by Cora Seton
“What did the police say?” Riley’s hands were shaking again. Rage and shock battled inside of her, but anger won out. Who would dare threaten her friend?
“What did the school’s administration say?” Avery demanded.
“That threats happen all the time. That I should change my phone numbers. That the people who make the threats usually don’t act on them.”
“Usually?” Riley was horrified.
“What are you going to do?” Savannah said.
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t quit.” Nora seemed to sink into herself. “I changed my number, but it’s happening again. I’ve got nothing saved. I managed to pay off my student loans, but then my mom got sick… I’m broke.”
No one answered. They knew Nora’s family hadn’t had much money, and she’d taken on debt to get her degree. Riley figured she’d probably used every penny she might have saved to pay it off again. Then her mother had contracted cancer and had gone through several expensive procedures before she passed away.
“Is this really what it’s come to?” Avery asked finally. “Our work consumes us, or it overwhelms us, or it threatens us with bodily harm and we just keep going?”
“And what happened to love? True love?” Savannah’s voice was raw. “Look at us! We’re intelligent, caring, attractive women. And we’re all single! None of us even dating. What about kids? I thought I’d be a mother.”
“So did I,” Riley whispered.
“Who can afford children?” Nora said fiercely. “I thought teaching would be enough. I thought my students would care—” She broke off and Riley’s heart squeezed at Nora’s misery.
“I’ve got some savings, but I’ll eat through them fast if I don’t get another job,” Riley said slowly. “I want to leave Boston so badly. I want fresh air and a big, blue sky. But there aren’t any jobs in the country.” Memories of just such a sky flooded her mind. What she’d give for a vacation at her uncle’s ranch in Chance Creek, Montana. In fact, she’d love to go there and never come back. It had been so long since she’d managed to stop by and spend a weekend at Westfield, it made her ache to think of the carefree weeks she spent there every summer as a child. The smell of hay and horses and sunshine on old buildings, the way her grandparents used to let her loose on the ranch to run and play and ride as hard as she wanted to. Their unconditional love. There were few rules at Westfield and those existed purely for the sake of practicality and safety. Don’t spook the horses. Clean and put away tools after you use them. Be home at mealtimes and help with the dishes.
Away from her parents’ arguing, Riley had blossomed, and the skills she’d learned from the other kids in town—especially the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse—had taught her pride and self-confidence. They were rough and tumble boys and they rarely slowed down to her speed, but as long as she kept up to them, they included her in their fun.
Clay Pickett, Jericho Cook, Walker Norton—they’d treated her like a sister. For an only child, it was a dream come true. But it was Boone who’d become a true friend, and her first crush.
And then had broken her heart.
“I keep wondering if it will always be like this,” Avery said, interrupting her thoughts. “If I’ll always have to struggle to get by. If I’ll never have a house of my own—or a husband or family.”
“You’ll have a family,” Riley assured her, then bit her lip. Who was she to reassure Avery? She could never seem to shake her bad luck—with men, with work, with anything. But out of all the things that had happened to her, nothing left her cringing with humiliation like the memory of the time she’d asked Boone to dance.
She’d been such a child. No one like Boone would have looked twice at her, no matter how friendly he’d been over the years. She could still hear Melissa’s sneering words—No one wants to dance with a Tagalong. Go on home—and the laughter that followed her when she fled the dance.
She’d returned to Chicago that last summer thinking her heart would never mend, and time had just begun to heal it when her grandparents passed away one after the other in quick succession that winter. Riley had been devastated; doubly so when she left for college the following year and her parents split. It was as if a tidal wave had washed away her childhood in one blow. After that, her parents sold their home and caretakers watched over the ranch. Uncle Russ, who’d inherited it, had found he made a better financier than a cowboy. With his career taking off, he’d moved to Europe soon after.
At his farewell dinner, one of the few occasions she’d seen her parents in the same room since they’d divorced, he’d stood up and raised a glass. “To Riley. You’re the only one who loves Westfield now, and I want you to think of it as yours. One day in the future it will be, you know. While I’m away, I hope you’ll treat it as your own home. Visit as long as you like. Bring your friends. Enjoy the ranch. My parents would have wanted that.” He’d taken her aside later and presented her with a key. His trust in her and his promises had warmed her heart. If she’d own Westfield one day she could stand anything, she’d told herself that night. It was the one thing that had sustained her through life’s repeated blows.
“I wish I could run away from my life, even for a little while. Six months would do it,” Savannah said, breaking into her thoughts. “If I could clear my mind of everything that has happened in the past few years I know I could make a fresh start.”
Riley knew just what she meant. She’d often wished the same thing, but she didn’t only want to run away from her life; she wanted to run straight back into her past to a time when her grandparents were still alive. Things had been so simple then.
Until she’d fallen for Boone.
