A Seal's Desire

Some of the tension she’d been carrying since yesterday finally loosened in her shoulders as Sammi smiled her thanks as Darla set her huevos rancheros on the table. While the men talked business, she ate her breakfast while mentally rehearsing the best way to approach their discussion.

“Excuse me, Sammi Jo. Julio needs you in the kitchen.” From the frantic edge to Darla’s smile, Julio was having one of his tantrums. The man was simply not a good enough chef to be worth the drama, but Mr. Barclay insisted on keeping the guy.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but now my business calls,” she said, rubbing her napkin over her lips before sliding to her feet.

“Nice chatting with you, Sammi Jo.”

“I’ll see you up in the office when you’re finished,” Sterling said, lifting his hand to squeeze hers before she left. Her heart warming at the sweet gesture, Sammi squared her shoulders and prepared to do battle with a spatula-wielding diva.

Two hours later, she’d handled the kitchen emergency, fixed the reservation snafu, checked in three guests and had approved housekeeping’s request to call the repairman to look at the leaking washing machine.

And she still couldn’t get into her office. The last time she’d tried, Sterling had growled from his position hunched over her computer. She stood at the top of the stairs, debating going into her office to try again, or down to the lobby to find busywork.

“There you are. Let’s go to the bridal suite right away.”

For a brief second, Sammi considered opening a side window and jumping. But she had a feeling that even broken bones wouldn’t save her. Not bothering to hide her reluctance, she turned to face Mrs. Ross.

“This isn’t a good time to discuss wedding plans. How about tomorrow.” Or never.

“This can’t wait for tomorrow. Come, come, let’s do it now.” Dressed in eye-searing orange, Mrs. Ross gestured for Sammi to hurry up. “This will only take a quarter of an hour.”

Knowing the woman would nag her for longer than that, Sammy cast one last longing look toward her office where Sterling was probably still happily ensconced in front of her computer. Then, as she did with all distasteful things, she got on with getting it over.

As soon as she stepped into the still-being-remodeled bridal suite, her frown deepened to a scowl.

“What’d you do to my wedding dress? Did you cut it in half,” Sammi exclaimed. But after a second, her scowl faded. About three-quarter length now, without the yards of petal-like chiffon layers it might be a lot easier to move in.

Relief battled joy. She liked it.

“Of course not. This is the second dress.”

“Second... No.” Sammi shook her head. “I’m not wearing two dresses.”

Completely ignoring her, Mrs. Ross continued to roar around the room like a steamroller, bustling from the dress to her sewing basket and back again like a wide orange blur against the elegant blue room.

“You wear the formal one for the ceremony and after the first dance, this similar but less formal one for the reception.” Seeing Sammi’s mutinous expression, Mrs. Ross pursed her lips, then added, “Once I’d explained to Mr. Barclay that second dresses are all the trend, he agreed that it was a perfect idea.”

Sammi eyed the dress, then the martinet with the measuring tape. She wanted to protest. She wanted to put her foot down. She wanted to elope, dammit. But Sterling’s words about how important the wedding was rang in her ears. She unbuttoned her blouse.

“Tattoos are trendy, too,” Sammi muttered as the woman helped her into the dress, then pinned and tucked. “Were you planning on just me getting one, or the entire wedding party?”

“Perfect.” Mrs. Ross walked around Sammi ten minutes later, inspecting every inch. “The fit is just right. I have an idea for straps, though, for the more vigorous dancing. The fabric is in my car. Hold on. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

And with that, she was gone.

Leaving Sammi trapped in her second dress.

She debated calling down for one of the staff to come unbutton her, but before she could decide if it was worth the inevitable drama, her cell phone rang from the pocket of her cargo pants.

“Sterling?” she answered with a laugh. “I thought you were just down the hall using my—”

“Sammi, listen,” Sterling interrupted, his words an urgent rush. “Don’t say anything, just listen to me.”

“What’s wrong? Sterling, are you okay?” Her stomach leaden with fear, Sammi dropped to the bed. The dress fluffed around her legs like small chiffon clouds.

“Look, something’s come up. Something important.” His voice choked for a moment, then, sounding as if he were in pain, he continued. “I’m going to be away for a few days. Maybe a week. You have to cover for me.”

“What’s going on?” Fear was bubbling to the surface now, threatening to choke her. She pushed off the bed and headed for the door. “I thought you were in my office. When did you leave?”

