A SEAL's Struggle

by Cora Seton

  “I noticed Douglas is sticking pretty close to you.” Boone took his place in front of the sink and stuck his hands in the sudsy water. Win got out a cloth to dry them while Riley moved around the room straightening up and putting things away.

  “And Angus is sticking close to him, and Leslie is sticking close to Angus. It’s maddening.” Win picked up the first glass Boone set into the drying rack and began to wipe it.

  “Do you like Douglas?” Riley asked curiously, scraping food scraps into a little compost bin and stacking up dirty dishes on the counter near Boone.

  “He’s fine in small doses. I have to admit he’s intelligent,” Win said. “Follows American politics avidly,” she added gloomily. “Haven’t heard so much about elections since I left home. My parents would love it if I married a man like him, although they’d prefer it if he came with a big bag of cash.”

  “I get the feeling Douglas would be willing to make that match,” Boone said.

  “Ah, but he wouldn’t stay here. Douglas isn’t interested in Base Camp,” Win told him. “He’s not all that interested in me, either. He’d love to marry my parents, though.”

  Riley laughed, then made a face. “Sorry.”

  “Maybe I should find you a better backup husband,” Boone joked.

  “Are you trying to drive Angus around the bend?” Riley asked him. “You should concentrate on what you’re going to do when the thirty days are up and Angus goes back to Win. Leslie’s going to blow her top.”

  “Leslie’s not capable of blowing her top,” Boone said.

  Riley looked at him askance. “Are you kidding? When that girl goes off, it’ll be nuclear. Mark my words.”

  Boone finished washing a plate, mulling that over.

  “Do you think she loves Angus?” Win hadn’t let herself think about the possibility before.

  Riley shook her head slowly. “I don’t think it’s love. It’s more like determination. She set herself a goal, and she wants to achieve it. I think… I think she’s in love with Base Camp.”

  “I think you’re right,” Win said. “That’s why I’m her rival, right? She thinks if she can’t get Angus, she can’t stay.”

  “We’re going to need more people eventually,” Boone said. “What makes her think she has to marry in?”

  They all mulled that over.

  “Maybe we haven’t made it clear that we intend to grow,” Riley said.

  “Maybe she thinks we don’t want her,” Win said. “She doesn’t have any friends here.”

  “Because she never stops talking,” Riley said, “and it’s not even that; it’s that she never lets you get a word in edgewise. She asks interesting questions but never lets you answer them!”

  “She’s an odd duck for sure,” Boone said. “I’m not sure she’d be a great fit for the commun—”

  “For God’s sake, listen to you people!” Byron, who’d been filming the scene, stepped forward, mindless of his camera. One of the other crew members snatched it from him and trained it on the group again. “Is that a rule now? You have to be perfectly normal to fit in at Base Camp? No one else need apply?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Boone began.

  “Sure it is. You all are looking for an excuse to keep Leslie out because you don’t like that she came on the show when you didn’t want her to. You want to call all the shots.” He pointed at Boone. “And the rest of you want everyone at Base Camp to be carbon copies of everyone else, just like Douglas and Angus.”

  “No, we don’t,” Riley said, setting down the plate she was scraping with a thump.

  “Really? This whole community is as homogenous as it gets! Every man here was in the Navy SEALs. Every woman is creative and educated. You’re all exactly the same. I get it. Like attracts like. But now you can’t even be talkative or you’re out?” He flung up his hands in disgust. “I’m not staying here and listening to any more of this. I’m going to film someone interesting—and make sure Leslie knows I think she’s worth ten of any of you. She’s got heart, integrity and grit. She works harder than anyone, and she doesn’t spend the rest of her time gossiping.”

  He grabbed his camera and headed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Win whispered when Angus managed to position himself beside her on the way from the bunkhouse to the greenhouses a week later.

  He knew exactly what she meant. Their days had devolved into an agonizing round of chores in which everyone kept far too close to each other and no one got to be alone with the one they truly wanted to be alone with.

