Navy Brat

Erin MacNamera had one hard and fast rule: never, never, never fall for a navy man. But, from the heart-stopping moment her eyes met Lieutenant Brandon Davis’s across a crowded lounge, Erin knew life would never be the same. Sexy, tender and strong, Brandon was all she’d ever dreamed of in a man, but he was also navy—and as a navy brat from way back, she knew better than to give her heart to a seafaring man.

When an old friend asked Brand to look up his eldest daughter, he never dreamed Erin would turn out to be a stubborn beauty who resisted him at every turn. Couldn’t she see that they were meant for each other? When Brand was called to duty, it gave him the perfect opportunity to teach his sweet Irish rose a thing or two about navy men—and love….

For Marcia, Catherine, Kathy and Pam

and others like them, who’ve picked up the pieces of their lives and taught me the

meaning of the word courage.

Special thanks to:

Gene Romano, Senior Chief Journalist, Naval Base Seattle

Barbara Davis, Kitsap County Community Action Program and The Olympic College Women in Transition Group

Plus navy wives Rose Marie Harris

Jan Evans

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

He was the handsomest man in the bar, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

It was all Erin MacNamera could do to keep her own coffee-brown eyes trained away from him. He sat on the bar stool, his back to the multitiered display of ornamental liquor bottles. His elbows were braced against the polished mahogany counter, and he nonchalantly held a bottle of imported German beer in his hand.

Against her will, Erin’s gaze meandered back to him. He seemed to be waiting for her attention, and he smiled, his mouth lifting sensuously at the edges. Erin quickly looked away and tried to concentrate on what her friend was saying.

“…Steve and me.”

Erin hadn’t a clue as to what she’d missed. Aimee was in the habit of talking nonstop, especially when she was upset. The reason Erin and her co-worker were meeting was that Aimee wanted to discuss the problems she was having in her ten-year marriage.

Marriage was something Erin fully intended to avoid, at least for a good long while. She was focusing her energies on her career and on teaching a class titled Women in Transition two evenings a week at South Seattle Community College. With a master’s degree clutched in her hot little hand, and her ideals and enthusiasm high, Erin had applied to and been accepted by the King County Community Action Program as an employment counselor, working mainly with displaced women. Ninety percent of those she worked with were on public assistance.

Her dream was to give hope and support to those who had lost both. A friend to the friendless. An encourager to the disheartened. Erin’s real love, however, was the Women In Transition course. In the past few years she’d watched several women undergo the metamorphosis from lost and confused individuals to purpose-filled adults holding on tight to a second chance at life.

Erin knew better than to take the credit or the blame for the transformation she saw in these women’s lives. She was just part of the Ways and Means Committee.

Her father enjoyed teasing her, claiming his eldest daughter was destined to become the next Florence Nightingale and Mother Teresa all rolled into one tenacious, determined, confident female.

Casey MacNamera was only partially right. Erin certainly didn’t see herself as any crusader, fighting against the injustices of life.

Nor was Erin fooling herself about finances. She didn’t intend to become wealthy, at least not monetarily. Nobody went into social work for the money. The hours were long and the rewards sporadic, but when she saw people’s lives turned around for good she couldn’t help being uplifted.

Helping others through a time of painful transition was what Erin had been born to do. It had been her dream from early in her college career and had followed her through graduate school and her first job.

“Erin,” Aimee said, her voice dipping to a whisper, “there’s a man at the bar staring at us.”

Erin pretended not to have noticed. “Oh?”

Aimee stirred the swizzle stick in her strawberry daiquiri, then licked the end as she stared across the room, her eyes studying the good-looking man with the imported ale. Her smile was slow and deliberate, but it didn’t last long. She sighed and said, “It’s you who interests him.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m married.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Erin argued.

“Sure he does.” Aimee uncrossed her long legs and leaned across the minuscule table. “Married women give off vibes, and single men pick them up like sonar. I tried to send him a signal, but it didn’t work. He knew immediately. You, on the other hand, are giving off single vibes, and he’s zeroing in on that like a bee does pollen.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” Aimee agreed in a thin whisper, “but I doubt it.” She took one last sip of her drink and stood hurriedly. “I’m leaving now, and we’ll test my theory and see what happens. My guess is that the minute I’m out of here he’s going to make a beeline for you.” She paused, smiled at her own wit, then added, “The pun was an accident, clever but unintentional.”

“Aimee, I thought you wanted to talk….” Erin, however, wasn’t quick enough to convince her friend to stay. Before she’d finished, Aimee had reached for her purse. “We’ll talk some other time.” With a natural flair, she draped the strap of her imitation-snakeskin handbag over her shoulder and winked suggestively. “Good luck.”

“Ah…” Erin was at a loss as to what to do. She was twenty-seven, but for the majority of her adult life she’d avoided romantic relationships. Not by design. It had just worked out that way.