She hadn’t seen Uncle Russ since he’d moved away, although she wrote to him a couple of times a year, and received polite, if remote, answers in turn. She had the feeling Russ had found the home of his heart in Munich. She wondered if he’d ever come back to Montana.
In the intervening years she’d visited Westfield whenever she could, more frequently as the sting of Boone’s betrayal faded, although in reality that meant a long weekend every three or four months, rather than the expansive summer vacations she’d imagined when she’d received the key. It wasn’t quite the same without her grandparents and her old friends, without Boone and the Horsemen, but she still loved the country, and Westfield Manor was the stuff of dreams. Even the name evoked happy memories and she blessed the ancestor whose flight of fancy had bestowed such a distinguished title on a Montana ranch house. She’d always wondered if she’d stumble across Boone someday, home for leave, but their visits had never coincided. Still, whenever she drove into Chance Creek, her heart rate kicked up a notch and she couldn’t help scanning the streets for his familiar face.
“I wish I could run away from my dirty dishes and laundry,” Avery said. Riley knew she was attempting to lighten the mood. “I spend my weekends taking care of all my possessions. I bet Jane Austen didn’t do laundry.”
“In those days servants did it,” Nora said, swiping her arm over her cheek to wipe away the traces of her tears. “Maybe we should get servants, too, while we’re dreaming.”
“Maybe we should, if it means we could concentrate on the things we love,” Savannah said.
“Like that’s possible. Look at us—we’re stuck, all of us. There’s no way out.” The waver in Nora’s voice betrayed her fierceness.
“There has to be,” Avery exclaimed.
“How?”
Riley wished she had the answer. She hated seeing the pain and disillusionment on her friends’ faces. And she was terrified of having to start over herself.
“What if… what if we lived together?” Savannah said slowly. “I mean, wouldn’t that be better than how things are now? If we pooled our resources and figured out how to make them stretch? None of us would have to work so hard.”
“I thought you had a good job,” Nora said, a little bitterly.
“On paper. The cost of living in Silicon Valley is outrageous,
though. You’d be surprised how little is left over when I pay my bills. And inside, I feel… like I’m dying.”
A silence stretched out between them. Riley knew just what Savannah meant. At first grown-up life had seemed exciting. Now it felt like she was slipping into a pool of quicksand that she’d never be able to escape. Maybe it would be different if they joined forces. If they pooled their money, they could do all kinds of things.
For the first time in months she felt a hint of possibility.
“We could move where the cost of living is cheaper and get a house together.” Savannah warmed to her theme. “With a garden, maybe. We could work part time and share the bills.”
“For six months? What good would that do? We’d run through what little money we have and be harder to employ afterward,” Nora said.
“How much longer are you willing to wait before you try for the life you actually want, rather than the life that keeps you afloat one more day?” Savannah asked her. “I have to try to be a real pianist. Life isn’t worth living if I don’t give it a shot. That means practicing for hours every day. I can’t do that and work a regular job, too.”
“I’ve had an idea for a screenplay,” Avery confessed. “I think it’s really good. Six months would be plenty of time for me to write it. Then I could go back to work while I shop it around.”
“If I had six months I would paint all day until I had enough canvasses to put on a show. Maybe that would be the start and end of my career as an artist, but at least I’d have done it once,” Riley said.
“A house costs money,” Nora said.
“Not always,” Riley said slowly as an idea took hold in her head. “What about Westfield?” After all, it hadn’t been inhabited in years. “Uncle Russ always said I should bring my friends and stay there.”
“Long term?” Avery asked.
“Six months would be fine. Russ hasn’t set foot in it in over a decade.”
“You want us to move to Montana and freeload for six months?” Nora asked.
“I want us to move to Montana and take six months to jumpstart our lives. We’ll practice following our passions. We’ll brainstorm ideas together for how to make money from them. Who knows? Maybe together we’ll come up with a plan that will work.”
“Sounds good to me,” Avery said.
“I don’t know,” Nora said. “Do you really think it’s work that’s kept you from writing or playing or painting? Because if you can’t do it now, chances are you won’t be able to do it at Westfield either. You’ll busy up your days with errands and visits and sightseeing and all that. Wait and see.”
“Not if we swore an oath to work on our projects every day,” Savannah said.
“Like the oaths you used to swear to do your homework on time? Or not to drink on Saturday night? Or to stop crank-calling the guy who dumped you junior year?”
Savannah flushed. “I was a child back then—”
“I just feel that if we take six months off, we’ll end up worse off than when we started.”
Savannah leaned forward. “Come on. Six whole months to write. Aren’t you dying to try it?” When Nora hesitated, Savannah pounced on her. “I knew it! You want to as badly as we do.”
“Of course I want to,” Nora said. “But it won’t work. None of you will stay at home and hone your craft.”
A smile tugged at Savannah’s lips. “What if we couldn’t leave?”
“Are you going to chain us to the house?”
