Debbie Macomber's Navy Box Set

  “You knew?” He couldn’t believe that she’d managed to keep it a secret from him.

  “Only since yesterday.”

  He kissed Catherine with a hunger that quickly stirred awake dormant fires. “How long can you stay?” Mentally he was tabulating how many times they could make love in three days.

  “How long do you want me for?”

  A lifetime! Fifty years or whichever came first. “How long have you got?” No use aiming for the stars. He’d take what he could get and be damned grateful.

  “A while.” She kissed him, tantalizing him with the tip of her tongue, and then casually sauntered back to the stove.

  “A while,” Royce repeated, not understanding.

  “Now?” Kelly demanded, looking up at Catherine.

  Catherine nodded mysteriously. Royce’s daughter held up her two hands. “Ten minutes,” she said. “That’s all the time I’m giving you.”

  “It shouldn’t even take that long,” Catherine assured her.

  Kelly was gone in a flash, racing up the stairs.

  “Ten minutes,” Royce repeated once Kelly was out of the room. “Honey, I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but I’d appreciate a bit more leeway than ten minutes.”

  “I want you to read something.” She walked over to the table and handed him an official-looking envelope.

  Royce stared at it for several moments, not knowing what to think.

  “And while I’ve got your attention, I think you should know we killed a rabbit.”

  “What?” The woman had become loony. A three-month separation had driven her over the edge. He knew it had him, so it shouldn’t come as any big surprise.

  “Actually I don’t think it’s officially a rabbit these days.”

  “Woman, what are you talking about?”

  “You mean you honestly don’t know?” He clearly seemed to not know.

  He wouldn’t be standing there with his mouth open, looking like a fish out of water if he did. “I don’t have a clue,” he admitted reluctantly.

  “We’re pregnant.”

  Royce shook his head, convinced she was playing a practical joke on him.

  “It’s true, Royce.” Her eyes met his, shyly, as though she were honestly afraid of his reaction. She was studying him closely, judging his response, watching him for any signs of emotion.

  Royce felt the sudden need to sit down. “When?”

  “As-s best I can figure, sometime over Christmas. My guess was that morning…in the shower.”

  He nodded. He felt too numb to do much of anything else. He started figuring dates. It had happened at Christmas, and they were already into the second week of March.

  “But that was…”

  “A few months ago now,” she finished for him.

  “You’re three months pregnant?” She’d kept it a secret for all those months.

  She nodded. “Aren’t you going to say anything? Oh, Royce, please don’t keep me in suspense any longer. Are you happy?”

  He struggled for words, but the emotions had jammed in his throat. He swallowed and slowed his breath before nodding. “Yes.” He reached for her, taking her by the hips and drawing her to him. He flattened his hand over her stomach and closed his eyes. It was impossible for him to speak.

  “Read the letter,” she whispered, and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and ran unrestrained down her cheeks. She brushed them aside. “Don’t worry, I’m terribly emotional these days. I start weeping at the drop of a hat, but the doctor said it wasn’t anything to be concerned about.”

  Royce withdrew the paper from inside the envelope. He scanned the contents twice, certain there was some misunderstanding.

  “You’re leaving the Navy?” he asked, his voice incredulous.

  “Yes, but I’m still in the Reserves.”

  “Why?” After all her arguments about keeping her commission, he couldn’t believe that she’d voluntarily give it up.

  Catherine’s arms circled his neck, and she lowered herself onto his lap. “Because I finally figured out why the Navy was so important for me.”

  Royce stared up at her, not understanding.

  “I was searching to know my father, looking to find him in Navy life…I know it all sounds crazy, but having no memory of him has troubled me for years. Hanging on to the Navy, especially now, was like grasping at straws, because I wanted to find something about him to hang on to.”

  “But what changed your mind?”

  “Our baby. I realized I could do it. Raise our child and everything else when we were so far apart. Then it dawned on me how silly I was being, grasping to find my own father and denying my own child the privilege.”