  Their only saving grace was that Byron was so determined to be near Leslie that sometimes he blocked her from being with Angus, like he was doing now. They were only five feet or so behind him and Leslie on the path, but that gave them enough time for a few whispered sentences.

  “Only five more days,” Angus promised her. “We’ll get through it. I dreamed about you last night.”

  She sent him a surreptitious smile. “I dream about you all the time.”

  That was something.

  “Plotting again?” Leslie asked loudly.

  “Plotting about what we’re going to work on today.” Win picked up her pace and strode past her into the greenhouse. “That’s what we’re here for, right? To work?”

  Leslie pinched her lips together and followed her inside with a flounce. Angus met Byron’s accusing look. “You were talking to Leslie. You can’t get upset I had a word with Win.”

  “This is as bad as high school,” Douglas announced, bringing up the rear of the line. “And not nearly as interesting.”

  “You can always go home,” Angus said.

  “Don’t hold your breath. I’ve got big plans.”

  Inside, Win was already working her way down the rows of seedlings, checking to make sure none had come to any harm overnight. Leslie was organizing pots and seeds. Angus headed to the back of the large building where the hydroponics setup was located. He wasn’t producing nearly as many vegetables as he’d have liked, but he was learning things, and that was important.

  Some minutes later, he looked up to find Leslie standing nearby, her arms folded over her chest.

  “I’m not sure I believe in hydroponics. How do we know that the nutrients you’re feeding those plants are as good as what they would get from the soil? And why is it okay to grow them this way when it’s obviously not what nature intended? If we were meant to grow plants without dirt, why would there be dirt in the first place? I don’t like how regular everything is. How an-ti-sep-tic.” She gave each syllable equal weight. “I think this is the first step toward automation, which is exactly the opposite of sustainability in my book. Plus, automation leads to robots, which leads to the loss of jobs, which leads to poverty, which leads to hunger, and do you think those robots are going to feed us out of the goodness of their hearts? They don’t have hearts. Just like some people around here,” she added in a low mutter.

  Angus kept working, hoping if he didn’t engage her, Leslie would leave him alone.

  “I think automation is one of America’s biggest strengths,” Douglas said, straightening from his work and glancing at the cameras to make sure someone was filming him. “This is a great country, and technology and innovation made it that way. Your father is a great proponent of innovation, isn’t he, Win?”

  “I… guess.” Win kept working, not rising to the bait.

  Byron passed his camera to another crew member and moved closer to Leslie, something that was occurring more and more frequently these days. “I think Leslie could probably develop all kinds of systems here at Base Camp to improve our efficiency with or without automation. She’s a whiz at finding better and faster methods.”

  “Thank you for noticing, Byron.”

  “Win is a good worker, too. She gets all kinds of things done.” Douglas patted Win’s arm, facing the camera crew again.

  Angus stood up, crossed to the next set of broccoli plants an
d got to work again, but his gaze slid to where Douglas still hovered near Win, the picture of a doting boyfriend. He never crossed the line, never touched Win inappropriately or flirted with her in Angus’s presence, but he had a way of angling himself in front of the cameras to suggest that maybe he and Win were together after all.

  He caught Leslie watching him watch Win and Douglas.

  Damn.

  “Maybe robots are the most sustainable of all, though,” she said, striking an exaggerated thinking pose, her finger on her chin, voice rising as she spoke. “Robots don’t eat,” she went on. “They don’t need clothing or houses or cars or anything. They can starve all of us to death, use our rotting bodies for compost, plant trees among our corpses and regenerate the whole damn natural world!”

  Everyone else stilled.

  “Hell, Leslie, that’s pretty harsh,” Angus said finally.

