A SEAL’s Chance by Cora Seton
Chapter One
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WHEN THE CHIME sounded to let the passengers know it was safe to unbuckle their seatbelts, Ben Warren waited until everyone else had filed off the plane before he took a deep breath, stood up from his cramped seat and accepted the cane the flight attendant held out to him.
“Enjoy your stay in Chance Creek.” She flashed him the same flirtatious smile she’d been trying out on him ever since they lifted off in Florida, but Ben remained immune to her charms. He didn’t need sympathy from her or anyone else and there was no other reason such a pretty woman would flirt with him.
Not now.
“Thanks.” He did his best to keep his tone civil, but the anger that haunted him these days threatened to rear its head, so he made his way awkwardly down the aisle ahead of her, planting his cane and maneuvering his weight in the too-small space. His slow progress only increased his irritation and Ben knew he’d been smart not to go directly home from the naval medical center. He wasn’t fit company for anyone, let alone his extended family, now that his injury had ended his career in the SEALs. Ever since high school, becoming a SEAL had been the pinnacle of his ambitions. For the last eight years he’d been on the top of his game; so proud of what he’d accomplished and of the service he’d rendered his country.
Now he wasn’t good for much as far as he could tell. He’d come a long way from those first weeks when he required a wheelchair, but he still walked with a lopsided gait he’d keep for the rest of his life. Where once he could run, jump and maneuver with the best of them, now he couldn’t go anywhere without the tap of his cane announcing his presence long before he arrived.
His family had urged him to join them in Louisiana after his separation from the Navy, but he’d decided instead to accept a joint invitation from Mason Hall and Dan Hemmins—two SEALs he’d known during his service. Mason and his brothers owned a large ranch in Montana named Crescent Hall after the three story gothic mansion at the heart of the spread. Dan had opened an extreme training camp in one section of the ranch for people who wanted a taste of Navy SEAL life. They’d promised him a room of his own and a chance to catch his breath before returning to the civilian world.
Ben knew these fellow ex-SEALs understood his situation in a way few people could and he was grateful for the offer. He needed a chance for his anger to cool and to accept that from now on he could no longer rely on the strength and speed that had gotten him this far. Once he’d been a star athlete. Now he felt sure that Mason’s great aunt Heloise could outrun him. Just last year he’d laughed with his friend over the way the old woman had tried to take over Mason’s life. Now that it seemed like the whole world had the upper hand on him, such things weren’t funny anymore.
Each day presented new challenges, great and small. Like the stairs he now faced that led down from the tiny commuter plane he’d flown in on from Billings.
Ben paused at the top to catch his balance before he hung the cane over his wrist, gripped both rails of the stairway and started down. It was a slow process. The bullet that shattered his ankle hadn’t left enough for the joint to be rebuilt. Now that it was fused, he couldn’t bend or flex his foot, but at least he could walk.
He’d made it almost to the bottom when he slipped, crashed down the last two steps and landed hard on his ass on the pavement. The flight attendant dashed down the steps behind him, her high heels clattering on the metal treads. A member of the ground crew rushed up at the same time and tugged Ben to his feet.
“You okay, man?”
“Oh, my goodness, Mr. Warren. Are you all right?”
He brushed off their concerns brusquely. “I’m fine.”
“Do you want me to call for a wheelchair?”
“I don’t need a wheelchair.”
He limped over the tarmac as quickly as he could, wanting nothing more than to forget the whole incident. This was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life—petty humiliations and sickly sweet sympathy. He gritted his teeth together to keep from hurling his cane as far as it could go. Getting upset would do him no good.
“Ben! How are you?” Mason called out as soon as he entered the terminal.
“Good to see you, Ben,” Dan chimed in. Both men came to meet him.
Ben knew they had seen the whole debacle on the stairs and once again he had to push down a swirl of anger at his plight, but as they clapped him on the shoulder and expressed their happiness at his arrival, he knew he was being unfair. Mason and Dan were good friends.
He forced a smile. “I’m fine, except for the enormous bruise on my ego.”
Mason grinned. “I wasn’t going to mention that, but hey, most of our presidents have fallen down airplane stairs at one time or another. Why shouldn’t you?”