The women’s intent to live a Regency-inspired life of artistic pursuits had been gobbled up by the men’s desire to build a model sustainable community and all of them had ended up at the mercy of Martin Fulsom’s whims. Fulsom was funding the project and had launched a reality television series to document their progress. Walker found it hard to believe sometimes that they had made it this far.
The light grew brighter, the gray of the early-morning sky dissolving into blue. It would be another unseasonably warm spring day.
As light, running footsteps sounded in the distance, Walker knew Base Camp’s fate depended on what he did in the next twenty-four hours. Today he’d stand up with his friend, Angus McBride, as Angus married Win Lisle. Tomorrow he’d face his own destiny.
The footsteps came closer and Walker straightened. So far he and his friends had met every one of Fulsom’s conditions to win the ranch upon which they were building their sustainable community. They’d built ten energy-efficient tiny houses and a power grid that used renewable resources to run them. They’d grown and raised all the food they needed to get through the winter, even though it had been touch and go for a while after their first harvest had been stolen. Nine out of the ten men who’d started the project, all Navy SEALs, had married, along with one of the camera crew members who’d joined them. Six of their wives were pregnant, and one child had been born already.
The only hurdle still to jump before they won ownership of Base Camp—and Westfield ranch—was his own marriage. Starting tomorrow, he’d have forty days to get it done.
He planned to be engaged in forty-eight hours.
Clay Picket came into view, jogging down the two-lane highway like he’d done every morning since they’d come here—barring blizzards. It had been a long time since Walker had met him out here, but he’d woken up nostalgic today. Being so close to the end of the year made it hard not to think about how this project had all gotten started.
He drew back among the trees as Clay approached, waited for the other man to draw near, then sprung out at him just as Clay passed.
“Morning!”
“Hell, Walker!” Clay stumbled, caught himself, careened to a stop and stood there panting, hands on his hips. “What are you doing?”
“You’re getting soft,” Walker said. “I was standing right here. You didn’t even notice.”
“I wasn’t expecting an ambush.”
“Which is exactly when you should be vigilant.”
Clay shook his head at him. “You never change, do you?”
“Let’s finish the run.” Walker started an easy jog and soon Clay caught up to him, still shaking his head.
“You took a couple of years off my life.”
“Nah,” Walker said. He’d missed getting out early and getting some exercise in. With all the patrols they’d had to do since last fall and all the snow on the ground, he’d gotten out of the habit. He worked hard tending the bison herd and the other critters on the ranch with Avery’s help, but a good jog now and then cleared the mind.
“You worried about Avery?” Clay asked.
Walker shrugged. He knew what Clay meant; he and Avery had been on the outs lately since he’d allowed himself to be tricked into believing she’d stolen a family heirloom from him. Clem Saunders, a famous TV personality and director, had been sent by Fulsom to stir up drama on the show and he’d done a good job of it, piecing together film footage in a way that incriminated Avery and made it seem like she’d taken the ceremonial fan that had been passed down through generations in his family. The fan was a traditional Crow object, used in the dances he participated in on the reservation where his father had grown up. It meant a lot to him and he’d recently learned that Avery had been filming an online show called Stealing From SEALs without any of them realizing it. She’d pilfered all kinds of things from all kinds of people at Base Camp—and had given them all back, too. Clem had done a good job making it seem like she’d targeted his fan for special treatment. Walker had been a fool to doubt her.
Now he was paying the price.
Even though he’d been showering her with gifts lately, she’d remained cold, until he’d had a brainstorm and had given her the fan itself. The tears in her eyes when she accepted it told him he still could have her heart—just as soon as he was free to ask for it. Which should be in about thirty-six hours.
“Got it under control,” he said to Clay.
“Really? Did she agree to marry you?”
“Not yet,” Walker conceded. “Haven’t asked her yet.”
“Why not?”
“One more thing to do.”
One big thing. Luckily, it didn’t require much action on his part. Just a little more patience. Tonight he’d enjoy Angus and Win’s wedding. Tomorrow he’d go to his grandmother’s house on the Crow reservation nearby. He and Sue would wait for Elizabeth Blaine to arrive, granddaughter of Sue’s best friend, Netta Blaine, who’d passed away
