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

Couldn’t know, Nora reminded herself. Who was to say her parents hadn’t felt a similar heat when they met? Attraction like that flared hot, then quickly burned itself out, leaving everyone involved nursing wounds—especially the children. She’d seen it all firsthand when she was young and her father had walked out on her family, leaving her mother to struggle to make ends meet for the rest of her short life. Nora wanted no part of it.

Still, her gaze slid in Clay’s direction whenever he was near. But he was out of bounds, determined to marry within a time period so short it was ridiculous, because he had to for the reality television show he was starring in. Maybe that made him a man of honor since he’d vowed to do whatever it took to make Base Camp succeed, but in Nora’s eyes it made him a fool. Love took time to grow. Lots of time. Her parents were a classic example of what happened when a man and woman leaped before they looked. She wouldn’t repeat their mistakes.

Not even with a man like Clay.

Time to write, she told herself firmly and began to dress, struggling with her old-fashioned clothes. Several months back, she and her friends had each been saddled with dead-end jobs, high rent and low pay in their various cities. They’d met at Riley’s apartment for a girls’ weekend, and realized they all needed to make a change. Savannah Edwards, a lovely blonde and an expert classical pianist, had been the first to suggest they pool their resources, cut way back on their expenses and take six months to pursue their artistic goals.

Riley Eaton, a pretty brunette with a passion for painting, who’d believed her family still owned Westfield, suggested they make use of the empty house and live rent free. When Nora told the others they were fooling themselves if they thought they had the discipline to pull it off, Avery Lightfoot, a talkative redhead, suggested an unusual way to make sure they kept close to home. She pointed out that since they meant to live a Jane Austen–style existence for six months, they should dress like Jane Austen heroines, too. They’d spend their mornings doing chores, and leave their afternoons free for creative pursuits. Riley would paint, Savannah practice her piano, Nora write her novel and Avery produce a screenplay.

In the end, they’d all agreed to the plan—even Nora—and their Regency outfits became a physical representation of the oath they’d taken to see the full six months through. Each morning when she dressed it was like renewing her promise to herself to give writing a real go. To her surprise, Nora found she loved it. Putting on a Regency gown was like stepping out of time. She wasn’t the only one who felt that way. When Savannah’s cousin found out what they were doing, she asked to hold her wedding at the manor. That sparked an idea for a Jane Austen–style bed-and-breakfast—and wedding venue—that would allow them to stay at Westfield past the initial six months.

Nora had come to love the pace of life at the manor. Here at Westfield it was easy to imagine herself in those long-ago days—until she looked out her window and saw the encampment of nylon tents down by the outbuildings. Base Camp—the only fly in the ointment. Once she and her friends had arrived at Westfield, they’d quickly learned Riley’s uncle had sold the ranch. Luckily Boone—Riley’s husband-to-be—would own it with his friends—if and when they fulfilled the requirements of the reality television show they were part of.

Unfortunately, while Nora and her friends viewed their purpose for being here as a chance to pursue the arts, the men of Base Camp seemed to view them as wife fodder—conveniently placed single women who should be happy to marry them at the drop of a hat. She hadn’t come here to marry, though.

Nora had come here to write—and, if she was honest, to get away from the student who’d made her life a living hell back in Baltimore. But she didn’t want to think of the increasingly disturbing and violent messages he’d recorded on her voice mail before she’d left—not when a beautiful morning was dawning outside her window. All that was behind her now, and if she’d had to leave the teaching job she loved to get away from his harassment, that was just life.

A light rap on her door startled her. “Nora? Do you need help with your clothes?”

Nora took a deep breath, willing her heart to start beating again. Damn her stalker and the way he’d made her into this nervous wreck. She went to open it and found Riley in the hall, hair tousled, looking far younger than her years in the voluminous, old-fashioned nightgown she wore.

“Did I wake you?” Nora asked her to cover her overreaction.

“I’m not sure. Something did. Where are you off to so early?”

“Down to the creek. I’m looking for inspiration.”

A smile curved Riley’s mouth. “Pittance Creek can be inspiring.”

Nora wondered what memory inspired that smile, but she finished pulling on her underthings and slipped her stays on over her chemise. Riley moved behind her and began to tug the laces tight. Getting into Regency clothing was not a solitary pursuit. Several minutes later, Nora was dressed.

“What about you?” she asked Riley.

“Go on. I want to shower. I’ll wait for Savannah or Avery to help me.”

Five minutes later, Nora struck out down the track that led past Base Camp toward the creek. She wondered if Clay was awake. The camp seemed quiet as she walked past.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. That wasn’t why she was here.

But she was disappointed when she didn’t see him.

As Clay jogged
down the two-lane country highway that led to town, his earlier disquiet slipped away. These daily runs were a lifesaver to him. Always had been. Like his father before him, Clay was wound as tight as a watch. His endless energy had gotten him kicked out of more grade-school classrooms than he could count when his bouncing knee jostled a desk for the third time in thirty minutes and knocked pencils and papers flying, or his endlessly tapping fingers finally drove a teacher to lose her cool and start screaming.

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 fact, 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.