A SEAL's Pledge (SEALs of Chance Creek Book 3)

by Cora Seton

  “I don’t like it. Being on-screen,” Harris said.

  “I don’t think I’ll like it either,” she admitted.

  “So why’d you volunteer?”

  “I guess for the same reason you did. I want my life to be meaningful.” As Harris waited for her to go on, Sam realized she didn’t want there to be any secrets between them. “I’ve traveled for most of my life,” she admitted, “which hasn’t made it easy to meet a man. I want to settle down and raise a family.” Was she blushing? She was pretty sure she was blushing. “I just… couldn’t wait any longer.”

  Harris didn’t respond. The way he was looking at her, he must think she was crazy. Sam dropped her gaze to where her hands sat entwined in her lap. She’d said far too much. Maybe he didn’t want kids.

  Maybe this marriage wasn’t supposed to be real.

  “I… want that, too.” Harris’s deep voice wrapped around her like a caress.

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “It’s why I came.”

  “So… we’re going to a chapel?” She needed to make sense of all of it. Needed to know the sequence of events so she could stop feeling so close to shattering.

  “Right after we stop at City Hall in Silver Falls.”

  “When is the wedding?” the middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk at City Hall asked. They’d already made it through the line once, picked up the correct paperwork and retired to a bench to fill it in. If the situation had been awkward before, it had become more so as it sunk in how little they knew about each other. Luckily, the paperwork was straightforward, and they had enough identification on hand to prove who they were. Harris noticed Sam’s hands were still shaking, however, and he wondered if she was having second thoughts.

  Sam looked to him to answer. “In about an hour,” he said.

  “You folks are in a hurry,” the woman commented, with a fairly obvious glance at Sam’s flat belly. Sam hugged her arms over her chest.

  “Can’t wait.” Harris meant for it to sound romantic, but it fell flat and came off as indifferent, instead. The woman looked them over again.

  “Any reason for the rush?”

  “Is that one of the questions you’re supposed to ask?” He was losing his temper. All he needed was for this busybody to slow them down and give Sam enough time to change her mind. Lord knew he should change his—he wasn’t meant for marriage. Fate had shown him that time and again. He was supposed to stay aloof.

  He felt anything but aloof right now.

  “Just making sure both parties know what they’re getting into. Marriage is forever, you know. It’s not just a lark.”

  She finished looking over the forms while Harris looked anywhere but at Sam. When neither of them answered, the woman sighed and gathered everything up. “I need to make copies of your IDs.”

  She stood up and shuffled away, leaving them waiting again. The minutes ticked by so slowly Harris wondered if time had stopped altogether.

  “You don’t have to, you know,” Sam said suddenly when the silence between them had gone far too long. Harris was reminded of every date he’d ever been on.

  “Have to what?” He didn’t mean to growl like that, but where was the damned woman with their IDs? He had the feeling his one chance at happiness was slipping away. If he let Sam—or himself—think about this much longer, it would disintegrate in his hands.

  “Have to marry me. I understand if you don’t want to.”

  She had no idea how much he wanted to. Harris didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything this much. “We’re going to get married—just as soon as we get some service around here,” he growled.

  The office fell silent as everyone turned their way. Sam looked like she wanted to melt into the floorboards. The woman who’d served them ambled back their way. “Someone’s looking forward to his wedding night,” she said loudly.

  Hell.

  If Sam had been flushed before, now her cheeks were scarlet.

  “Wait a minute,” a woman in the next line over said. “Aren’t you that man from the show? From Base Camp?”

  This was getting worse and worse.

  “It is him,” a teenage girl cried out. “It’s Harris Wentworth. The sniper.”

  The woman in the next line craned her neck. “You’re getting a marriage license? Is this your bride? Is your wedding going to be on the next show?”

  “I thought Curtis was marrying next,” the teenager said, coming closer. She was a willowy wisp of a thing, but Harris swore her voice was like a foghorn. “Mom! Mom—it’s the guy from the show. The one Aunt Carol likes. The sniper—he’s getting married.”

  “How much do I owe you?” Harris growled at the woman who still held their forms in her hand.

  “Hold your horses.”

  “I’m not holding my horses. My horses are about to stampede, got it? How much?”

  She must have seen something in his eyes, because suddenly the woman began to move double time. In a flash she’d returned their paperwork and IDs, handed over the license and took Harris’s debit card. As soon as the transaction was complete, Harris grabbed Sam’s elbow and hustled her out of the building. “Where’s that goddamn taxi?”

  “There!”

  Fifteen minutes later, when the taxi pulled off the highway into a gravel parking lot, Harris couldn’t blame Sam for staring at the small white building and the large, blinking sign perched on a metal scaffolding on top of it.

  “Heaven’s Gate?” she read aloud. “This is where we’re getting married?”

  “That’s right.” Harris leaned forward to speak to the driver. “You’ll wait, right?”

  “You’re racking up a bill, man. You gonna pay for all this?”

  “Damn straight I will.”

  “Then I’ll wait.”

  Harris got out of the taxi, went around to the other door and opened it for Sam. As he helped her out, he took in her wide-eyed expression and realized how strange this all had to seem to her.

