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

by Cora Seton

“That’s right,” a male voice chimed in. Kenny Strike. Sam steeled herself not to listen. When she was gone, it would all be over, no matter what her mother said. Rachel would lose steam when she found she couldn’t force Sam’s hand. She’d move on to the next gig.

  It was time to pack her things and call a taxi. But not yet. Not for a few more minutes. She had to say good-bye to Harris.

  But first Sam couldn’t resist one last look at the only place she’d ever really felt at home.

  “At least the women’s guests are leaving tonight,” Jericho said to Harris when they met up near the bunkhouse. “That’s one wild card out of the picture. Savannah said they’re going to go ahead with giving them vouchers for another stay in the future. That’s going to hurt their bottom line, but there isn’t much else they can do. Have you seen Samantha lately? I thought I saw her talking to her parents. I wonder how that turned out.”

  “I just saw her head toward the gardens.” Sam had stalked past him without even seeing him, her head down and her arms crossed over her chest. Harris couldn’t wait for the protest to end so they could hash things out. He hated to see her so unhappy.

  “I’m not sure they could get any worse. This might have sunk the B&B. That makes Savannah and Avery less likely to stay.”

  “I hope not.”

  “I can’t believe how many people have turned out to protest us. This is out of hand. Curtis just took that dog of his up to the manor for the duration. The people freaked her out.”

  Harris could understand that and he was glad Curtis had the foresight to get Daisy out of the way. Cab had called in reinforcements. The field near the road was full to bursting. And the protestors were getting sick of their cramped situation and the lack of amenities.

  In fact—

  Harris held up a hand. Was it his imagination or had the volume of the protest risen in the last few minutes? “Hold up,” he told Jericho. “You hear that?”

  “They’re chanting,” Jericho said. “What are they saying?”

  At first Harris couldn’t make it out. When he did, his blood ran cold.

  “Tear it down! Tear it down!”

  “Shit, they’re going to riot.” Jericho turned toward the bunkhouse. “Boone! Clay!”

  A roar from the protestors drowned out his words as they broke through the split rail fence and streamed toward the camp, their chant speeding up.

  “Tear it down! Tear it down!”

  “Stop! Stop!” Harris raced toward them as if he could hold them back single-handedly. He held his arms wide, trying to catch the men and women streaming past, but it was like trying to stop an ocean with a sieve. He heard Boone and Clay yelling. Saw Angus and Walker join the fray.

  “Tear it down! Tear it down!” That was Kenny Strike, and Harris had no doubt he was behind all this. Harris lurched for him, but the crowd was so thick he couldn’t reach the troublemaker. The protestors ran rampant through the camp, shouting, pulling up tents and trampling them, swarming into the bunkhouse, where Harris heard Kai yelling, followed by a din of pots and pans and breaking glass.

  Pushed back by the constant stream of people, Harris fought to keep his feet. Men were shouting all around him as his fellow Navy SEALs tried to stop the chaos, and the protestors kept coming. There were thousands of them—all heading through the camp as if with a common goal.

  Harris didn’t understand where they were going, but they didn’t stop at the edge of the camp. The only thing that way was—

  The gardens and greenhouses.

  Sam, Harris thought wildly.

  He let the tide of humanity carry him toward the gardens, bellowing in rage when he caught sight of what they were doing.

  Swarms of protesters had slashed their way through the rows of crops and were flailing against the plastic sheeting of the closest greenhouse. Several of them had torn through the walls and were holding back the plastic to let the others in. A woman’s scream pierced the din. Sam?

  She was inside, Harris realized. Inside, and trapped by all the protestors. Were they hurting her? He tried to struggle closer, but the whole crowd had dead-ended around the greenhouses and were milling in circles rather than moving forward.

  Those who’d made it inside began hurling out the trays and pots of seedlings, dumping their contents on the ground, even as more people tried to force their way in. Dozens of yards away, Harris couldn’t move forward or back. Sooner or later someone would be trampled in this crowd.

  “Burn it down!” a man yelled. Harris spun around to see who it was, but there was no way to tell where the shout had come from.