  “You want harsh? I’ll give you harsh,” Leslie told him. “She left you.” She pointed to Win. “Stayed away for months. Hid your baby from you—and that’s the woman you’re going to choose to spend your life with? I’m right here ready to be with you, ready to pledge my life to you, ready to accept second place in your heart—ready to stay with you, because unlike her, I would stay. I would put our relationship first above everything. I’m a keeper, Angus McBride. And you won’t see what’s right under your nose.”

  Leslie stormed out, leaving all of them looking after her, including Byron, who for once didn’t follow her.

  Thank God for spring, Win thought later that afternoon as she settled on the back porch of the manor. There’d been a long lull between guests, which had the women of Base Camp concerned about the viability of the business but also gave them a break. Everyone else was working on personal projects. Win had toted her handloom up to the big house to find a corner to work in, but the sun had enticed her outside for a minute.

  She was surprised no crew members had followed her, but Savannah had been practicing a rather dramatic piece on the grand piano in the front parlor, and Byron was shadowing Leslie, as usual, who was sticking close to Angus down at his tiny house. Angus was working on his kitchen, and a bunch of crew members had stayed to film them. Win would have liked to help, too, but she figured that wouldn’t turn out well at all.

  The songbirds were out. Win lolled on the steps, her head resting against the bannister, listening to them, imagining the patterns she could weave in the future. The project she’d picked was a simple table runner, but she kept imagining a set of placemats she could weave in greens and blues—a springtime motif. When voices in the kitchen behind her pierced her thoughts, however, she surged to her feet, looked around for somewhere to hide from the cameras a little longer and dashed to the path that led into the woods.

  She knew this was another way to get to Pittance Creek, upstream from the main path that led from the bunkhouse, but she had no intention of going that far into the woods, and she stopped only twenty feet or so from the back lawn, peering back to see if anyone was coming.

  “Nice day, huh?”

  The breath whooshed out of Win, and she spun to find a young man not far behind her.

  “Oh, hey—didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Nick. Came over from the reservation. I know Walker.”

  Win stepped back as the youth stepped toward her, heart still beating hard. “You came to see Walker?”

  “I hoped he’d be around.” The young man stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Skipped school. Went to town. Could use a ride home.” He grinned at her.

  Win remained wary. “How do you know him?”

  “Everyone knows everyone on the rez. Walker comes to see his grandma now and then.”

  That made sense, but—

  Nick jumped forward. “Hey!”

  Before Win could move, a black-gloved hand clamped over her mouth. She was roughly pulled back tight against a man’s chest. Another hand extended past her, pointing a shiny black pistol at Nick.

  “Make a sound, make a move, and I’ll kill you, then her.”

  “Right, man—I’m not moving.” Nick had stopped as quickly as he’d started, his dark eyes wide as he stared back at them.

  No, Win thought. Not again. She wasn’t going to be taken again.

  Win remembered Mike Pierce’s instructions. As head of her family’s security team, he’d made it his business to teach her how to evade another kidnapping. Win kicked out and thrashed her legs, pulling the stranger off balance. The shot he fired went high.

  “Run!” she screamed when the man’s hand slipped down to her chin. “Run, Nick! The bunkhouse!” Most of the men would be concentrated in that area. The manor was closer, but it was full of pregnant women. She kicked and thrashed again, fighting and lashing out for all she was worth, praying that Riley and the others wouldn’t come looking.

  Any second she’d be shot, but there was no time to think of that. Win knew one thing—she was never letting herself be hauled away and locked up again.

  “Damn it. Stop struggling.”

  It dawned on Win as they fought, the man hadn’t shot her yet. In fact, he seemed determined to catch her wrists and control her rather than kill her.

  Because he wanted to kidnap her.

  Just like last time.

  And she was pregnant—

  One thought followed another, and Win kept fighting, shielding her belly as best she could. She was determined not to give in.

  Nick looked like a kid who could run.

  “Stop fighting, bitch!” the man growled as he struggled to capture her arms. Win kept wheeling around. When his hand covered her mouth again, she bit him, her teeth catching the fabric of his glove, stripping it off as he yanked his hand away. Win froze at the sight of a familiar tattoo—just for a second. Long enough for him to lunge at her again.

