“I know….it’s bad manners.”
Tag looked around. Operations, aviation engineering and the cutter officers were beginning to muster. “Well, hang on to your hats, boys and girls. We’re about to witness the event of the year. A new skipper is coming on board.”
Ward Stuart tried to look relaxed as he and his wife, Marcia, stood next to Admiral Savage. The air station’s four helicopters had been placed outside the hangar for the duration of the ceremony. The cold April wind whipped through the cavernous, well-lit structure, and rain pounded unrelentingly on the glistening black asphalt ramp outside the opened doors. Captain Bob Crane had said little to him upon their arrival; a few polite words, that was all. One comment stuck like a thorn in Ward’s side: Crane had said he could fish full-time now that he was retiring from the Coast Guard. Previously, he’d confided, he’d only been able to pursue his passion part-time. Stuart grimly wondered what “part-time” meant.
Judging from the sloppily uniformed enlisted personnel, Crane’s part-time was probably closer to full-time. Either that, or Crane hadn’t run a tight ship. The officers from the 82-foot and 210-foot cutters stood in their own formation. As he perused each formation, he saw tension-lined faces, dark circles under the eyes of his pilots and wives shifting nervously off to one side where they sat. No, if his sixth sense was operating, this group wasn’t a happy one—not by far. Damn.
Logan remained at attention throughout the mercifully brief change-of-command. His gaze strayed to Ward Stuart. The new skipper had an alert look on his square-jawed face. He reminded Gil of a wolverine: small but dangerous. Maybe it was the man’s large, intelligent green eyes or that mouth, compressed into a thin line, that rang a warning bell in the back of his head. Gil wasn’t sure. Stuart, compared to Crane, looked fresh out of boot camp: all spit and polish.
Glancing down at his own black shoes, he realized too late that Stuart had zeroed in on him and them. And if Gil could read the new skipper’s mind, he was mentally putting him on his shit-bird list right now because his shoes were dull-looking, the brass buttons on his uniform unshined and God only knew what else.
Logan’s gaze moved cautiously around the assembly as the ceremony progressed. The admiral was presiding over it like an indulgent parent with his two favorite sons. He saw Chief Aviation Machinist Chappie Jarvis weaving slightly while at attention. Christ, was the man drunk at an event like this? Everyone knew Jarvis was an alcoholic—even Crane, who didn’t care. Had Stuart spotted Chappie’s weaving? Flicking a look in the new skipper’s direction, Gil’s stomach knotted. Yep. Stuart’s intense gaze was lethally pinned on Jarvis. Did the man miss anything? Groaning to himself, Logan rolled his eyes upward to look at the superstructure of the hangar. Stuart was going to be one of those CO’s who had eyes in the back of his head. Great….
Ward glanced toward the rest of his family. Marcia looked elegant in her dark-blue suit and ruffled white blouse. Her dark, walnut-colored hair was drawn back into a chignon, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Pride moved through him. Marcia had been his childhood sweetheart; they had married right out of high school. She’d stuck with him through good stations and bad. He admired her grit and he loved her. Next to her was Robby, their fourteen-year-old, red-haired, freckle-faced son. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, which matched his mother’s outfit to a degree. His light blue tie was knotted painfully tight at his neck. Ward smiled down at his son, wanting to tousle his hair.
Ward was embarrassed by his seventeen-year-old son’s obvious absence. Earlier that morning, Kenny had sullenly come downstairs, dressed for the ceremony. His dark brown hair was long and would have been unkempt if Marcia hadn’t begged him to comb it. What grated on Ward even more was the two-day growth of sparse beard Kenny was trying to grow in order to more closely imitate singer Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam.
Damn internet. It did nothing but sway gullible children. And when he’d seen Kenny’s outfit and appearance, Ward’s heart had sunk. The stone-washed jeans and mint-green T-shirt with a blue checked shirt had triggered Ward’s anger. Kenny looked slovenly—certainly not someone he wanted to parade out in front of his new command. Why couldn’t Kenny understand that he had to be a model citizen because of his new status?
