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

by Cora Seton

  “You already play just fine; why do you need a teacher?”

  “He’ll be more than a teacher. Much more.” Jericho could just make her out in the dim light from the stars overhead, a dark shadow against the silvery water slipping past. “He’ll groom me for my career,” she went on. “You have to understand—I took years off from playing seriously. I’m rusty. Most professionals don’t do that; I’m starting at a huge disadvantage.”

  “And you think this guy can help?” Jericho didn’t like the idea, not least because his wedding day was looming. He needed all the time he could get with Savannah.

  “I know he can help,” she assured him.

  “But—wait a minute.” Jericho thought through what she’d told him. “He’s in California. You’re living here in Chance Creek. Just how is this guy going to mentor you?”

  “I’ll have to commute,” she said, affirming his fears.

  “Commute to another state?”

  “That’s right. Twice a month.”

  “Savannah—” He didn’t even know what to say to that. Didn’t she understand at all what he and his friends were working toward here?

  “I’ll still help with the energy system—”

  “Why?” he burst out. He surged to his feet and paced away from her, stumbling on the uneven ground.

  “I just told you—he’ll help further my career—”

  “I mean why help with the energy system when you don’t give a shit about it? Your flights will cancel out half the savings we make by installing the system.” A cool breeze played over his face as he turned back toward her. He wished he could see her face, but it remained in shadow. “Airline travel is one of the most wasteful things we human beings do. It’s fun. It’s practical. It lets us jet all over wherever we want to go, and it burns more energy than just about anything else.”

  “What choice do I have? If I don’t commute I’ll have to move there. I don’t want to leave my friends.” Her anguish was clear.

  Jericho bit back the sharp words he wanted to say. She’d miss her friends—but what about him? What about what he was working for here? What they were all working for? Didn’t she care about him—or his goals—at all?

  “I guess it’s up to your conscience,” he said bitterly. “Is your career more important than the health of the planet—is it more important than us?”

  Savannah stood, too. Jericho moved closer, protective despite their argument.

  “You told me you supported my career one hundred percent. You said you’d do anything to help me.”

  “That was before I knew what it entailed.”

  “That’s bullshit,” she burst out. “You knew I’d have to travel to concerts. So why the high-and-mighty act now?”

  She had him there. “I thought you’d travel regionally,” he confessed. “Places you could drive to, or take a train. That’s not as bad.”

  “You thought—you thought I’d play regionally?” Her voice slid up an octave. “You thought I wasn’t good enough to play nationally—or internationally? What happened to Carnegie Hall?”

  “I didn’t say—” Shit, she was twisting his words all out of shape. And he was the one who should be angry—not her. He wasn’t planning to leave her high and dry all the time.

  “That’s exactly what you said. Or what you meant, anyway. You’re just like Charles—thinking about yourself far more than you think about anyone else. I’ll have you know I’m a world-class talent! Redding wouldn’t give me an audition otherwise.”

  She turned to go with a rustle of her skirts. Jericho strode after her.

  “We’re talking about something far bigger than your career—”

  “You’re damned right we are.” She whirled to face him. “We’re talking about your ego, and it’s enormous. And I’m through with it!” She backed away.

  His ego? Jesus, she didn’t understand him at all. “Damn it—you haven’t seen what I’ve seen!” His voice was hoarse—from singing earlier, and his anger. “If you had, you wouldn’t act like this!” he called after her. “Boone, Clay, Walker and I—we didn’t just wake up one day and say let’s stop being SEALs and build a sustainable community instead. We had a reason.”

  “What reason?” Savannah challenged him.

  There was nothing for it but to explain it all. No matter how much he’d prefer to keep it to himself.

  “I had a good career with the Navy. Sometimes I got to serve with Boone, Clay and Walker. Sometimes we were split up. But we were together when we went to Yemen.”

  He knew nothing he could say could express the truth of that mission. The long hours waiting. The round-the-clock vigilance for the lucky break that would allow them to reach the aid workers. “Our assignment was to rescue four men and women who worked for an NGO—non-governmental organization,” he explained. “They were aid workers, trying to help those affected by Yemen’s civil war. Instead, they got caught up in the fighting. They were trapped—hiding in a bombed-out school. But that wasn’t the worst of it.” Jericho fought the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. “When they took refuge there they found kids there, too, unable to get home, their teachers killed.”

  Savannah didn’t move, but he could tell she was listening.

  “The aid workers shared what little food and water they had, but you can imagine how quickly that ran out. They had a satellite phone with them—solar-powered. They called for help and were eventually patched through to us. We stayed on the line all the time, taking turns talking to them, trying to keep up morale until we could get to them.”

  That had been the hardest. Thinking of things to talk about when all he wanted was to rush in and get them all out—especially those children.

  “There was this boy.” He tried to keep his voice even. Didn’t think he’d succeeded when Savannah took a step toward him. “Little kid. Scrappy as hell. Knew about ten words of English, but he kept demanding to talk to me.”

  Jericho closed his eyes.

