by Cora Seton
Clay longed to tell Fulsom where he could shove Montague, but he remembered the promise he’d made to Boone, Jericho and Walker after their failed mission to Yemen. Remembered the suffering he’d seen there and the political civil war that was really about dwindling resources due to climate change. He’d made his vow to help change the world, and he’d keep it, no matter how big an asshole Fulsom was turning out to be.
“Don’t worry,” he ground out. “I’ll be there on time.”
So Clay had drawn the short straw, had he? Fury and humiliation battled inside Nora. Had everything Clay had said and done been a lie? Did his kindness and seduction stem from nothing more than a deadline after all? He’d said earlier they’d have a full year to get to know each other. He’d pretended he wanted that, too. But all along he’d known he had to marry next and he’d used every opportunity to push their relationship along.
Damn him, Nora thought, close to tears. She’d let herself believe—after everything she’d been through—that there was one man who was different from the others. That Clay was better—that he truly cared for her.
But that was all a lie, wasn’t it? He cared about winning. About the land. About his stupid sustainability baloney.
He’d better not propose to her, Nora thought wildly. He’d better not come near her. Marry in forty days? That was barely over a month. If she refused him—and she would refuse him—who else would he ask?
So much for the slow courtship she’d dreamed about all the way down to Base Camp. Moonlit walks, long discussions, passionate nights of lovemaking…
But that’s not how this would go, would it? She’d be lucky to get a few fumbles in the dark, some stolen conversation in between being filmed. A quickie in the barn.
And then she was supposed to stand at the altar with a man little better than a stranger, pledge her life to him and wonder what happened in five years when she found herself with a kid or two—a single mother, Clay long gone…
Alone.
Anger sizzled through her veins and she grabbed hold of that emotion, far more comfortable with it than the pain that came with knowing she’d been fooled again.
She’d let Clay kiss her last night—a lot. She’d almost opened herself to the possibility of…something. And it was all because he’d drawn the short straw?
Fuck that.
Men were users. They lied, they let you down, sometimes they were violent. In every case you were better off without them.
Maybe she’d felt safe and happy in Clay’s arms for a little while last night. Maybe he’d awoken a passion she’d thought was gone forever.
But now she felt… cold. Bitterly cold.
To hell with Clay—and to hell with Fulsom.
“As you all know, filming has begun,” Fulsom went on, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “Which means you will all remain accessible to the camera crews twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”
“Except when we go to bed,” Jericho called out.
“We’ve already clarified we won’t film your private activities.” Fulsom finger quoted the words. “But you will accommodate the film crew and Renata here. I want everyone to be clear on that. If I hear otherwise, there’ll be hell to pay. Unless Renata has asked you a specific question, or given you specific instructions, you are to go about your business as usual, whether or not you are being filmed. Renata will conduct interviews from time to time. Some of them will figure in the episodes put out each week. All of them will land on our website, along with other social media content like quizzes and polls.”
Fulsom’s words flowed over her. Nora knew she should listen, but a sound like rushing water had filled her ears. Disappointment warred with pain, and echoes of her stalker’s messages began to thread through her racing thoughts. Somehow knowing Clay was lost to her made her stalker more real. More present, even though she’d left him behind. Maybe it was because since she’d met Clay, a little part of her had hoped against hope that the Navy SEAL would turn out to be a real hero—a man she could love, could make a life with.
Now she was on her own again.
Touch you. Make you scream. Cut you. Take my time.
Her stalker’s distorted words assailed her mind, coming at her from every direction. Nora tried to concentrate on Fulsom, but she couldn’t stop the barrage of hateful, violent speech that racketed around her brain and refused to be controlled. She dug her fingers into her thighs and pinched her skin hard.
I’m here. I’m right here. He can’t get me now.
The room swam.
“Nora? Are you all right?” Savannah asked in a low voice.
“Yeah.” But she wasn’t. The room was spinning, her head pounded and Nora was beginning to find it hard to breathe.
“Okay, that’s it for now,” Fulsom wound up. “Let’s get going. I expect professional behavior from all of you. I don’t want to hear any complaints from Renata or the crew. Remember, the whole world is watching you now.”
The whole world. Including the student who’d harassed her for months. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t get his lurid, violent messages out of her head. Nora stood up with the rest of them and followed Savannah outside, fighting to control her emotions. Fighting for air.
She’d thought she’d escaped her stalker when she’d left Baltimore.
Instead she’d brought him with her.
Chapter Five
‡
When the meeting ended, Clay wanted to pursue Nora and explain everything, but he didn’t get the chance. Renata cornered him before he could reach the door.
“Clay Pickett? Time for your interview.”
“Already?” He’d thought he’d have a little more time before that kind of thing started. He watched Nora leave with her friends, the rest of them talking together in low tones, while she remained pale and aloof. He’d lowered himself in Nora’s estimation in that meeting, and he knew he had plenty of work to do to repair the damage he’d done, but it seemed that would have to wait.
“When you’re done, come gather your crew,” Jericho told him. “Time to get to work on those houses. I’m about ready to pack up my tent for good.”