A heated argument had ensued over Kenny’s attire. Ward absolutely refused to allow him to come to the ceremony dressed in that manner. Kenny had slunk off to his room, but not before Ward had made his son promise to come and pick Robby up shortly after the ceremony—and in decent attire, or else. The admiral began to speak, and Ward shifted his attention to him.
“Port Angeles is in for two top flight changes,” Savage began, his voice rolling across the one hundred and fifty assembled Coast Guard people. “The first is that a new group commander, Captain Ward Stuart, will be taking the helm. I don’t need to repeat his credentials, which are considerable and available for you to read in the change-of-command brochure handed out to each of you. The 13th District is proud to have him aboard and expects great things of him in his two-year stint here at Port Angeles. You’ll benefit from his experience. The second change is that tomorrow morning, Port Angeles will be getting something rare: a female helicopter pilot—Lt. (jg) Rook Caldwell. She is the sister of Lt. Noah Caldwell, skipper of the Point Countess. The Coast Guard, as you know, has been a leading proponent of utilizing women in all career categories. Lieutenant Caldwell is a graduate from the Academy and, of course, we’ll expect great things from her.” Savage looked meaningfully over at Stuart, who sat to his right on the platform. “And I’m sure, with Captain Stuart’s leadership, everyone will move ahead at full speed.”
Eve twisted a look at Gil. A woman pilot? He hadn’t said anything about a woman being in the men’s ranks here at Port Angeles! Heat fanned across her cheeks. Eve chewed on her lower lip, a nervous habit she’d had since childhood. Her father had cheated repeatedly on her mother. Eve’s greatest fear was losing Gil to another woman. What was Rook Caldwell like? Was she pretty? Single? Probably out to snag a husband! Eve’s stomach knotted painfully. Why had Gil hidden this fact from her? He’d tell her sooner about this…this so-called woman SAR pilot! That meant Gil would be flying with her for at least a year or more and, with the duty roster the way it was, often. Eve shut her eyes, each breath painful.
Perhaps Noah could tell her more about this sister of his. Eve had always liked the stalwart skipper of the 82-foot Point Countess. He was a gentleman in every way, and Eve had often entertained sexual fantasies about him. Noah was single at twenty-six. Why some clever woman hadn’t caught him, yet, as a husband was beyond her. If she were single, she’d have gone after him—just as she had gone after Gil. Eve didn’t hear the end of Savage’s droning speech or the order to dismiss. As soon as protocol would allow her, she’d slip free of her obligations to chat with the new commanding officer and his wife, and then corner Noah.
Ceremony over, Noah took off his cap for a moment and ran his fingers through his short, black hair. The groups were breaking up, and people were milling around. Settling the cap back on his head, he turned to get into line and meet the new CO.
“Noah…Noah Caldwell?”
This wasn’t his day. Eve Logan was the nosiest person on base. She carried more gossip per square inch on her tiny frame than anyone he’d ever come across. Eve was one of the most insecure women he’d ever met. He almost felt sorry for her. Flashing a smile of greeting, Noah nodded deferentially in her direction.
“Mrs. Logan.”
“Call me Eve. When are you going to drop the formality, Noah? We’ve known each other over a year!” She came up and draped her arm around his, lightly pressing herself against him.
A year too long, Noah thought. He was aware of the brush of her breast against his arm and politely disengaged himself, putting a few feet between them. “How are you, Eve?”
She smiled genially. “Miserable, as always. The flying certainly keeps everyone busy enough. I barely see Gil anymore. It gets awfully lonely at home wit
hout a man around.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“Yes, well, I just wanted to come over and congratulate you on your sister coming on board. You must be terribly excited.”
He kept his expression carefully neutral. ‘Terribly.” Actually, scared to death was a better description. He hadn’t seen Rook since she was thirteen. That was a long time—too long.
Laughing gaily, Eve asked, “Tell me, what’s she look like?”
If his stepmother’s father hadn’t sent him a recent color photo of Rook graduating from Pensacola, Noah wouldn’t have known. “About five foot eight inches in height, short black hair and gray eyes.”
“Did you two ever get called fraternal twins? You have black hair and gray eyes, too.”
