A SEAL's Vow (SEALs of Chance Creek Book 2) (13 page)

“Who from?” Savannah asked. She stood up and came to sit by Avery, piano forgotten.

“A woman named Hortense. She wants to bring three friends for a weekend. At the end of July—long past the next wedding.” Avery snuck a look at Nora. Nora busied herself by taking a sip from her glass of water and setting it carefully back on the desk. She tried to find her place in her manuscript, but found herself re-reading words she’d already perused a half-dozen times.

“The end of July?” Savannah sounded discouraged. “That’s not for weeks—and it’s not a very long stay. I think we should require a minimum number of nights, otherwise it won’t be worth it for us to do all the preparation work.”

“We’re just starting, though,” Avery said. “I think we should take every customer we can and treat them like queens. Once we have a following, we can set stricter rules.”

“Did she ask for any specific activities?” Nora made herself enter the conversation.

“Carriage rides, walks, and she’s written she’d like painting and horseback riding lessons.”

“How old is Hortense?” Savannah smiled at the old-fashioned name. “I’m assuming in her sixties or seventies?”

“She doesn’t say. Let me do a search.” A minute later Avery straightened. “She looks about twenty.”

“You’re kidding. That can’t be right.” Nora stood, pushed her chair back and came to look over her shoulder. “Huh.”

“How many Hortense Minns can there be?” Avery asked. “This has to be her.”

She had a point.

“What about her friends?” Savannah asked.

Avery did a few more searches. “From what I can tell, they’re young, too. What do you say?”

“I say we go for it. Let’s come up with a plan of activities first, though, and submit it to them for approval up front. Then we won’t have any surprises like last time,” Savannah said.

“Good idea.” Nora didn’t want to be responsible for throwing another last-minute ball. The Russells had saved their bacon that day, but they didn’t want to depend on the older couple to keep bailing them out.

“I’ll do a canned response for now and tell her we’ll send her a proposal within a day or so,” Avery said. “But right now I want some tea. Anyone else?”

In the kitchen, Avery heated the kettle on the stove while they discussed possibilities for the weekend. Nora pulled out some muffins and she and Savannah sat down at the table.

“We can pretty much do what we did for Andrea, without the wedding shower parts,” Avery said from her position near the stove. “Take them on a carriage ride around the ranch and into town, feed them Regency-style meals, teach them some dances. It should go just fine.”

“Friday night we’ll do dinner and a basic orientation to the ranch and Regency life. It’ll be light out late, so we could definitely do a carriage ride,” Savannah said.

“I wonder if—” Nora started. A crash from the parlor cut through her words.

“What was that?” Avery rushed toward the door. Savannah and Nora pushed back from the table and hurried after her. When they reached the parlor, they found a glass shattered on the polished wooden floor.

“That was mine from earlier,” Nora said, hurrying to her desk. “But it wasn’t anywhere near the edge. How did it fall if no one was in here?” She checked her laptop, worried water might have damaged it, but it was perfectly dry. In fact, there was no water on the desk at all. It was as if she’d set the glass right on the edge and it had slipped off.

But she hadn’t. She’d placed it behind her laptop for that very reason. She scanned the room for evidence that would explain the mystery, but nothing else was askew.

“At least it wasn’t very full,” Avery said, crouching down. As Avery started to gingerly gather up the biggest shards of glass, Nora examined the desk again, a funny feeling coming over her. “I don’t get it. Why would it fall over like that?”

“It must have tipped.” Savannah bent to join Avery, lifting her skirts out of the way.

Nora knew she should join them, but she couldn’t get over the feeling that something was wrong. “How come there’s no water on the desk, then?” Had one of the crew members come back? Had they tried to read her manuscript? She wouldn’t put it past Renata, but her laptop screen was dark. If someone had touched it, it would have lit up again.

“I don’t know what happened. Can you grab the broom, Nora?” Avery said.

“Of course.” But she didn’t move. Her methodical mind wouldn’t stop ticking over the problem. How on earth could that glass have moved a foot and a half by itself before it fell?

It couldn’t, Nora realized.

Which meant someone had moved it.

And that someone might still be in the house.

“Nora—”

She glanced from the open window to the nearby front door. The window had a screen on it; no one could get in there. Was the front door locked? Probably not.

“Shh,” she hissed and held up a hand for silence.

“What?” Avery stilled, too, and listened. Savannah did the same.

“I think someone’s here,” Nora whispered. If Renata thought it was all right to sneak in and film them unawares she was wrong and Nora meant to make that very clear.

If it was Renata…

The other two exchanged a look. Avery set aside the shards and rose to her feet. She crossed lightly to the great room, which they rarely used, peered in, then shook her head at Nora to say no one was there. Savannah and Nora followed her to the kitchen, but that was empty, too. Avery held up her hand, and they all stood still, straining to hear anything.

Nora cocked her head. Was that the scuff of a footstep? She rushed back to the front hall but again it was empty. So was the parlor. She turned to the others and shrugged.

They all jumped when they heard a creak from the direction of the kitchen. It sounded like the back door swinging open.

“Hello?” Nora called out, striding down the central hall toward the kitchen again. “Who’s there?” Avery and Savannah were hot on her heels, but when she peeked inside the room, no one was there and the door was firmly shut.

Avery pushed past her to open it and step outside.

“Do you see anyone?” Nora whispered when she and Savannah joined her on the back porch.

“No.”

All of them clattered down the steps and split up, Avery turning left, Nora turning right and Savannah heading for the edge of the backyard. Moments later they met up again at the back porch.

“I couldn’t see anyone,” Avery said.

“Maybe it was the wind we heard,” Savannah said. “The windows are open all over the house.”

