A SEAL's Vow (SEALs of Chance Creek Book 2)

by Cora Seton

  “I’ll get her.” Avery sounded disappointed, and Nora bit her lip. She wished Walker would give her friend some sign about how he felt about her. Sometimes he seemed interested. Other times he was impossible to read.

  Men.

  “I’m right here,” she said, crossing the kitchen.

  “I need to talk to you.” Walker stayed where he was.

  Nora was surprised by his statement. She’d barely exchanged two words with him so far, but when Walker held the back door open, indicating she should precede him outside, she did so, trying not to notice Avery’s wistful expression. She winced when she spotted a camera crew a dozen feet away.

  “What’s this about?” she asked testily when Walker followed her outside.

  “Heard you miss teaching.”

  Nora nodded. She did miss it. A lot.

  “Got a job for you. Kind of like teaching.”

  Nora’s pulse quickened, but she waited for him to go on. Really, Walker’s reticence would drive her insane if she let it. “Details,” she snapped when he hesitated. If he could be short spoken, so could she.

  “It’s a more of a writing thing.”

  Nora’s heart fell again. She was already struggling enough with her novel. “What kind of writing?”

  “Curriculum. For seventh grade.”

  “Middle school curriculum? That’s not in my wheelhouse at all.”

  Walker shrugged. “Thought I’d tell you.” He turned to leave.

  Nora hurried after him. “Wait. What’s the subject?”

  He turned back. Thought a moment. “Crow.”

  “Like… the bird?” A single subject curriculum? She supposed that might be interesting—a little.

  He shook his head once. “My people.”

  His people? Suddenly, she understood—he was talking about a Native American history curriculum. “Walker, that’s not appropriate. You can’t hire a white woman to write Crow curriculum. Who would use it?”

  “Wouldn’t be working alone. My grandmother’s the one in charge, but she’s busy. She’s the principal of the middle school on the reservation. She’ll tell you what to write. You write it. Two hours a day after school.”

  Walker had a grandmother? She wasn’t sure why she’d assumed he’d dropped out of the sky fully grown. He simply seemed so self-contained. She’d never considered him having parents, let alone an extended family.

  Especially not a grandmother who was a principal. That was interesting. One thing could lead to another, after all. Maybe if she worked on this project, she could find a way into the Chance Creek school system. She had no doubt all the educators knew one another in this part of the state.

  “Why me?” she asked suspiciously.

  Walker shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Because there must be other people far more qualified for the job. People within the tribe?” As much as the idea grabbed her imagination, she couldn’t bear the possibility of being taken to task for overstepping her bounds. She’d seen educators skewered for passing themselves off as experts on cultures they didn’t belong to.

  Walker winced. “Nation,” he corrected.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Tribe’s the wrong word.”

  “See? I’m not qualified for the position.”

  Walker waited a beat. “Thought you might be interested,” he said again in a way that told her he understood some of her struggles here. But how could he? It was as much a mystery as the man himself.

  Did he think she’d leave the ranch if she didn’t get a chance to teach?

  That could be the reason, she decided. None of them would get to stay at Base Camp unless all the men married. Maybe Walker was making sure Clay got his shot.

  She knew better than to ask him about it, though. Instead, she found herself nodding slowly. “I am interested,” she said. “Except…” She trailed off and looked down at her dress. She’d made a vow to her friends to uphold their Jane Austen life for six months—twelve months now. And she was supposed to write every day—not take an outside job. Even if it was only a couple of hours a day. She’d promised to help her friends with the B and B and weddings, in addition to writing. Even if they didn’t have any guests booked yet, surely they would soon. How could she possibly juggle all of that?

  She couldn’t, Nora realized. She should say no.

  Walker waited, as if he could read the debate raging inside her mind. “I’m interested,” she said again.

  She was interested.

  She’d make it all work somehow.