“No, she’s the spunky one, and I’m considered the quiet one. It was easy to tell us apart.” We didn’t live together long enough to remember much of anything, Noah thought, pain and then sadness moving through him. “She’s the far better looking of us.” She was attractive in an arresting way, Noah had realized when the photo had arrived. His baby sister had grown up, and she was a looker. She was a fighter, too, and Noah admired her for that. Not many people had taken the world by the tail and given it a successful shake or two. Rook had. He alternated between absolute fear and heart-hammering joy over the prospect of meeting Rook tomorrow when she came aboard the base. She had been the missing part of the family. And even though they were born only eighteen months apart, Noah could almost swear he felt like her twin sometimes. As much as he yearned for the family closeness, Noah knew that Rook hated him and the idea of family ties with equal fervor. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.
Eve felt her world collapsing around her. Rook was beautiful. “I think you’re very handsome, Noah. I can’t conceive of your sister outshining your looks.”
He laughed softly. “She does, believe me. You’ll have to excuse me, Eve. It’s time for me to meet our new skipper.”
Eve stood there alone in the midst of the swirling activity, lowered voices echoing in the cool dampness of the hangar bay. How dare the Coast Guard bring a woman pilot into a man’s occupation! Rook Caldwell was just looking for a husband, that was all. Would she try to steal Gil? Gripping her purse tightly beneath her arm, Eve sought to find him, her heels grating against the concrete. Within the hour, all the officers and their wives were expected to appear at a cabin call ordered by Stuart in the wardroom. Fighting back her tears, Eve could pry more information out of the new CO about this superwoman who was coming on board shortly.
Captain Crane and his wife had left early; so had Admiral Savage. That was all right with Ward, as he looked around the room where the first cabin call would take place. He wanted to roll up his sleeves and get down to the business of assessing the officers of his cutters and helicopters. Kenny had driven Robby home, and Ward had been relieved when his oldest son had grudgingly shown up in a nice pair of slacks and an ironed shirt. He’d given them both strict instructions to keep a low profile for a few more days, until he could get them enrolled in their respective schools. Robby had his painting and would be content at their new home, but he knew Kenny would take off. He tried to screen out the word: cocaine. Was Kenny using coke? He worried that his son would never get along in the world.
He couldn’t have his son using drugs—the Coast Guard just wouldn’t tolerate that from a commanding officer. His people would lose respect for him. The consequences of such a catastrophe were frightening to Ward—it was the worst nightmare in the world for him. Somehow, he had to reach Kenny and make him understand just how important this command was to him and his career. He’d busted his tail all his life for this moment, and no one—not even his son—was going to taint it for him.
Marcia gave her husband a ferreting look, as if sensing the turmoil of his thoughts. She checked with Robin Lipton, the executive officer’s wife, to make sure the punch and cookies had been attractively laid out. Small groups were beginning to wander into the blue-carpeted room. The huge picture windows afforded a view of the small airstrip and the gray-green straits just twenty-five feet away from the rock embankment. Marcia slipped her hand around her husband’s arm and gave it a small squeeze.
“Stop worrying about Kenny. He’ll be all right, Ward.”
He managed a slight, strained smile. “I’m in hot water if all these officers can read my face as well as you do, sweetheart.”
She warmed to the endearment, leaning up and giving him a peck on the cheek. “They haven’t been married to you for twenty-five years like I have, darling, so relax. You know Kenny. He’s as restless as that water out there. He’ll probably change clothes, drive around and get acquainted with the town.”
Ward snorted and picked up a small cup of punch, handing it to her. “Sure. He’ll be looking for the first dealer he can find. I kept hoping that moving to a small town might help him settle down.”
“Shhh, let’s talk about this later. Here comes the XO—Commander Bruce Lipton, if I’m not mistaken.”
Giving Marcia a wink, Ward murmured, “You’ve got the whole roster memorized already, don’t you?”
“I sure do, Skipper. A good military wife makes it her business not only to know the wives, but to learn about the men, as well. After all, how else can I be of help?”
Ward wanted to put his arms around her, draw her close and kiss her hard and long, right here on the spot. “Tonight,” he promised, “you are going to be amply rewarded for all your diligent work, Mrs. Skipper.”
Marcia glowed, and her lilting laughter floated across the room. “I can hardly wait.”
