A SEAL’s Resolve Read online

  A SEAL’s Resolve

  By Cora Seton

  Copyright © 2018 Cora Seton

  Google Play Edition

  Published by One Acre Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Excerpt from A SEAL’s Desire

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  A SEAL’s Purpose is the fifth volume in the SEALs of Chance Creek series, set in the fictional town of Chance Creek, Montana. To find out more about Kai, Addison, Boone, Clay, Jericho and Walker, look for the rest of the books in the series, including:

  A SEAL’s Oath

  A SEAL’s Vow

  A SEAL’s Pledge

  A SEAL’s Consent

  A SEAL’s Purpose

  A SEAL’s Devotion

  A SEAL’s Desire

  A SEAL’s Struggle

  A SEAL’s Triumph

  Also, don’t miss Cora Seton’s other Chance Creek series, the Cowboys of Chance Creek, the Heroes of Chance Creek, and the Brides of Chance Creek

  The Cowboys of Chance Creek Series:

  The Cowboy Inherits a Bride (Volume 0)

  The Cowboy’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 1)

  The Cowboy Wins a Bride (Volume 2)

  The Cowboy Imports a Bride (Volume 3)

  The Cowgirl Ropes a Billionaire (Volume 4)

  The Sheriff Catches a Bride (Volume 5)

  The Cowboy Lassos a Bride (Volume 6)

  The Cowboy Rescues a Bride (Volume 7)

  The Cowboy Earns a Bride (Volume 8)

  The Cowboy’s Christmas Bride (Volume 9)

  The Heroes of Chance Creek Series:

  The Navy SEAL’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 1)

  The Soldier’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 2)

  The Marine’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 3)

  The Navy SEAL’s Christmas Bride (Volume 4)

  The Airman’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 5)

  The Brides of Chance Creek Series:

  Issued to the Bride One Navy SEAL

  Issued to the Bride One Airman

  Issued to the Bride One Sniper

  Issued to the Bride One Marine

  Issued to the Bride One Soldier

  The Turners v. Coopers Series:

  The Cowboy’s Secret Bride (Volume 1)

  The Cowboy’s Outlaw Bride (Volume 2)

  The Cowboy’s Hidden Bride (Volume 3)

  The Cowboy’s Stolen Bride (Volume 4)

  The Cowboy’s Forbidden Bride (Volume 5)

  Visit Cora’s website at www.coraseton.com

  Find Cora on Facebook at facebook.com/CoraSeton

  Sign up for my newsletter HERE.

  Chapter One

  ‡

  “Curtis, are you sure about this?” Anders Olsen asked.

  Curtis looked in the mirror one last time, adjusted the collar of his blue Revolutionary Era uniform and nodded. At his feet, Daisy, the yellow dog who’d become his constant companion these past few months, whined. “It’s too late to change my mind. The guests are here. The officiant’s ready. It’s time to do this thing. You got the wedding band?”

  “I’ve got it.” Anders patted his pocket. He was wearing an old-fashioned uniform, too; it had become tradition for the men of Base Camp to wear the historical outfits when one of them got married. His face was grave, his hair sticking up wildly where he kept running his hand through it. “But Michele doesn’t even like you.”

  “Keep your voice down.” Curtis looked over his shoulder to make sure the door to the room where they were preparing for his wedding was still closed. For once, a cameraman wasn’t hovering nearby, a miracle since he’d been filmed just about every waking hour since he’d gotten here. He and nine other men who’d served with the Navy SEALs were participating in a reality television show named for the model sustainable community they were helping to build. Having no privacy had seemed a small price to pay for the opportunity, but Curtis had learned in the last six months or so the cost was steeper than he’d expected.

  For one thing, Base Camp’s producer, Renata Ludlow, had managed to lay bare all his secrets. This wasn’t the first time he was attempting to make it to the altar. Martin Fulsom, the eccentric billionaire funding this project, wanted the show to garner a lot of attention, so he’d tasked the participants with a number of challenges to meet within a year’s time frame. They needed to build ten tiny houses that consumed one-tenth of the energy a normal dwelling consumed. They needed to grow or raise all their own food. They needed to create a green energy supply to power their homes and machinery.

  That wasn’t all, however. In order to prove that their community was truly sustainable—that it would continue on into the future, after the show was over—all ten men at Base Camp needed to marry before the year was up. Three of the couples needed children on the way.

  So far five men had married, and two of their wives were pregnant. Each time they held a wedding, the remaining single men drew straws to see who was next. Today it was Curtis’s turn.

  Curtis swallowed, adjusting the collar of his uniform again. He’d drawn the short straw once before, but he’d blown that big time. Boone Rudman, the leader of Base Camp, had found him a bride—a pretty damn good one. Too bad he’d panicked, drunk too much the night before he was supposed to pick her up at the airport, and Harris Wentworth had gone instead—and married her that very morning.

  Embarrassing.

