A SEAL's Vow (SEALs of Chance Creek Book 2)

by Cora Seton

  “Did you see that?” he asked Jericho in an undertone.

  Jericho nodded but kept his gaze on the screen.

  “Of course, climate change isn’t the only thing on these men’s minds,” the voice-over said. A flurry of different images passed by. Boone and Riley’s return from their honeymoon, Jericho and Savannah talking earnestly, Walker teaching Avery to ride.

  So far, so good, Clay thought. When a new shot honed in on the building site, with him and the other men working away on the first tiny house, he was impressed and gratified at how much attention the show paid to the details of his work.

  He exchanged an approving glance with Boone. This wasn’t so bad, after all.

  “Clay’s good with a hammer,” the voice-over said as the camera focused on him framing up the tiny house. “But how will he fare with the ladies?”

  Uh-oh, Clay thought.

  A quick montage followed. He and Nora exchanging glances as Fulsom spoke the first day of filming. Outtakes from his interview with Renata as she grilled him about her. More takes from Renata questioning Nora about her feelings for him. And of course, a close-up of him leaning in for a kiss—and Nora whacking him with the paperweight. Just as he’d feared, the sequence was repeated several times for good measure.

  Dell’s face filled the screen and Clay nearly groaned out loud. “I remember the way you always came running over here back then. I figured you liked that pretty little girl who used to spend her summers here. What was her name? Riley?”

  Shit. He couldn’t believe they’d included that.

  “It was the money I liked, Pops, not Riley. Riley just married Boone Rudman, remember?” he said on-screen.

  “I remember Boone. That boy always did end up on top when you two scrapped.”

  Boone laughed out loud. Clay shot him a dirty look.

  “We never scrapped over Riley,” on-screen Clay said right on cue.

  “Oh, you say that now.” Dell turned, caught sight of Nora and made a face. “I mean, well, that’s all in the past now, of course.”

  A shot of Nora’s face—from god knew when; it certainly wasn’t at the picnic—flashed on-screen. She looked horrified… or disgusted.

  Clay turned to look at her now. She was wearing an identical expression as she stared at the screen. He could only guess how she felt. This was excruciating. He breathed a sigh of relief when the show switched to Jericho and caught him staring up at the manor.

  “Clay isn’t the only one struggling to find a bride,” the voice-over intoned. The camera zoomed closer until Savannah’s figure became apparent in the manor’s backyard. Another shot of Jericho’s face, his desire so clear, the room fell silent.

  A half-hour later, Boone stopped the video.

  “Well? What do you think?” Fulsom asked. He was standing so proudly, Clay wondered if he expected applause. But no one was clapping.

  “Didn’t know I looked so damn Scottish,” Angus finally said.

  The laughter that followed broke the spell.

  “It’s always a shock to see yourself on television for the first time,” Renata spoke up. “You all did very well. The reticence you displayed about being filmed is par for the course with people new to the process. I expect from now on there’ll be no more squeamishness about it.”

  Clay snorted. Yeah. He doubted that. He felt like he’d been whacked with a two-by-four. They’d made him look… ridiculous.

  “Clay? Do you have something to share with the class?” Renata arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Just that this process, as you call it, is mighty uncomfortable. Especially to the ego.”

  “Look. You’re human. Our audience is human. When we put your imperfections on display, viewers bond with you.” She waited for him to take that in. “You men are larger than life to our audience. Military men who’ve served with honor. Men willing to give up everything to prove something to the rest of the world. There has to be something about you they can relate to.”

  “What about us?” Nora spoke up. “We women were supposed to be bit players. None of us signed up for this.”

  “I did,” Win contradicted her. “I like the show. I think it’s great.”

  “That’s because they’ve made you and Angus into the great love story of the twenty-first century.”

  “Are you kidding?” Win retorted. “People won’t be able to take their eyes off you and Clay. Will they or won’t they? That’s what everyone will be talking about around the watercoolers at work this week.”

  Clay tried to keep his eyes on his hands. Was Nora thinking about that possibility? He thought about it constantly.

  He couldn’t help himself. He looked at Nora.

  And found her looking back at him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‡

  A half-hour later Nora was back at the manor, sitting by the window in the parlor, still reeling from the preview of the show, when a car pulled up and a woman got out. It had to be Walker’s grandmother, Nora realized, and she took a deep breath to regain her composure. Seeing herself on the screen, all her statements ripped out of context, made her feel stripped and exposed to the world. But it was Clay who’d borne the brunt of the spotlight, and she’d seen him in a brand-new way—as a man who wanted a woman and had little chance of getting her. It pained her to see him laughed at when anyone with any sense could see that this was a good man. A man who deserved to be happy.

  She’d never felt so confused before. The show had infuriated and startled her in equal measures and now she wasn’t sure what to do, or how to react to Clay the next time she saw him. As she went to open the door, she decided she couldn’t do anything for the moment. Time to switch gears and try to impress Walker’s grandmother. She needed this job to save her sanity.

