by Cora Seton
He didn’t mean to be disruptive. He was never even aware of what he was doing. The Navy had finally taught him that eight miles before breakfast took the edge off his overflow of energy.
Four miles in he hit the mid-point and turned toward home, his mind on Boone’s upcoming wedding, so when a man launched himself out of the bushes and nearly bowled Clay over, Clay shouted and lashed out, stumbling before he regained his balance and stopped short.
“What the hell, Walker?” He shoved the larger man away, struggled to regain his composure and began to jog again, unwilling to let his friend know his heart was pounding with shock.
“Thought I’d join you,” Walker Norton said with a shrug. The large man jogged after him. “Kinda slow today, aren’t you?”
“Jesus—” Clay bit back a string of curses. He hated it when his friend did shit like this. A man of Walker’s size shouldn’t be able to sneak up on anyone, which was why the Native American had so much fun doing it. Walker was always quiet, and in natural settings it was like he could disappear in plain view, something that had helped him excel as a Navy SEAL. Clay didn’t begrudge him the way he’d managed to climb the ranks, but it infuriated him when Walker caught him off guard.
“You’re getting predictable.” Walker picked up speed and jogged past him.
Pissed, Clay ran after him. He knew Walker meant he kept taking the same route. Where the heck else was he supposed to go? Clay wondered. It’s not like there were a lot of choices out here in ranch country. He caught up to his friend and elbowed past him. He wasn’t about to let Walker set the pace.
“You’re getting soft,” Walker continued, easily keeping stride. “I followed you all the way from Base Camp. You didn’t even notice.”
“I wasn’t expecting to be followed.”
“Which is exactly when you should be vigilant.”
Clay did his best to ignore his friend’s presence and return to his previous train of thought. He was proud of the tiny homes he’d designed for Base Camp and he’d be prouder still to build them. Back in high school, he’d thought he might attend Montana State and study architecture. His father’s response still rang in his ears as his feet hit the pavement in steady beats.
“Architecture? And who’s going to pay for that? Your rich uncle?”
Walker, still running at Clay’s rapid pace, reached out and snapped off a handful of small twigs from a bush at the side of the road. He discarded all but two, stripped those of leaves as they ran, fooled around with them a bit and then held out a fist toward Clay. The two twigs protruded an equal distance from his meaty fingers. Clay eyed them suspiciously.
“What’s that?”
“Pick.”
“Fuck, no.” He’d had enough of Walker’s tricks this morning. He’d been feeling upbeat—almost relaxed—when the other man jumped out of the hedgerow. Now he’d bet his life he was about to be ambushed again.
Architecture. He could use that degree today, but stung by the fury in his father’s tone, Clay had never brought it up again after the first time. He knew his father had attended two years of school following the same passion before his family’s ranch had gone bust and Dell had left school to help support his mother and father. He’d never gone back, and had nothing good to say about higher education now. “We’ve raised a prima donna,” he’d heard Dell say to Lizette, Clay’s mother, in the kitchen later that night. “Sooner that boy learns what life’s about, the better.” Clay hadn’t heard his mother’s response—he didn’t need to. He understood once and for all that higher education wasn’t for him. He’d joined the Navy with his friends within the year and had never looked back.
Now he cursed himself for his short-sightedness. Ever since they’d decided to found Base Camp, he’d studied everything he could find on building sustainably, but what if he made a mistake in front of thousands of television viewers?
“Pick,” Walker insisted, shaking his fist near Clay’s face as they ran on.
“What am I supposed to be picking for?”
“Who’s up next—after Boone.”
Clay’s stride faltered, but he caught himself and kept going. Walker was talking about marriage.
“Boone’s getting hitched,” Walker continued. “One of us has got to go next. Could be you.” He shook his hand in front of Clay again.
Clay had been trying to forget about that part. It was going to take time to convince Nora to change her mind.
