Debbie Macomber's Navy Box Set

by Debbie Macomber

  Without being obvious—at least she hoped she wasn’t—she studied Dillon. He was tall and lean with dark hair graying at the temples, which led her to believe he must be in his early to midforties. His most striking feature was his intense blue eyes. To her chagrin, she found herself looking at his ring finger and noticed it was bare. Not that it meant anything. Wedding rings were dangerous aboard ship, although she chose to wear hers. More than once Ali had seen fingers severed as a result of a wedding band caught in machinery.

  As soon as she’d finished her coffee, Ali went back to her work space at the clinic and logged on to the Internet to write Shana and Jazmine a short note. Her sister and daughter would be anxious to hear from her after her first full day at sea.

  Sent: May 19

  From: Alison.Karas@woodrowwilson.navy.mil

  To: Shana@mindsprung.com

  Subject: Hello!

  Dear Shana and Jazmine,

  Just checking in to see how things are going with you two. It’s a little crazy around here and I’m still finding my sea legs. Not to worry, though.

  Hey, Jazz, I was thinking you should help your aunt come up with ideas for ice-cream sundaes. Remember how we invented our own versions last summer? Hot fudge, marshmallow topping and crushed graham crackers? You called it the Give Me More Sundae. Not bad.

  Shana, be sure to look over Jazz’s homework, especially the math. Okay, okay, I’ll stop worrying. Send me an e-mail now and then, okay? I’m waiting with bated breath to hear how you two are surviving.

  Love ya.

  Ali (That’s Mom to you, Jazz!)

  * * *

  It wasn’t much of a message, but Ali was tired and ready to turn in for the night. As she started back to her quarters, she met Commander Dillon in the long narrow passageway. She nodded and stepped aside in order to allow him to pass.

  He paused as he read her badge. “Karas?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “At ease.” He glanced down at her left hand. “Your husband is Navy?”

  “Yes, sir.” She looked self-consciously at her wedding ring. “He—” She’d begun to explain that she was a widow, then stopped abruptly. Rather than make eye contact, she stared into the bulkhead.

  “This is your first time aboard the Woodrow Wilson?” The question was casual, conversational in tone.

  She nodded again. “This is my first time on any ship. I’m wondering how long it’s going to take before I get used to it.” She laughed as she said this, because being on an aircraft carrier was so much like being in a building. Every now and then, Ali had to remind herself that she was actually aboard a ship.

  Commander Dillon’s eyes narrowed slightly as he smiled. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I know I will. Thank you, sir.”

  That very moment, an alarm rang for a fire drill. All sailors were to report immediately to their assigned stations. A sailor rushed past Ali and jolted her. In an effort to get out of his way, she tripped and fell hard against Commander Dillon, startling them both. The commander stumbled backward but caught himself. Instinctively he reached out and grabbed her shoulders, catching her before she lost her balance and toppled sideways. Stunned, they immediately grew still.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, shocked at the instant physical reaction she’d experienced at his touch. It had been an innocent enough situation and meant nothing. Yet it told Ali a truth she’d forgotten. She was a woman. And, almost against her will, was attracted to a man other than Peter.

  He muttered something under his breath, but she didn’t hear what he said and frankly she was grateful. Without another word, they hurried in opposite directions.

  Ali’s face burned with mortification, but not because she’d nearly fallen into Commander Dillon. When her breasts grazed him and he’d reached out to catch her, he could have pulled her to him and kissed her and she wouldn’t have made a single protest. Her face burned, and she knew she was in serious trouble. No, it was just the close proximity to all these men. At least that was what Ali told herself. It wasn’t the commander; it could’ve been any man, but even as that thought went through her mind, she knew it was a lie. She worried that the commander might somehow know what she’d been feeling. That mortified her even more.

  The scene replayed itself in her head during the fire drill and afterward, when she retired to her quarters. Once she was alone, Ali found a pen and paper. It was one thing to send Jazmine an e-mail but a letter was a tangible object that her daughter could touch and hold and keep. She knew Jazmine would find comfort in reading a note Ali had actually written.