  When she opened the front door, she estimated the woman was in her sixties, but it was hard to tell. She had the kind of ageless beauty that defied categorization. Her face was round, her cheekbones prominent and her skin bronzed in a way that set off the white strands in her straight, nearly-black hair. Nora wished she was an artist so she could sketch the woman, but when she took in her no-nonsense expression, that flight of fancy disappeared in a puff of smoke. This wasn’t someone who sat around waiting to be sketched. She was a woman who got things done.

  “Hello,” Nora called out as she approached. “I’m Nora Ridgeway.”

  “Sue Norton,” the woman said in return, her dark brown eyes missing nothing as she surveyed Nora and the house.

  “Come on inside. I’ve got tea brewing—I’ve set us up at the kitchen table, where we’ll have room to work.”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  Sue’s cadence was foreign to Nora, and Nora wondered if she had grown up speaking the Crow language alongside English. There was much about Walker she didn’t know, so it was difficult to make any guesses about his grandmother.

  “I’m very curious to know what type of curriculum you’re working on,” she said as she led Sue through the house to the kitchen in back. She was glad she had such a tidy, welcoming place to host the meeting. Though she knew little about Walker’s grandmother, she felt like she was hosting a distinguished guest. Maybe it was the woman’s almost regal bearing.

  “My students learn from books in which they do not appear, except as an afterthought,” Sue said. She sat down carefully and cupped her hands around the cup of tea Nora handed her as if she was cold, despite the warmth of the day. “Textbooks superimpose a world on them that does not support our way of seeing things. They feel alien from themselves as they learn. This is damaging in two ways.”

  Nora waited for her to go on, fascinated, and feeling like she’d found a kindred spirit in Chance Creek for the first time. She loved the philosophy of teaching, and could talk for hours about methods and motivations.

  “They either feel separate from what they are trying to learn—as if it has no meaning for them—or they embrace it, and no longer feel like their homes, families and culture have any meanin
g.” Sue took a sip of tea and sat quietly, as if she’d said everything she’d come to say.

  “So you want to write a new history textbook that embraces the Crow world view?”

  “Not just one.” Sue’s dark eyes glinted as she studied Nora over her cup.

  Nora sat back. “Walker told me it was for seventh graders. I thought this would be a short-term project.”

  Sue smiled for the first time. “Walker doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He seldom does.”

  Surprise stiffened Nora’s spine. She wasn’t used to people treating Walker lightly. “He always gave me the impression he was a deep thinker.”

  “Because he’s quiet?” Sue nodded. “Stones are quiet, too, and maybe they think deep thoughts. Who’s to know unless they speak them?”

  Now they were talking in riddles, although Nora had a feeling Sue had just shot a very sharp barb in her grandson’s direction. Unfortunately, just like Walker, it was impossible to tell if she was joking, and Nora didn’t want to offend her by laughing if she wasn’t. She took a sip of her tea to steady her nerves. “What is it you want from me, exactly?”

  “It seems to me that a Crow textbook will benefit a Crow student.” Sue tapped one finger on the table. “But it also seems to me that if a white man’s textbook can untether a Crow from his culture, maybe a Crow textbook can untether a white man from the belief that only his history is important. So maybe there are several different plans here.”

  Nora smiled, too. “That’s sneaky.”

  “If a white lady writes a textbook, then it can’t be just for the Crow.” Sue raised an eyebrow. Nora took that as a question. Was she willing to join Sue’s plot to undermine the establishment?

  Sue seemed to take her hesitation as a negative sign. “Look at the men down there. They understand about the world, the land, how to treat it right, and only one of them is Crow. This land has value, and I don’t mean money. It has value to our lives. If we think about that, if we let it govern our actions, we will all benefit. Not just the Crow.”

  “That’s true.” Nora hadn’t thought about it that way, but Sue was right. With climate change becoming one of the hottest topics of the age, teachers were scrambling for good resources to use to teach about it. Respecting the land was a concept that crossed all superficial boundaries now. “You think the Crow have something in particular to add to the conversation?”

  “I know we do. And we’ve waited a long time to be heard.”

  Sue’s quiet words held a world of history in them, and Nora had to resist the urge to reach out and take the woman’s hand, because she felt it, too—not that the Crow in particular needed to be heard, but that everyone close to the land did. If she and Sue combined their efforts—and leaned on the members of Base Camp for more technical information—they might come up with something truly unique. Something teachers like her hungered for when it came to introducing students to the idea of stewardship of the world.

  “That’s devious.” But Nora found herself smiling. “You still want Crow-centric textbooks for the children in your own school, though?”

  Sue nodded. “Our culture foremost in every subject. Math, English, Social Studies… Otherwise we disappear.”

  “And for the more general ones? Will you reference Crow history and world view in them, or is it more that you want a sense of Crow principles to underlie the information?”

  “Walker was right,” Sue said. “You’re no dummy.”

  “No.” Nora liked this woman—and her guerrilla tactics. “I’m no dummy. Which is why you’ll need to explain very carefully to me what those principles are.”

  As Sue did so, Nora began to feel there was something to keep her here at Westfield after all—besides her friends and Clay, of course. It was something all hers. A new mandate. An idea so subversive she could get behind it. A project so big it could take years. Writing course material for the kids in Sue’s schools would be fascinating enough, but writing a textbook—or several textbooks—based on the principles that land and resources didn’t simply exist to be exploited, that the greater good—and long-term repercussions—should be considered before taking any action, and that the world itself is a gift we share with the generations who have gone before us, and those who come after… She could get behind that—because those were ideas she shared.

