A SEAL's Consent (SEALs of Chance Creek Book 4)

by Cora Seton

  He hadn’t really thought that through, had he? He didn’t want to give up those hours with her, but he needed to show her he took her dreams seriously. “Of course. Your career takes precedence over everything else.”

  He read her surprise in her upraised brows.

  “What about the deadlines you have to meet to keep the ranch? I’d have thought you’d want me working with you more, not less.”

  Jericho knew why she’d think that. Boone had made a heck of a fuss when he decreed the women each had to work at Base Camp for two hours a day. The women hadn’t figured out yet he’d done so to make them spend time with the men who were trying to woo them. It hadn’t worked for him and Savannah, though. She had a goal. Helping her reach it was the way to be a hero in her eyes.

  “I’ll meet my deadlines. Don’t get me wrong; I love it when you work with me. Makes the time fly by. But I know you’ve got things you want to accomplish. If I have to work double-time to cover for you, I’ll do it. I want to see you up on that stage.”

  “You do?”

  She pulled back a little. Jericho kept her firmly in place. He supposed he should have told her this a long time ago. Of course he supported her musical career. Life was short; you needed to do what you loved. If he could be here at Base Camp working on the green power grid and she could be playing concerts and wowing audiences, theirs would definitely be a happy marriage.

  “I’d do anything to help you reach your dreams,” he murmured against her temple as he drew her close again. “I just want to see you happy, Savannah.”

  If he’d thought she’d melt in his arms when she heard that declaration, he was wrong. Instead, she grew rigid.

  “Does that surprise you? Did you think I’d stand in your way?” he asked.

  “Everyone else has.”

  He had to strain to hear her words over the music, and he contemplated taking her somewhere they could be alone together to talk more intimately. He decided against it. He didn’t want to risk losing this moment.

  “Like who?”

  “My family. My parents never supported my piano playing,” she said, putting her lips near his ear to be heard. “They got me lessons to make me well-rounded. They never thought I’d go off the deep end, as they put it, and consider a career in music. I had to fight them all the way about studying it in college. Luckily, I got a scholarship.”

  Jericho maneuvered her farther away from the band.

  “So you always loved music?”

  She hesitated. “Yes—but… what really fired me up was the applause.” She shrugged. “I’ll never forget my first recital. The way everyone clapped when I was done. I felt… good… in a way I’d never felt before. I was always messing up as far as my family was concerned.”

  Jericho’s gut twisted in sympathy. His family understood nothing about him, either. “Even when you were a kid? What did they want you to do?”

  “Programming,” she admitted. “Right from the beginning. They sent me to computer camp. Tried to get me into website design, at least, when it became clear I was no programmer. When I refused point-blank, they demanded I stay in the tech field in some position. I ended up as a headhunter for some of the biggest Silicon Valley firms after college. That was moderately acceptable.”

  “You were brave to walk away from them and be true to your real calling.” Jericho knew a bit about that. Although he wasn’t sure if he was being brave or stupid when he’d joined his friends to build Base Camp. He wasn’t making money presently, and while he had savings to tide him over, they would diminish fast if he kept up his payments to Donovan.

  What would happen if Base Camp failed and he found himself out of the Navy, out of work and starting over? Would he be able to earn enough in the civilian world to keep funding his cousin? What would happen if Donovan ever asked for more? So far he never had—he’d never even acknowledged the payments Jericho made every month.

  But he cashed those checks like clockwork, so Jericho knew he relied on them, even if he was too proud to admit it.

  “I can see why your family thought you’d be good at tech, though,” he went on. “You’re damn good with numbers.” She’d proved that time and time again working on the energy system with him for Base Camp.

  Savannah shrugged. “I’ve always been good with numbers and I’m interested in what we’re doing here. But I was never into what my parents were doing. Dating apps? Not my thing.”

  “Dating apps? I didn’t know that’s what your folks make.”

  She made a face. “That’s because I don’t usually tell people about it. I’m still candy-coating it, actually. Most people are familiar with their other businesses—the ones they advertise. But that’s not their real financial engine.” Her gaze searched his, as if she was deciding whether to trust him or not. Jericho tried to keep his expression neutral as they swayed to the music. He wanted to know what made Savannah tick, and he had a feeling her relationship with her parents could explain a lot of what was happening between them.

  “They make chat bots,” she went on finally. “You know what those are?”

  Jericho laughed, took in her affronted expression and stifled his reaction. He knew what chat bots were: artificial intelligence programs that stood in for real women when men entered chat rooms looking for an online encounter—or the other way around. “Are you serious? Your parents make those?” From her previous descriptions he’d painted a far more traditional view of her folks.

  After a moment, she nodded, a blush stealing over her fair cheeks. Jericho found her embarrassment enchanting. Didn’t everyone have a skeleton or two in their closet?

  “I hate it,” she burst out. “It’s… wrong.”

  “Wrong? Why?”

  “Because of the way they’re used. People log on to chat rooms to connect with other people—not robots.”