  “Where are the cameras?”

  He frowned. “Cameras?”

  “The camera crews? Won’t this be on the show?”

  Hell, she had him there. Now he’d have to confess everything.

  “Or do we marry first and then re-enact it for the show?” Sam said. “I could see how that would be best, because then the bride and groom wouldn’t care if they had to stop for all the different shots and makeup touch-ups and things.”

  Harris let her talk. She was nervous. She talked when she was nervous. He liked knowing that about the woman who was going to be he wife.

  “Is that it?” she concluded, and it took a second for him to catch up to her.

  “Something like that,” he managed to say. It was nothing like that, but he was too far in now to call a halt to what he was doing. He’d marry Sam first and sort out the rest later. “Come on.”

  “What kind of a chapel is this?”

  Heaven’s Gate was Montana’s answer to Vegas. Harris only knew of it because he’d seen a story about it in the local paper once, and had driven past it several times. It was open twenty-four hours a day and the columnist had complained its owner shouldn’t be allowed to make a profit on the drunken exploits of Montana’s casino crowd. If there was a way to get it shut down, the good citizens of Montana would have done so, but apparently the chapel wasn’t breaking any rules.

  “It’s non-denominational,” he managed to say.

  “Seems like Elvis should be here to greet us,” Sam said.

  She was right; it was as campy as a Vegas one-stop chapel, and there were only two other vehicles in the parking lot.

  “It’ll get the job done,” Harris said brusquely.

  “I need my bag.”

  “The whole thing?”

  She nodded, not meeting his eye.

  With a glance over his shoulder down the highway, Harris leaned down to talk to the taxi driver through the window. “Open the trunk.”

  The man did so. Harris pulled out Sam’s bag. �
�I’ll carry it up,” he told her and set off toward the chapel’s front door.

  Inside, they found themselves in a small vestibule that led into a waiting room with plastic seats. Facing them sat a worn desk with a laptop, printer and stacks of paperwork on it. The walls, carpet and furniture were all white, and Harris briefly wondered how the owner managed to keep it that way. Lord knew what he was dragging in here on his boots.

  A silver-haired woman came out of a door from a side room, and blinked when she saw them. Her clothing was as white as the rest of the chapel; a sensible skirt, shoes and blouse with a bow on it that made Harris think of libraries and church dinners. She wore a silver name tag with the word Honey on it.

  “Oh, I’m sorry; I didn’t know anyone was here. Can I help you?”

  “We’re here to get hitched,” Harris told her. “Right now.”

  “Well, the reverend is just—”

  “Now.”

  Honey raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “All right then, I’ll let him know you’re in a rush.” She hurried off, and Harris glanced back at the entry to the chapel. He hoped like hell none of the people at City Hall had managed to snap photos of him and Samantha, or had posted online about spotting them. All he needed was Boone tracking him down before he’d pulled off the wedding.

  “I need to change,” Samantha said. “There’s a ladies’ room over there. I’ll be right back.”

  “Hurry up.” Harris caught himself. “Those people at City Hall,” he explained. “Fans of the show—”

  “Believe me, I understand,” Samantha told him. “We don’t want them spoiling our moment.”

  Harris watched her hurry away and bump the swinging door to the ladies’ room open with her hip. Samantha was amazing. Curtis would have wanted her the moment he laid eyes on her. Harris was fucking with fate—fucking with the television show.

  If he had one shred of decency in him, he’d put a stop to this, drive Samantha back to Base Camp and give Curtis his chance with her.

  But Harris had learned a long time ago that decency got you nowhere. Only vigilance did.

  He’d been the one who remembered she was coming today.

  He’d been the one sober enough this morning to go to the airport.

  He’d been the one to assure Samantha she was wanted at Base Camp.

  For once being the man on the lonely side of the roof had paid off.

  Chapter Three

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  Sam smoothed her shaking fingers over the satin folds of her wedding dress. She’d meant to buy something simple—something befitting the situation. A plain, white sheath, with just a hint of embroidery or beadwork to mark the occasion. A wedding dress that made sense.

  Unfortunately, when she’d slipped away to go shopping, she’d stumbled into an empty showroom and found herself face to face with four bored salespeople who’d lit up at their first customer of the day. She hadn’t wanted to disappoint them, so when they began pulling dresses off racks to show her, she agreed to try them on. In the end she must have climbed in and out of nearly thirty gowns, but it was number seventeen she fell in love with. When she’d put it on, stepped out of the changing room and stepped up onto the pedestal in the viewing area surrounded by mirrors, she felt like a princess in a fairy tale who’d just had her life transformed.

  The dress represented everything she wanted—her happily ever after of a settled life, a meaningful life.

  A life in which she had a partner as dedicated to her as she wanted to be to him.

  Its strapless bodice fit close, plumping up her breasts over its sweetheart neckline. A band of satin ringed its natural waistline and delicate needlework gave interest to its panels, but while above the waist, the dress was elegant and even understated, below the satin band, it spread to the floor in a spill of organza puffs like a froth of foam. The skirt was so wide and so fluffy, Sam had laughed out loud, even as she’d fallen head over heels for it.