  “Burn it down!” “Burn it down!” The crowd picked up the refrain.

  “There are people inside,” Harris yelled, fighting and struggling to break through the press of bodies. “God damn it—there are people in there!”

  “Harris!” Curtis appeared a half dozen yards away, caught in the crowd, too. He pointed at the greenhouse, just as Harris smelled smoke, and realized someone had actually started a fire. Panic erupted as the crowd realized what was happening. Screams filled the air. Those still inside began to burst out of the torn walls, but there was nowhere for them to go.

  The crowd surged, wavered and heaved him toward Curtis, who caught his arm and held on.

  “It’s wood,” Curtis was yelling. “The whole thing’s framed with wood; it’s going to go up in a matter of seconds. We’ve got to get everyone out!”

  “Sam’s in there!”

  Curtis’s eyes widened. He linked arms with Harris. They both bent forward and charged against the crowd, which had now turned and was trying to race away from the fire. Curtis lost his footing. Harris yanked him back up. Flames were already licking up the walls of the greenhouse. Heart pounding, Harris yelled, “Where is she? Why isn’t she coming out?” They shoved the oncoming protestors aside, and finally gained some ground—

  Only to lose it again with another surge of the crowd.

  “Damn it!” Harris pressed forward again, Curtis behind him, lending his strength. Flames shot up from a hole in the roof. The crowd was finally thinning as people helped each other race away, but he was still too far away to reach it quickly enough. “Samantha!” Where was she? The structure was nearly engulfed.

  “That way!” Curtis pointed and Harris understood what he meant. He fought his way through the press of bodies to a pile of packing crates left behind from some of Jericho’s solar equipment. Quickly climbing to a higher vantage point, he scanned the area as Curtis scrambled up beside him.

  “There!” Curtis pointed and Harris’s heart surged. There she was, pushing through the tattered plastic on the close side of the building.

  “Sam!”

  She made it almost all the way through before something tugged her back and she nearly fell. As Harris watched, she twisted around, grabbed hold of her skirts and pulled, but nothing happened. She couldn’t break free.

  “She’s stuck! Her skirt’s caught,” Curtis yelled.

  Harris scanned the distance between them. Could he make it to her before the flames reached her? He had to try. Curtis yanked him back just as Harris braced to leap down from the crate. He reached under his jacket, yanked a pistol from his shoulder holster and slapped it in Harris’s hand.

  “There’s no time! Shoot!”

  Curtis was right; he couldn’t reach Sam in time. The greenhouse would be gone—and so would Sam—in a matter of seconds. He needed to try to sever that twist of fabric. How ironic he hadn’t thought to arm himself and Curtis had.

  But there were people everywhere. Civilians.

  “Can you get a clear shot?” Curtis yelled in his ear.

  The crowd was thinning, but the fire was raging higher than before. Time was running out.

  “Yeah. I think so.” Sam still struggled to get free of the building. The hem of her skirt had wrapped tight around something inside. The angle was right as long as she kept tugging and didn’t move back inside.

  Curtis must have thought the same thing.
“I’ll call her name.” He leapt off the packing crate and ran crosswise through the crowd.

  Harris braced himself and raised the pistol. It wasn’t his usual weapon of choice, but it would do. The crowd was finally streaming away. The only one left near the greenhouse was Sam.

  He took a breath. Ran through the patterns and habits that made him such a successful sniper. He let everything go except the target; the twist of fabric holding Sam prisoner.

  Sound, sights, smell disappeared.

  There was only him and the place the bullet needed to go.

  “Samantha! Sam!”

  Samantha wheeled around at Curtis’s shout, saw him and took a step toward him. The long skirts of her dress stretched out taut.

  Harris aimed for that twist of fabric. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  He pulled the trigger.

  Sam pitched forward so suddenly that for one awful second Harris thought he’d missed and killed her. Then she scrambled to her knees and raced toward Curtis. Harris jumped down and ran just as fast to reach her.

  “Sam!”