She met men frequently, but she dated only occasionally. Not once had she met a man in a bar. Cocktail lounges weren’t her scene. In her entire life she’d probably been inside one only a couple of times.

Her social life had been sadly neglected from the time she was in junior high and fell in love for the first time. Howie Riverside had asked her to the Valentine’s Day dance, and her tender young heart had been all aflutter.

Then it had happened. The way it always had. Her father, a career navy man, had been transferred, and they’d moved three days before the dance.

Somehow Erin had never quite regained her stride with the opposite sex. Of course, three moves in the next four years—unusual even for the navy—hadn’t been exactly conducive to a thriving relationship. They’d been shuffled from Alaska to Guam to Pensacola and back again.

College could have, and probably should have, been the opportunity to make up for lost time, but by then Erin had felt like a social pygmy when it came to dealing with men. She hadn’t known how to meet them, how to flirt with them or how to make small talk. Nor had she acquired a number of the other necessary graces.

“Hello.”

She hadn’t even had time to collect her thoughts, let alone her purse. Mr. Imported Beer was standing next to her table, smiling down on her like some mythological Greek god. He certainly resembled one. He was tall, naturally. Weren’t they all? Easily six-four, she guessed, and muscular. His dark hair was neatly trimmed, his brown eyes warm and friendly. He was so handsome, he might well have posed for one of those hunk calendars that were currently the rage with all the women in the office.

“Hi,” she managed, hoping she sounded a whole lot less flustered than she was feeling. Erin knew herself well, and she couldn’t imagine what it was about her that had attracted this gorgeous man.

Few would have described Erin as a beautiful sophisticate. Her features were distinctively Irish, comely and appealing, but she wasn’t anywhere close to being strikingly beautiful. Naturally long curly chestnut-red hair, straight white teeth and a smidgen of freckles across the bridge of her Gaelic nose were her most distinctive features. She was reasonably attractive, but no more so than any of the other women who populated the cocktail lounge.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Ah…sure.” She reached for her glass of Chablis and held on to it with one hand. “And you are…”

“Brandon Davis.” He claimed the chair recently vacated by Aimee. “Most folks call me Brand.”

“Erin MacNamera,” she supplied, and noticed several envious stares coming her way from the women in the crowd. Even if nothing came from this exchange, Erin couldn’t help being flattered by his attention. “Most folks call me Erin.”

He smiled.

“Is it true? Was I really giving off vibes?” she asked, surprising herself. Obviously it was the wine talking. Generally she wasn’t even close to being this direct with a man she didn’t know.

Brand didn’t answer her right away, which wasn’t any wonder. She’d probably caught him off guard, which was only fair, since he was throwing her completely off balance.

“My friend was saying men in bars pick up vibes like a radar detector,” she explained, “and I was wondering what messages I was signaling.”

“None.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t help being disappointed. For a moment there, she’d thought she’d stumbled upon some latent talent she hadn’t known she possessed. Apparently that wasn’t the case.

“Then why were you staring at me?” He’d probably ruin everything by informing her she had a run in her nylons, or her skirt was unzipped, or something else thoroughly embarrassing.

“Because you’re Irish and it’s St. Patrick’s Day.”

So much for padding her ego. Naturally. It was the in thing to be seen with an Irish girl on a day that traditionally celebrated her ancestors.

“You’re not wearing green,” he added.

“I’m not?” Erin’s gaze dropped to her blue striped business suit. She hadn’t given a thought to it being St. Patrick’s Day when she’d dressed that morning. “I’m not,” she agreed, surprised she’d forgotten something so basic to her heritage.

Brand laughed lightly, and the sound of it was so refreshing, Erin couldn’t keep from smiling herself. She didn’t know a whole lot about this sort of thing, but her best guess suggested Brand Davis wasn’t the type of man who lounged around bars picking up women. First of all, he didn’t need to. With his good looks and innate charm, women would naturally flock to him.

She decided to test her suspicion. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.” That wasn’t too surprising. Since this was her first time at the Blue Lagoon, the chances of their having crossed each other’s paths at the bar were pretty slender.

“It’s my first time.”

“I see.”

“What about you?”

It took Erin a second to realize he was asking her how often she frequented the cocktail lounge. “Every now and again,” she answered, striving to sound urbane, or at least a tad more sophisticated than she’d been at age fourteen.

The waitress stepped up to the table, and before Erin could answer one way or the other Brand ordered two more of the same. Generally, one glass of wine was Erin’s limit, but she was willing to break a few rules. It wasn’t often she ran into a Greek god.

“I’m new to the area,” Brand explained before Erin could think fast enough to formulate a question.