  “I think most people are savvy enough these days to know it’s a crap shoot,” Jericho told her. He still wished they were having this conversation in a more private—and less noisy—place. He didn’t want to risk ruining the moment by taking her somewhere else, though. They hadn’t talked this much in weeks.

  “Do they? Really? I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s not like people go to chat rooms for serious relationships, honey. They go looking for sex, plain and simple. And online sex isn’t real no matter how you slice it.”

  Savannah pulled right out of his arms. “So you’re one of those guys who thinks a quick wank while chatting online doesn’t count as cheating?”

  Jericho put up his hands. “Whoa, there.” He took in the surprised expressions of the people dancing around them, took Savannah’s hand and pulled her closer. “For one thing, I’ve never had a quick wank while chatting online,” he said, making sure no one else could hear. “For another, I don’t cheat—online or off. When I’m with a woman, I’m with her. When I’m done, I say so.” He knew he wasn’t expressing himself well, but he couldn’t figure out any other way to say what needed to be said. “Here’s the thing, Savannah—you get what you see with me. You’ve worked beside me, eaten meals with me—” he leaned closer “—made love to me. You know who I am.”

  She shook her head. “Do I? You’re saying you have no secrets?”

  He had more than he could count. “Don’t you?” he retorted.

  She didn’t answer for a long moment, and Jericho’s heart beat hard in the interval. She had secrets, all right; that was obvious.

  What were they?

  “I had a fiancé,” she blurted. “I left him just before coming to Westfield. But I told you that already.”

  Jericho relaxed a little. She was right; he knew all about Charles. Just like he’d known what her parents did—except that bit with the chat bots.

  After their encounter, he’d looked Savannah up on the Internet. He’d read about her music degree, looked at the few photos she’d posted of herself with family and friends. Apparently, she wasn’t into social media much, but as a member of the Silicon V
alley elite, local newspapers were interested in her. She appeared in a number of photos attending charity events and other gatherings. In many she was accompanied by a smug-looking man.

  Charles Scott.

  An angel investor from an old-money family, Charles was the natural match for the daughter of two programmers who’d brought several startups to IPOs at stratospheric evaluations. His old-money patina would take the shine off her family’s new-money success—and maybe even the tarnish off their chat bot business, should that get wider exposure—and gain them entrée into the best society, while their fresh connections helped Charles’s family keep picking hits to fund.

  The one thing he’d never found, though, was an announcement of her engagement to Charles. He wondered why not. Had Savannah refused to announce it?

  What had happened to drive them apart?

  He didn’t want to make the same mistake.

  Savannah realized too late she’d given him an opening to talk about marriage. She couldn’t believe she’d mentioned Charles again. She didn’t want to think about the man, or how close she’d come to marrying him when it had been clear almost from the start he was never right for her. Like her parents, he couldn’t understand her disinterest in the revolution in technology underway in her home state. Nor could he understand her squeamishness about the part of the business her parents had chosen to pursue.

  “I’m glad you realized he wasn’t the man for you,” Jericho said, pursuing her. “Like I said, I’ll talk to Boone. I’ll make sure you’ve got plenty of time to practice. I admire your dedication, you know that?”

  Now he was trying to sweet talk her. “That’s what it takes to get the applause,” she told him. Besides, the piano had always given her an escape from the world that surrounded her. She used to hate hearing her parents talk about ways to make the bots more lifelike, so she’d played loud enough to drown them out. She couldn’t stand their callous conversations in which they treated sexual encounters like business transactions. It had been horrifying when she was a teenager, and even more disturbing when she was old enough to really grasp the kind of fire her parents were playing with.

  “How did we raise someone so old-fashioned?” her mother had always asked when Savannah protested their latest innovations. “You should be grateful for what we do; those sex sites, as you call them, pay for the roof over your head.”

  Savannah had never been able to find it in her to be grateful. It would have been one thing if her parents had honestly tried to find ways to match people with their soul mates. Savannah could have gotten behind that and had suggested it many times.

  “Love doesn’t sell,” her mother told her. “But sex does. You’ve got to go where the market is.”

  So Savannah’s dedication to the piano became a kind of rebellion against her family and what they did for a living. Compared to the shifting ethics of the community surrounding her, her music felt pure, clean and true. She chose classical music as her concentration in college and refused to touch an electronic keyboard. To her mind, electronic music could be programmed and perfected, just like those chat bots could. But no computer could bring a human touch to music, just like no chat bot could provide a truly human interaction.

  Savannah had to believe that.

  Because otherwise nothing she believed in was true.

  Her recitals and concerts got her through. Every time her folks wore her down and she began to feel as dumb and out of touch as they made her out to be, she let the audience’s applause prove them wrong. She could stand up, take her bow and walk offstage knowing she was good enough by someone’s measure.

  But then she’d left school. The concerts had stopped. So had the applause.

  And Savannah had gone further and further adrift.

  “I want you to know I believe in what you’re doing,” Jericho told her, echoing her thoughts. “I see your drive and I applaud it.”

  Savannah’s heart squeezed. If that was true, then he was the first man to do so. In the end, Charles hadn’t understood anything about her.

