SEALs of Chance Creek 01 - A SEAL's Oath

by Cora Seton

  Riley was relieved. She looked around the circle of her friends over the flames. “We’re really doing this.”

  “We are,” Savannah said.

  “We’re crazy, but we are,” Nora said, shaking her head.

  “There’s no going back now,” Avery agreed.

  A glow of pride filled Riley—they’d pulled this off. They’d actually quit their unfulfilling jobs and embarked on an adventure. She was filled with love for the friends who were going to help her live out a fantasy she’d always held dear. Why should life be hard and ugly and filled with plastic trash? Why couldn’t it contain long walks, good literature, excellent conversation and—

  “Hey!”

  All of them jumped as a male voice pierced the air. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”

  “Who is that?” Avery asked. She peered into the darkness. Riley did too but she couldn’t see anything past the glow of the flames.

  When a man finally appeared at the edge of the circle of firelight, Riley’s breath caught in her throat. He was tall, his broad shoulders straining a T-shirt across a muscled chest, his jeans encasing long legs that covered the ground in powerful strides. There was something aristocratic about the strong lines of his face as he glared at them, shadows and light from the fire playing across his features. Something hotter than hell.

  Something… familiar.

  “Boone!”

  Shock propelled her forward and before she knew it she was running to meet him like she used to when they were teenagers. Boone. Her best friend—

  She stumbled to a halt as she came to her senses. Boone hadn’t been her friend at the end. He’d watched Melissa humiliate her, and then he’d left town without ever looking back.

  “He’d make a fine Mr. Darcy,” she heard Avery murmur behind her.

  Avery was right—he would. If she hadn’t known him, she would have been intimidated by his muscular build and aggressive stance. Instead she was filled with a yearning to go to him—to touch him and see if he was real.

  “What is this? Who said you could trespass on my property?” Boone demanded.

  “Y—your property?” Surprise tore the words from her throat. Riley realized he hadn’t recognized her. “This isn’t your property. It’s my property!” That might not technically be true, but it would have to stand in for a long explanation of the present state of things. Her friends stiffened and exchanged glances. Riley’s throat ached as unbidden memories crowded in on her. Boone represented a time in her life she’d lost forever, and she missed those easy, happy days.

  She missed him—the Boone who’d been her best friend, her first crush, not the self-absorbed boy who’d turned his back on her.

  “Like hell—Riley? What are you doing here?” His voice changed abruptly and his gaze raked her from head to toe, making her all too aware of her Regency gown with its tight bodice and straight skirts. From his vantage point he’d have a spectacular view of her cleavage. She squashed the urge to cover it up.

  “I live here.” She grabbed his arm and propelled him away from the fire. She didn’t want to have this awkward reunion with an audience. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed.

  “Riley? Who is that?” Nora called after her as she led Boone into the shadows.

  “Hang on—it’s family business.”

  Boone let her move him out of the circle of firelight, still staring down at a point somewhat lower than her chin. “You can’t live here—”

  “Of course I can,” Riley said in a low voice. “Uncle Russ said I could.”

  He dug in his heels and tugged her to a stop. “I live here now. I’m funded by the Fulsom Foundation. You know—the people who bought the ranch from Russ more than a month ago?”

  Riley let go of him and fell back a step. “Bought the ranch—” She fought for comprehension. Bought the ranch? Had Russ… sold it?

  Riley opened her mouth. Closed it again. She couldn’t seem to form words. If Boone was telling the truth, then Westfield was gone from her forever. “No. That doesn’t make any sense. Russ said he’d leave it to me. He told me—”

  Boone stepped closer, his face a mask of concern. “Like I said, he put the ranch up for sale and the Fulsom Foundation bought it. They gave it to me. Why are you dressed like that? Are you in a play?” His proximity only confused her more.

  Bought it…uncle…put it on the market… Riley’s head swam. This couldn’t be happening. “Russ sold Westfield?” she said again. Her bodice was too tight. She couldn’t breathe.

  “Didn’t you know?” Boone peered at her with concern. “Riley, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” Lightheaded, she put out a hand and Boone took it, steadying her. Riley leaned into his touch, unable to make sense of any of it. How could Russ have sold Westfield without her knowing? Wouldn’t he have told her?

  She shut her eyes, realizing how long it had been since he’d written to her at all. His last e-mail had been far more formal than usual, wishing her well but communicating little else. Had he changed his mind about leaving the ranch to her—and been too afraid to admit it?

  Riley thought she’d be sick.

  How could she survive without Westfield to sustain her? And what about her friends? She’d just convinced them to quit their jobs and upend their lives.

  She fought to pull herself together. “Russ promised Westfield to me.”

  Boone’s eyes widened. “You have a contract?”