  Royce kissed her, worshipping her with his mouth, loving her until they were both trembling.

  “Have you told him yet?” Kelly demanded from the top of the stairs.

  “She told me,” Royce answered.

  Kelly raced down. “What do you think, Dad?”

  He grinned and held out his hand to his daughter, bringing her into the circle of their love. It was more than he ever dreamed, more than he deserved. Taking Catherine’s hand, he pressed her fingertips to his lips. Their eyes held, and in hers Royce saw the warm promise of tomorrow.

  Epilogue

  Royce was whistling a catchy tune when he pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. The station wagon was parked alongside of his black Porsche, a baby seat strapped in the rear seat.

  Andy was fast outgrowing the padded chair, which worked out well since Jenny would soon be needing it. His three-month-old daughter was growing like a weed.

  Pushing a tricycle out of the way, Royce opened the front door and hung his hat and jacket on the brass coatrack. “I’m home.”

  Four-year-old Andy let out a cry of glee and came tearing around the corner at top speed. Royce swept his son high above his head and hugged him close.

  “How’s Daddy’s little man? Did you help your mother today by being a good boy?”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Andrew Royce Nyland saluted sharply, then squirmed, wanting back down. The minute his feet hit the floor, Andy was back to whatever it was that had captured his attention in the first place.

  “Royce,” Catherine greeted, coming into the entryway, holding their daughter. A smile came automatically to his lips. It never ceased to amaze him, after all these years, all this time, how his heart quickened at the sight of her. She was in a blue business suit with a fancy silk blouse, and Royce vaguely remembered her telling him she’d had to go into the office later than usual. He was proud of the way Catherine had found a position in a prestigious law firm. Proud of her for showing him it was possible to mix a career with a family. She worked three days a week now, but when the time was right, she would eventually take on a forty-hour week. Frankly, Royce felt his wife had something of an advantage over other attorneys. She was so damn beautiful and intelligent he couldn’t see a jury in the land disagreeing with her.

  “Oh, Royce, I’m glad you’re home.” Catherine paused to give him a quick but satisfying kiss, handing him Jenny. No sooner was his daughter in his arms, when Catherine was reaching for her coat.

  “Where are you headed?”

  She turned around and chastised him with a smile. “I told you about the Navy wives meeting this evening, don’t you remember?”

  “Oh, right.” Royce recalled nothing of the sort. He had trouble keeping track of his own schedule, let alone everyone else’s.

  “Kelly will be home within a half hour,” Catherine informed him. “And she’s bringing a young man home with her.”

  “A boy?”

  “Royce, she’s almost sixteen. This is important to her, so don’t make a fuss. All she asks is that you give her a little privacy.”

  “Hey,” he grumbled, reaching for his wife. “How does she rate? If anyone deserves a little privacy, it’s us.” He kissed her along the side of the neck, savoring her special fragrance. “What time are you going to be home??
??

  “Not late,” she promised, rubbing her mouth over his lips in a slow, erotic exercise. “I promise.”

  Royce reluctantly released her. “Good, because I’ve got plans for tonight.”

  “You’ve got plans for every night,” she teased, “which is a good thing because if you didn’t, I would have.” She grabbed her purse, started for the front door and turned back around.

  “Forget something?”

  “Yes.” She patted Jenny’s sleeping brow and then raised her mouth to his. The kiss was one for the record books. Teasing. Coaxing.

  Royce felt his knees grow weak, and if it hadn’t been for Jenny, he would have wrapped his arms around Catherine and hauled her up the stairs right then and there.

  Catherine sighed and hesitantly broke away from him.

  “What was that for?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Just so you’d know how much I love you. How grateful I am that you were patient enough to allow me to come to my own decisions. About the Navy. About my joining the law firm. About having Jenny.”

  “I sincerely hope you intend on thanking me again later.”

  “You know I do.” She grinned and started for the door. Royce turned toward the kitchen, whistling contentedly.