  When Ali had first started dating Peter, they’d exchanged long letters during each separation. She treasured those letters and savored them all, even more so now that he was gone.

  On the night of their wedding anniversary last year, while Jazmine was at a slumber party, Ali had unearthed a stack and reread each one. She quickly surrendered to self-pity, but she had every reason in the world to feel sorry for herself, she decided, and didn’t hold back. That night, spent alone in her bedroom, grieving, weeping and angry, had been an epiphany for her. It was as if something inside her—a wall of pretense and stoicism—had broken wide-open, and her pain had gushed forth. She believed it was at that point that she’d begun to heal.

  Oh, she’d cried before then, but this time, on the day that would have been her twelfth wedding anniversary, she’d wept as if it was the end of the world.

  By midnight she’d fallen asleep on top of the bed with Peter’s letters surrounding her. Thankfully Jazmine hadn’t been witness to this emotional breakdown. Her daughter had known the significance of the date, however, and had given her mother a handmade anniversary card the following afternoon. Ali would always love that sweet card. After she’d read it, they’d hugged each other for a long time. Jazmine had revealed sensitivity and compassion, and Ali realized she’d done her daughter a grave disservice.

  All those months after Peter’s death, Ali had tried to shield Jazmine from her own pain. She’d encouraged the child to grieve, helped her deal with the loss of her father as much as possible. Yet in protecting Jazmine, Ali hadn’t allowed her daughter to see that she was suffering. She hadn’t allowed Jazmine to comfort her, which would have brought comfort to Jazmine, too.

  Later that same day, after dinner, Ali had shared a few of Peter’s letters with Jazmine. It was the first time they’d really talked about him since his death. Before then, each seemed afraid to say more than a few words for fear of upsetting the other. Ali learned how much Jazmine needed to talk about Peter. The girl delighted in each tidbit, each detail her mother supplied. Ali answered countless questions about their first meeting, their courtship and their wedding day. Jazmine must’ve heard the story of their first date a dozen times and never seemed to tire of it.

  Once Ali’s reserve was down, not a night passed without Jazmine’s asking about Peter. As a young child, her daughter had loved bedtime stories and listening to Ali read. At nine she suddenly wanted her mother to put her to bed again. It was so out of character for her gutsy, sassy daughter that it’d taken Ali a couple of nights to figure out what Jazmine really wanted, and that was to talk about her father.

  In retrospect Ali recognized that those months of closeness had helped prepare Jazmine for this long separation. Ali didn’t think she could have left her with Shana otherwise.

  Shana. An involuntary smile flashed across her face as she leaned back in the desk chair. These next six months would either make or break her strong-willed younger sister. She’d taken on a lot all at once. Buying this restaurant on impulse was so unlike her. Shana preferred to have things planned out, down to the smallest detail. Not only that, this new venture was a real switch for her after her sales position.

  If there was anything to be grateful for in Shana’s sudden move to Seattle, it was the fact that Brad Moore was out of her life. Ali had only met him once, during a brief visit home, but he’d struck her as sleazy, and she hadn’t been surprised t
o hear about his duplicity. Ali wondered how he’d managed to deceive her sister all this time, but whatever charms he possessed had worked about four and a half years longer than they should have. She supposed that, like most people, Shana had only seen what she’d wanted to see.

  Before she returned to San Diego, Ali and Shana were able to spend a few hours together. Jazmine was asleep and the two sisters sat on the bed in Shana’s room talking.

  She’d seen how hurt Shana was by Brad’s unfaithfulness. In an effort to comfort her sister, Ali had suggested Shana try to meet someone else as quickly as possible.

  Her sister hadn’t taken kindly to the suggestion. In fact, she hadn’t been shy about sharing her feelings with regard to the male of the species. Shana claimed she was finished with men.

  “You’re overreacting,” Ali had told her.