  When she’d complained to him about what her parents did for a living, he’d taken an altogether more practical view of the matter. “People are going to have sex,” he’d said. “Chat bots don’t pass on STDs—they don’t get pregnant, either.”

  Was that enough to justify the other damage they could do? Savannah had wondered at the time. People were designed to forge attachments. Even men visiting prostitutes liked their regulars, didn’t they?

  What happened when someone formed an attachment to a bot?

  “That’s their problem,” Charles had said.

  Savannah didn’t believe that was true.

  Jericho pulled her close and began to sway to the music again. Did he really understand how she felt?

  “When I’m working on the energy system, it consumes me,” Jericho said, as if he’d heard her question. “It’s hard to stop thinking about it. Is that the way music is for you?”

  “Kind of.” That’s the way success was for her. If she was honest, she thought much more about the applause than the music. She craved approbation—which was why she’d stuck so long with Charles. Her folks had liked him instantly, and had forged a business relationship with his parents before a month was out. Everything had become so entwined, it became hard to walk away.

  She hadn’t told a single one of her closest friends she was going to get married, though. Her mother had pushed and pushed for Savannah to make wedding plans, but she hadn’t gone ahead and announced the wedding, even though Savannah knew she’d been dying to.

  Her mother liked to boss people around, but she didn’t like humiliation. She must have known Savannah would bolt in the end.

  “So I’ll tell Boone you won’t be working with me anymore. That’s two more hours a day to practice,” Jericho said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Savannah nodded. Soon she’d be onstage again. And one day she’d play in a venue like Carnegie Hall. Somewhere dazzling with an enormous audience. She could picture the grand piano. Her fingers on the keyboard. The bright lights. The sweep and soar of her music. That final hush when she played her last note.

  The thunderous applause.

  And somehow—miraculously—her parents in the front row, realizing how wrong they’d been about everything. On their feet as well, clapping and cheering her. Realizing she was worth—

  “Did you hear me, Savannah?” Jericho repeated, breaking into her thoughts. “You can have your mornings to yourself.”

  “Are…are you sure?” Savannah was wary of a trap. If she let Jericho do this for her, would she end up paying for it later?

  “Of course I’m sure. Anything for you, Savannah. You know I want—”

  Warning signals flared in her mind. “I’ve got to go help Riley.” Savannah jerked out of his grasp before he could mention marriage. She made it off of the dance floor, took a wide detour around a camera crew filming nearby, and darted into the manor before Jericho could catch up. Pounding up the stairs to the third floor, she dashed into her room and slammed shut the door. Turning the lock, she leaned against it, breathing hard.

  Safe. For the moment. She and the other women slept in Base Camp with the others these days, but they used the manor during the day. This room was still her sanctuary.

  But as she thought about what Jericho had said, desire threaded through her worry. He seemed to understand her in a way no other man had and she wanted him in a way she’d never wanted another man. She could go back outside right now and be engaged to him within minutes. It was what he wanted.

  What she wanted.

  Her mother was right; at heart she was a traditional woman and she’d like to raise her baby with the man she loved here at Westfield, among people who shared her values. But first she had to reach her goal. She had to prove once and for all she was someone—even if she hadn’t followed the path her parents laid out for her.

  She had to have that one shining moment in the sun. Then she could relax her sc
hedule. Be home more.

  Be the mother she wanted to be.

  Maybe if she explained it was temporary, Jericho would understand.

  But she knew all too well how easy it would be for him to persuade her to wait. Base Camp was happening right now. So was the television show. He’d want her to just hold on until it was over.

  But she couldn’t. This chance with Redding was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. She couldn’t turn her back on that.

  What had her parents said when she’d graduated?

  You don’t have a single concert lined up. Come home and get a normal job until you can prove you can make money and support yourself.

  She’d done just that. And ended up without the time to practice or to track down opportunities to play. Her career as a pianist had slipped away, just like that. So had the recognition.

  And any chance of showing her family exactly who she was.

  This time she wouldn’t let that happen. With Jericho’s ring on her finger and a wedding to look forward to—and a baby on the way—he’d say, “Wait until the show is over. Wait until after our child is born. Then start your career.”

  She’d lose her chance.

  She had to stick to her guns. The audition first. A commitment from Redding to mentor her. Her career on rails.

  Then she’d make her proposition to Jericho from a position of strength.

  If he wasn’t the man she hoped he’d be, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  Chapter Two

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  When the sun rose the following morning, Jericho rose with it, though he’d had little sleep. Each time he’d drifted off, he’d found himself back in his childhood home, filled with an unnamed dread. He’d surged awake searching for what he’d lost—what he needed to do to put his family back together, but found only the close, stuffy confines of his tent and the hush of the camp all around him.

  Base Camp had grown since their early days at Westfield. Now the area near the bunkhouse sported more than a dozen tents—and three tiny homes built for the married couples. Boone and Riley Rudman, and Clay and Nora Pickett, had moved into two of the houses. As soon as they got back from their honeymoon, Harris and Samantha Wentworth would occupy the third.