  * * * * *

  Navy Baby

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  Debbie Macomber

  Chapter One

  On her knees on the bathroom floor, Hannah Raymond viewed parts of the toilet that were never meant to be seen at such short range. Her stomach rolled and heaved like a tiny canoe being swept down a raging river. The tile felt icy against her knees, yet beads of perspiration moistened her brow. Closing her eyes in an effort to hold back the waves of nausea, Hannah drew in several deep, even breaths. That seemed to help a little, but not enough.

  “Oh, God,” she prayed silently, “please, oh, please, don’t let me be pregnant.” No sooner had the words crossed her lips when she lost what little breakfast she’d managed to down that morning.

  Her monthly period was late. Over two months late. But that could be attributed to the stress she’d been under these past several weeks. The stress and the grief. It had been nearly four months since Jerry’s death. She ached to the bottom of her soul for him, and would, she was convinced, until the end of her life. She’d loved Jerry for six years, had planned her entire life around him. They were to have married soon after the first of the year.

  Now there would be no wedding because there was no Jerry. Grief caught her once more in a stranglehold of pain and she squeezed her eyes closed, battling the tears, as well as the nausea. Adding to her torment was the knowledge that if she was pregnant, the child she carried wouldn’t be Jerry’s.

  The face of the sailor had imprinted itself onto her mind, bold as could be. He was tall, powerfully built and strong featured. With a sense of dismay she pushed his image away, refusing to think about that July night or dwell on her folly.

  Once again her stomach heaved, and Hannah brushed the thick folds of shiny brown hair away from her face and leaned over the porcelain toilet.

  “Hannah?” Her father knocked politely against the bathroom door. “Honey, you’d best hurry or you’ll be late for Sunday school.”

  “I…I’m not feeling very well this morning, Dad.” Her words were immediately followed by another bout of vomiting.

  “It sounds like you’ve got the flu.”

  Bless his heart for offering her an excuse. “Yes, I think I must.” She prayed with everything in her being that this was some intestinal virus. If living a good life, following the Golden Rule and being the best preacher’s kid she knew how to be were ever to work on her behalf, the time was now.

  “Go back to bed and if you feel up to it later, come over for the service. I’m preaching from the Epistle to the Romans this morning and I’d like your opinion.”

  “Sure, Dad.” But from the way she was feeling now, she wouldn’t be out of bed any time within the next week.

  “You’ll be all right here by yourself?” Her father’s voice echoed with concern.

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Once again she felt her stomach pitch. She gripped the sides of the toilet and her head fell forward, the effort of holding it up too much for her.

  Her father hesitated. “You’re sure?”

  “I’ll be all right in a little bit,” she managed in a reed-thin voice.

  “If you need me,” George Raymond insisted, “just call the church.”

  “Dad, please, don’t worry about me. I’ll be much better soon. I’m sure of it.”

  Her father’s retreating footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Hannah sighed with relief. She didn’t know what she was going to do if she was pregnant. Briefly she toyed with the idea of disappearing until after the baby was born. Going into hiding was preferable to facing her father with the truth.

  George Raymond had dedicated his life to serving God and others, and having to confess what she’d done didn’t bear contemplating. Hannah loved her father deeply, and the thought of disgracing him, the thought of hurting him, brought a pain so strong and so sharp that tears instantly pooled in her eyes.

  “Please God,” she prayed once more, “don’t let me be pregnant.” Slowly rising from the floor, she swayed and placed her hand against the wall as an attack of dizziness sent the room spinning.

  She staggered into her bedroom and fell on top of the mattress. Kicking off her shoes, she sat up long enough to reach for the afghan neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Spreading it over her shivering shoulders, she gratefully closed her eyes.

  Sleep came over her in swells as though the ocean tide had shifted, lapping warm, assuring waves over her distraught soul. She welcomed each one, eager for something, anything that would help her escape the reality of her situation.