“No. I’m going to take away your clothes. Your modern clothes,” she clarified when the others stared at her. “You’re right; we could easily be tempted to treat the time like a vacation, especially with us all together. But if we only have Regency clothes to wear, we’ll be stuck because we’ll be too embarrassed to go into town. We’ll take a six-month long Jane Austen vacation from our lives.” She sat back and folded her arms over her chest.
“I love it,” Riley said. “Keep talking.”
“We’ll create a Regency life, as if we’d stepped into one of her novels. A beautiful life, with time for music and literature and poetry and walks. Westfield is rural, right? No one will be there to see us. If we pattern our days after the way Jane’s characters spent theirs, we’d have plenty of time for creative pursuits.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “What about the neighbors? What about groceries and dental appointments?”
“Westfield is set back from the road.” Riley thought it through. “Savannah’s right; we could go for long stretches without seeing anyone. We could have things delivered, probably.”
“I’m in,” Avery said. “I’ll swear to live a Regency life for six months. I’ll swear it on penalty of… death.”
“The penalty is embarrassment,” Savannah said. “If we leave early, we have to travel home in our Regency clothes. I know I’m in. I’d gladly live a Jane Austen life for six months.”
“If I get to wear Regency dresses and bonnets, I’m in too,” Riley said. What was the alternative? Stay here and mourn the child she’d never have?
“Are you serious?” Nora asked. “Where do we even get those things?”
“We have a seamstress make them, or we sew them ourselves,” Avery said. “Come on, Nora. Don’t pretend you haven’t always wanted to.”
The others nodded. After all, it was their mutual love of Jane Austen movies that had brought them together in the first place. Two days into their freshman year at Boston College, Savannah had marched through the halls of their dorm announcing a Jane Austen film festival in her room that night. Riley, Nora and Avery had shown up for it, and the rest was history.
“It’ll force us to carry out our plan the way we intend to,” Savannah told her. “If we can’t leave the ranch, there will be no distractions. Every morning when we put on our clothes we’ll be recommitting to our vow to devote six months to our creative pursuits. Think about it, Nora. Six whole months to write.”
“Besides, we were so good together back in college,” Riley said. “We inspired each other. Why couldn’t we do that again?”
“But what will we live on?”
“We’ll each liquidate our possessions,” Savannah said. “Think about how little most people had in Jane Austen’s time. It’ll be like when Eleanor and Marianne have to move to a cottage in Sense and Sensibility with their mother and little sister. We’ll make a shoestring budget and stick to it for food and supplies. If we don’t go anywhere, we won’t spend any money, right?”
“That’s right,” Avery said. “Remember what Mrs. John Dashwood said in that novel. ‘What on earth can four women want for more than that?—They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping will be nothing at all. They will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly any servants; they will keep no company, and can have no expenses of any kind! Only conceive how comfortable they will be!’”
“We certainly won’t have any horses or carriages.” Savannah laughed.
“But we will be comfortable, and during the time we’re together we can brainstorm what to do next,” Riley said. “No one leaves Westfield until we all have a working plan.”
“With four of us to split the chores of running the house, it’ll be easy,” Avery said. “We’ll have hours and hours to devote to our craft every day.”
Nora hesitated. “You know this is crazy, right?”
“But it’s exactly the right kind of crazy,” Riley said. “You have to join us, Nora.”
Nora shook her head, but just when Riley thought she’d refuse, she shrugged. “Oh, okay. What the hell? I’ll do it.” Riley’s heart soared. “But when our six months are up, I’ll be broke,” Nora went on. “I’ll be homeless, too. I don’t see how anything will have improved.”
“Everything will have improved,” Savannah told her. “I promise. Together we can do anything.”
Riley smiled at their old rallying-cry from college. “So, we’re going to do it? You’ll all come to Westfield with me? And wear funny dresses?”
“And bonnets,” Ave
ry said. “Don’t forget the bonnets.”
“I’m in,” Savannah said, sticking out her hand.
“I’m in,” Avery said, putting hers down on top of it.
“I guess I’m in,” Nora said, and added hers to the pile.
“Well, I’m definitely in.” Riley slapped hers down on top of the rest.
Westfield. She was going back to Westfield.
Things were looking up.
Chapter Two
‡
“REMEMBER, I WANT a blonde,” Clay said as Boone shouldered his duffel bag and took a last look around the room he’d inhabited while on base. “And she needs to like walks on the beach in the moonlight, fine dining—and opera. If she doesn’t like opera, she’s out.”
Boone rolled his eyes. There’d been weeks of this patter now. He’d done his best to ignore it, but couldn’t blame his friends for exacting their revenge. He was lucky all three of them hadn’t turned tail and run after the fiasco with Fulsom. Between the man’s demands regarding marriage and his emphasis on Boone being the leader, he’d nearly driven Clay and the others away. Luckily his friends had a sense of humor, and as Clay said, they were all of an age to think about settling down.
“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.”
