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

by Cora Seton

  “I remember that summer.” Boone braced his hands behind him and stared up at the sky like Jericho was doing. “You changed. I knew that. Why didn’t I ask why?”

  “You were a kid. We both were.”

  “It was like… you gave up. Like you stopped trying to get things right. Started going through the motions instead. You didn’t really perk up again until you came up with the idea to train to become a Navy SEAL.”

  “Guess that about sums it up. I couldn’t get anything right if I tried. My parents decided I was bad news—so I acted like it.”

  “Not really, though.” Boone turned his way. “You never really fucked up. You kept up your grades all those years. You didn’t get into drugs. You picked a solid career. Guess you couldn’t mess up if you tried.”

  Jericho turned this new assessment of himself over in his mind, finding it hard to make it fit with the way his family had always viewed him. “So how come I feel like I’ve messed up everything?”

  “Because you haven’t dealt with the past yet. Sounds like you’re about to, though. You know all of us will help any way we can, right?”

  “Yeah.” He did, now that Boone had said it out loud. Why had he kept everything a secret for so long? He supposed it was his family’s way. They all acted like they had something to hide.

  “What?” Boone asked when Jericho remained silent.

  “I can’t help thinking that if my parents never told us what happened to Donovan, it must be pretty bad.”

  “Huh.” Boone chewed on that. “You already know he was paralyzed. How much worse could it be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Want me to go with you?”

  The offer surprised Jericho. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course I’d do that. You agreed to join me in building Base Camp, agreed to be on Fulsom’s stupid TV show. Agreed to marry and try to have a kid—how could I refuse?”

  Jericho swallowed. He wasn’t planning to have any kids, and it killed him to keep that secret from Boone. What if they didn’t meet Fulsom’s demands? What if they lost Base Camp because of him?

  “Boone—”

  “Should I pack my bag?”

  “No.” Jericho shook his head. “I’ve got it covered. But thanks.”

  “I’ve put out an ad for your backup bride,” Boone said. “I’m just telling you,” he added when Jericho flinched. “When you’re back from North Dakota, make things right with Savannah. You two belong together.”

  Jericho hoped he was right.

  The following Friday, when Savannah opened the tall wooden door to the San Mateo Performing Arts Center, where Redding was holding auditions, her nerves were dancing so hard she wondered if she’d keep down the plain piece of toast she’d managed to eat for breakfast. Just like Nora, she felt hungry all the time these days, but not this morning. She was trailed, as usual, by a camera crew, which made her doubly conspicuous, although she’d changed to a conventional outfit once she’d left Chance Creek. No Regency gown for the audition. Renata had worked long and hard with Redding’s people to get him to waive the restrictions on recording the audition, but as Renata confessed to Savannah when she was done, the musician seemed rather pleased at the thought of his cameo on Base Camp.

  Her knee-length skirt and modern blouse felt strange after months in Regency clothes. She could breathe free without her stays, but she felt exposed in the clingy garments. She’d left her dresses with Alice, who’d promised to let out their seams again and return them to Westfield before Savannah came home. She’d also managed to sneak off to the doctor’s the day before she left for California. So far so good as far as the baby was concerned.

  Savannah was grateful the audition would be over before noon. She had the rest of the day free to practice for her performance the following evening. She’d made it clear she had no time for a family visit—at least not until after the concert. She was afraid if she entered the same room as her mother, her blood pressure would skyrocket and that couldn’t be good for the baby.

  She signed in with a young woman at a desk, and was ushered into a room where Savannah was surprised to see rows of chairs occupied by men and women who appeared to be prepared to play, too. Though the cameras followed her, she was happy to note they were attempting to keep out of the way. Ed had interviewed her several times during the flight and at the hotel last night, but this morning he must have taken pity on her, because while he was filming everything, he kept out of her personal space.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered to the woman sitting next to her, who was dressed in a navy pant suit with a string of pearls around her neck.

  The woman frowned and made sure no one was paying attention before answering in equally low tones. “Auditions. To work with Redding. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Yes, but—” Savannah tried to hide her confusion. “I didn’t expect so many—”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “There’s a fee to take your chance, isn’t there? Look around and do the math.”

  Savannah covered her shock at this cynical answer by pulling out her phone and looking at the time. “But why is everyone here at once?” she whispered. “I’m supposed to audition at ten-thirty.”

  “Good luck with that. Didn’t you do any research? Everyone knows these things take all day. He’ll have you sitting here until five o’clock, most likely. And they don’t serve lunch. Hope you brought a snack to tide you over. You’ll need it.”

  Savannah hadn’t, and she hoped she wouldn’t need one; it didn’t seem like a good idea to leave the audition waiting room to go fetch food, even if she might be here for hours. She took her seat and fidgeted, so anxious she could hardly breathe.

  But as she sat and waited, and hours passed, her nerves changed to irritation, and then downright anger. She was pregnant and the baby had a way of making its needs known. It was three-thirty when she was finally called to the inner sanctum where Redding and a half-dozen other men and women sat near a grand piano. Savannah expected her nerves to flare up even higher, but the truth was she was hungry, thirsty, tired and more than a little cranky at the whole process.