  It had happened in mid-July, only three short weeks after the tragic accident that had claimed her fiancé’s life. Her father had been out of town, officiating at a wedding in Yakima. He was staying over and wasn’t scheduled to arrive back in Seattle until late Saturday afternoon. Hannah had been invited, too, but she couldn’t have borne sitting through the happy event when her own life was filled with such anguish. How grateful she’d been that her father hadn’t asked her to travel with him, although she knew he would have welcomed her company.

  Before he left, George Raymond had asked if she’d take a load of boxes to the Mission House in downtown Seattle. He’d done it, Hannah knew, in an effort to draw her out of the lethargy that had claimed her in the weeks following Jerry’s funeral.

  She waited until late in the afternoon, putting off the errand as long as she could, then loaded up the back of her father’s old Ford station wagon without much enthusiasm.

  Hannah had driven into the city, surprised by the heavy flow of traffic. It wasn’t until she’d found a parking spot in the alley in back of the Mission House that she remembered that Seafair, the Seattle summertime festival celebrating ethnic heritages and community, was being held that weekend. The whole town was festive. Enthusiasm and good cheer rang through the streets like bells from a church steeple. Several Navy ships were docked in Elliott Bay and the famed torchlight parade was scheduled for that evening. The city sidewalks and streets were crammed.

  None of the excitement rubbed off on Hannah, however. The sooner she delivered the goods, the faster she could return to the safe haven of home. She’d been on her way out the door when she was waylaid by the mission director. Reverend Parker seemed genuinely concerned about how she was doing and insisted she sit and have a cup of coffee with him. Hannah had chatted politely, trying not to be impatient, and when he pressed her, she adamantly claimed she was doing well. It was a lie, but a small one. She didn’t want to talk about how angry she was. How bitterly disillusioned. Others had borne even greater losses. In time she’d heal. In time she’d forget. But not for a while; the pain was too fresh, too sharp.

  Hannah knew her friends were worried about her, b
ut she’d managed to put on a facade that fooled most everyone. Everyone, that was, except her father, who knew her so well.

  “God works in mysterious ways,” Reverend Parker had told her on her way out the door. He’d paused and gently patted her back in a gesture of love.

  Until Jerry’s death, Hannah had never questioned her role in life. When others grieved, she’d sat at their sides, comforted them with the knowledge that whatever had befallen them was part of God’s will. The words came back to haunt her now, slapping a cold hand of reality across her face. Several had issued the trite platitude to her, and Hannah had quickly grown to hate such meaningless clichés.

  God’s will. Hannah had given up believing all the religious jargon she’d been raised to embrace. If God was so loving and so good, then why had He allowed Jerry to die? It made no sense to her. Jerry was a rare man, good and godly. They’d been so much in love and even though they were engaged to marry, they’d never gone beyond kissing and a little petting. They’d hungered for each other the way all couples deeply in love do, and yet Jerry had always managed to keep them from succumbing to temptation. Now, with everything in her, Hannah wished that once, just once, she could have lain in his arms. She’d give everything she would ever have in this life to have known his touch, to have surrendered her virginity to him.

  But it was never meant to be.

  * * *

  Stirring, Hannah woke, rolled over and stared blankly at the wall. Her hands rested on her stomach, which seemed to have quieted. A glance at her watch told her that even if she rushed and dressed she’d still be late for the church service. She didn’t feel like listening to her father’s sermon. It wouldn’t do her any good now. Huge tears brimmed in her eyes and slipped unheeded down her cheeks, soaking into her pillow.

  Sleep beckoned her once more, and she closed her eyes. Once again the sailor’s face returned, his dark eyes glaring down on her as they had the night he’d taken her to the hotel room. She’d never forget his shocked, distressed look when he’d realized she was a virgin. The torment she’d read in his gaze would haunt her all the way to the grave. His eyes had rounded with incredulity and disbelief. For one wild second Hannah had feared he would push himself away from her, but she’d reached up and brushed his mouth with her own and then…