  “And you’re being ridiculous.” Sitting with her knees drawn, Shana shook her head. “The absolute last thing I want to do now is get involved again. I was ‘involved’ for the last five years and all I got out of that relationship, besides a lot of pain, is two crystal champagne glasses Brad bought me. He said we’d use them at our wedding.” Not that he’d actually given her an engagement ring or set the date. “Those glasses are still in the box. If he’d thought of it, he probably would’ve asked for them back.”

  “You feel that way about men now, but you won’t always.”

  Shana frowned. “You’re one to talk. I don’t see you looking for a new relationship.”

  “Okay, fine, neither of us is interested in men.”

  “Permanently,” Shana insisted.

  Ali had laughed then and said, “Speak for yourself.”

  Funny, as she reviewed that conversation, Commander Dillon came to mind. It was unlikely that she’d see him on a regular basis; with a crew of five thousand on this ship, their paths wouldn’t cross often. Ali wasn’t entirely sure why, but she felt that was probably a good thing.

  Chapter Five

  The next few days were intense for Shana. She insisted on driving Jazmine to school, and every morning she joined the long line of parents dropping off their kids at the grade school. If Jazmine appreciated her efforts to build a rapport between them, she gave no indication of it. The most animation she’d witnessed in the girl had been after Monday’s lengthy telephone conversation with her uncle Adam.

  Shana, her aunt, a blood relative, was simply Shana, but Adam Kennedy, family friend, was Uncle Adam. The uncle part was uttered with near-reverence.

  Okay, so she was jealous. Shana admitted it. While she struggled to gain ground with her niece, Jazmine droned on about this interloper.

  Tuesday afternoon, the school bus again let Jazmine off in front of the ice-cream parlor. Her niece had dragged herself into the shop, as though it demanded all her energy just to open the door. Then she’d slipped onto one of the barstools and lain her head on her folded arms.

  Wednesday afternoon, Shana watched the school bus approach and the doors glide open. Sure enough, Jazmine was there, but this time she leaped off the bus and hurried toward the restaurant.

  Shana stopped and stared. No, it couldn’t be. But it was. Jazmine had her backpack. From the size and apparent weight of it, nothing seemed to be missing, either.

  The instant Jazmine stepped inside, Shana blurted out, “You’ve got your backpack.” It probably would’ve been better to keep her mouth shut and let Jazmine tell her, but she’d been too shocked.

  “I know.” Jazmine dumped her backpack on the floor and hopped onto the barstool with a Bugs Bunny bounce, planting her elbows on the counter. “Can I have some ice cream?”

  Taken aback, Shana blinked. “Who are you and what have you done with my niece?”

  “Very funny.”

  Shana laughed and reached for the ice-cream scoop. “Cone or dish?”

  “Dish. Make it two scoops. Bubblegum and strawberry.” She paused, her face momentarily serious. “Oh—and thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Bending over the freezer, Shana rolled the hard ice cream into a generous ball. “Well,” she said when she couldn’t stand it any longer. “The least you can do is tell me what happened.”

  “With what?” Jazmine asked, then giggled like the nine-year-old she was. “I don’t know if you noticed or not, but I was pretty upset Monday afternoon.”

  “Really,” Shana said, playing dumb.

  “Two girls cornered me in the playground. One of them distracted me, and the other ran off with my backpack.”

  Shana clenched her jaw, trying to hide her anger. As Jazmine’s legal guardian, she wanted these girls’ names and addresses. She’d personally see to it that they were marched into the principal’s office and reprimanded. On second thought, their parents should be summoned to the school for a confrontation with the authorities. Perhaps it would be best to bring in the police, as well.

  “How’d you get it back?” Shana had given up scooping ice cream.

  Looking more than a little pleased with herself, Jazmine straightened her shoulders and grinned. “Uncle Adam told me I should talk to them.”

  Wasn’t that brilliant. Had she been asked, Shana would’ve told Jazmine the same thing.

  “He said I should tell them it was really unfortunate, but it didn’t seem like we could be friends and I was hoping to get to know them.” This was uttered in the softest, sweetest tones Shana had ever heard from the girl.

  “They fell for it?”