  Not nearly as embarrassing as being left at the altar, though. Renata had made sure everyone learned about that debacle, too, forcing him to recount on camera the whole sorry story about trying to marry his high school sweetheart at nineteen. Angela Minetta had been all for it—right up until the day of the wedding. She was the one who’d spooked that time, driving off in her parents’ SUV and ending up in California before anyone heard from her again. That day he’d stood at the altar for a full half hour before Angela’s father walked down the aisle and broke the news she wasn’t coming.

  Curtis had thought he’d die of the humiliation. Then he’d joined the Navy thinking he might as well do something for his country while letting someone else pick him off and put him out of his misery.

  And then he’d learned that he loved the Navy, loved the adventure of it all, and was a damn good SEAL. He’d grown up enough to realize Angela had done them both a favor. Neither of them had been ready to marry and settle down.

  Still.

  “I can’t back out now,” he told Anders. “Besides, it’s only for a year and a half or so. I’ll get through it.”

  “You realize that makes no sense.” Anders joined him in front of the mirror. “If Michele thinks she needs a husband to win the election, why won’t she need a husband to keep hold of the seat?”

  “I don’t know, but our agreement says eighteen months.”

  “This isn’t going to end well.”

  Daisy barked, as if in agreement. Curtis bent to scratch her behind her ears.

  “What do you want me to do? Walk out on the wedding? Ruin this for everyone?” He wasn’t entering into a sham marriage for kicks. When he’d pulled th
e short straw—on purpose—thirty-five days ago, he’d wanted to take charge of his life and stop letting Fate jerk him around. He’d spurned Boone’s offer to find him another bride and had gone out to the local bars every night and spent hours on online dating sites every day.

  That’s where Michele Case had found him. An up-and-coming political hopeful based in Billings, she contacted him, they chatted back and forth, and then met for drinks at restaurant in the city. Renata had sent a single cameraman with him on that date, and when a disturbance across the restaurant distracted him, Michele had leaned forward and slipped an envelope into his hand.

  “Burn it after you’ve read it,” she’d whispered.

  He’d pocketed it quickly and they’d picked up their conversation right where they’d left off before the cameraman focused on them again.

  When he’d gotten back to Base Camp late that night and read the letter, he’d understood why Michele wanted him to destroy it. She was aiming for the House of Representatives. There was one year to go to the next election. She knew her conservative constituency in Montana wasn’t going to vote in a single woman.

  “I need a husband, and you need a wife. Let’s strike a deal.”

  Curtis had admired her forthright, thoughtful style of writing. Liked her politics and her emphasis on the environment. Understood why she thought they’d make a good team.

  “I will make sure you get your sustainable community if you make sure I get a seat in the House,” she’d finished up.

  Problem solved.

  Or so he’d thought.

  The truth was, he was regretting this decision bitterly.

  “I’ve been on the show’s website.” Anders broke into his thoughts. “People don’t like Michele. They think she doesn’t love you. She’s coming across as forced. Phony.”

  “I know.” When Curtis had first met her, she’d been attractive and intelligent enough he’d thought maybe they could transcend their business deal and grow to care for each other—maybe even fall in love. It didn’t sit well with him to enter into a fake marriage, as much as he needed one. He wanted a real marriage, for God’s sake. He’d wanted that for—

  Years.

  Curtis sighed. Maybe it wasn’t the most macho thing to admit, but he’d always known he was the marrying kind. He’d looked forward to it. His parents had a fantastic marriage, and they’d made it seem so simple and normal.

  He wanted that, too.

  He wasn’t going to get it with Michele. He’d figured out that much on their second date. They’d talked about everything—their pasts, their future plans, their interests—

  Thirty minutes in, Curtis realized he was bored. Not nervous, not awkwardly trying to figure out how to get to know her. Just—

  Bored.

  Michele had seemed equally uninspired. They’d done their best—he could tell she was trying as hard as he was. At the end of the date, when he’d given her a peck on the cheek, it was about as sexy as kissing his aunt Mary.

  “She’s trying too hard. You’re trying too hard.” Anders echoed his thoughts. “There’s no spark at all. I think it would be better if you two hated each other. She won’t even wear your ring—”

  Curtis straightened up again. Took another look in the mirror. “It’s not the right size, and there’s not enough time before the wedding to send it to be fixed.” That’s what Michele had said, anyway. He’d tried to put it on her finger when he’d fake proposed for the cameras. When it didn’t fit, Michele had taken off a chain she wore around her neck, threaded it through the ring and had worn it that way ever since. “We’ll send it off the moment we’re married, and then I’ll wear it always,” she’d said, not quite convincingly.

  “It’s a bad sign,” Anders said.

  “I know.” What could he do, though? A storm was barreling their way across the plains, with forecasts for several feet of snow over the weekend. A real Montana blizzard. They’d hastily moved up the wedding in order to get it done so guests could fly home again. His family couldn’t make it, unfortunately. Curtis found he was relieved. The seats on his side of the aisle would be full of friends from Base Camp and town. Michele’s side would be full of business associates and political allies.

  Daisy went on alert as someone knocked on the door.

