A SEAL's Oath (SEALs of Chance Creek Book 1) (6 page)

“Mine’s got to be a redhead,” Jericho said, stepping aside as Boone headed for the door. “And remember, she’s got to be a registered masseuse and speak at least three foreign languages. Oh, and ninja skills. She’s got to have mad ninja skills.”

Boone turned to Walker. “What about you? Got any requests?”

The large man surveyed him, his dark eyes lacking any sign of humor. “Good at fishing,” he said.

“Fine,” Boone clapped him on the back. “I’ll find you a fisherwoman.”

Walker snorted. Boone knew what he meant; the man didn’t think he could pull any of this off. Well, that was fair, considering Boone didn’t think Walker would actually make it to Chance Creek. His commanding officer had always been the wild card in this operation. Boone had his suspicions that someday Walker—a man deeply jaded when it came to human beings—would cross the border into Canada and disappear in the boreal forest of the Great White North. Walker supported Boone’s sustainable vision, but he didn’t believe they would succeed in their mission. “Humans are humans,” he said whenever Boone pressed him. “They don’t change.”

Boone had long since backed off of trying to persuade him otherwise. Walker had gone along with things this far; he couldn’t ask for more. All he could do was hope Walker would surprise him. His quiet confidence and unerring instinct for finding a path through dangerous territory made the perfect counterpoint to Boone’s tendency to fast decisions and overconfidence. There was a reason Walker was LT and Boone only Chief, and Boone had never begrudged his friend the higher rank.

“How are you going to find these women?” Clay asked, not for the first time.

“Don’t you worry about it. I’ll find them.” The truth was Boone didn’t have the slightest idea. They didn’t need just any women; they needed a special breed who wouldn’t mind primitive conditions, hard work and a separation from modern conveniences. The girls they’d grown up with in their rural town were no strangers to hard work and many of them would make fine ranch wives, but would the ones who’d stuck around Chance Creek be interested in a sustainable community?

He couldn’t answer that.

As for Riley, her phone number and Boston address was tucked into his wallet, but he still hadn’t called her. The time never seemed right. There was always something to do—or someone around. He’d told himself he’d make contact with her once he reached Westfield.

Maybe.

The truth was, every time he reached for the phone, Boone found a reason to postpone the call. He didn’t know what Riley’s reaction would be when she realized it was him on the other end of the line. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

What if she hated him? What if he’d taken too long to apologize?

“What if we don’t like the ones you find?” Jericho asked.

“Then I’ll find you another one,” Boone said, focusing on the present. He’d fielded all these questions before.

“What if I don’t like that one, either?”

Boone reached his breaking point. “This isn’t about personal happiness. You heard Fulsom; we’re going to save the world. So you’ll man up and marry whoever I match you with, got it? You need to be engaged in the next couple of months.”

His friends exchanged a glance. “Yes, sir, Chief, sir.” Jericho snapped him an ironic salute. “But respectfully, sir, find your own wife first. Let’s see if you’re any good at this.”

Boone bit back an acid retort, snapped his own ironic salute and headed for the door. He paused when he reached it and turned back to face the others. “We’re really doing it, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are. We swore an oath, didn’t we?” Clay said. The others sobered, remembering the circumstances of that promise.

Boone nodded. He’d always remember Yemen—and Francine Heller. If he could do one small thing to set the world on a better course, he’d give it his all.

As a Navy SEAL he’d put his life on the line.

Now he’d put his heart on the line, if that’s what it took.

“See you soon.”

As he strode through the naval base, Boone’s heart lifted. He’d loved his military career, but he couldn’t wait to start the next phase of his life. The real fight was yet to come. The next seven months would challenge him in every way, but he wasn’t afraid. He was exhilarated.

He couldn’t fail.

As Riley directed
the taxi to park in front of the stone steps leading to Westfield Manor, she sighed with something like contentment. The last month had been busy as she wrapped up her life in Boston, disposed of most of her things, and prepared to move to Montana. “It isn’t Pemberley, but it’s as close as we’ll find in Chance Creek.” Her heart was still sore from her missed chance to adopt, but knowing she’d spend at least the next six months with three of her closest friends and get to paint each and every day had lifted her spirits.

“It’s beautiful,” Savannah said from the back seat. “Look at it! It’s even better in real life than in the photographs.”