  When Boone and Riley returned from their honeymoon, they were both sporting the self-satisfied smiles of a couple who were truly in love and had just spent forty-eight hours alone together. Clay tamped down his jealousy and greeted them with a genuine smile. After a lot of good-natured ribbing and congratulations, Riley headed up toward the manor to visit with the other women. Boone turned to Jericho and Clay, and gestured to them to follow him into the bunkhouse.

  “We need more women,” he said bluntly as they took seats in the folding chairs strewn around the room. Clay was getting so used to the cameramen following them around he barely noticed William and a couple of other men come in behind them and take up a position in one corner.

  “That’s right,” Jericho said in a tone Clay couldn’t quite decipher. Did he want more choices for himself because he and Savannah were on the outs? Or did he want more choices for the other men so no one else would try for her?

  “Clay, you’re up next. I’m about to place a few ads. Want me to ask for anything in particular?”

  “No.” Clay bristled at the idea. He wanted Nora and only Nora.

  Boone rubbed his face. “Look, I know you think Nora is the one, but from what I’ve heard, she doesn’t seem to be on the same page, and you’ve got a deadline.”

  “I know—”

  “All I’m saying is let me find a backup. Just in case.”

  Jericho looked away. Clay couldn’t blame him for his discomfort; this had to be the strangest predicament he’d ever found himself in.

  “I want a month.”

  “A month?”

  “To try with Nora. Go ahead and find a backup, but I don’t want to see her or hear about her for a month.”

  “That leaves you ten days to marry if you fail.” Boone leaned forward. “We can’t—”

  “If I can’t convince Nora to change her mind by June thirtieth, I’ll marry whoever I find at the altar on July tenth.” To allow Boone to bring in another woman now would be tantamount to admitting defeat—to himself and to Nora. He felt sure Nora would take one look at her and harden her heart against him for good. He wasn’t ready to take that chance.

  Boone nodded finally. “Okay, have it your way. I’ll try to have a woman waiting in the wings, ready to go, but I won’t bring her to Base Camp until July. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Clay didn’t let himself think what it would be like to marry a perfect stranger if Nora didn’t change her mind. It wouldn’t matter. He was a goner where Nora was concerned. If he couldn’t have her, he didn’t really care who showed up at the altar.

  “Describe your ideal woman,” Boone said.

  Clay described Nora. “Smart, dedicated, knows what she wants.” He knew the cameras were catching this so he made short work of it.

  Boone leaned forward. “I need more than that. You’re going to have to marry her if Nora doesn’t pan out. Give me enough so I don’t completely screw this up.”

  “If it’s not Nora, it’ll be screwed up no matter what.”

  “I’m on your side here.” Boone didn’t give an inch.

  “Right.” Clay surged up out of his chair. He couldn’t sit still while they were discussing this.

  “It wasn’t any easier for me,” Boone tossed at him as Clay paced across the room. “I had my work cut out for me with Riley, or have you forgotten that already?”

  “Not like I’ve got with—” Clay cut off his sentence, glancing at the cameras. He couldn’t g
o on with them filming—sooner or later Nora would watch this conversation. “Forget it.”

  Ed Wilson, the closest cameraman, made a chopping motion, turned off his camera and let it point toward the ground. He was a fiery redhead with a build that made him look like one of the military men in Base Camp, and Clay had already figured he’d be a hard one to dodge. “Clay, we’ve had this discussion before. Whatever happens during the next year happens on camera. You might as well speak your mind. We’re not going away.”

  Clay stopped in his tracks. “This isn’t any of your business.”

  “I’ve got a contract back in my tent that says you’re wrong.”

  “Yeah. Whatever. Fine.” Clay was done with this discussion.

  Ed turned his camera back on. After an awkward silence, Boone said, “I guess I’ll write that ad.”

  “I’ll get back to building houses.” Clay exited the bunkhouse and didn’t look back to see if a camera was following him. Of course it was. And would be for the next twelve months, whether or not Nora married him.