  When one of the women asked her to announce herself, Savannah kept it brief, sticking to her name and the titles of her audition pieces. She sat down without waiting for instruction and began to play, bringing some of that anger to bear on the music. It was a vigorous piece, which helped quite a bit, and after a few minutes she found her equilibrium.

  This is it, she told herself. Do your best.

  But the audition was nothing like she’d thought it be. To her own ears, her playing felt flat, and Savannah’s desperation grew. This was her chance—she wouldn’t get another one.

  But when her stomach growled loudly, Savannah bit back a laugh. How could she help it? The whole situation was ridiculous. Hadn’t her mother already paid for her to become Redding’s protégé? Or was there a bidding system she didn’t know about? Maybe helping fund the performing arts center renovations wasn’t enough. Maybe someone in the waiting room had built a mansion for Redding himself.

  She wondered why he bothered with auditions at all. Why not auction off his time to the highest bidder?

  What was left of her nervousness disappeared, and after a while, her anger did, too. Whether or not Redding could further her career, she didn’t care.

  She didn’t want him to.

  Look at her now—the way she was playing like an automaton, far too tired and hungry to give her music any life. She was sick of these pieces anyway.

  When she’d chosen her music she’d played it safe—again.

  The way she kept playing it safe her whole damn life.

  Even now when she’d run away from home to re-create herself at Chance Creek, it had hardly turned out to be a grand adventure. All she did was practice—morning, noon and night. Where was the spontaneity?

  Where was the joy?

  Savannah permitted herself a glance at Redding, who gazed at the ceiling with his
lips pursed, his whole face pinched up like he was in pain. He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself any more than she was.

  She glanced back down at her fingers racing up and down the keys. Once she’d been able to lose herself in music. To inhabit the songs she’d played. To escape the life she hated.

  But maybe—maybe—

  That was the problem.

  She didn’t hate her life anymore. In fact—

  She loved it.

  Loved getting up early to find herself part of a camp filled with friends. Loved eating breakfast at the fire pit, heading up to the manor and doing her chores. Loved coming back down to spend a couple of hours with Jericho before an afternoon spent on her own pursuits.

  Loved it when guests came to the B&B.

  Loved hosting weddings.

  So why did she feel so awful now?

  Because this was all wrong, Savannah realized, even as her fingers continued to run over the keys.

  She couldn’t respect a mentor who required a bribe to take her on, and she couldn’t learn a thing from a man she didn’t respect.

  That’s why she’d learned so much from Jericho about the energy grid. He didn’t teach for money—

  He taught for love.

  Savannah brought both her hands down on the keyboard in a discordant bang, stood up and pushed back the bench.

  “I’m done.”

  She marched out of the room on shaky legs, reminding herself she didn’t need any of them. Back in the waiting room, she gathered her things and made for the door as quickly as possible.

  The camera crew followed her. She’d almost forgotten about them. “Savannah—what are you doing? Where are you going?” Ed called after her.

  Savannah ignored the question, strode through the halls, burst out the front door and spotted a taqueria across the street.

  Time to eat.

  “Ready for this?” Jericho asked Kara when they exited the motel they’d booked for the night in Fargo and got back into the truck they’d driven from Chance Creek. With a pared-down two-man crew crammed in the backseat, the situation was far from perfect from his point of view. He would have preferred to do this alone with Kara. He had no idea what they’d find, and he’d warned Renata, and the crew members, Byron and Craig, they would have to ask Donovan’s permission before they filmed him.

  “Sure, man. I’m not going to make money off someone who’s been hurt,” Craig had said, showing more understanding than Jericho thought possible. He’d figured Renata and the crew would go after a story with the kind of sensational elements this one might have.

  Jericho had a new respect for the man.

  “I’m ready to throw up,” Kara said. “You realize we could do an Internet search and save ourselves a trip.”

  “We talked about that. We need to do this face-to-face. We can’t chicken out now.”

  “If it’s really bad, we’d be prepared,” Kara argued. “Shouldn’t we know what we’re going to face?”

  “We’re going to face our cousin. Someone we both used to love. We don’t have to prepare ourselves.”

  That was a cop out. The truth was, he’d gotten superstitious about it. He felt like doing an Internet search was a shortcut—one that wasn’t seemly for either of them at this late stage in the game. “We need to look him in the eye and own up to what we did together. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it.” He was even more aware than usual of the cameras capturing this whole conversation. Byron and Craig had been weird all morning. Ready to go even before they were. Almost jaunty. Jericho wondered if they meant to go back on their word.

  They’d pay if they did.

  “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  A half-hour later, however, they were still driving around in circles, trying to find the address to which Jericho always sent his payments. The GPS took them to a street on the outskirts of Fargo, but they’d driven down it twice and hadn’t seen a home marked with the correct number.

  “See anything?” he finally asked the crew.

  “Nah, man,” Craig said. “And don’t talk to us. We aren’t even here.”

  Jericho rolled his eyes. The cameramen were most definitely here.

  “Maybe we have the wrong street,” Kara said.