“Westfield’s sat empty for a long time. I know I’m not the only one who will be glad you’ve come to live here,” their driver said. Riley had been surprised when she’d climbed into the taxi and found Alan Higgens behind the wheel. She hadn’t known him well from her visits to Chance Creek, but she’d recognized him all the same.

Riley bit back a smile. Westfield was beautiful, even in the waning light of an early May evening. With its stone exterior, it presented a proud façade worthy of Jane Austen’s Regency England. As the shadows deepened, the warm stone exterior mellowed in the failing light until the large home looked like it had been part of the landscape forever. She didn’t care that it perched on a rise of ground on an expansive ranch in Montana. It would do wonderfully. “Wait until you see it in daylight.”

“I don’t need to wait. Savannah’s right, it is gorgeous,” Avery said.

“More than gorgeous—three floors! It’s stunning, Riley!” Savannah said.

“But so remote.” Nora peered at the landscape as if she was looking out at the snowy steppes of Russia.

“It’s the country. Come on; let’s go see!” Riley paid Alan and climbed out of the taxi. Savannah and Avery quickly followed, while Nora trailed along more slowly. Alan helped them retrieve the baggage they’d brought: two suitcases a piece. They’d sold everything else.

Riley couldn’t believe how freeing it had been to watch her worldly possessions disappear one by one. Knowing everything she owned fit in the two large bags meant there was nothing to distract her from the future she’d chosen. On the other hand it was terrifying to see how little was left in her bank account at the end of the exercise. They each had shifted an equal amount into a communal account from which all their expenses and their allowances would be drawn. She’d have just enough at the end of six months to put down a deposit on an apartment. She hoped she managed to sell a painting or two along the way.

“Good luck,” Alan called as he got back into the taxi.

“Thank you!” Riley waved, but couldn’t wait a moment longer to go inside. She trooped up the steps with the others and fumbled with the key for a few long minutes until Avery took out her cell phone and used a flashlight app to help her see in the dim light. When the key finally turned in the lock, Riley threw the door open and a waft of stale, warm air washed over them, but while the house smelled musty, it didn’t stink of rot. Encouraged, she stepped inside, switched on the entryway lights, and a reverent chill washed over her as she took in the front parlor to the left side of the central hall and the great room to the right.

“It’s perfect,” Savannah breathed, coming into the house behind her. “I feel like it’s true, like I just stepped into
Pride and Prejudice
.”

Riley turned on more lights, thankful that Uncle Russ hadn’t shut off the electricity in his long absence. She knew the caretakers came through periodically and opened windows to let in fresh air. An older couple who lived in town, they cleaned and dusted and kept an eye on things. She’d left a message on their voicemail to alert them to her coming and was pleased to see Westfield in such great shape, even if they hadn’t responded.

Avery pushed forward. “I say we change right now—before we do anything else. We need to do this right. We’re committing to six months at Westfield pursuing our passions no matter what. Let’s draw a line in the sand that allows for no going back.”

“How do we do that?” Riley was curious. Avery always had fun ideas.

“We only brought Regency clothes with us, right?”

The others nodded. Savannah enthusiastically. Nora not so much.

“So we change into them and burn the clothes we’re wearing now. I saw a beautiful stone fireplace outside. We can do it there. Everything from the twentieth century goes.”

“Definitely,” Savannah said without hesitation. “Let’s do it!”

“It sounds great,” Riley echoed. They all looked at Nora.

Nora heaved a sigh that lifted her shoulders. “Fine. Except for my laptop.”

“Well, of course not our laptops,” Savannah said.

Riley bit back a smile; they’d already sorted out what technology they’d keep and what they’d ban. They’d decided to share one phone, with each having access to it for a half-hour a day. They’d take turns carrying it for emergency communications and had passed the number on to their families, with strict instructions not to abuse it.

They’d decided to keep their laptops, but not spend money on an Internet connection. If they needed to look something up, they could do it on the phone. That would keep their productivity high and their distractions low.

They’d banned television and, since it was summertime, electric lights—except for this first night. They decided to devote two hours every morning to chores. During this time, they’d wear what they called their servant clothes—gowns made of tougher material patterned after the kind of clothes the help would have worn, and they’d do their best to keep energy consumption to a minimum. As soon as they were done, they’d don their prettier gowns and live a life of art and refinement the rest of the day.