  He knew he needed to get over his urge to conduct his wooing of Nora in private. That wasn’t going to happen, and if he kept curtailing his actions around the cameras, he was going to blow everything. He wouldn’t win Nora by holding back, or trying to make a secret of his feelings for her, either. That would only come across as hesitation to her.

  Like his feelings were insincere.

  They weren’t. She needed to know that. Everyone did.

  Time to stop being so squeamish about being filmed.

  He changed direction. Instead of heading to the building site where Curtis and Harris were hard at work on the first of his tiny houses, he headed up the dirt road that led to the manor, making sure the crew followed him. He’d show everyone exactly how he felt about Nora.

  The three-story house with its stone facade stood as proud as ever on a rise of ground. His long strides ate up the distance and in only a few minutes he approached the backyard—in time to see Walker exit the manor’s back door, tip his hat to Nora, tip it again to Riley, who was just heading up the back porch steps, and turn his steps toward Base Camp.

  Jealous fury surged within Clay, an emotion he wasn’t on good terms with. A couple of days ago he’d felt confident about his ability to woo Nora, but after all his mistakes, their run-ins with the film crew and the knowledge he only had forty days to get her to the altar, his confidence had drained away. Walker had shown no interest in Nora so far. But then when did Walker betray his emotions about anything? Had Clay missed some obvious signs of the man’s intentions toward her?

  Clay strode toward him. “What’re you doing here?”

  Walker met him halfway. “Came to see Nora.”

  “Why?”

  Walker shrugged and kept going, right past Clay, who stopped and whirled around.

  “Why?” Clay repeated.

  “Wanted to,” Walker called back over his shoulder.

  Was Walker yanking his chain? Clay wasn’t in any mood for that. “Stay away from her.”

  Walker stopped. Turned slowly around again.

  Clay didn’t care if the man had been his superior officer. This wasn’t the Navy, nor was it the reserves. This was just Westfield. They were on equal terms here. “You heard me. Stay away from her.”

  Walker gazed at him a long moment, his dark eyes betraying nothing. “No can do.”

  He walked away, leaving Clay to follow him a few paces before reason stopped him in his tracks. What was he going to do, fight Walker—on camera? Walker didn’t want Nora. And Nora sure as hell didn’t want Walker.

  At least, he didn’t think so.

  Doubling back, he had to force himself to walk, not run, to the manor’s back door. By the time he reached it, Nora and Riley had withdrawn inside. Hot, tired and frustrated, Clay didn’t bother to knock. He went right in and found the women gathered around the kitchen table congratulating Riley and talking animatedly.

  “Nora? Got a minute?”

  He thought she might say no, but she nodded. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back,” she said to her friends.

  With a baleful glance at the cameramen following him, Nora led Clay into the parlor. The cameramen trooped around to get the best angles, making so much noise that there was nothing for it but to wait for them to gain their positions before he began to speak. Nora sat down at the desk and fiddled with a jade paperweight, one of the many doodads with which the manor was decorated. Clay paced until he could speak again.

  “Would you…?” He searched for a way to finish the sentence. Marry me? No, he couldn’t say that. “…like to go to dinner with me?” he finished instead.

  Nora made a face. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” His frustration rushed back with a vengeance.

  Nora bit her lip. “Clay, we…we’re just not…”

  Clay rubbed the back of his neck. He’d never been a man of words. He preferred action, but there wasn’t any action to take here. He wished someone would hand him some orders and a target. A concrete job. “Nora, you gotta give me a chance here.” He wasn’t one for begging, but what were his options?

  “We’re not going to be together,” she said. But she didn’t look at him, Clay noticed. Instead, she plucked at her gown. “Besides, I’d be pretty conspicuous at a restaurant, don’t you think?”

  Clay stilled. Maybe that little joke was just a nervous gesture on Nora’s part—a way to lighten the tense mood.

  Or maybe it had been a tell. Did she want to go on a date, despite everything?

  Maybe she did.

  He thought fast. “A picnic, then. Down by Pittance Creek. Just two friends eating a sandwich and talking.”