  Jericho understood what she meant. The whole area wasn’t what he expected. The homes were set far back from the road with neat, long driveways, impeccable landscaping and mature trees.

  He turned the truck around and went to where the GPS said the house should be. “It’s got to be this driveway,” he said, looking askance at the blank break in a tall stone fence that lined the edge of the road for a good three hundred feet. There was no street number. No marking of any kind. But nor was there a closed gate, either, which Jericho took for a sign it was all right to turn into the driveway and see where it led.

  “You think he lives back here?”

  Jericho noticed his sister gripping the armrest. Was she nervous? He was, he admitted to himself. Chances were his cousin wouldn’t be happy to see them. Jericho dreaded an ugly scene and wondered now why it had been so important to drag Kara along with him. He could have spared her this.

  The driveway wound a lot farther through the landscape than Jericho would have guessed, and the property widened out around them, as if someone had bought a normal lot that abutted the street and then several more behind it, putting them together to make a large parcel.

  Jericho pulled up in a cobbled courtyard in front of an attractive Spanish-style home and parked the truck.

  “Think this is the right place?” Kara asked.

  “Let’s go see.” They all climbed out and Jericho led the way up the steps with more than a little trepidation. He pushed the doorbell. Quick steps sounded from the other side and a pretty woman close to their age opened it. Her eyes widened when she took them in.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Jericho braced himself for her anger at the film crew who were capturing all of this, but to Jericho’s surprise, she smiled. “Come in. Oh, my goodness. I can’t believe you’re all here. Please, come in and sit down. I’ll get my husband.”

  More bewildered than before, Jericho followed her inside slowly. There must be some mistake, because the woman obviously thought she knew him. “Forgive us for showing up like this, but I’m—”

  “I know who you are. Jericho Cook. And Kara. You look so much like yourselves I would have known you anywhere. Please, have a seat in the living room. I’ll be right back.”

  “What is going on?” Kara hissed the moment they’d taken seats on an immaculate leather sofa and the woman had rushed off again. “Who is that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How’d she know us? Did you call ahead?”

  “No.” Jericho was as surprised as she was, and he turned to confront Byron and Craig. “Did Renata?”

  Craig shook his head.

  When the woman reappeared, Jericho surged to his feet to question her, but before he could, a man rounded the corner into the room.

  A man he recognized from the strong family resemblance.

  Kara gasped.

  “What took you so long?” Donovan asked.

  “You invited Charles?” Savannah hissed at her mother twenty-four hours after her audition, when she stood in the wings of yet another well-appointed room, this one a large round concert hall with a beautiful grand piano on a raised dais that faced a semi-circular audience. The Arboretum was known as the best private venue around for occasions hosted by non-profits and wealthy society matrons. Savannah knew she had every right to bail on this concert like she’d walked out on her audition, but while she disapproved of her mother’s tactics, she knew if she did, she’d let down a cause that needed everyone’s help. She’d play the concert and return to Chance Creek, where she vowed she’d do a thorough re-think of her plans.

  “Of course I did,” her mother said. “What did you expect?”

  “The impossible; that you’d have some respect for my feelings.” She’d fel
t giddy after walking out of the audition, although grateful no one else knew what she’d done yet. But once her initial relief wore off, Savannah had realized she hadn’t made her life any easier. She still had to figure out what to do about Jericho and the baby—and had to figure out what to make of her career now that she wouldn’t be working with Redding.

  “What did Charles ever do to you? You’re the one who stood him up with hardly any warning. You haven’t spoken to him since you walked out, as far as I’ve heard. He’s the one who’s showing remarkably good manners given the circumstances.”

  “You mean, he’s the one who’s still rich.”

  “For God’s sake, Savannah, get over yourself. So we hoped you’d make a good match. What parent doesn’t? You walked away and we didn’t lock you in your room in chains. Stop pretending to be the misunderstood princess.”

  Savannah turned to go, but her mother caught her arm. “There are a lot of people here whose contacts are worth cultivating, no matter what you do with your life. If you wish to pursue music, then pursue music. We’ve thrown our support behind you. We’re standing by you despite the way you handled ending your engagement. Stop throwing temper tantrums and act your age.” She smoothed her hair and Savannah realized her mother was preening for the camera crew—and probably trying to sound wise for them, too.

  “You have no idea what’s important to me, do you?” She would have preferred to have this confrontation in private, but her mother didn’t seem to mind airing their dirty laundry for all to view.

  “Do you?” her mother countered. Her voice sharpened. “Or are you stuck in a loop of retribution because we weren’t the picture-perfect parents you hoped for?”

  Savannah hesitated, hearing what sounded like pain in her mother’s voice, but her mother got control of her emotions again as quickly as she’d lost it. “Maybe you should consider that we know more about you than you know about yourself.”

  And there it was again—that self-centered attitude that made it impossible for them to discuss anything. Savannah’s anger gripped her more tightly, even as her mother’s words tangled together in her mind. Loop of retribution—wasn’t that exactly what her parents had set in motion by undermining the process of auditioning with Redding? They weren’t setting her free; they were trying to tighten the leash around her neck.