  Latisha Finnerty, Michele’s ever-present assistant, opened it and stuck her head into the room. Her normally regal features were pinched, and her eyes were red, like she’d been crying. Curtis’s stomach tightened. If Latisha, who never betrayed an emotion, was rattled by this fake wedding, maybe he should be panicking. “It’s time, gentlemen.” She withdrew just as quickly as she’d arrived.

  “Okay. Let’s do this,” Curtis said. He needed to get it over with before the doubts crowding his mind got the better of him. With one last look to make sure all was right with his uniform, he turned to leave. Daisy kept close to him.

  “Curtis, I think—” Anders began.

  “Curtis?” Byron, the youngest of the cameramen working on the show, barged into the room and closed the door behind him, blocking Curtis’s way, video camera in hand. “I need a minute.”

  “I’ve got to get downstairs.” The wedding was being held at Westfield Manor, the regency style B&B up the hill from where they were building their sustainable community. It was a beautiful old three-story stone mansion. On any other day, Curtis would have appreciated the venue.

  “But there’s something you need to know—”

  “Byron, I’ve got to go.” He didn’t want to be filmed. He didn’t want to think about what he was about to do. He wanted to get through the ceremony and the next year and a half—somehow—

  “But you can’t—”

  “Out of my way!” Curtis shoved him aside and gripped the handle of the door.

  “It’s about Michele. She’s not—”

  Curtis yanked the door open and stormed through it, Daisy at his heels. He couldn’t listen to whatever Byron was going to say. He had to do this—now—before he lost his nerve and he ended up being the one to leave someone at the altar.

  He strode across the hall, down the stairs and into the ballroom, where rows of folding chairs had been set up to accommodate their guests. Daisy kept pace, and murmured exclamations followed him as he marched down the aisle and took his place near the officiant, a skeletal older man who kept casting glances at the gathering clouds outside the windows.

  A few moments later, Anders joined him, and Daisy settled at their feet. “I told Byron to keep the hell away from you,” he murmured.

  “Thanks.”

  He spotted Latisha in the doorway he’d just entered through, checking to make sure all was ready and waving toward the aide who was in charge of playing the recording of the processional. Her rose-colored bridesmaid gown set off her mocha skin. As always, she wore scarlet pumps. Her trademark, she’d once told Curtis. “Red is bold. It reminds me to be bold, too.”

  She wasn’t looking bold right now, though. She looked like she was due at the guillotine any minute.

  Hell, she looked exactly like he felt, Curtis thought wildly.

  He didn’t want to marry Michele.

  He wanted a wife—someone to love—

  “Curtis, you sure you want to do this?” Anders whispered. “It’s not too late to get the hell out of here.”

  It was too late, though, because the music was swelling, Latisha had started down the aisle in her capacity as bridesmaid, and here came Michele, dressed in a dove-gray sheath, every hair in place, her chin held high.

  Cameramen around the room documented her progress, some from Base Camp, some from her political campaign and some from the local and regional press.

  Time slowed down as the women made their way toward him.

  No, Curtis thought.

  No, he couldn’t do this—

  Daisy whined from her position at his feet.

  This was all wrong. This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. He wasn’t meant for a sham marriage. He wanted
the real thing. He had to do something—

  “No!” Latisha exclaimed, coming to a halt two-thirds of the way down the aisle. Behind her, Michele stopped, too. Daisy stood up, as if sensing danger.

  “What are you doing?” Michele shoed her assistant forward. “Start walking.”

  “No.” Latisha turned around. “I won’t be a part of this.” She stalked back to Michele, grabbed the engagement ring that still hung on a chain from Michele’s neck, yanked it hard enough to break the necklace’s clasp and hurled it across the room.

  Everyone gasped. Daisy quivered, on full alert.

  Curtis couldn’t seem to move his feet. When he leaned forward, Anders grabbed his arm, but Curtis didn’t need his restraining hand; he couldn’t have intervened if he tried. It was as if he was frozen, watching the events unfolding from somewhere far away—above himself.

  It was as if he’d known this would happen all along, even though he hadn’t had the slightest premonition of it.

  He was about to get left at the altar—again.

  God, he hoped he was about to get left at the altar.

  When Latisha dropped to one knee, he nearly laughed out loud, surprised and not surprised all at once. Daisy whined again, an almost questioning sound.

  “I love you,” Latisha began, “and I know I promised I would wait until you’d established yourself, but I can’t wait. I can’t watch you marry someone else. It’s not right.”

  “Latisha!” Michele’s shocked cry carried over the murmurs of the guests, and she turned as if she’d flee, but Latisha reached up and clasped her hand, keeping her there.

  “Please. Marry me.” With her free hand, she plucked a tiny box out of the neckline of her elaborate gown and held it up. “I’ve been carrying this for four years, Michele. I’ve been waiting and hoping. Don’t break my heart.”

  “But the House—”

  “You can’t hide who you are. Who we are. You have to win that election as yourself. You have to do that for you—for me—for all of us—”

  Michele was facing her now, and Latisha opened the box. Curtis couldn’t see the ring clearly, but light glinted off its facets, and Michele’s expression softened.