows above nefarious jade green eyes in a potentially lethal combination.

  “You’re a woman.”

  She didn’t need to hear the affront behind his words to know he’d assumed chaplain and man were synonymous. She stretched her smile in spite of, or perhaps because he’d insulted both her gender and profession in just three little words. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last.

  “And you would be, Captain...Reese.” She read his nametag above his right breast pocket. On the left, his rack of ribbons read like an impressive resume. The gold wings above the neat rows further identified him as a naval aviator.

  Top Gun plowed a hand through black hair threaded with silver, spoiling the severe effect of the barber’s precision military cut.

  No doubt about it, the gender confusion was all one sided.

  “Doug Reese. I have an appointment.”

  It was Lindsey’s turn to draw her brows. The name Reese didn’t ring any bells. Should it? She unburied her appointment book and flipped it open. Despite his obvious impatience, she took her time going through the day’s schedule.

  No Reese, Captain or otherwise.

  In truth, she wasn’t very well organized, but she never forgot a name or a face or a scheduled appointment for that matter. Knowing her tendency toward disorganization, she always wrote everything down.

  “I’m early.” Holding his hat by the brim, he crossed his arms. “My ship just pulled in for repairs two weeks ago.”

  Something about the way in which he emphasized the words my ship sent those alarm bells clanging like a five-alarm fire.

  Flipping the calendar page, she found Commanding Officer, USS Enterprise CVN-65 penciled in the yeoman’s neat hand under, 1300—tomorrow. “Looks like an hour and a day early—”

  “I’m a busy man, Chaplain, I’d like to get this over with.” The scowl remained a permanent fixture, but he tempered his demand. “I won’t take but a minute of your time.”

  Lindsey met Captain Reese’s continued glare with the unwavering dedication of her profession. She would have taken responsibility for the mistake regardless, but she had a feeling the man knew exactly what he was doing, showing up a day early and on her lunch hour.

  She was just curious enough to want to know why. What was one more counseling session out of her overbooked day? It was her job to help. If the Captain needed her...

  Well, then, she was here to serve.

  “Have a seat.” She gestured toward one of two overflowing chairs.

  The walls seemed to move in as he stepped into her crowded cubby with its floor to ceiling shelves. He cocked a dark brow as he picked up a stack of files from the seat, and then looked around for a place to put them.

  “Sorry, packing. Our office is on the list of base closures.” Lindsey plucked the files from his hands. If military budget cuts didn’t elicit a comment from the good captain, what would? He continued to hover over her five foot, five—in sensible boondockers—while she maneuvered around him, dumping the stack of papers on the floor by the shelf before closing the door.

  He probably wasn’t an inch or two over six feet, but the too small space became suffocating, filling with the tang of saltwater on skin—not an all-together unpleasant scent—except the hint of JP-5. Lindsey had never been stationed aboard a ship, but she could identify carrier crews by the smell of jet fuel that permeated their pores.

  With surprising consideration, the Captain waited until Lindsey settled beside her corner desk, and then took up the now empty seat across from her. He looked around her office with the same disdain he’d directed toward her.

  Captain Reese had his strong, silent and judgy act down pat.

  Tension radiated from the man. Although the only outward sign was the way he fidgeted with his hat, now balanced on his knee as he tapped a folded piece of paper impatiently against his cover.

  He may have been trying hard not to project his discomfort, but she could sense it, feel it. “Would you be more comfortable with another chaplain?”

  It was a legitimate question, and since he’d expressed some reservation about her gender, one she felt compelled to ask.

  “Would you?”

  Did his scowl switch to a smirk?

  “No,” Lindsey answered honestly.

  Though, if they were following strict protocol, she should refer the Captain to her superior, Commander Elliot. However, being short staffed, down to only herself and the Catholic Priest, Father Elliot was just as overworked as she was. Between them, they shared one chaplain’s yeoman, a Religious Program Specialist Third Class.

  Perhaps the Captain had chosen her in accordance with his own beliefs despite his prejudicial comment.

  “You’ll do,” he said.

  “Fine.” Lindsey exhaled the word. Had she actually been holding her breath, waiting for his decision? “I just ne
ed you to fill out this counseling form and then we’ll get started.” Stretching across the space, she handed him a clipboard with attached pen and paper.

