Navy Woman

Royce had waited, for what seemed like hours, but in fact had only been a matter of minutes before he learned Kelly had suffered only minor injuries.

His relief had been so great that it demanded every ounce of strength he possessed not to reach for the phone and call Catherine then and there and assure her everything was all right. His hand shook as the realization washed over him like cold November rain.

Still he wanted Catherine with him. He needed her warmth, her generosity, her support. The man who needed no one, needed her.

She must have known, must have sensed his desperation because she'd come. From out of nowhere, she'd walked into Kelly's hospital room like an apparition. When he'd first looked up and seen her standing there, Royce was convinced she wasn't real. His anguish had been so overwhelming that his troubled mind had conjured up her form to satisfy the deep craving he had for her touch.

Then her eyes had slid so hungrily to his, and she'd bit into her bottom lip and battled back the tears. Ghosts didn't cry, did they?

This one did. Somehow Royce found himself on his feet walking toward her. He half expected her to vanish when he reached for her. Instead she was warm and solid and real. And his.

Royce had been so grateful, so engulfed with gratitude that he hadn't been able to speak. His heart, which he'd taken such measures to protect, had heated with a love so strong, his throat had grown thick with emotion.

He'd held Catherine for the longest time, soaking in her strength, her love, her concern.

When he had been able to speak, he didn't know if what he'd said was the least bit intelligible. Catherine had started asking questions; somehow he'd found the strength to answer, strength she'd lent him without even knowing it.

Then they'd heard a noise outside the room and realized their perilous position. He'd had to send her away. He'd had no choice.

"Daddy." The fragile child voice rose from the bed as delicately as mist on the moors.

"Hello, sweetheart."

"I fell asleep."

"I know." He lifted her small hand and clasped it in both of his. "You're going to be all right."

"What about Missy?"

"Her, too."

"Did I ruin my new jacket?"

How like a woman to be concerned about her clothes, Royce noted, amused. "If you did, I'll buy you another one."

Kelly brightened enough to offer him a weak smile. "I thought I heard Catherine. Did she come? I wanted to wake up and talk to her, but I couldn't. I guess I was too tired."

Royce nodded. "Don't worry, Catherine will be back later."

Kelly's soft blue eyes drifted shut, and she yawned. "Oh-h-h good, I like her so much."

"I like her, too."

Kelly's smile was lethargic. "I know you do, and she likes you a whole bunch... I can tell. Remember what I said, okay?"

"About what, sweetheart?"

"A baby sister," she reminded him, and winced. "Don't forget."

Royce hesitated. Now wasn't the time to lecture Kelly, but if she were to say anything to Catherine, it might prove extremely embarrassing. "Let me handle that part, all right?"

"All right."

Within a few minutes, Kelly was sound asleep once more.

As promised, Catherine arrived later that evening, her arms filled with a giant stuffed panda and a large vase of bright flowers.

"Catherine!" Kelly greeted. His child was sitting up in bed, looking very much like her normal self,

Royce thought. The ten-year-old held out her arms as though she and the lieutenant commander were close friends.

If the truth be known, Royce was having something of a problem keeping from holding out his arms as well. Catherine looked beautiful, but then he couldn't remember a time that she'd been anything less.

Catherine set the vase of pink, red and white carnations next to the flower arrangement Royce had brought.

"Dad said you were here earlier, but I was asleep." She hugged the panda bear and Catherine in turn. "Thank you. I didn't expect everyone to buy me gifts just because Mrs. Thompson's brakes didn't work."

"We're all so pleased you weren't hurt worse."

"It was real scary," Kelly admitted, eating up all the attention she was receiving. "I tried not to cry, but it hurt too bad."

"I probably would have cried, too," Catherine confessed. She stood across the bed from Royce, who remembered the tears in her eyes as she'd rushed into the room earlier in the day.

"Wow, what happened to this place?" Catherine said with a grin, admiring the decorations. Her gaze briefly met with Royce's and seemed almost shy.

"My teacher brought me a poster," Kelly said, pointing proudly to the large sheet of brightly decorated butcher paper. "Everyone in the class wrote me a get-well message." The ten-year-old paused. "Everyone except Eddie Reynolds. He's never forgiven me for striking him out in baseball last year." She rolled her eyes as though to say men were all fools.

"Your friends did a beautiful job."

"Did you see the flowers Dad got me and the new cassette player?"

"Yes, they're very nice."

"I almost ruined my new jacket, but Dad says all we have to do is take it to the cleaners."

"Well, you're certainly looking chipper."

"I feel real good, but the doctor said I have to stay here overnight. Dad's going to come back early in the morning and bring me home. Then tomorrow night he's going to fix my favorite dinner. Will you come, too? Dad's a real good cook, and I have so much I want to show you."

Catherine's eyes shot to Royce's. It was clear she didn't know how to answer Kelly. It was also clear, at least to Royce, that she wanted to be there just as much as he and Kelly wanted her with them.

Chapter Five

"Okay, Dad, we're ready," Kelly called out excitedly from the family room.