“What about that glass? The wind couldn’t have moved it.” Avery led the way back inside. Nora shut the kitchen door and locked it carefully, before catching up with the other two in the parlor, where they stared at the shards still lying on the ground.

“Avery’s right; I don’t see how it could have fallen by itself,” Nora said. She remembered the front door and crossed to lock it, too.

“There’s no one around. We checked,” Savannah said reasonably.

“Outside.” Nora looked toward the stairs and lowered her voice again. “What if someone’s hiding upstairs?”

Avery shook her head. “That’s crazy. Who would do that?”

“Maybe one of the cameramen. Maybe they’re trying to dig up dirt,” Savannah said suddenly. She hurried toward the staircase. “Who else would be sneaking around in here?”

Nora decided not to bring up her stalker. Savannah’s suggestion was far more reasonable. She and Avery hurried after her. In unspoken agreement, they stuck together, climbing all the way to the top of the main staircase and going through the bedrooms one by one. Riley’s was neat as a pin. Before her wedding, she’d packed the belongings she’d take down to Base Camp, now that she’d be living there with Boone. The rest of her things were stored carefully away here. Savannah’s was less tidy. She had a habit of tossing possessions aside when she was done with them and not returning to put them away. Nora’s was neat enough, but Avery’s looked like a tornado had gone through it. All of them were empty.

“I really meant to clean up last night,” Avery said, her cheeks a little pink. “Then I had a really good idea for my screenplay.”

“I’m more worried about the intruder than your standards of cleanliness,” Nora said, then felt bad about snapping at her friend. “Sorry.”

“That’s all right.”

They descended to the second floor and checked all the guest bedrooms and baths. There was no one here, either. Back on the first floor in the kitchen, Nora shrugged. “I guess we were alone the whole time.” That didn’t settle her nerves any, but she wanted to put a good face on things. She didn’t want the others to know how uneasy she felt. After striking Clay with the paperweight, she figured they already suspected she was a bit unhinged.

“There are so many people at Westfield,” Avery said reasonably. “I don’t think anyone from off the ranch could come and go without us seeing a car, at least.”

“It better not have been one of Renata’s goons,” Savannah said. She looked as distracted as Nora felt. Nora wasn’t convinced by any of their explanations. The anxious feeling settled in her gut, as if there to stay.

When a sudden rasping sounded at the back door, and it swung open a moment later, Nora shrieked. So did Avery. Riley, framed in the door, shrieked, too. “It’s just me!” She held up her key. “What’s wrong with all of you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. And since when do we lock the doors? Did something happen?”

Nora cut the others off before they spoke up. “We thought someone from the camera crews might be snooping around in the house.” She didn’t want Renata to find out about her stalker, which meant she wasn’t going to plant the idea in Riley’s head. If Riley mentioned to Boone that Nora was afraid her stalker had followed her, he’d rally the troops and set an armed guard at the manor. Renata would run with that for all she was worth. She’d send investigative teams back to Baltimore to find out all the sordid details, and feature them on the show—blown all out of proportion, of course. Then Nora would be known forever as the victim of a twisted sexual offender—not the kind of woman you hired to teach school.

Nora swallowed hard at the thought of losing her career forever. “Is that tea ready yet?”

‡

W
hen Dell invited
himself along to the grocery store that afternoon, Clay tamped down on his exasperation. He didn’t mind the company, but he did mind the way his father had interfered with every project happening at Base Camp. It had been bad enough when he’d tried to take over building the raised beds Boone wanted in the community garden, ordering around the other men like he was in charge. It was worse when he’d tried to help Jericho figure out a schematic for the first of their wind turbines and had almost gotten into a tug of war when Jericho refused to hand over the plans.

Now he was full of suggestions for the picnic dinner Clay needed to prepare.

“Meat. It’s all about the meat. I’d suggest a roast beef sandwich for Nora.”

“I’m going to get a variety.”

“But nothing compares to roast beef at a picnic. I’m telling you, son. You can’t go wrong with that.”

“I’ll definitely get roast beef. And turkey, and—”

“Beets are good. Pickled beets. Gotta have them on a roast beef sandwich.”

“I’m not too sure about that, Pops.” For one thing, Dell was the only person he’d ever met who ate beets on a sandwich. For another, beets were one of those things people either liked or hated. And if they slid out of Nora’s sandwich onto her gown, he could probably kiss his chances with her good-bye. When you only had a few dresses, you had to take good care of them.

Clay shook his head. Hell, that was a manly thought. He must be hanging around the women too much.

All this wedding and marriage business was enough to make your balls shrivel up. And he was all for matrimony—as long as it wasn’t complicated by all these extra problems. Why couldn’t he have met Nora, dated her, moved in when the time was right and married her if and when it made sense? Fulsom was screwing everything up.

“Everyone loves pickled beets,” Dell continued.

“I like pickled beets,” Ed, lugging his camera along, said.

“Two people aren’t everyone.”

His father settled into an irritated silence.

Once at the store, however, Dell started in again, questioning every item Clay put in his cart, offering alternatives and opinions Clay didn’t want. Ed documented everything, and by the time they were heading home again, Clay was close to losing his cool—and he had several items in the bags in back he didn’t even like to eat.

“I’ll see you later,” he said to Dell when they pulled up near the bunkhouse.

“What time are we leaving?” Dell undid his seat belt.

“For what?”

“For the picnic.” Dell’s exasperation was clear.

Clay opened his mouth. Shut it again. No. His father could not be this dense. “Dad, it’s just—”

Something in his father’s face made him stop. For the first time Dell was showing his age. Clay couldn’t say if it was the wariness in his eyes, or the depth of the grooves bracketing his mouth. His father was braced for a blow, and Clay was about to give it to him.