She rushed down the hall toward her office, stopping short at the sight of the mess. The chair lay on its side, one wheel missing. Papers covered her desk, looking as if they’d been thrown like confetti and her computer monitor flashed from black to blue and back again.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Sterling, are you in trouble? Should I call the police? I’m going to call your father.”

“No!” His breath came over the line sounding as shaky as the nerves in Sammi’s stomach. “Don’t call anybody. That’ll make it worse. Just do what I asked.”

No way in hell.

Sammi didn’t say a word, but apparently that was as good as declaring intent, because there was a scuffling sound.

“Prove it to her,” she heard a mean voice order.

“Who is that? Where are you, Sterling?”

There was a grunt, then a wheezing sound. Sammi ran to the landline. She didn’t care what he said. She was calling the cops.

“I’m switching to video call,” Sterling said before she could lift the receiver. “Sammi, look at it.”

With trembling fingers, she slowly pulled the phone away from her ear to look at the screen. And let out a small cry.

Sterling’s face was bruised, his hair disheveled and his eyes filled with pleading. Her heart was trembling as hard as her hands now.

“Sammi—”

“Shut it.”

Sterling shut it so fast, she saw his teeth snap together.

More scared to see how easily he acquiesced than she’d been already, Sammi tried to breathe through the panic. Her toes dug into the cool satin of her gilded wedding shoes, her fist clenched tight the fabric of her dress.

“Here’s the deal,” that same mean voice growled from offscreen. “You want him back, you do exactly what we say. You don’t do it exactly, you won’t be needing that pretty white dress.”

The meaty hand shifted so the barrel of a gun pressed alongside Sterling’s cheek.

“Yes,” Sammi gasped. “Whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Don’t tell anyone about this call. Don’t tell anyone he’s missing. You make damned sure that nobody has a clue.” Already menacing, the voice lowered to send chills of terror down Sammi’s spine. “If you don’t, we’ll know. And we’ll make him pay.”

“Listen to them,” Sterling insisted, his expression showing the same apprehension Sammi felt. “Sammi, do exactly what they tell you. Just cover for me. Make excuses. Find a way to make sure that nobody questions my being away. If you can do that, everything will be okay.”

“But—”

The cell phone went black. They’d ended the call. Sammi tried to breathe, but the panic kept bubbling up in her throat.

What was she supposed to do?

She couldn’t just pretend everything was okay.

But what choice did she have?

Her head pounded in time with the black dots dancing in her eyes, her heart throbbing so fast, so loud, that she could barely breathe.

She wanted to call Mr. Barclay and beg him to fix this. To find his son, bring him back.

But the menacing warning still sounded in her ears, a loud and clear hissing threat that terrified her to her very core.

Sammi pressed her lips tight.

She couldn’t tell Mr. Barclay.

They’d kill Sterling if she did.

But she couldn’t just trust that it’d work out. That the creeps with the ugly guns would keep their promise. Why would they? What did they want with Sterling, anyway? Nothing good, she was sure. But if they wanted a ransom, why didn’t they want Mr. Barclay to know?

Her head was spinning too fast for Sammi to find any of those answers. All she could do was lean against the wall and try to suck in air. She clenched the phone tight to her chest, but couldn’t bring herself to call anyone. Not with the threats ringing so clearly in her head.

She had to do something.

Anything.

Then, out of the blue, she remembered.

Laramie was in town.

* * *

“YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?”

“Yep.” The bridle in one hand, Laramie gave the horse’s neck a fond pat with the other before leading Storm out of the stable. Small dust clouds followed their steps through the scrubby grass toward the paddock where the sun beat down like hot spikes. Having served months in the Middle East, the heat barely registered on Laramie’s radar, other than to make sure he had a decent supply of water for the ride.

“You could stay here. Just a day or two.”

Checking his packs, Laramie slid a sideways glance at his uncle. The resemblance was there, but only if you knew to look for it. The shape of their eyes, although Laramie’s were hazel instead of brown. The arch of their brow and the full lips. Art and his younger sister had shared those features. Features she’d passed on to her only son. Otherwise, Laramie was the spitting image of his father.

“What’s wrong, Art?”

“Nothin’s wrong. Just think maybe you shouldn’t go up now. Go up next month instead.”

Laramie frowned at the intensity in older man’s voice. It wasn’t as if this trip was out of the ordinary. He came back once a year to make this sort of pilgrimage from his uncle’s spread outside of El Paso up to the family cabin in the mountains. But it was rare that he made it back the first week of June. It was just as rare that his uncle said anything about it, though.

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