  “Friends?” She looked up.

  “Friends,” he repeated. “You can handle that, can’t you?”

  “I guess so.” She didn’t sound too sure, though. When Walker’s face popped into his mind, Clay could only shake his head. Nora didn’t like Walker. That was…stupid. This was about Fulsom and his timeline.

  Still, the thought galled him. “Tomorrow night,” he said quickly. “I’ll come and get you at six.”

  “O-okay.” Nora glanced at the camera again and bit her lip. Clay sensed she was about to change her mind.

  “How is your writing going?” Time to change the subject.

  At first he thought she would refuse to talk about it. In fact, he was pretty sure she was about to make up an excuse to cancel their date.

  “Getting a lot of words on the page?” he prompted her, unwilling to give her a chance to do so.

  “Not that many,” she finally admitted. “There’ve been a lot of distractions lately.”

  So much for chitchat. “I won’t keep you from it then.” He began to back away, but something stopped him. A desire not to leave things in such a lackluster way. Nora could call off their picnic any time between now and tomorrow night. He needed to remind her of the sparks they’d shared the other night—keep her thinking of what they could have together. Instead of leaving, he took a step forward and moved to drop a kiss on her lips.

  But Nora pulled back abruptly and shook her head.

  Shit. Clay froze, painfully aware the cameras were filming everything, including his advance and Nora’s retreat. He hesitated like a deer caught in the headlights before the urge to do something—anything—to repair the situation had him reaching out and giving her shoulder an awkward pat. “Good luck with the writing,” he said, cursing himself for not coming up with anything better. He knew damn well Renata would use this footage. He could imagine her running it over and over again in a show—him leaning in for the kiss, Nora backing away, his awkward shoulder pat. He’d look like a prime idiot.

  His pride stinging, Clay couldn’t help himself. He caught Nora’s chin in his hand, tilted her head up and kissed her for real. Her mouth was so sweet under his. He wanted the moment to go on forever—

  The sharp pain that exploded in his temple made him drop his hand and stumble a
gainst the desk. “What the fuck?”

  Nora, the jade paperweight in one hand, half-stood from her chair, then collapsed back into it, her other hand flying to cover her mouth. “Oh, my God. Clay—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

  Clay touched a hand to his temple and felt a trickle of blood. She’d bashed him with a rock—and the damn cameras had recorded everything.

  Avery rushed in from the kitchen, followed closely by Riley. “What happened? Clay—why are you bleeding?”

  Numb with shock and self-recriminations, Clay couldn’t find the words to answer her. He strode through the house and out the back door. It served him right for the way he’d acted. Nora had let him know in no uncertain terms she didn’t want his kisses, and he’d gone and stolen another one anyway.

  Still, to know that scene would be replayed on televisions all across the nation made his blood boil. He wasn’t sure he could stand the humiliation.

  But what choice did he have?

  Clay needed some time alone to settle down, but he hadn’t gotten fifty feet from the manor when he met up with Angus.

  “There you are. You’re needed at Base Camp.”

  “What is it?” Clay looked back, spotted the camera crew following close behind him and strode on.

  “Your father,” Angus answered in his thick Scottish burr, falling in with him. “He’s come calling. And he’s got a suitcase.”

  “Nora, what happened?” Avery demanded again.

  “Did Clay do something?” Riley asked.

  Nora covered her face with her hands. Some of the crew had trailed after Clay when he left, but not all of them. She was still being filmed.

  She couldn’t believe she’d done that. She could have hurt Clay. Could have killed him, even. She hadn’t even registered when she’d gripped the paperweight and hit him with it. Instinct had kicked in when he grabbed her chin.

  She’d fought against the attack.

  Nora dropped her hands into her lap. Clay hadn’t meant to attack her. He’d meant to kiss her. He liked her.

  Not everyone was a sick, twisted criminal like the kid who’d stalked her.

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said helplessly. “He surprised me.”