“What about Jericho?” he hedged. He, Boone, Walker and Jericho had all pledged to marry fast and start working toward those pregnancies. Even though the other men who had signed on knew they needed to marry by the deadline, Clay and his friends figured as founding members it was up to them to lead the way.
“He already picked. Drew a long one. It’s just you and me.”
“I didn’t see him do it.”
“I did.”
Walker wasn’t backing down and Clay had a feeling if he didn’t pick one of the damn twigs soon, that fist he was waving would connect with Clay’s face. Not that Walker was a violent man.
But he was an insistent one from time to time.
“Come on.” Walker shook the twigs again. Clay ran faster.
Walker put on a burst of speed, got ahead of Clay and turned around, jogging backward in front of him. He held out the twigs. “Get it over with.”
Clay tried to get past him. Walker blocked his way.
Clay veered to the other side. He couldn’t be next to marry. Not until he could convince Nora that he was serious about her. Walker followed, blocked him again, came to an abrupt halt and forced Clay to do the same.
“Pick.”
Clay sighed. There was nothing for it; he was only putting off the inevitable. He surveyed the two sticks in Walker’s hand, knowing that if his turn came next he’d never have enough time to change Nora’s mind.
“Here’s an idea,” he said. “I’ll hold the sticks. You pick.”
The shift in Walker’s expression was so subtle, only someone who’d known him as long as Clay had would notice it. This wasn’t his friend anymore. This was the man who’d been his superior officer in the SEALs. And he was at the end of his patience.
With a nod to acknowledge he got the message, Clay reached out and hesitated, trying to divine which stick was longer.
Time to bite the bullet. He chose one and pulled it free of Walker’s fist.
Walker held up the other one—twice as long as the stubby twig in Clay’s hand.
Clay’s heart sank.
A grin tugged at Walker’s mouth and he stepped aside. “Better get going. You don’t have much time to find a bride.”
Clay couldn’t move. He could only stare at the twig in his hand. After a long moment, Walker jogged off, leaving Clay to slowly walk the rest of the way home, wondering how the hell he could convince Nora to marry him.
Fast.
By the time he reached Base Camp, he had decided to grab the bull by the horns. He could pussyfoot around the problem and hope for a miracle, or he could confront Nora, tell her how he felt, lay out all the reasons why they’d be good together and hope she agreed with him. Maybe all this time he’d spent thinking about her, she’d been thinking about him, too. He’d noticed her watching him a time or two when she thought he wasn’t looking. Maybe underneath all those Regency clothes beat a heart that wanted him as much as he wanted her. What if she’d been waiting for him to make the first move?
“Where you off to?” Jericho called on his way to the bunkhouse as Clay walked past. A tall, muscular blond, he was one of the other founding members of Base Camp, and an old friend.
“I’ll be back soon. Just want a word with Nora first,” Clay told him. He turned toward the manor.
“I saw her heading down to the creek,” Jericho said.
“Thanks.” Changing direction, Clay strode off on the dirt track that led to Pittance Creek, then broke into a jog. No sense wasting time. Today was the day he’d convince Nora to be his wife. In fac
t, he’d flat out ask her. Maybe she’d say yes. Maybe he’d been overthinking things all this time.
He broke into a run.
Nora sat on her flat stone gazing at the creek, her thoughts too tangled to get any writing done, although her notebook sat in her lap, a pen clipped to its pages.
She kept thinking of Riley’s upcoming marriage to Boone, which inevitably led to thoughts of Clay. It was hard not to wish their circumstances were different. Living so close together, they should have had lots of chances to meet up, talk and get to know one another. Without a deadline, they could have discovered their areas of common interest. Maybe they would have gone for long walks. Maybe they’d have swum in the creek in the summer. Eventually they might have dated, kissed and…more. The thought of a long, slow courtship with the SEAL made her veins sizzle. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t dreamed of how it would go—how Clay would seduce her over time.
But Clay needed a wife far too soon for them to experience anything like that. She’d explained that to him. He’d said he didn’t have a choice. Someday soon he’d marry.
And she’d still be alone.