  “No.” Of course they didn’t. They were family. “You don’t understand—”

  “You’re right; I don’t. Russ put it up for sale and Fulsom bought it fair and square. I figured something had happened to your uncle and he needed the money. How could you not know?”

  “He… he didn’t say a word. I sent him a note to let him know I was moving in—” She broke off, horrified at the mistake she’d made by not waiting for an answer, but she’d always used Westfield as she pleased, just like Russ had told her to do. What would she tell her friends?

  Boone waited for her to go on. Traces of the teenager she’d known remained, but there were sides to him she could only guess at now. She knew he’d spent nearly thirteen years in the Navy—most of it as a SEAL. She shivered to think what he was capable of. He looked… formidable.

  “I was… We were… going to spend six months here.”

  He cast his gaze over her Regency clothes. “How do these come into it?” He touched her dress.

  Heat flared into her cheeks and she was grateful for the darkness. “You wouldn’t understand. We swore an oath.” She couldn’t put it into words. Not while Boone was staring at her like that, light and shadow from the fire playing over his face. Interest kindled in his eyes at her words. And something more. Something that stirred up old desires she’d sworn were long gone.

  “What kind of oath?”

  She had to answer him. He owned the land she was standing on. The house she meant to live in. Her legacy. Riley hung her head, unwilling to meet his eye. “That we would leave our lives behind for six months. Quit our jobs, give up our apartments, sell our furniture and get rid of everything that doesn’t belong in a Regency world.”

  “Why?”

  She finally looked at him. “Because we need a change. We wanted something different, something better. Boone, what do I tell my friends?”

  “Jesus, Riley—you’ve gotten yourself in a fix. We’ll have to figure out what to do with you.” He shifted even closer, until even in the low light she could make out all his features. How could he be so familiar and so different all at the same time? Boone’s nearness made it hard to think. Memories swirled in her mind, competing with the facts about her present situation she needed to keep straight.

  “We?” She peered into the darkness behind him. Who else was with him?

  He smiled for the first time. “The Horsemen will join me soon. We still stick together. We’ll build down near the barns.”

  The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had taken Westf
ield from her? Riley didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or scream. Screaming sounded good right about now. They’d taken her self-respect from her once upon a time, hadn’t they? Why shouldn’t they steal Westfield, too? “Build what?”

  It was Boone’s turn to look uncertain. “A community.”

  Disbelief reared its head again. “You’re developing Westfield?” Over her dead body.

  “No, I’m not developing Westfield. You know me better than that.”

  She could breathe again. “Thank God. I guess even you couldn’t go that far.”

  A change came over him. “Even me…?”

  She didn’t answer his unspoken question. He knew what he’d done. She wouldn’t shower fresh humiliation over herself by confessing how much he’d hurt her when they were young. That was water far under the bridge. Besides, she had to secure her friends a home until they figured out what to do next. Riley stiffened her spine. “Are you using the manor? If not, why can’t we? We’ll pay a fair rent.” If they were able to; they hadn’t figured rent into their budget at all.

  “How did you even get into the house?”

  “I’ve had a key to Westfield since I was eighteen. Russ told me to use it whenever and however I wished. He liked it when I stayed here—which I’ve done tons of times.” An exaggeration, but he wouldn’t know that.

  “So you thought nothing of moving your friends in without his knowledge?”

  “I sent him a note, and like I said, he encouraged me to have friends over and stay as long as I wanted. I’m the only one who uses the house.”

  Boone studied her for a long moment. “Maybe we can work something out. We both landed here at the same time. That’s a hell of a coincidence.”

  “So?” The way he was looking at her made her uneasy. Once she’d known Boone so well. Now she knew so little about him.

  “Maybe Fate put us here together.”

  Fate? She couldn’t quite make out his expression, but his tone had gone almost… gentle. She hadn’t expected that. “What exactly are you doing here again?”

  “We’re trying to build a model sustainable community that can be reproduced throughout the world. Clay, Jericho and Walker will join me shortly and we’ll recruit other like-minded people who want to live lightly on the land.”

  Riley’s jaw dropped open. “You’re building a commune at Westfield?”

  BOONE STIFFENED. COMMUNE was a word he detested. It reeked of hippies and weed, good intentions gone awry due to megalomania, group sex and apathy. “I’m not building a commune. I’m building a community. There’s a difference.” It was important she understand that. Without meaning to, his gaze fell again to where Riley’s tight bodice strained to hold her breasts in check, breasts that were all too distracting, even in the low, uneven light cast by the distant fire. Her dress was cinched tight with a sash underneath them and a long skirt fell from there straight to the ground, hiding all the rest of her curves. He could guess at them, though, something his body had registered even though his mind was scrambling to keep up with the situation. As much as he’d hoped to see her again, he’d never dreamed he’d find Riley at Westfield. Not after Russ had sold it. He couldn’t believe she had no idea it didn’t belong to her family anymore—or that she’d brought three friends to live here in a house she didn’t own. He didn’t envy her the explanation she’d need to give them in another minute or two.