  He’d never seen Akram. Had only talked with him on the satellite phone one of the aid workers had handed to him when the boy refused to be put off. Even trapped in the rubble of his bombed-out school, unsure if he’d ever make it home again, Akram’s zest for life was unquenchable. Jericho had pictured an active boy with dark eyes and hair driven mad by the tedium of crouching for days in the rubble, waiting for a rescue that never came. Jericho knew how frustrating that was. It was the same for him pacing the halls of the forward base, waiting for an opportunity to get in there and save the aid workers they’d been talking to around the clock.

  The boy had filled Jericho’s ears with a string of broken English.

  This is Akram. Where are you from? Are you American? American soldier? Why you not free us? Why you not come?

  They’d tried to come. Tried again and again and again.

  And failed.

  Jericho wondered if the pain of it would ever diminish.

  “What happened?” Savannah asked.

  Jericho realized he’d stopped talking. He didn’t think he’d ever forget this night, speaking to Savannah in the dark, only the stars and the creek as their companions. In the dim hush, telling the truth seemed the right thing to do. “He didn’t make it. None of them did.” He swallowed against the ache in his throat. “That war, like every war I’ve seen, is being fought over resources. And every time I look to see why a country suddenly starts tearing itself apart, I find climate change at the root of it. I have to do something.”

  Could she understand? God, he hoped so.

  He thought she nodded. But she didn’t step closer.

  And when she turned to go, he let her walk away.

  Shame burned Savannah’s cheeks, and her throat was raw with pain as she made her way back toward Base Camp. She was grateful for the darkness shrouding her path. Here she was worried about how having a child might interfere with her career goals. Back in Yemen, some mother had lost her son forever. If she herself was even still alive.

  Sav
annah hugged her belly. She had so much. A home. Safety. Peace. Friends.

  A man who loved her.

  A talent that had brought other people joy last night.

  A rustle in the undergrowth at the edge of the track made her speed her pace.

  She’d been so furious at Jericho when he attacked her plan to commute to California. She’d thought he was trying to restrict her—and then she’d thought he was telling her she wasn’t good enough to play nationally—or internationally.

  Instead he was trying to change the world.

  How could she compete with that?

  Did she even want to?

  Jericho was right about one thing; it made no sense for her to live on a Montana ranch when her mentor—and career—would take her far away.

  She had only come to Chance Creek to practice and prepare for the next stage in her life, she reminded herself. There was nothing to stop her from returning to her original plan and leaving Westfield when she was ready to begin her career.

  Loneliness washed over her at the thought of it. She reached the tents spread out to one side of the bunkhouse, realized how difficult it would be to undress alone and decided to simply wear her gown to bed. As she unzipped her tent and climbed in, she thought about all the good times she’d had here at Westfield. Leaving meant giving up her friends, their Regency B&B, the carriage rides and balls with Maud and James—

  It meant being alone again—just her and the baby.

  She hated being alone.

  That’s what had made her friendship with Riley, Avery and Nora so special back at college. They’d done everything together, and for the first time in her life she’d known what it meant to be supported at every turn. The years after graduation, when she’d gone home and bowed to her parents’ pressure, she’d missed that so much. She’d had other friends. Work friends. Gym friends.

  But no one who championed her talent and told her to go for it like Riley, Avery and Nora had. No one who understood her quest for success.

  She fell asleep to restless dreams and when she woke again, the wan light told her it was just past dawn. She got up anyway, needing to use the bathroom like she always did these days.

  “You’re up early,” Win said when Savannah met her at the bunkhouse.

  She might as well stay up, Savannah decided. It wasn’t like she’d fall asleep again if she returned to her tent. As one, they headed inside to the washroom and helped each other finish dressing. Savannah was grateful the cameras never followed them here.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Savannah told her truthfully as Win redid her stays.

  “Me, either.” Win tugged too hard at the laces, and Savannah drew in a breath.

  “Hey, could you loosen those up? It’s too hot for a tight lacing,” she said. What was she going to do about her stays when her pregnancy progressed? For now lacing them loosely worked, but soon her belly would be too big even for that strategy.

  “Do you ever think about California?” Win broke into her thoughts.

  Savannah sucked in a breath, and steadied herself. Win couldn’t know about her audition. “Sometimes,” she said.

  “Do you ever think about moving back? Living there again? It would be weird, wouldn’t it?”

  “Maybe.” Savannah’s thoughts raced. Had Win guessed something? Was she digging for information? “It is our home. Our families are there.” She hardly knew what she was saying. Could she actually move back there? Face her family? Make a life there? The thought left her cold. “What about you?”

  “I don’t know,” Win said with a sigh. “Sometimes this place doesn’t even seem real, you know? It’s the cameras, I guess. It’s like a stage set. I keep thinking sooner or later the show will end and we’ll all go home.”

  “The show will end,” Savannah told her, “and we’ll all go home—but home’s right here.” At least, that’s what she’d once thought.

  “Will that be true for everyone?” Win asked enigmatically and Savannah’s heart skipped a beat. It was obvious her friend thought Savannah wouldn’t be one of them. Somehow she must know about the audition—or the baby. Had Heather told her? Or Alice? She didn’t think either of the women were close to Win, but who knew?

