A SEAL's Vow (SEALs of Chance Creek Book 2) (10 page)

But Nora pulled back abruptly and shook her head.

Shit. Clay froze, painfully aware the cameras were filming everything, including his advance and Nora’s retreat. He hesitated like a deer caught in the headlights before the urge to do something—anything—to repair the situation had him reaching out and giving her shoulder an awkward pat. “Good luck with the writing,” he said, cursing himself for not coming up with anything better. He knew damn well Renata would use this footage. He could imagine her running it over and over again in a show—him leaning in for the kiss, Nora backing away, his awkward shoulder pat. He’d look like a prime idiot.

His pride stinging, Clay couldn’t help himself. He caught Nora’s chin in his hand, tilted her head up and kissed her for real. Her mouth was so sweet under his. He wanted the moment to go on forever—

The sharp pain that exploded in his temple made him drop his hand and stumble against the desk. “What the fuck?”

Nora, the jade paperweight in one hand, half-stood from her chair, then collapsed back into it, her other hand flying to cover her mouth. “Oh, my God. Clay—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Clay touched a hand to his temple and felt a trickle of blood. She’d bashed him with a rock—and the damn cameras had recorded everything.

Avery rushed in from the kitchen, followed closely by Riley. “What happened? Clay—why are you bleeding?”

Numb with shock and self-recriminations, Clay couldn’t find the words to answer her. He strode through the house and out the back door. It served him right for the way he’d acted. Nora had let him know in no uncertain terms she didn’t want his kisses, and he’d gone and stolen another one anyway.

Still, to know that scene would be replayed on televisions all across the nation made his blood boil. He wasn’t sure he could stand the humiliation.

But what choice did he have?

Clay needed some time alone to settle down, but he hadn’t gotten fifty feet from the manor when he met up with Angus.

“There you are. You’re needed at Base Camp.”

“What is it?” Clay looked back, spotted the camera crew following close behind him and strode on.

“Your father,” Angus answered in his thick Scottish burr, falling in with him. “He’s come calling. And he’s got a suitcase.”

“Nora, what happened?”
Avery demanded again.

“Did Clay do something?” Riley asked.

Nora covered her face with her hands. Some of the crew had trailed after Clay when he left, but not all of them. She was still being filmed.

She couldn’t believe she’d done that. She could have hurt Clay. Could have killed him, even. She hadn’t even registered when she’d gripped the paperweight and hit him with it. Instinct had kicked in when he grabbed her chin.

She’d fought against the attack.

Nora dropped her hands into her lap. Clay hadn’t meant to attack her. He’d meant to kiss her. He liked her.

Not everyone was a sick, twisted criminal like the kid who’d stalked her.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said helplessly. “He surprised me.”

“How?” Avery dropped to her knees by Nora’s side. “Did he hit you?”

“No! He… kissed me,” Nora admitted.

Riley made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “And you clobbered him with a paperweight?” She gestured to the piece of jade Nora had dropped back onto the desk.

“I don’t know why. It was a reaction—”

“Clay probably got the message,” Avery said seriously. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him again.”

Nora met Riley’s gaze and pleaded with her for understanding.

“Is that the message you meant to send?” Riley asked gently.

“I don’t know.” Nora fought against the tears that threatened to fall. She refused to cry when the cameras were on her. Or ever, for that matter.

Why was she suddenly so jumpy when she’d left her stalker a thousand miles away? She was safe here. Everyone had told her that. Were her instincts so warped now that she’d mistake friendliness and attraction for a brutal attack from here on in?

Shame burned through her again at the thought of what she’d done to Clay. In a few minutes, everyone in camp would know about it. Soon enough, the entire viewing audience would, too. She could imagine the comments she’d receive then.

Was her face bright red? Was it clear she was fighting off tears? She wasn’t sure how to get out of the parlor and away from the cameras, but Riley came to her rescue. She nudged Avery and said, “It’s probably time for a snack. Should we bake some cookies, Avery?”

“Cookies? But…” Avery trailed off, got the message and started again. “Yes, that sounds terrific. Let’s make double chocolate chip.” She suddenly sounded as breezy as June Cleaver.

“Come on, Nora. Let’s go wash up.” Riley took Nora’s hand, squeezed it meaningfully and pulled her to her feet.

Bless Riley and Avery, Nora thought as they all retreated to the kitchen.

“Do you remember the time you challenged Dean Boslow to beer pong back at school?” Avery said to Riley in that same chipper voice she’d used in the parlor.

“How could I forget?” Riley said. Nora saw the cameraman focus on her and hoped her friends could come up with enough college stories to keep his attention while she got herself together.

A half-hour later, when their stories had degenerated into general, stilted conversation, the camera crew finally packed things in.

“See you down at Base Camp for dinner,” one of the men said as they left.

“See you,” Avery chirped and shut the door behind them. “Fuckers.”

‡

“G
et those cameras
out of my face before I smash them to hell,” Dell Pickett said as Clay tried to urge him away from the bunkhouse. A tall man, broader in the shoulder and thicker in the chest than Clay, Dell’s short, dark hair stood on end as if he’d run his hand through it in exasperation more than once today. He had the swarthy coloring of someone who’d worked outdoors all his life, and he was dressed in a battered old pair of dungarees and a Chance Creek High wrestling team shirt—his go-to outfit when life was getting him down.