  Other people shared them, too.

  “When do we start?”

  Late that afternoon, Clay was sitting at a desk in the bunkhouse when Dell walked in. His father had made himself scarce these past couple of days, and Clay hoped Dell had finally gotten a lead on a job, but he knew the minute he saw the plans in his dad’s hands that wasn’t the case. “Hear me out,” Dell said. “If you add ten more square feet to those houses of yours, you can have a real kitchen.” He thrust a sketch into Clay’s hands. “You’d put the dishwasher here, double ovens there. And look—that way you could fit a full-size refrigerator in there.”

  “We’re not doing double ovens,” Clay protested, looking at the plans in dismay. “And we’re definitely not doing a full-size refrigerator. Remember the power constraints I showed you? It wasn’t easy coming in under them, but I managed to do it, and my design offers plenty of counter space for food preparation.”

  “No one’s going to prepare food when there’s no dishwasher to do the dishes. And before you tell me it’s more sustainable to do them by hand, I know that’s not true. I looked it up.” He thrust his phone into Clay’s face.

  “I’ve read all of these reports,” Clay said. “I know that if a family fills a dishwasher daily then yes, it takes less water to wash them with a machine, but there are ways to handwash using less water, and we will be eating most meals communally cooked in the kitchen in the bunkhouse. We’re keeping the houses small, and we don’t have the space.”

  “Women are territorial,” Dell argued. “They hate sharing kitchens and they hate being told to do things by hand. You’ll see. I’m trying to protect you. I don’t want to watch you fail.”

  “I’m thirty-one, Dad. I don’t need protection and I won’t fail.” He hoped. Even now the first of the houses—the one slated for Boone and Riley to inhabit—was taking shape as he crafted its interior with Curtis’s help. All too soon he’d get to see Riley’s reaction to her new home. He knew Boone would love it, and Riley had liked the plans he’d shown her. Still, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned she might not like it in real life, so Dell’s assertions were hitting home.

  And what about Nora? He hadn’t shown her the plans yet. Maybe he should, just in case Dell was right and she wanted something different. He couldn’t add square footage, though. Not now. Harris was already framing Clay’s house in.

  “That’s what they all say.” Dell stalked out. Clay knew he should follow. His dad was still smarting over being fired, and their continual conflicts didn’t help, but what about his own self-confidence? He couldn’t help but feel Dell was trying to undermine him with his constant fault-finding.

  Instead he decided it was time to call his mom. She’d had a break from his father for several days now. Maybe she’d changed her mind and wanted Dell back.

  He dialed, stood up and paced the bunkhouse while his phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Mom, it’s Clay.”

  “You held out longer than I thought you would.” Lizette seemed in good spirits, not at all like a woman who was missing her husband.

  “It’s about Dad.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Can’t he come home?”

  “Not unless he’s found himself a new career.”

  “I’m not sure there are any jobs for him right now. You know he’s—”

  “I didn’t say job, Clay. I said career.”

  Clay perched on the edge of the desk, wondering what the distinction was. Before he could ask, she went on, “Your father never wanted to be a contractor, and he doesn’t want to be one now.”

  “Could have fooled me; he’s al
l over my projects.”

  “Because he’s bored. Clay, he’s been bored for over thirty years. Isn’t it time for that to change?”

  “Most people are a little bit dissatisfied with their jobs, don’t you think?” He stood up again and crossed to look out the window. Dell stood near the empty fire pit, his hands in his pockets, watching the various members of their community busy with their work.

  “I’m not talking about dissatisfaction. I’m talking about something far worse. The man needs a change, and I can’t make it for him.”

  “But you can force him to make it for himself? Is that what you mean?” He turned away from the window. He couldn’t stand seeing Dell like that, shunted off to one side.

  Useless.

  “Exactly. I always knew you were a smart boy.”

  “I’m not a—”

  “Which means it’s about time for you to find your passion, too, isn’t it?” His mom hung up before he could ask her what she meant.

  Hell. Why couldn’t one single thing be easy? He was working on his passions right now. Hadn’t he slaved over his tiny house plans—the ones Dell kept dismissing? Outside, a building was taking shape exactly the way he’d planned it.

  Or it would be, if Dell stopped interfering.

  Clay turned back to the window. Where had his dad gone now?

  When Sue left, Nora hurried down to Base Camp and found everyone already gathered for the meal Kai had cooked. In the early days at Base Camp, Boone had cooked over an open fire, but now that the population was swelling and they were building their community, they’d gotten serious about sustainability in the way it related to cooking.

  “The guys are ramping up real solar service for the bunkhouse kitchen,” Kai said, when Nora asked how things were going, “but for now these babies will do the trick on a sunny day like today.” He pointed out the kitchen door toward a line of solar ovens that made Base Camp look like a hippie haven to Nora. She was amazed at the meal he’d managed to cook in them. Stew, corn bread—and a salad to round things out.