  “You can pull this off,” a saleswoman had told her enviously. “Most women can’t, but you can. You look beautiful.”

  She did look beautiful, Sam thought as she quickly arranged her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and fastened the comb of her veil just above it. The swoop of white netting crowned the outfit and for one moment Sam wished her family could see her now. Then she shook the thought away. If she’d held a traditional wedding with her family in attendance, her mother would spend the whole ceremony lecturing her on the patriarchal symbolism of white wedding attire, Melissa would show up in something see-through or plastic just to grab her share of attention, and her father would scan the congregation looking for his next conquest.

  Despite the twist of nerves in her belly and the hollow ache of going alone to her wedding, Sam preferred it this way. She would meet Harris at the altar free of all encumbrances. She would make the decision she’d come here to make without interference from her well-meaning but exasperating family.

  She’d marry Harris.

  Her way.

  She was so lucky, she told herself as she reapplied her makeup. Harris was so handsome, he took her breath away. Not model pretty—a man’s man through and through—his broad shoulders and muscled arms made her melt inside. But it was his eyes… and that smile—

  If she could make him smile again today she thought her life would be complete. Never in a million years did she think she’d have a husband like him.

  This was a fairy tale come true.

  With a final look in the full-length mirror thoughtfully provided in the ladies’ room, Sam headed for the door, took a deep breath as she pushed it open and stepped outside.

  Harris, who’d evidently been pacing the waiting room, turned and stopped. Hands jammed in his pockets, brow furrowed, he was a man who’d obviously been questioning what he was doing in this chapel, but as she watched, his forehead smoothed, his back straightened and he smiled again—that quirk of his mouth that sent a ripple of emotion through her she couldn’t quite name.

  Happiness?

  Longing?

  His gaze drank her in and the interest in his eyes was all too clear. Not the casual interest of a man looking at a women in a pretty dress: the intense, personal interest of a man who knows he’s about to win the right to take that dress off and possess what’s underneath it.

  Sam’s breath hitched. Of course she’d thought about sex—first with Clay, then with Curtis. She felt slightly sick to remember that now, but in an instant it didn’t matter, because it was Harris she’d stand next to in front of the altar, and if she was truthful, it had been Harris who’d caught her eye every time she watched Base Camp. Fate had led her to the man she’d truly hungered for.

  Was he thinking about what would come later? Sam thought he might be, and she wondered what that would be like. When would they be together? Would they be compatible? The butterflies in her stomach swooped and dove until she wasn’t sure if she could stay standing.

  “There’s the beautiful bride,” Honey called out as she entered the room again, breaking the spell between them. “Give me your extra things; I’ll stow them behind my desk.” She took Sam’s suitcase and purse and squirreled them away out of sight. “Now, come on, both of you. Let’s get ready for the ceremony.”

  Before she knew what was happening, Honey had taken her arm and clamped a hand around Harris’s bicep, too, and marched them toward the white double doors behind the reception area.

  Sam expected to see rows of benches and an altar when they passed through the doors. Instead, they entered another ante-room. It was as white as the waiting room had been, but it was lined with display cases and white metal shelves, like a heavenly gift shop.

  “Many of our couples come a tiny bit unprepared,” Honey said, “so we’ve stocked some things you might be wishing you had.”

  Sam wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be horrified by this new development.

  “You have a veil already,” Honey went on, leading them past a spinning rack of them. “But I notice you don’t
have flowers. It’s traditional to carry a bouquet when you walk down the aisle.” She pointed at several shelves. Most of the bouquets were dried arrangements, but there were several that were surprisingly fresh. A small bouquet of wildflowers caught her eye and Sam bit her lip. Honey, following her gaze, scooped up the flowers and presented them to her. “Lovely!” she proclaimed. “Just nineteen ninety-five. A bargain.”

  “But—”

  Sam didn’t get another word out before Honey had them standing in front of a large display of cups, wineglasses, champagne flutes, cake cutters and more. She began to pick items up and present them one after another to Sam.

  “I already have champagne flutes,” Sam managed to say. Honey’s mouth straightened into a thin line. She returned the items one by one. Harris guided Sam between the shelves, but somehow Honey nipped forward and got ahead of them again.

  “These are pretty special: we take your photo and transfer it to a pillow or throw blanket. Perfect for your bed to remind you of your wedded bliss! Only fifty-nine ninety-five.” She held up a tasseled, tan pillow with a grainy depiction of an unfortunate couple in their wedding attire.

  “Definitely not,” Harris told her.

  “Music?” Honey chirped, darting forward again. “A commemorative CD of popular tunes from the current year?”

  “No,” Harris said.

  Undeterred, she hurried on. “Candles! Every wedding night needs candles. These are citrus scented—”

  “No.” Harris kept walking.

  Honey squeaked as he elbowed past, but she darted around, ducked past Sam and got ahead of them again.

  “Luggage?” She indicated a set of turquoise bags. “For your honeymoon! We’ve got sunscreen, too, if you’re headed for warmer climes—”