  When Win finished helping her dress, she turned around and returned the favor with shaking hands. “What would be the hardest part for you—if you had to go back?”

  “Losing the gardens,” Win said quickly. “I like working in them.”

  “You can garden anywhere,” Savannah pointed out.

  Win laughed out loud. “I can just see my neighbors’ faces if I tore up my parents’ yard and put crops in. That’s not how we roll in San Mateo.”

  Savannah smiled a little. They were quiet until she finished, and when she turned to go, Win handed her the cell phone. “Your turn to keep it today.”

  Savannah pocketed it. “Thanks. I’ll be up at the manor if anyone needs me.”

  She breathed a little easier when she’d left Win behind and was walking up the track to the manor. Had Win been trying to warn her that somehow word of her plans had spread, or was she just homesick? Savannah wasn’t sure.

  When the phone buzzed loudly in her pocket, she pulled it out and answered it without thinking. “Westfield,” she said.

  “Savannah? Is that you?”

  “Mom?” Savannah swallowed hard. Damn it, why had she picked up the phone? And how had her mother traced her number? “Why are you calling?”

  “Spoken like the little ingrate you are. I want to know how your practicing is coming.”

  “Practicing?” Savannah couldn’t imagine why she was asking. Her mother hated her practicing—always had, and she’d certainly never called to find out how it was going.

  “I hope you’re practicing, young lady; otherwise you’ll make a fool of yourself and me, even if your audition is really just a formality.”

  Savannah stopped short. She’d reached the point of the track where it crested the hill and flattened out. She turned to look back at Base Camp, which had come alive as people congregated around the fire pit waiting for Kai to serve breakfast. “I don’t understand what you mean.” How did her mother know about her audition?

  “Savannah. Darling. Maybe you can be anonymous in that dreary little Montana town of yours, but here people know you. They know your name. Our name. Especially now that you’re on TV.”

  Her mother sounded positively fluttery. Savannah remembered what Win had said; her mother loved the attention she got from having a daughter on television. Savannah didn’t understand her at all.

  “After you got in touch with him, your darling virtuoso called your father and I to thank us profusely for the interest our family always shows in the arts. Of course, I had no idea what Redding meant, since you didn’t tell us your plans.”

  “Gee, I wonder why not?”

  Her mother ignored her sarcasm. “I wonder, too, since you know perfectly well how helpful we could have been. But once we straightened out that little misunderstanding, I assured Redding that of course we were always interested in the arts. Interested to the tune of donating quite a substantial sum to refurbishing the Menlo Park Performing Arts Center. It’s in dire need of an update, I’ve been saying for years.”

  Savannah’s bullshit meter rang off the scales. Her mother had never been to the performing arts center. She could care less about the arts. But she did care about publicity. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you don’t need to donate money anywhere. No one’s going to know or care if you do.”

  “Of course we need to donate money. You want to pass that audition, don’t you? Redding made it perfectly clear what was required. I reminded him you’re already a star, but that wasn’t enough for him.”

  That couldn’t be true. Savannah forced her breathing to remain steady, and struggled to relax the muscles tightening into knots at her neck. She watched the men and women below her head inside to fetch their food and come back out again to sit on the logs and chat while t
hey ate.

  “You’re lying. He doesn’t care about my publicity—or my money.”

  Her mother’s sharp intake of breath belied the calm tone she used a moment later. “How much is he charging you for his time? I bet it’s a pretty penny.”

  Her mother was right. If she passed the audition and was accepted to study with him, Redding would charge her a hefty fee for his time. As was his right; time was precious to a pianist in as much demand as he was.

  “Savannah, when are you going to learn it’s money that makes the world go round? You can dress up and play make believe all you want; the truth is you’re made for better things than hiding out on a ranch. The cameras found you even there, didn’t they? Nail the audition. We’ll do our part. Be the best. That’s the Edwards way.”

  Savannah let her arm drop. She could still hear the buzz of her mother’s words from the phone’s tiny speakers, but she couldn’t make them out, which was good because she couldn’t stand to hear any more. Leave it to her mother to find a way to poison her one goal in life. Now her pursuit of the audition would feel meaningless.

  She brought the phone up to her ear again. “Don’t make the donation,” she snapped.

  “—coming home and… What did you say?”

  “Don’t make the donation. If I don’t get chosen, I don’t care. I don’t need him. I want to do this on my own.”

  “Don’t be silly, Savannah. I sent it days ago. It took me this long to track you down. Now, as I was saying, the Arboretum is a lovely place for a small gathering. Highly selective as to the audience, of course—”

  “Mom!” Savannah was glad there was no one near enough to hear her yell.

  “What?”

  Savannah didn’t know where to begin. “Why? Why would you donate that money?”

  “Because I know what it takes to succeed, unlike you. Savannah, stop taking everything so personally. You want to move up in the world? Guess what? It takes cold, hard cash.”

  “If you already made the donation, why call me? Why tell me?” Savannah pressed. “You had to know no good could come from it. That I’d be angry. It would mess up my practicing—” She cut off. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You want me to screw up. In fact, you’re hoping I’ll be so shocked and angry I’ll walk away. Is that it?”