Catherine shared a smile with the ten-year-old as Royce wiped his hands dry on a dish towel and wandered in from the kitchen. He was busy with the dinner preparations while Catherine was keeping Kelly entertained.

"See?" Kelly held out her arms, proudly displaying her fingernails. "Aren't they gorgeous?"

As a surprise for Kelly, Catherine had brought along press-on nails, and the two had spent an hour working the dragon-length fire-engine red nails onto the girl's fingers.

"How'd you do that?" Royce blinked and seemed genuinely amazed.

"We have our ways," Catherine said, smiling up at him.

"How long before dinner?" Kelly demanded. "I'm starved. Hospital food leaves a lot to be desired, you know." She was dressed in her pajamas and sitting on the L-shaped sectional with a thick feather pillow propped at one end. According to Royce, the doctor had given instructions to keep Kelly quiet for a day or two. A feat, Catherine was quickly learning, that was easier said than done.

"Hold your horses," Royce teased. "I'm putting the finishing touches on dinner now."

"Can I help?" Catherine offered.

"I want to help, too," Kelly chimed in, tossing aside the orange, yellow and brown hand-knit afghan.

"Stay put, the both of you," Royce insisted. "The table's set. All I need to do is dish up. It'll only take me a few more minutes."

The sight of Royce working in the kitchen had done funny things to Catherine's heart. If the wardroom could only see him now! A dish towel was tucked around his waist in apron fashion, yet it did nothing to disrupt the highly charged effectiveness of his masculine appeal. The sharp edges of his character were smoothly rounded when he was with his daughter, Catherine noted. Gone was the constrained, inflexible commander who ruled with a harsh, but fair hand. Royce Nyland was said to be a man with an iron will. Indeed, Catherine had bumped against it more than once herself. He was also said to be a man with an inner core of steel, but what few realized, what few saw, was that Royce Nyland also possessed a heart of gold. A man of iron. A man of gold.

Catherine had assumed she'd feel uncomfortable in Royce's home. She wasn't entirely sure that their being together like this didn't border on an impropriety, an indiscretion that could have serious consequences for them both. But Royce had been the one who'd seconded Kelly's invitation. They'd all wanted it so badly that Catherine had thrown caution to the wind.

"Dad makes marvelous spaghetti and meatballs," Kelly explained.

"Meat-a-balls," Royce corrected from inside the kitchen. "You can't eat Italian unless you speak it correctly. Try again."

"Meat-a-balls," Kelly returned enthusiastically. For someone who'd been hospitalized only a few hours earlier, the youngster revealed amazing vigor.

"Catherine." He pointed a sauce-coated wooden spoon in her direction.

"Meat-a-balls," she said, imitating his inflection perfectly.

"When are we going to stop talking about them and eat?" Kelly wanted to know. "I've been waiting all day for this."

"Now." Royce appeared and waved his arm toward the dining room. "Dinner is served."

The afghan on Kelly's legs went flying across the back of the sectional as she bounced to her feet. She sauntered into the dining room with her arms stretched out in front of her like a sleepwalker, her fingers splayed in an effort not to touch anything in case her nails weren't dry yet.

"Are you sure she can eat with those things?" Royce asked Catherine out of the corner of his mouth.

"I have a feeling she'll find a way."

Kelly had a problem eating at first, but once she got the hang of working her fork without her nails interfering, everything went smoothly. Although, Catherine had to admit, Kelly's first few attempts resembled something out of a Marx brothers movie.

After dinner, Catherine and Royce cleared the table and lingered over a cup of coffee in the family room.

"I can't remember when I've tasted better meat-a-balls," Catherine said, meaning it. "Kelly's right, you're an excellent cook."

Royce bowed his head, graciously accepting her compliment.

Sipping from her cup, Catherine's gaze drifted to the fireplace and the framed family photograph of Royce, Kelly and a dark-haired woman. It didn't take Catherine long to figure out the strong-featured female had been Royce's wife.

Royce's gaze followed hers. "That was taken a couple of years before the accident."

"She was beautiful."

Royce nodded, but it was clear to Catherine that the subject was a closed one. He didn't want to speak of his marriage any more than she wanted to summarize the details of her best-forgotten engagement to Aaron.

"There's a photograph on my fireplace mantel, too," she told him, struggling to keep the emotion out of her voice. She didn't often speak of her father, but she felt comfortable enough with Royce and Kelly to share this painful part of her life. When she'd finished, Catherine noted that Kelly was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"I think it's time I put her to bed," Royce whispered.

Catherine nodded, stood and took their empty coffee cups into the kitchen. Royce lifted a protesting Kelly into his arms.

"Good night, Catherine," Kelly said, covering her mouth as she yawned. When she finished, she held out her arms for a good-night hug.

Royce carried his daughter into the kitchen, and Catherine quickly gave Kelly a squeeze. Standing that close to Royce, however, feeling him tense as her breasts brushed against his forearm, did bizarre things to her equilibrium. She had barely touched him, in the most innocent of ways, and yet her body had sprung to life with yearning.