Neither could he, but right now serious business was ahead. Although this cabin call was supposed to be informal and filled with chitchat, it was anything but that. From years of experience, Ward knew how to use his body language and tone of voice to put an individual at ease. When Commander Lipton stepped forward, looking pale and nervous, Ward smiled warmly and thrust out his hand.
“Bruce Lipton, correct? Glad to meet you.” And so it went for the next two hours. Marcia circulated through, the clusters of nervous wives and soon had them at ease, laughing occasionally and planning parties.
Ward memorized key words for each officer he met. Tag Welsh, the aviation engineering officer, looked ill. He appeared gaunt, and he had dark circles under his eyes. AEO and safety officer were the most important jobs in Coast’ Guard aviation. Although Tag seemed pleasant enough, Ward picked up some undefinable emotion around him. His hands shook imperceptibly when he held the glass of punch, and there was a nervous tic under his right eye. What the hell was affecting Welsh so much? He was a case of nerves. How did he fly SAR missions? Had the old skipper worked this man to death or what? He’d find out by perusing those personnel files that Captain Crane had promised to have waiting for him tomorrow on his desk at Admin.
Lt. (jg) Ty Scanlon, the personnel officer, was an easygoing extrovert, with a lovely wife named Jordanna. They made a nice couple. Solid was the key word for him. There didn’t appear to be any major marriage or personality clashes between them. That was good, because in Ward’s experience, a marriage going to hell in a hand-basket rode roughshod on a man. He was particularly keyed to that with his officers.
Lt. Gil Logan and his Southern belle wife, Eve, were a whole different matter. Ward’s key phrase for the tall, broad-shouldered helicopter pilot was bad attitude. His sloppy uniform screamed of insubordination, and his insecure, flighty little wife possessed the smile of a cream puff, but she had a backbone of pure, unbending steel. Logan seemed aggravated when his wife started pumping him for information on Rook Caldwell. She was a very jealous, territorial wife, Ward decided, which meant there was potential trouble ahead with the addition of a female to the helo ranks.
Lt. Noah Caldwell was quiet and alert. Sharp was the key word for him. Ward liked the thoughtful cutter officer. If his sister Rook was anything like Caldwell, he could rest easy. Savage had been right about him, it seemed. He was cut from a
superior piece of cloth and probably deserved a shot at Surface Effect Ship duty. Ward made a mental note to pursue that with Caldwell at a later date.
At the end of the two hours Ward dismissed everyone. It was early Saturday afternoon, and he knew how important it was for the men to share quality time with their families. He read anger in Eve Logan’s eyes as she left and wondered who she was upset with.
Gil had sensed the impending explosion from Eve all evening. Each time he tried to caress her shoulder or put his arm around her, she pulled away. That, coupled with her silence, warned him that a serious storm was brewing.
Sitting at the Formica table in the kitchen, he went over some office paperwork. The new skipper would haul him in very shortly and want answers about housing. And judging from Stuart’s look, he’d damn well better have them—or else. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearly 11 p.m. God, tomorrow afternoon at three he had to relieve the duty officer and take over. Rubbing his face tiredly, Gil reminded himself that not only would the new skipper probably be anchored to his desk reading key personnel records, but that the new female helo pilot was supposed to come on board. It was going to be a hell of a day, no matter which way he cut it.
“I’m going to bed.”
Gil lifted his head and twisted around toward the door to the living room. Eve stood clothed in one of her favorite satin negligees—an apricot confection that emphasized her flawless complexion and silky blond hair. “I’m right behind you. I’ve had enough housing work tonight.” Suddenly, Gil’s depression lifted as he gazed hungrily at Eve. More than ever before, he needed her arms around him. He wanted to make love to her, but that was only part of it. She gave him an undefinable sustenance in bad times like this.
She lifted her shoulders in an elegant motion. “I really don’t care, anyway. The Coast Guard has become your wife. I’m just someone left at home. Good night, Gil.”
He stared at her, stunned. The rustle of satin disappeared; only the faint fragrance of her perfume was left to entice him. Rising slowly, Gil realized that there would be another showdown in the bedroom.
Beginning with You Page 4