She looked at him and smiled blandly. The wine had dulled her senses, but then, making small talk had always been difficult for her. She wished she could think of some intelligent comment to make. Instead, her gaze fell on a poster on the other side of the room, and she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

“I love ferries.” Then, realizing he might think she was referring to leprechauns, she felt compelled to explain. “When I first moved to Seattle, I was enthralled by the ferryboats. Whenever I needed to think something over, I’d ride one over to Winslow or Bremerton and hash everything out in my mind.”

“It helps?”

Whatever you do, don’t let her know you’re navy. Casey MacNamera’s voice echoed in Brand’s mind like a Chinese gong. The MCPO—masterchief petty officer—was a good friend of Brand’s. They’d worked together for three years early in his career, and they’d kept in touch ever since.

As soon as Casey had learned Brand had been given his special assignment at Naval Station Puget Sound at Sand Point in Seattle, the old Irishman had contacted him, concerned about his eldest daughter.

She’s working too hard, not taking care of herself. Give an old man some peace of mind and check up on her. Only, for the love of heaven, don’t let her know I sent you.

Personally, Brand wasn’t much into this detective business. But, as a favor to his friend, he’d reluctantly agreed to look up Erin MacNamera.

He’d been ready to enter her office building when she’d stepped outside. Brand had never met Casey’s daughter, but one look at that thick thatch of auburn hair and he’d immediately known that this woman was a close relative of his friend. So he’d followed her into the Blue Lagoon.

He studied her for several minutes, noticing little things about her. She was delicate. Not dainty or fragile, as the word implied. Erin MacNamera was exquisite. That wasn’t a word he used often. Her gaze had met his once, and he’d managed to hold her look for just a second. She’d stared back at him, surprise darkening her eyes, before she’d jerked her gaze away. When he’d stepped up to her table, she’d been flustered, and she’d striven hard not to show it.

The more time he spent with her, the more he learned about her that amazed him. Brand wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected from Casey’s daughter, but certainly not the enchanting red-haired beauty who sat across from him. Erin was as different from her old man as silk was from leather. Casey was a potbellied, boisterous MCPO, while his daughter was a graceful creature with eyes as shiny and dark as the sea at midnight.

Another thing, Casey had warned. Remember, this is my daughter, not one of your cupcakes.

Brand couldn’t help grinning at that. He didn’t have cupcakes. At thirty-two, he couldn’t say he’d never been in love. He’d fallen in love a handful of times over the years, but there had never been one woman who’d captured his heart for more than a few months. None that he’d ever seriously considered spending the rest of his life with.

Be careful what you say, Casey had advised. My Erin’s got her mother’s temper.

Brand didn’t feel good about this minor deception. The sensation intensified as they sat and talked over their drinks. An hour after he’d sat down with her, Erin glanced at her watch and flatly announced she had to be leaving.

As far as Brand was concerned, his duty was done. He’d looked up his friend’s daughter, talked to her long enough to assure her father, when he wrote next, that Erin was in good health. But when she stood to leave, Brand discovered he didn’t want her to go. He’d thoroughly enjoyed her company.

“How about dinner?” he found himself asking.

Twin spots of color appeared in her cheeks, and her eyes darkened slightly as though she’d been caught off guard. “Ah…not tonight. Thanks anyway.”

“Tomorrow?”

Her silence didn’t fool him. She appeared outwardly calm, as if she were considering his invitation, but Brand could feel the resistance radiating from her. That in itself was unusual. Women generally were eager to date him.

“No thanks.” Her soft smile took any sting out of her rejection—or at least it was meant to. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

She stood, smiled sweetly and tucked her purse under her arm. “Thanks for the drink.”

Before Brand had time to respond, she was out the door. He couldn’t remember a woman turning him down in fifteen years of dating. Not once. Most members of the opposite sex treated him as if he were Prince Charming. He’d certainly gone out of his way to be captivating to MacNamera’s daughter.

Who the hell did she think she was?

Standing, Brand started out the cocktail lounge after her. She was halfway down the block on the sidewalk, her pace clipped. Brand ran a few steps, then slowed to a walk. Soon his stride matched hers.

“Why?”

She paused and looked up at him, revealing no surprise that he’d joined her.

“You’re navy.”

Brand was shocked, and he did a poor job of disguising it. “How’d you know?”

“I was raised in the military. I know the lingo, the jargon.”

“I didn’t use any.”

“Not consciously. It was more than that…the way you held your beer bottle should have told me, but it was when we started talking about the ferries crossing Puget Sound that I knew for sure.”

“So I’m navy. Is that so bad?”

“No. Actually, with most women it’s a plus. From what I understand, a lot of females go for guys in uniform. You won’t have any problems meeting someone. Bremerton? Sand Point? Or Whidbey Island?”

Brand ignored the question of where he was stationed and instead asked one of his own. “Most women are attracted to a man in uniform, but not you?”

Her eyes flickered, and she laughed curtly. “Sorry. It lost its appeal when I was around six.”

