Eileen Nauman - My Only One

“Brother, are you in for a treat,” Abby teased warmly.

Alec could see dark shadows beginning to form beneath Abby’s glorious blue eyes. He gently cupped her elbow. “I think, Doctor, that you are getting very tired. Let me take you to your quarters. Tomorrow will be a busy day, I’m sure.”

His touch was light but firm. Abby was surprised that he could tell she was getting tired. The trauma from nearly drowning this morning had caught up with her. She told Captain Denisov goodbye, then followed Alec off the bridge and onto one of the lower decks of the destroyer.

“Are you always a mind reader?” she asked as they walked single file down a narrow passageway deep in the heart of the rolling ship.

“I think,” Alec told her seriously, stopping at a hatchway and opening it for her, “that any good officer tries to stay in touch with his crew’s moods and needs. It is his duty.” He gazed down at her in the shadowy light, her red hair curlier now since it had dried. He had a wild, unexpected urge to thrust his fingers through that mass and explore its silken texture. “I merely applied my powers of observation.”

Abby stepped across the hatch and into her very small quarters. Two of the officers had given over to her their cramped living area, which consisted of two thin bunks, one above the other. “I think, Captain Rostov, that there’s much more to you than what you show the rest of the world.”

His lips lifted slightly. “You have the same perceptiveness as I do, Abby.”

“Does it bother you?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “If you were another officer on board the ship, it might. But you’re a woman and an American, so I have little to fear about what you might see in me.”

Abby stood there for a long moment, digesting the seriousness of his comment to her, his sable-colored eyes smoldering with an intensity that made her deliciously aware that she was a woman. “We’ll have to talk more,” she whispered. “Good night, Alec. And again, thanks for everything.” Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick hug. Releasing him, she stepped back and smiled shyly. “That was my western upbringing coming out.”

His body tingled where she had lightly pressed herself against him. Shocked by her impulsiveness, Alec nodded and came to attention. “It was my pleasure, Abby,” he said with a slight bow. “I think I’m beginning to like your western customs more and more.”

Chapter Three

“WHAT DO YOU think of all this excitement and press interest that’s building, Rostov?” Dr. Ryback asked Alec at mess the next morning. Two stewards, dressed in white jackets and slacks, served the ten officers in the small rectangular room.

Alec was careful with his words. “I feel it’s a useful opportunity for us to expand awareness of glasnost to the world, Doctor.” Every ship had its KGB agents, the eyes and ears of the clandestine spy organization. Alec had no desire to be quoted saying the wrong thing.

Denisov chuckled, hungrily digging into a mound of powdered scrambled eggs and fried potatoes. “You must have very good connections in Moscow, Rostov. I envy you the chance to see what America is really like.”

“We’ll soon find out if they are gangsters and cowboys,” Alec agreed. The perception of Americans was just that and little more. He wasn’t about to admit the intensity of his curiosity about going ashore with Abby and learning about her way of life. Over the years, in order to maintain his facility with English, he read any book on America whenever possible. Alec had done some checking last night on the bridge when it was his turn for watch. The messages from Moscow had been signed by Misha Surin, his friend at the Kremlin, and countersigned by the admiral of the Soviet pacific fleet. Obviously, the hierarchy in Moscow thought his rescue of Abby was something to be paraded in front of the world press.

Chuckling, Denisov waved his fork in Alec’s direction. “Make us all proud, Rostov. Who knows? If you do well with the American press, we may all receive a glasnost medal for helping continue to warm the relations between our two countries. Not a bad reward, eh?”

One of the stewards opened the hatch entrance from the passageway and Abby Fielding entered. Immediately, all ten officers leapt to their feet. Alec suppressed a smile as Abby stood there, shock written across her still-sleepy features. Today she had taken her thick hair and braided it in a decidedly feminine style down the back of her head. The wispy bangs barely grazed her eyebrows, and playful tendrils touched her temples. She looked excruciatingly beautiful in his eyes in a simple wardrobe of jeans and a long-sleeved white blouse. A dark blue sweater was hung across her back and shoulders, the arms crossed in a casual fashion across her breasts. The image was fetching. Refreshing.

“Good morning,” Alec said in greeting, leaving his chair and going over to her. “You are the guest of honor. I’ll seat you next to Captain Denisov.”

Flushing over such formality, Abby smiled and nodded. If the truth be known, she’d much rather have sat beside Alec, but she realized it would not have been prudent. “Good morning,” she murmured huskily to all the serious-faced officers. Denisov looked delighted by her presence. When Alec offered her the seat and she sat down, the other naval officers returned to their chairs.

“You are like a rare spring rose aboard our humble naval vessel,” Denisov told her in thick, heavy English. He waved the steward over and ordered him to serve her coffee and then had her plate heaped with eggs, potatoes and two portions of sausage.

“Thank you, Captain Denisov.” Abby picked up the white ceramic mug filled with steaming hot coffee, needing the caffeine badly. Learning that she had to taste all Soviet food carefully, Abby took a small sip of the strong liquid. As much as she wanted to wrinkle her nose, Abby suppressed the desire. Denisov was watching her every move, wanting to be assured that his efforts pleased her. She forced a smile. “Your coffee is like the stuff I drink on the Argonaut —strong and rich.” The “rich” was a white lie, but Denisov’s face grew flushed with pleasure.

“Excellent! At least we share one thing in common, eh? Both American and Soviet coffee is good! We purposely make our coffee strong to keep us hearty.”

Abby knew she wasn’t a diplomat and gracefully refrained from saying anything more, pretending instead to eat. The eggs, of course, were out of the question. The potatoes had been fried and lay in grease, like shining silver dollars on the white ceramic plate edged with red trim. The sausages stared at her, and she couldn’t bear looking at them one moment longer. Discreetly, Abby played with the potatoes with her fork.

“Why not get Dr. Fielding some bread?” Alec suggested to one of the two young stewards.

Abby flashed Alec a grateful look she hoped he would interpret as a silent thank-you. She found his sable eyes twinkling knowingly, and she suddenly realized how much she missed Alec’s teasing and lighthearted banter in comparison to the rest of the solemn sailors and officer on board the Udaloy. From them there was never a smile, a joke or a laugh, just unrelenting formality. Alec was different, Abby had decided this morning as she was being escorted to mess by the chief from the dispensary.

“You know,” Denisov said, “at sea we sometimes don’t get news from home as often as we’d like. Tell me, what is happening in your country right now? What is newsworthy?”

Abby blotted her lips with the white linen napkin and searched her memory. “Well, I’ve been out to sea for a week, Captain, so what I remember will probably be old news.”