Clay had managed to duck into the bathroom and clean the blood from his wound. It was a shallow cut but he was getting a bump on the side of his head. He hoped like hell it didn’t show up on camera.

“Dad, you’re on the set of a reality TV show. That means you’re going to be filmed if you stay here. The show runs for the next twelve months. I told you that.” He was worried about his father’s sudden appearance—and that ratty old T-shirt. The man was thirty pounds heavier than he’d been in high school. The shirt had stretched with him over the years, but it was in rough shape, and Clay’s mother never let Dell wear it out in public. Something was wrong.

“I’m not going to be on any TV show. You all can talk to my lawyer if you don’t like that.” Dell spoke with an authority that snapped like a whipsaw. Clay had always joked with his friends that the officers the Navy had appointed to train him should have gone to Dell for lessons. His friends had agreed.

“You are if you’re around me between now and next June.” He knew from past experience he had to meet his father’s aggression head on. Once Dell made up his mind about the way something should be, there was no changing it. Clay had to head him off at the pass. “Come on, let’s take a walk.” He led the way toward the rutted track that led to Pittance Creek. Hopefully, the cameras would fall back and he could find out why his father was here. Dell had dropped his suitcase in front of the bunkhouse, as if he planned to move right in. He’d been disgusted to see there were no bunks in there.

“Those men are still following us,” Dell said a minute later.

“And they’ll keep following us, so say what you have to say. What gives, Dad? What’s with the suitcase?”

If Dell’s shoulders slumped a fraction of an inch, Clay figured he was the only one who’d notice. A stranger would have thought Dell was the one in charge, the way he was marching through Base Camp, but that little sag told Clay a lot.

“It’s your mother. She’s lost her mind.”

“I doubt that.” Clay’s mother was the most rational woman he knew. As office manager of a local walk-in clinic, organization was her strong suit. Unfortunately Dell saw any opposition to his opinions as akin to lunacy, so this wasn’t the first time Clay had heard him dismiss his mother that way.

“She told me to get out, so I got out.”

“What happened before that?” He couldn’t imagine Lizette kicking anyone out without a good reason.

“Well…” Dell muttered something. Clay caught the words “job” and “disagreement” and “parting of the ways.” Still, it took him a minute to put it all together.

“You lost your job?”

“Didn’t I just say that?” Dell growled.

Shit. That was a new one. No wonder his dad was so close to blowing his stack. Clay knew he’d have to do some damage control, fast. “When?”

More grumbling. “April,” Dell finally said.

“You’ve been out of work for two months?” He didn’t blame his mother for throwing in the towel. Clay shuddered as he remembered childhood vacations, the only time Dell didn’t work ten or more hours at a shot. The man could barely stand to relax for a day, let alone the week-long camping trips his mother had organized with her two sisters and their families in the mountains. While Lizette lounged with the other women and the kids had raced around and played pick-up games of football, baseball, badminton and more, or splashed in whatever creek or lake they camped next to, Dell had tried to expunge his extra energy collecting firewood, fishing or climbing every peak in a fifty-mile radius. Soon he would run out of excursions to make and patience with fishing and kids, and become so irritating that Lizette would threaten to send him home. Instead, she’d make up reasons for him to travel to Bozeman and pick things up at the shops there. Dell would happily jump in his truck and be gone for hours hunting down the obscure items on her list, thrilled to be doing anything other than sitting still. He’d visit three stores to find the lowest price for his purchases, although he’d only save pennies. Without a challenge, the man was lost. Clay had come by his own excess energy honestly.

“I’ve looked for work.”

Clay could guess what the problem was. Dell was a whiz at carpentry. He also could be an annoying son-of-a-bitch and he’d had run-ins with other contractors in the past. His previous employer had kept him on a long time, so if he’d finally kicked him to the curb, Dell must have pushed him past his limit. Now Dell wouldn’t have a good reference when he applied for other jobs.

“Maybe you need to broaden your search.”

“Broaden it? Where? To Wyoming?”

“What about Abe or Chris? Can’t they help find you work?”

“No.”

“Rachel? Naomi?”

He exhausted his list of siblings, and when Dell shook his head after Clay said each name, Clay began to understand how dire the situation was. When Dell settled into a simmering silence, he realized he might be his father’s last stop.

“Mom really threw you out?” he ventured.

“Yes, she did.” Beneath the bluster, Clay heard his father’s pain. Gruff and hardheaded as he was, Dell was a family man. Without Lizette he had no reason for being. He wasn’t one for flowery speeches or declarations of love, but Clay had never doubted his father loved his mother. He showed it by all he did to support the family. And if he couldn’t support his family, Dell would be questioning his place in the world. It was all he knew.

“How long do you think you’ll stay?”

Dell shrugged again.

“All we’ve got are tents, but I’m sure there are extra ones.”

“I’m obliged to you,” Dell said stiffly. “I’ll help out to pay my way. Looks like you’ve got a project going.”

Clay’s heart sank. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I guess I do.”

‡

C
lay shifted uncomfortably
in his tent later that night, all too aware of Dell a few feet away in a separate one. When he’d left his father to get set up earlier in the day, he’d expected him to choose a site some yards away, since everyone else had given each other a little room. But his father had lined up his tent right next to Clay’s and barely left any ground between them. It was embarrassing. This wasn’t a Cub Scout camp out, and he wasn’t some sniveling six year old who needed to be close to his daddy.