  He scooped her into his arms as the greenhouse, completely engulfed in flames, teetered and crashed to the earth in a shower of sparks.

  “Harris!”

  She clung to him, sobbing into his neck, her arms so tight around him he didn’t think she’d ever let him go as he rushed away from the greenhouse’s burning remains.

  “You’re okay. You’re safe.” He looked around to find Curtis and thank him.

  But Curtis was gone.

  Samantha was still shaking when Harris reached the bunkhouse.

  She’d nearly died.

  And Harris had rescued her.

  She should have been terrified when she realized it was Harris’s shot that had torn her skirts and freed her. But that’s why she loved Harris; because she could trust him utterly. Because he would always do the right thing.

  Almost always, she amended. He still had to learn to trust her. She hoped he would.

  Because she couldn’t live without him. Wouldn’t live without him. She’d been wrong to ever consider going back on her vows. Harris was the man she loved. He was her life. He was her everything.

  That was worth fighting for.

  The damage the mob had left behind was devastating, though. She’d never forget the sound of the chanting mob as it had raced through Base Camp. She’d never forget the rush of bodies against the plastic greenhouse walls. The way the crowd had pushed and ripped at them until they’d burst inside all around her, pouring in like they’d never stop. To see them toss around the seedlings, dump them on the floor and stomp on them was like watching someone beat her own children. So many people had spilled into the greenhouse she couldn’t get out.

  She was battered and bruised, and her dress was shredded beyond repair, but that was the extent of her injuries. Now the protestors were streaming toward their vehicles, leaving the ranch as fast as they could. Harris carried her inside the bunkhouse. “Stay here until I come get you.” He set her down gently, but kept his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

  “I know.”

  “I couldn’t bear that.” He stepped away as if he couldn’t say anymore.

  “Where are you going?” She didn’t want to be apart from him, even for a moment, but Harris was already heading for the door.

  “To help round up anyone who’s decided to linger and get them the hell off our property.”

  “Be careful,” she cried as he shut the door, leaving her alone inside. She paced the small confines of the building, breaking off from time to time to try to see what was happening out the windows. Suddenly, the door flung open again and her family rushed in.

  “Sam! You’re safe!” her mother cried and rushed to sweep her into her arms. “Oh, my God, baby—I was so scared. I didn’t know if you were hurt—”

  As her father and sister surrounded her, Sam shoved her mother away. “You were scared? You sicced your fans on us. They nearly killed me! They burnt down my greenhouse. Destroyed everything they could. Did you see it out there? The one place I felt safe—the one place that felt like home—is gone!”

  “Sam—” Her mother reached for her again, but Sam lifted her hands to ward her off.

  “I nearly died!” She grabbed her dress and held up its hem for them to see. “I would have died if your fans had their way. They set a building on fire with people in it—with me in it! I couldn’t get out!” She shook her hem at them, the scorch marks that blackened it giving testament to how close the fire had come. “I was caught. Harris’s shot set me free. I’m here right now because of a sniper, do you understand that?”

  Her family’s stricken expressions told her they understood it all too well.

  “We didn’t mean for any of that to happen. You have to know that’s not how we operate,” her father said. “The crowd got out of control. Most of the trouble-makers weren’t even our fans. I don’t know where they came from.”

  “I do! You put out a call on social media for protestors and they came! You said what we were doing here was wrong. You whipped up a bunch of hatred and these are the consequences!” Samantha wasn’t letting any of them off the hook. “All because you couldn’t stand that I was getting a little bit of attention. Right? Because I dared to get off the damn bus!”

  She spun away from them, sick to her stomach. From a window she could see the flat ground where the tent camp had been. Now there was nothing but shredded fabric and people’s possessions scattered in the dirt. Tears pricked her eyes and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hold them back.

  “What if I’d died?” She pointed out the window to where smoke still rose from the ruins of the greenhouse. “What if someone else had?”

  “Sweetheart, we’re sorry,” Rachel said, moving to touch her arm.