As much as she tried to enjoy the beautiful setting and the soft morning air, that thought kept intruding, along with memories of Baltimore. The last few years hadn’t been easy. After her mother’s death following a long illness, Nora had been lonely and vulnerable, an easy mark for a teenager with a grudge.
It had been several weeks since she’d really thought about her stalker, and she wished he wasn’t on her mind now. She had an unsettled feeling, the same one she always got when the wind shifted around to herald an oncoming storm. As she watched the creek roll past, she allowed memories of her stalker’s messages to seep through her defenses. She shut her eyes when his voice—his awful, mechanically distorted, gritty voice—filled her mind instantly with echoes of his violently sexual messages. He was always harping on the relationship between them. That she’d been the teacher, but now she’d be his student.
I’ll teach you so many things you don’t know. You’ll like it when I touch you. You’ll get wet for me. You’ll beg for more.
She hated the way his words had twisted her insides around with shame and fear.
I’ll tease you until you’re shaking, until you open for me, hoping I fill you full. I know you like it rough and it’ll get rough—I promise you that, Nora.
She hated the way he’d used her name over and over again until she’d thought about changing it legally when she left Baltimore. How unfair that someone could take something so personal and make it so ugly—as if he owned more of her than she did.
None of that was what kept her up at night, though. It was the violence in his later messages. The detailed descriptions of how he’d kill her. The way he’d twisted it together with sexual images until her flesh crawled with the dread of his hands on her skin.
I’ll fuck you long and hard. Until your screams leave your throat hoarse. Until you can’t scream anymore. And that’s when the real fun—
“Nora! There you are!”
Nora shrieked when someone hurtled at her out of the woods, scooped her up and swung her around in a circle. Adrenaline sliced through her as she kicked out her feet and pummeled her fists against her attacker. She screamed again, fought to shake him off, but he had her in such a tight hold she couldn’t move.
“Nora!”
She flailed and kicked and thrashed but she couldn’t get free. She couldn’t—
“Nora, it’s me! It’s Clay! Baby, you’re all right.” He set her back down on the stone and circled quickly around to crouch before her.
Nora couldn’t breathe. Hyperventilating, she scrambled to her knees to ward him off. “No…no!”
Clay backed away, his hands held out to appease her. “It’s just me. Calm down! I’m sorry I scared you.”
She sat down again on the rock with a thump, wrapped her arms around her stomach and bent over, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was racing, her pulse tripping and catching in her veins. Tears pricked her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Damn it, what had Clay been thinking, sneaking up on her like that?
“Are you okay?”
She straightened. “No… I’m not… okay.” She wasn’t, not even close. Her heart wouldn’t stop and she pressed a hand to her chest, willing it to slow down. It was hard to breathe, too. She tried to suck in air but somehow it wouldn’t reach her lungs. Clay’s expression changed from worry to outright concern.
“Nora, look at me.” She did so. “Count. One, two, three…” He led her up to ten, back down again and repeated the exercise. Nora did her best count with him. Was her heart slowing? Maybe.
They did it again. Bit by bit, the air reached her lungs.
Finally she was able to let her shoulders relax, and the world stopped spinning. She felt like she’d woken from a nightmare, shreds of the dream still flapping around her.
“I’m sorry.” Clay’s gaze searched hers. “I won’t do that again.”
Nora could only nod.
Clay sat down beside her. “So much for impressing you with my romantic fervor.”
Despite everything, she laughed, a funny little gulp that was almost a sob. “Yeah. So much for that.” She fought for composure. “I was thinking about Baltimore. About that kid…”
“The one who stalked you?” Clay raked a hand through his hair. “Shit, I didn’t even think…”
“It’s okay,” she assured him, embarrassed by her overreaction.
“Can we start over?”
“I guess so.” She couldn’t help but notice the way the sunlight brought out the color of his eyes. He was so close to her she could see faint traces of laugh lines radiating out from the corners of them. His concern was plain and she relaxed a little more. The SEAL was so damn handsome.