  Instinctively, Win kicked out.

  “Fuck!” The man reeled back and doubled over, clutching his left knee where her boot had caught him. “Goddamnit!”

  “It’s you!” Win scrambled backward, tripped and sat down hard, immediately pushing up to her feet again. Could she dodge around him—reach the manor?

  He was limping but still standing, and he lurched toward her again. Win couldn’t take her eyes off the back of his hand where a devil was tattooed, its coiled tail ending in an arrow that snaked over his wrist.

  She’d seen it before—when she was thirteen—when a stranger lunged at her and threw her into his truck—

  As he drew near, images cascaded into her mind. The bumpy ride in the back of the vehicle, the taste of the gag in her mouth, the pitch darkness of the room where she’d spent weeks—alone…

  “Stop it—leave me alone! Why are you doing this?” she cried, backpedaling.

  The man—in his late forties, she guessed, muscled and rugged—sneered at her.

  “Money, what else? And now you’ve seen me. Not good, little girl.” He kept coming.

  She feinted right, but he matched her movements, limping but still agile.

  “I’m not a little girl anymore. Not like last time.”

  He hesitated, and she thought she’d surprised him, but then his gaze traced her body. “Not anymore,” he agreed. He gestured at her with his gun. “Get over here. You’re wasting time we don’t have.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Oh, relax,” he drawled. “Worked out last time, didn’t it? You’ll be fine. Sit around on your ass for a couple of weeks. Wait for mommy and daddy to pay up…”

  “They didn’t pay up last time. They came after you. Took you out. What makes you think it’ll be different?” She had to get away—had to trick him—

  “Do I look like anyone took me out?” he sneered again. “Stop talking and get over here, or this isn’t going to go well for you—or that baby—at all.”

  Chapter Thirteen

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  When the shot rang out, every man in Base Camp leaped into action, racing up the hill to the manor, Angus in the lead.
>
  “Walker—Walker!” A young man streaked out of the woods and made a beeline toward them. “He’s got a gun. He’s got her—in the woods. Behind the manor.”

  Angus didn’t stop to ask questions. Footsteps pounded behind him, and he was sure Walker was among the men racing after him, but soon all he heard was his own breathing coming fast and loud as he strained to reach Win before it was too late. He couldn’t say how he knew it was her—but it was; he felt it in every fiber of his being.

  Her parents had said there were threats. He hadn’t taken them seriously. He hadn’t stuck with her. It was all Leslie’s fault—

  No, his own fault, for allowing Boone to make him spend a month with a woman he didn’t even want.

  When someone caught up to him, he was surprised to see it was Nick, who he recognized. He’d met him once in town with Walker. Nick kept pace like a long-distance athlete who’d trained his whole life.

  “This way,” the young man said, veering off behind the large three-story house into the woods when they reached it.

  Angus followed.

  “There!” Nick grabbed his sleeve and pulled him to a halt, just as Angus caught sight of Win, who faced off with a burly man pointing a gun at her.

  He drew his own pistol, but knew he didn’t have a shot that wouldn’t put Win in danger, too.

  “Oh, crap!” Nick breathed. Angus saw what he saw; Douglas had taken a different path and was skirting through the woods a dozen or more feet away, running straight at the man with the gun, although he couldn’t see him yet.

  Angus lunged toward him, waving his arms, hissing to get his attention, but Douglas kept going. Angus kept pace with him as best he could, moving in parallel, weapon drawn, still not aiming it—not having a clear shot.

  “Douglas!” he hissed again.

  Ahead of him, the stranger lunged at Win, who darted to her left—just in time.

  “Hey!” Douglas shouted as he broke through the brush and trees and spotted the gunman, skidding to a stop.

  Angus dropped to his knees, aimed—

  The man turned to see who was coming—swung his arm around to aim for Douglas—