“Will do.” Clay reluctantly followed Renata outside. She led him around the bunkhouse away from the crowd to where a middle-aged blond man in cargo pants and a plaid button-down shirt stood with his camera on his shoulder.
“Clay, this is William Sykes. William, Clay Pickett.”
The man reached out to shake his hand. “Morning.”
“Now, I say this to everyone I work with,” Renata went on, her clipped British accent making everything she said sound formal. “Reality television is intensely personal, but reality television also isn’t personal.”
“You’ll have to explain that.” Clay didn’t hold with double-speak. He had a feeling the angular woman in front of him was going to rub him all wrong before this show was done. Anyone who made her career in reality television had to have a few screws loose.
“Our job is to bring you to life for our viewers. They don’t want to know Clay the man who’s acting for the camera. They want to know Clay the man. We will catch you at your most unguarded moments, and we will exploit them for the entertainment of our viewers. In that way, reality television is personal. What I need you to understand, however, is that even if we showcase your vulnerabilities, even if we show all the things you’ve never wanted anyone to see to a global audience, it isn’t personal. We’re just doing our jobs. Got it?”
“No.” Clay shook his head. “That’s a cop out. You got it right the first time. You’re exploiting my private, personal moments to make money. You can’t expect to get carte blanche approval from me. It ain’t going to happen.”
“Do we have a problem here?” Renata folded her arms across her chest.
“No. You do your job. I’ll do mine. Just don’t expect me to respect you in the morning.”
Renata rolled her eyes. “Fine. Play it that way, cowboy. Let’s get started.” She nodded to Will
iam.
Cowboy? He supposed he looked like one to a city slicker. He figured he’d earn that designation soon enough, too. This was a ranch, after all, but they wouldn’t be herding cattle. Boone thought bison were a better idea. Enough to feed the community and some left over to sell for a profit. Another ranch in town had already made the switch, so they wouldn’t have to pioneer the process. Still, bison or cattle, Clay looked forward to spending a lot more time in the saddle than he had for a number of years. He’d slipped back into his country ways the moment he left the service, and it felt good.
He glanced back at the director. Despite her nonchalance, Clay had a feeling he’d gotten under Renata’s skin, and that was interesting. The hard-bitten Brit had some vulnerabilities of her own. Good to know, since she’d spend the next twelve months trying to find his.
“Clay Pickett,” she said, switching seamlessly into interviewer mode. “In the next year you’ll have to work all day to build a sustainable community on this ranch. But from what I just heard, you’ll have to work all night as well to get your wife pregnant. Is Nora Ridgeway going to audition for that part?”
Fuck. Clay struggled to recover from the sucker punch she’d delivered so neatly, all too aware of the camera catching every expression that crossed his face. His fingers clenched into fists, but he held back from snatching the movie camera out of William’s hands.
“Keep Nora out of this,” he ground out.
“Nora’s in this up to her eyeballs,” Renata countered. “If you don’t answer the question, I’ll ask her. Of course, I’ll probably ask her anyway. This is the way it works, cowboy. I ask questions. You bare your soul. So are you and Nora an item? There were a lot of expressive looks passing between you in the bunkhouse just now.”
He wanted to deny everything because he knew Nora would hate for him to talk about her on camera. But Renata was right, this was exactly what he’d agreed to. And lying wouldn’t help.
“I’d like us to be,” he admitted. “I’m not sure how Nora feels yet.” That wasn’t exactly true, of course. He had a pretty good idea what she was feeling right now, but he wished he didn’t.
“She’s awfully handy, at least. Living just a quarter mile away in the manor.”
“That’s true.” It wasn’t the reason he was pursuing her, though. He hoped like hell Nora didn’t think it was.
Renata leaned closer. “Is she the one?”
Clay grinned suddenly. He could play this game. “I’m going to damn well find out.”
Roald raised his broad-sword high and sent it crashing down on Finn’s head. “That’s for the destruction of my village.” He struck again. “And that’s for the innocent lives you took.”
Finn parried the first blow, ducked the second one and swung his ax to meet the third. “No one is innocent in this war—”
“Nora Ridgeway!”
Nora jumped and dropped her pen when Renata strode through the manor’s front door and into the parlor, where she’d been snatching a few minutes to work on her novel. She’d made it back to the house, high-tailed it up to her room and sat on her bed, breathing hard, counting from one to ten and back again, over and over like she’d done with Clay several days before, until she’d finally gotten hold of her emotions and her pulse had slowed back to normal.
Nora didn’t know what was happening to her. Why had her fear popped up now when she’d kept it under wraps for so long? Was it really because her interest in Clay had distracted her all this time—and now that distraction was gone?
She couldn’t let her stalker take control like this. She’d made a new life here and it was a good one despite Fulsom’s and Clay’s actions. Maybe it was knowing her stalker would be able to watch her on television each week that had turned her into this gibbering mess. She’d hoped if she kept to the manor, she’d be left alone.
Obviously that wasn’t meant to be.
She hurriedly shut her notebook to hide her novel. It was an epic historical romance set in the Scottish Highlands. She’d always been a sucker for an accent and a kilt. Still, she found crafting a story harder than she’d expected after all those A’s she’d received in her English classes back at Boston College. She was fine for a paragraph or two, and then she’d get stuck.