  A knock sounded on the door. The RP poked her head in, “Chaplain Alexander, I have your lunch,” she announced. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t know you were in session.”

  “It’s okay, Brenda. We’re just getting started.” Lindsey got up to meet the yeoman at the door. Thanks,” she said, taking the containers of Chinese food.

  “Your change.” Brenda handed over lose coins and a couple wadded bills as Lindsey juggled containers to take the money.

  “Maybe the Captain would like a cup of coffee—”

  “No, the Captain would not." He cut her off without bothering to look up from the clipboard. On the other side of the door, Brenda mouthed another apology for the interruption.

  “Hold my calls,” Lindsey instructed. “But buzz me when my one o’clock gets here.”

  “Sure thing. I mean, yes, ma’am.” The RP closed the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Lindsey apologized. She suspected she’d gone down another notch in his estimation. Then again, he was the one who’d showed up on her lunch hour uninvited. “LoMein?”

  “No.” He extended the clipboard, all business.

  Lindsey wrestled her lunch down to the desk and stuffed the loose change and bills into the middle drawer. Taking the clipboard from him, she released the counseling form and then groped for her reading glasses. She put them on and sank back to her seat, staring in disbelief at the blank page. Almost blank page.

  Name, rank and serial number had been filled in.

  “Captain Reese—”

  “If I were a prisoner of war that’s all I’d be required to give.”

  “This isn’t an interrogation.”

  “No, it’s not,” he agreed. “Thank you for your time, Chaplain.”

  Her gaze followed his upward movement. He’d certainly been right about only taking a minute of her time. Even though it looked like her curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied, she’d have a hot lunch as a consolation prize. Small comfort compared to the satisfaction she got from doing her job. “How can I help—?”

  “You can’t. I just want it to go on record that I was here.” He slapped his cover against his thigh. “Good day.”

  Lindsey beat him to the door and barred his way with a crossed arm stance.

  “Lieutenant,” he said, calling deliberate attention to her rank. “Step aside. That’s an order.”

  Her short-lived career flashed before her eyes and she swallowed hard. She couldn’t keep him here against his will. Still, she could get her point across. “If it’s important enough to come here in the first place, it’s important enough to stay and talk.”

  “I’m not going to warn you again.”

  “Fine.” She edged away from the door. “But uncooperative is going in my counseling notes.” She tried to infuse a little humor into the situation that had quickly gotten out of hand.“You can write whatever you want, Chaplain. As long as you don’t share that information with anyone, I don’t care.”

  “It would be unethical for me to reveal any information about your visit.”

  “I’m counting on that.”

  He paused long enough to look her in the eye. She hoped he saw the disappointment reflected there because if ever a man needed her, Captain Doug Reese did. She couldn’t be expected to save the world. She just wanted to help one person at a time. Unfortunately, her heart took a hit every time she failed.

  Lindsey stared at his departing back. The man’s visit was obviously a desperate cry for help. Yeah, right. Captain Doug Reese looked about as self-sufficient as they came. It was her need to butt into everyone’s business that made her the desperate one. How many times had Brenda told her to get a life? How many times had Chaplain Elliot counseled her against getting overly involved?

  With a heavy sigh, she scooped up another stack of folders occupying the one remaining chair. She’d need both for her one o’clock. Her next appointment was a young couple in premarital counseling.

  No real problems there. In fact, the upcoming wedding on July 4th—her first as an officiate—was something she actually looked forward to. She’d met the bride-to-be. The intended groom was just back from sea.

  Lindsey stopped and let that sink in a moment. Followed by a quick glance toward the door. “Nah.”

  The bride was closer to Lindsey’s age, mid-twenties.

  The Captain had to be at least forty and most likely married.

  Not that a May, December…more like September, romance was out of the question. The Captain was fighter pilot fit and handsome to the extreme—despite the permanent case of indigestion apparent in his facial expression. What she couldn’t remember was whether or not he wore a wedding band.

  Which should matter to her, why?

  Arms full and looking for more nonexistent floor space, Lindsey noticed a folded piece of paper by the chair leg. Setting the stack back down, she picked up the missive and unfolded it. The letter was addressed to Captain Reese from COMCARSTRIKEGRU THIRTEEN, Commander Carrier Strike Group Thirteen (CCSG-13). She quickly folded it back up, but not before the word counseling jumped off the page.