  Samantha shrugged her off, refusing to turn around. “If you’re sorry, then fix it. Make it all go back to what it was! I was growing lettuce, Mom. That’s my crime. I was growing fucking lettuce. Harris and Curtis were building tiny houses. Jericho and his crew were setting up windmills.” She spun around. “We were trying to make the world a better place—just like you taught me was the most important thing to do!”

  She shouldered past all of them, strode to the bathroom, slammed the door behind her and turned the lock. She couldn’t look at them anymore and she didn’t want to see what was happening outside. Samantha splashed cold water on her face, then reluctantly looked in the mirror. She was a mess, her dress torn and stained, her hair in tangles around her shoulders, her bonnet gone—who knew where.

  The truth crashed over her like a tidal wave.

  She might love Harris—and Base Camp—but this was all her fault. It was all ruined because of her. The encampment gone. The greenhouses gone. The crops they were depending on for the winter gone. She should have known what would happen when her parents found her. She should have predicted the protests—and the results.

  If she’d left with her family when they’d first come, none of this would have happened.

  She didn’t deserve to stay at Base Camp.

  She didn’t deserve Harris’s love.

  She had to leave.

  Even if it was too little, too late.

  Harris stood with the rest of the men of Base Camp watching a die-hard group of protestors and Samantha’s parents and sister finish negotiating with Cab and Boone. The camera crews, who’d broken and run when the riot touched off, had begun to reconvene, but still weren’t back to filming.

  Renata was having a full-on meltdown. “What do you mean you didn’t get the fire on film?” she was screaming. “Where the hell were you cowards?”

  Boone broke off from the meeting and made his way over.

  “It’s the damnedest thing,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his short-cropped hair. “They want to stay and help rebuild.”

  “Fuck that,” Jericho said. “They’re just looking for a way to ruin things
even more.”

  “I don’t think so,” Boone said. “I think the ones who stayed are real fans of Deader Than Ever, unlike some of the other people who came to join the fun. They’re pretty broken up over what happened. Samantha’s family, too. They’ve apologized for protesting in the first place, and admit they lost control over the crowd.”

  “You think?” Jericho wasn’t having it. Harris knew one of the expensive turbines he was installing had been damaged by the crowd. He understood how his friend felt. Right now he was struggling to contain his anger. Those people had endangered his wife’s life. Didn’t they know what that made him want to do?

  “Look, they’re right; we need them. Not just to fix up the place, but to show the nation we’ve found common ground. Those people aren’t the only ones who want to dismiss us because we were in the military. We’ve all experienced that kind of prejudice. Well, here’s a chance to address it.” Boone looked around the group. The others nodded. So did Harris.

  If he wanted Base Camp to get back to normal, he needed to be willing to forgive and move on. He’d learned that lesson all too well recently. His inability to do so had cost him a lot of time with Sam. Time he wished he had back. He wasn’t going to waste any more pursuing grudges.

  The door to the bunkhouse opened and Samantha walked out. Harris forgot everything else and went to her. He tried to take her into his arms, but she eluded him, marching straight over to Boone and the others.

  “I have something to say.” Her voice was thin, but she was determined. “I’m leaving Base Camp. Today. Right now. I caused all of this. I made a mistake coming here. All I’ve done is mess everything up right from the start. You’ll be better off without me.”

  “No.” Harris’s raised voice got everyone’s attention. Even the members of Deader Than Ever, Renata and the ragtag remnant of the protestors turned to look at him. Harris fought to express what he needed to say, even though he hated being the center of attention like this.

  “You can’t go. Not now. And not because of me, either,” he hastened to add. “You need to stay at Base Camp because you love it here—because this is your home. And you deserve to have what you love.” He wasn’t being clear enough, and he wished he had Curtis’s gift with words, but all he could do was his best. “When I married you just over two weeks ago, I meant every vow I spoke.” He heard gasps from some of the onlookers who hadn’t known about their wedding, and noticed the camera crews were filming again, but he ignored them. He wasn’t playing for an audience. All he cared about was Sam. “I promised to be with you in good times and bad. In sickness and in health. Until I die. And I’m not dead. Thank God, you aren’t either.”