For hours.
Focusing on the story was far easier than thinking about what had happened this morning, though. Or the way her throat had closed and she’d fought to breathe in the bunkhouse.
A cameraman followed Renata in, and then another man who held a microphone on a boom, and suddenly the airy, sunlit parlor felt small and cramped. Nora stood, shoved her notebook in a desk drawer and shut it tightly. Normally she’d write on her laptop when she was at home, but since all of them were short on cash, and their original plan had been to do nothing except work on their dream goals for six months, they’d made many concessions when they’d arrived at Westfield, including using as little electricity as possible. They charged up their laptops and the single phone they shared during “cell phone hour,” as they’d taken to calling it. She’d forgotten to plug in her laptop yesterday and was now paying the price.
“Let’s see. Let’s have you stand in front of that gorgeous piano. That will look stunning.”
Reluctantly, Nora stood and crossed the room as directed, her dress swishing around her ankles as she moved, reminding her how strange she’d look to the audience. Could she make a run for it?
No, Renata would follow and make a big deal over it. She’d end up getting more screen time, not less.
I’m here to write, she reminded herself. There’s nothing remotely interesting about me. Viewers will get bored of me in about two minutes and then everyone will leave me alone.
She felt pretentious posed by the piano, especially since she didn’t play, but Renata seemed happy with the arrangement. When the cameraman was satisfied that the light was acceptable, she began.
“Clay’s pretty hot, huh, Nora? All those muscles?”
Nora blinked. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I… uh…wouldn’t know,” she finally gasped.
“Funny, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him in our meeting just now.”
“I… I’m not—I didn’t… That’s not true!” Nora was appalled. She hadn’t pictured anything like this when she’d agreed to be on the show. It wasn’t that she was naive—she knew what reality television was like, but she didn’t expect to be attacked for looking at Clay.
“So you’re telling me you don’t find him the least bit attractive?”
“I didn’t say that!” Nora felt her cheeks heat. Damn it, she hadn’t meant to say that, either.
“So you do find him attractive.”
“I didn’t—” Nora broke off in confusion.
“You can’t have it both ways,” Renata retorted. “So which is it?” The smile she flashed at Nora was downright evil. Nora promised herself she’d get her revenge.
“I guess… I guess I do find him attractive,” she admitted through gritted teeth.
“He needs to marry in the next forty days.” Renata eyed her shrewdly. “Will you be the blushing bride?”
“Absolutely not,” Nora snapped. “Now, if we’re finished here—”
“Oh, no—you don’t get to leave yet.” Renata moved to intercept her when Nora headed for the door. “We’ve only gotten started.”
Clay didn’t see Nora again until that evening, after Renata had made it clear to everyone who’d listen that she wasn’t happy with the lack of interplay between the men and women so far. With Nora, Savannah and Avery up at the manor all day, Riley and Boone off on their honeymoon, and the rest of them working on Base Camp, Win was the only woman in contact with the men, and she’d spent most of the day separating and transplanting seedlings.
“I want everyone to eat dinner together,” Renata had finally snapped. “I’ll send word to the women and tell them to be here at five-thirty. I want lots of interaction.”
“We’ll do our best,” Jericho had
said. Now Kai Green, an ex-Marine from Long Beach, California, who was slated to help Jericho with the solar, hydro and wind power projects, was serving up a version of all-in-one mini quiches he’d baked in oversize muffin tins in an array of solar ovens he’d positioned around the site. Clay had never considered quiche a manly food, but you could hold these in your hand while you milled around or sat on a log near the campfire, and Kai had packed them with enough cheese and tasty bits to fill him up when he’d eaten two or three. With a tossed salad on the side, and a bottle of beer, it did the trick.
When he spotted Nora negotiating the rough ground, a plate in one hand, her long skirts held up with the other, he motioned her over. “Sit here beside me.” He patted the log.
“I was going to eat with Savannah and Avery.” But she hesitated long enough to give him an opening.
“Come on, Nora—we need to talk.” He led her to a log set a little apart from the others and waited until she sighed and sat down. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” Nora’s stiff answer let him know that wasn’t true.
“Did Renata come after you? She grilled me like an Italian sausage.”
“Me, too.” Despite his quip, Nora didn’t look at him. Instead she concentrated on her quiche as she took a bite of the crust.
“What did she ask you?”
Nora didn’t answer at first. She took another bite and chewed it. Finally swallowing, she said, “About you. Whether or not we are an item, as she put it.” Her tone was so cold, Clay knew he had a lot of damage to repair.
“What did you tell her?”
Nora looked at him sidelong. “The truth. We aren’t.”
Ouch. Clay guessed he shouldn’t have expected any other answer, no matter what had passed between them the night of Boone and Riley’s wedding. “I’d like to be. You know that, right?”
Nora shook her head sharply. “I’m not looking for a relationship, and I’m definitely not interested in marrying you.”
“Why not?” He set his plate down, his appetite gone. This was worse than he’d expected. Surely Nora knew he didn’t want things to go this way.