  The good captain had been ordered into counseling.

  The shrill ringing of the outer office telephone gave her a guilty start. Brenda answered in quiet tones while Lindsey tucked the paper into her skirt pocket and grabbed her cover from beside the door.

  “Chaplain, it’s for you,” the RP called through the open door.

  “Take a message, Brenda. There’s something I need to do.” Like catch up with the Captain. She checked her watch. She had plenty of time before her next appointment.

  Brenda covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Rear Admiral Dunning.”

  “Commander Carrier Strike Group Thirteen?” Lindsey had never had the occasion to meet a flag officer before, let alone speak with one. “What could he possibly want...?” Her hand went to her skirt pocket. “I’ll take it in my office.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Captain on deck!”

  Doug fought the urge to snap to along with his men. “At ease,” he ordered. He’d never get used to it. Not the boatswain pipes and the bells hailing him on and off the ship. Not the responsibility for a crew of five thousand men and women. Certainly, not the call to attention and deadpan silence that followed whenever he passed through a compartment.

  None of it.

  He hadn’t asked for the job.

  He’d just slept his way to the top while the former XO let a VIP—er…showgirl with the USO—run the ship aground. The exact details of which were still under investigation. The CO and XO had both been relieved of command and removed from the ship without ceremony along with the civilians.

  Doug as Operations Officer, or second officer, and third in line for command had been sound asleep in his rack. Not for long. And not since. Sleep deprivation had taken its toll. He’d become short tempered with his crew and distrustful of his junior officers.

  Doug shouldered the burden of bringing a disheartened crew and crippled aircraft carrier in for repairs. The hole in the hull of his “Gray Lady” looked as if it had been ripped open with a turnkey like a can of sardines. It had taken the entire crew working around the clock to keep the damage under control.

  Even though they were now safe and secure in dry dock, insomnia had become a way of life for him. Because the truth was, even though he hadn’t asked for command of the Enterprise, he wanted her badly. Scooping up his morning mail from the Master Chief’s desk, he proceeded toward his inner sanctum.

  “Captain Reese, sir?” A yeoman held up a phone. Landlines had been connected as soon as the ship put in to dry dock, but anyone who really needed to talk to him could reach him by satellite phone or had his cell phone number. “It’s Chaplain Alexander.”

  “I’m still not in.” It had been three days since his visit to the Chaplain’s office on base. Doug noticed the young man
’s reluctance to deliver the message, yet again.

  Coward.

  The thought wasn’t directed at his yeoman, however. “How many times is that?” Doug asked.

  “Three, sir.” But even as the yeoman spoke others around the shipboard office began holding up pieces of paper Doug recognized as phone messages.

  “Tell the Chaplain no matter how many times she calls, I won’t ever be in. That ought to get my point across.”

  “Yes, sir.” The yeoman’s next words were directed into the receiver, “Ma’am… Yes, ma’am—” Doug didn’t envy the young man caught between a captain and a lieutenant in a game of officer roulette. The sailor turned to him and choked out the word, “Sir?”

  “Speak up.”

  “The Chaplain...,” he hesitated.

  “I’m not going to kill the messenger. What is it?”

  “Captain, if you don’t meet her for lunch in half an hour,” he spit out the words so fast they ran together, “she’s going to tell everyone within shouting distance of the pier how—how you used her, sir.”

  “Give me that.” Doug snatched the receiver. “Lieutenant—” He deliberately used her rank and his most commanding pitch, but stopped short once he realized there was nothing on the other end of the line except a dial tone.

  If he hung up now everyone in the office would know she’d hung up on him first. Who knew what they already thought with her cryptic messages. Both would be fodder for the ship’s scuttlebutt by sunset.

  “Don’t call me here, again,” he said, and then cursed under his breath. Even that sounded like he’d gotten his personnel caught up in his personal life.

  Doug hung up the receiver and then blew into his stateroom/office where he could vent his steam in private. Mail went flying across the polished surface of his empty desktop.

  There were two kinds of officers in the Navy—Line and Staff. Line officers commanded ships and squadrons, and naval bases. Staff officers served by their civilian professions—pulling teeth, playing doctor and ministering. There were some damn fine professionals in the Navy. But they sure as hell didn’t threaten him.