Still, their lives would be rustic by modern standards and she wondered if Nora would be able to go the distance with them. The more the others had delved into their Jane Austen fantasy, the more Nora had pulled back. Riley thought she felt guilty for abandoning her students so close to the end of the year, but during the few weeks she’d returned to class after their get-together in Boston, the threats had continued until Nora had found it hard to sleep.

“Let’s go upstairs and choose our bedrooms,” Riley said and led the way up the grand staircase that hugged the right wall of the central hall. Seven steps led to a small landing graced by a delicate table with an empty vase on it. The stairs continued up in the opposite direction and seven more steps brought them to a hall on the second floor.

“There are six bedrooms on this floor,” Riley explained. “Four corner bedrooms and two middle ones. My grandparents rehabbed everything and now each of them has its own bathroom.”

“That must have been a huge project in a house this old,” Savannah said.

“My grandmother came from old money and she spent most of it redecorating. She insisted the house be updated so she could entertain. I still can’t believe neither my father nor Uncle Russ want to live here, but Dad’s a Chicago man through and through, and Russ loves Munich. I don’t think he’ll ever leave.” She led the way down the hall that encircled the stairwell at the center of the house, and opened door after door to the bedrooms that ringed it. There were four identical corner bedrooms. Each of them held a canopy bed, although the canopies and drapes had all been stowed away. Antiques filled out the rooms so that each one had a distinct style.

“They’re so lovely,” Savannah said.

“You should see the servants’ quarters,” Riley said, suppressing a smile. She’d never told them this secret. She led the way to the stairs again and continued up to the top floor of the house. When she flung open the first bedroom door, all her friends gasped.

“The servants lived like this?” Avery stepped inside the room and spun around. Riley knew what she meant; it was even more beautiful than the ones on the second floor with its sloped ceiling, king-sized bed, large dormer windows and lovely antique furnishings.

“The servants were long gone when my grandmother renovated the attics. She put the family up here and gave the guests the second story.”

“You can barely tell.” Avery ran her hand over the tall wooden dresser in one corner. “It looks just like the rest of the house.”

“It was a work of love.” Nostalgia for the days when her grandparents were alive washed over Riley. Her grandmother had been such an artist in her own way, with the house as her canvas. Would she approve of what Riley was doing? Riley thought so.

“You’re so lucky this will all be yours someday,” Avery said.

“Emphasis on someday,” she told them. “I used to think Russ would pass it on to me when I grew up. It’s clear now that he’s going to hang onto it until he dies. I can’t begrudge him that, but Westfield won’t really be mine until I’m eighty. Russ is tough as nails.”

“At least we have it now,” Savannah told her. “I’m going to enjoy every minute of our six months, and I think we should copy your grandmother and take the rooms on this floor, even if it means running up and down an extra flight of stairs. I feel like I’ll be able to see the whole world from these windows in the daytime.”

“Who gets what room?” Avery asked.

“I’ll take this one,” Savannah said. “Jane herself could have been comfortable here.”

“They’re all pretty much the same,” Riley said. “Everyone choose one and get changed.”

Changing into Regency clothing wasn’t the work of a moment or two, but Riley didn’t care. Happy in her new room, she fiddled with the complicated outfit, glad for the electric light for the moment. They’d discussed their clothing carefully back when they’d sorted out the details of their new lives on her balcony in Boston. As a pledge of commitment to their plan to create a life worthy of Jane Austen, they’d decided they would each have a wardrobe similar to that of a moderately wealthy woman in the early 1800s. Part of the beauty of Jane Austen’s era was that people cared for their possessions. Things were too expensive to replace easily when everything had to be made by hand. Avery had taken charge of their clothing, with several of her friends pitching in to help make the outfits. Riley was surprised by how reasonably priced they were, but Avery had told her she’d salvaged much of the material from thrift stores and discount fabric outlets. Her friends, who helped out with costumes for local theater companies, were all too glad to have the opportunity to work on the period pieces. For the sake of ease—and hygiene—they’d chosen to part ways with Regency fashion in the items they’d wear closest to their skin. They’d all found it funny back in college when they’d learned that Regency ladies didn’t wear bloomers, or even knickers or panties of any kind. Faced with emulating them, Riley had decided to wear modern thigh high stockings and panties. She figured the others would do something similar. She pulled the stockings on, tugged a chemise over her head, stepped into her petticoat, and realized she needed help with her stays—a kind of old-fashioned corset that laced up from behind.