She was walking so fast that he was losing his breath just keeping up with her. “Do you hate the navy so much?”

His question apparently caught her by surprise, because she stopped abruptly, turned to him and raised wide brown eyes to study him. “I don’t hate it at all.”

“But you won’t even have dinner with someone in the service?”

“Listen, I don’t mean to be rude. You seem like a perfectly nice—”

“You’re not being rude. I’m just curious, is all.” He glanced around them. They’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk on a busy street in downtown Seattle. Several people were forced to walk around them. “I really would be interested in hearing your views. How about if we find a coffee shop and sit down and talk?”

She looked at her watch pointedly.

“This isn’t dinner. Just coffee.” Unwilling to be put off quite so easily a second time, Brand gifted her with one of his most dazzling smiles. For the majority of his adult life, women had claimed he had a smile potent enough to melt the polar ice cap. He issued it now, full strength, and waited for the usual results.

Nothing.

This woman was downright dangerous to his ego. He tried another tactic. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re causing something of a traffic jam here.”

“I’ll pay for my own coffee,” she insisted in a tone that implied she was going against her better judgment to agree to talk to him at all.

“If you insist.”

The lunch counter at Woolworth’s was still open, and they shared a tiny booth designed for two. While the waitress delivered their coffee, Brand reached for a menu, reading over the list of sandwiches. The picture of the turkey, piled high with lettuce and tomato slices between thick slices of bread, looked appetizing, and he reluctantly set it aside.

“Officer?” Erin asked, studying him while he stirred cream into his coffee.

“Adding cream to my coffee told you that?” Casey’s daughter ought to be in intelligence. He’d never met anyone quite like her.

“No. The way you talk. The way you act. Lieutenant j.g. would be my guess?”

He was impressed again. “How’d you know that?”

“Your age. What are you, thirty? Thirty-one?”

“Thirty-two.” This was getting to be downright embarrassing. He’d climbed through the ranks at the normal rate of speed and received a number of special assignments over the years. Since the navy was considering closing down its station at Sand Point, Brand had been sent by the admiral to conduct a feasibility survey. His duties in the area would last only a few weeks. Most of that time had already been spent.

“I take it you weren’t raised in the navy?” Erin questioned.

“No.”

“I might have guessed.”

She sure as hell was batting a thousand with those guesses of hers. Her eyes briefly met his, and Brand was struck once more by how hauntingly dark they were. A spark, a hint of pain—something he couldn’t quite name—touched an emotional chord deep within him.

“Listen,” she said softly, regretfully, “it’s been interesting talking to you, but I should have been home an hour ago.” She was ready to stand when Brand reached across the table and gripped her hand.

The action was as much a shock to Brand as it was to her. She raised her head a fraction of an inch so that their eyes could meet. Hers were wide and questioning, his…he didn’t know. Unrelenting, stubborn, he guessed. Brand wasn’t thinking clearly, and hadn’t been from the moment he’d followed her into the Blue Lagoon.

“We haven’t talked.”

“There isn’t any need to. You weren’t raised in the military. I was. You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like unless you were carted from one corner of the world to another.”

“I’d love it.”

Her smile was sardonic. “Most men do.”

“I want to see you again.”

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t think about it. Nor did she delay answering. “No.”

“I apologize if I’m bruising your ego,” she added, “but frankly, I promised myself a long time ago to stay away from men in the military. It’s a hard-and-fast rule I live by. Trust me, it’s nothing personal.”

Brand sure as hell was taking it personally. “I don’t even tempt you?”

She hesitated and smiled gently before tugging her hand free from his grasp. “A little,” she admitted.

Brand had the feeling she was saying that to cater to his pride, which she’d managed to bruise every time she’d opened her mouth.

“As far as looks go, you’ve got an interesting face.”

An interesting face. Didn’t she know handsome when she saw it? Women had made pests of themselves in an effort to attract his attention for years. Some of his best friends had even admitted they hesitated before introducing him to their girlfriends.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said stiffly.

“It isn’t necessary, I—”

“I said I’d walk you to your car.” He stood and slapped two dollar bills on the table. Brand liked to think of himself as a tolerant man, but this woman was getting under his skin, and he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit. There were plenty of fish in the sea, and he was far more interested in lobster than he was in Irish stew.

Erin MacNamera wasn’t even that attractive. Hell, he wouldn’t even be seeing her if he wasn’t doing a favor for her father. If she didn’t want to see him again, fine. Great. Wonderful. He could live with that. What Erin had said earlier was true enough. Women went for guys in uniform.

He was attractive. He wore a uniform.

He didn’t need Erin MacNamera.

Satisfied with that, he held open the glass door that led outside.

“This really isn’t necessary,” she whispered.

“Probably not, but as an officer and a gentleman I insist.”

“My father’s an enlisted man.”

She announced the fact as if she were looking for some response.