And such an ass for scaring her like that.
He took a deep breath. “Nora, there’s something I want to ask you. Something really important—” He cut off and frowned as if he’d changed his mind. “You know what? I’d probably better walk you back to camp. It’s getting late and we’ve got a lot to do to prepare for the wedding.”
She nodded, gathering herself together, but she wondered what he’d really wanted to say. Had he been about to ask her out?
No. She’d made it perfectly clear she wouldn’t date him.
He reached out to help her up, then snatched his hand back quickly, probably afraid she’d decline after his botched attempt to sweep her off her feet. What had he been thinking when he’d scooped her up like that? He’d said it was a romantic gesture, but they’d agreed he would leave her alone.
Had he changed his mind?
It didn’t matter, she told herself, because no matter what, he was out of bounds. He’d sworn to marry quickly. She’d sworn to only wed when she really and truly could say she knew her fiancé through and through.
But as she stood up and matched her steps to his as they turned their backs on the creek, she wished once again that things were different.
Chapter Two
‡
On a moonlit evening several days later, Nora stood arm in arm with Savannah and Avery, and watched Riley and Boone ride off on Behemoth, a large black stallion, to their honeymoon tent on the far side of the ranch. Their wedding had gone off without a hitch, and Nora was thrilled for Riley. Her friend had positively glowed at the altar as she exchanged vows with her husband-to-be. It was almost enough to make Nora believe in marriage again.
Almost.
The champagne she’d drunk toasting the happy couple had gone to her head and she swayed a little on her feet as they watched Boone and Riley go.
“That was so romantic,” Avery sighed as the horse disappeared in the dark night.
“Riley is so lucky,” Savannah agreed.
“Nora, how about another dance?” Clay appeared suddenly by her side and Nora blinked up at the tall SEAL, wondering not for the first time how he could possibly look so good dressed as he was in th
e old-fashioned uniform of a British redcoat. All the men of Base Camp were dressed in the same way—the closest equivalent to the ladies’ Regency wear they’d been able to come up with on short notice. Riley had wanted a Jane Austen wedding, and the men had done everything they could to accommodate her. A local seamstress, Alice Reed, had the uniforms on hand. Nora’s heart was full when she thought of how hard these hardened warriors had worked to give Riley a wedding she’d remember all her life.
“Okay,” she said, although she knew she shouldn’t. She was finding Clay difficult to resist tonight, though. She’d danced with him half a dozen times already. He’d held her carefully in his arms during the slow numbers, and executed the complicated steps of the Regency dances perfectly. Nora couldn’t help but feel she’d been transported into a fairy tale, and for once she decided to kick common sense to the curb. It wasn’t like Riley would ever marry again. This night would never be repeated.
Besides, Clay was intelligent, thoughtful, and she was… well… tipsy, at the very least. “You did good tonight,” she told him as he led her back into the barn where the reception was being held. The men had cleaned it top to bottom and strung fairy lights all around the rafters. It was a magical space, and the music and champagne combined to make Nora feel relaxed and happy. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he rested his briefly at her hips before he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Pressed against him, Nora tingled all over, all too aware of his body.
“Jericho and I snuck out to their tent earlier today. Made sure they’d have champagne on ice and everything else a couple of lovebirds might want.”
“You didn’t play any tricks on them, did you?” Nora pulled back. If they had, Riley would laugh it off, but Nora knew she wouldn’t like it.
“Nothing like that,” Clay assured her. “Boone and Riley deserve more respect than that. They’ve worked hard to be together despite everything Fulsom threw their way. I know it wasn’t easy for either of them.”
His serious tone squeezed her heart. Most men she knew treated anything akin to romance as a big joke. Clay was different. Maybe his time with the SEALs had taught him to value any true emotion wherever he might find it. The hardships in her life had taught her to feel that way. That’s why her friendship with Riley, Savannah and Avery was so important. No one else came as close to knowing her as they did. Was it the same for Clay, Boone, Jericho and Walker?