  Jazmine’s eyes widened. “I meant it. At first I thought they were losers but they’re actually pretty cool. I think they just wanted to see what I carried around with me.”

  Frankly Shana was curious herself.

  “Once they looked inside, they were willing to give it back.”

  “You’re not missing anything?”

  Jazmine shook her head.

  “Great.” Muttering under her breath, Shana dipped the scoop into the blue bubblegum-flavored ice cream. The bell above the door rang, but intent on her task, Shana didn’t raise her head.

  “I’ll have some of that myself,” a male voice said.

  “Uncle Adam!” Jazmine shrieked. Her niece whirled around so fast she nearly fell off the stool.

  Hearing his name was all the incentive Shana needed to glance up. She did just in time to watch Jazmine throw her arms around a man dressed casually in slacks and a shirt. From the top of his military haircut to the bottom of his feet, this man was Navy, with or without his uniform. His arm was in a sling and he grimaced when Jazmine grabbed hold of him but didn’t discourage her hug. From the near-hysterical happiness the girl displayed, a passing stranger might think Shana had been holding Jazmine hostage.

  “You must be Ali’s sister,” he said, smiling broadly at Shana.

  She forced a smile in return. She’d been prepared to dislike him on sight. In fact, she’d never even met him and was already jealous of the relationship he had with Jazmine. Now he was standing right in front of her—and she found her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. He seemed to be waiting for her to reply.

  “Yes, hi,” she said and dropped the metal scoop into the water container, sloshing liquid over the edges. Wiping her wet hand on her white apron, she managed another slight smile. “Yes, I’m Ali’s sister.”

  On closer inspection, she saw that he was tall and apparently very fit. Some might find his looks appealing, but Shana decided she didn’t. Brad was just as tall and equally fit—from spending hours in a gym every week, no doubt admiring himself in all the mirrors. Adam’s hair was a deep chestnut shade, similar to her own. No. Not chestnut, she decided next, nothing that distinguished. His was plain brown. He might’ve been considered handsome if not for those small, beady eyes. Well, they weren’t exactly small, more average, she supposed, trying to be as objective as she could. He hugged Jazmine and looked at Shana and—no.

  But he did. He looked at Shana and winked. The man had the audacity to flirt with her. It was outrageous. This was the very man Jazmine
wanted her mother to marry. The man whose praises she’d sung for two full days until Shana thought she’d scream if she heard his name one more time.

  “I’m Adam Kennedy.” He extended his free right hand.

  She offered her left hand because it was dry and nodded politely. “You mean Uncle Adam.” She hoped he caught the sarcastic inflection in her voice.

  He grinned as if he knew how much that irritated her. Okay, now she had to admit it. When he smiled he wasn’t ordinary-looking at all. In fact, some women—not her, but others who were less jaded—might even be attracted to him. That she could even entertain the remote possibility of finding a man attractive was upsetting. Wasn’t it only a few days ago that she’d declared to her sister that she was completely and utterly off men? And now here she was, feeling all shaky inside and acting like a girl closer to Jazmine’s age than her own. This was pathetic.

  In an attempt to cover her reaction, Shana handed Jazmine the bowl of ice cream with its two heaping scoops.

  “Uncle Adam wants one, too,” Jazmine said excitedly, and then turned to him. “What happened to your arm?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern. “Did you break it?”

  “Nothing as dramatic as that,” he said, elevating the arm, which was tucked protectively in a sling. “I had a problem with my shoulder, but that’s been taken care of now.”

  Jazmine didn’t seem convinced. “You’re going to be all right, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll be fine before you know it.”

  “Good,” Jazmine said; she seemed reassured now. Taking Adam by the hand, she led him across the restaurant to a booth.

  Shana could hear Jazmine whispering up a storm, but hard as she strained, she couldn’t hear what was being said. Working as fast as her arm muscles would allow, she hurriedly dished up a second bowl of ice cream. When she’d bought this business, no one had mentioned how hard ice cream could be. She was developing some impressive biceps.