  But before that happened he needed to know more about Riley. An idea was beginning to percolate in his mind, an idea both intriguing and somewhat shady. The minute he’d seen Riley, a part of his brain had locked on target, and he’d felt something vastly more powerful than curiosity about an old friend. It was as if she’d reached into his chest and taken hold of his heart. Now he wanted to be close to her. He wanted to talk to her. He was willing to do what it took to keep her here long enough to get to know her again.

  “I’m up here, sailor.” Her flat tone bordered on anger.

  “Sorry.” But he wasn’t sorry and she had to know it. Her cleavage was so prettily displayed it would be impossible to ignore.

  “You could at least pretend not to ogle me.”

  “I don’t think I could.” He braced himself for an angry answer, but she only stared at him impassively, leaving him wishing he hadn’t tried to joke with her. Riley deserved better than that. His old shame washed over him, but it was tempered by her presence. God, he’d missed Riley. He hadn’t realized how much until faced with her again.

  “It’s good to see you.” He meant it. She’d grown up into a beautiful woman, but her cautious manner told him she was still the Riley he knew, and he was grateful for that. A woman as lovely as her could have become vain and shallow, but not his Riley.

  She made a face he couldn’t decipher. “Look, I don’t want to disappoint my friends. Would it make any difference if I told you we’re trying to live up to a set of ideals, too?”

  She didn’t have to convince him to let her stay, but he used her question to buy time, wanting to discover the lay of the land before he said yes. “By dressing up?”

  She frowned and once again Boone regretted his words. Riley often had surprising ideas, but she always had a reason for what she did.

  “By paying homage to an era when beauty meant something. When people respected literature, poetry, art and spending time—real time—with their family and friends.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.” He glanced over at the other three women still standing by the fire. They looked straight out of a movie poster for some period drama he’d automatically pass over. “Jane Austen,” he said suddenly. “Oh, God. Don’t tell me. Pride and Prejudice.”

  “What’s wrong with Pride and Prejudice?”

  His grandmother liked that movie and she’d forced him to watch half of it once. “Are you acting it out or something?”

  “No.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “Forget it,” Riley said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Give me a chance.” He shifted closer again. There was something magnetic about Riley that pulled him in. He wanted to touch her. Was her skin as soft as it looked?

  “Haven’t you ever felt like modern life is just so… empty?” she said. “We work, work, work so we can spend, spend, spend on all kinds of crap we don’t even need. Do you know how much junk I threw out when I gave up my apartment? And don’t even get me started on how much I spent on eating out since I was in the office sixty hours a week and didn’t have time to shop or cook!”

  Riley drew a breath and Boone could only stare at her as she continued her tirade, a female version of the rant he’d spewed himself on countless occasions. So she did care about the state of the world. He was surprised how much that gratified him—and turned him on. Who would have guessed this woman he hadn’t seen in thirteen years could come to the same conclusions about life as he had? He knew his memories were just that—memories. It defied the odds that Riley could still be the kind of soulmate she once had promised to be, but if she shared a passion for his causes, too, it would be a miracle.

  “What happened to friendship?” Riley was saying when he tuned into her words again. “What happened to long afternoons poring over a good novel or a great work of art? What happened to an honest exchange of opinions between educated people who respect each other? What’s wrong with tending a garden or creating a beautiful home? Did you know that a well-to-do woman in Jane Austen’s time would have had seven or eight dresses?”

  Caught off guard by her sudden question, it took Boone a minute to answer. In truth he’d been too absorbed in examining her face—so sweetly familiar and so different, too. Her eyes reflected the light of the far-off fire. “Uh… no, I didn’t know that.”

  “Seven or eight,” she repeated. “How many outfits did I have before I came here?”

  “I… don’t know.” Boone didn’t often find himself at a loss for words, but the more he thought about it, the more he was sure of one thing. An extraordinar
y coincidence had placed him and Riley in the same place at the same time. He’d be a fool not to seize the opportunity with both hands.

  “Forty-six. At least! I counted them! That doesn’t even include all the outfits I gave away a few months ago because they were too out of fashion.”

  “Okay.” Distracted, Boone wasn’t sure where she was headed with this, but he didn’t really care, either. He could listen to her as long as she cared to talk.

  She lifted her hands in exasperation. “Think about it. Think about what I could do if I didn’t have to worry about what I was going to wear each day.” She tugged at her dress, a gown of soft material with a light background that was dotted with flowers. “This is my morning dress. I have two of them. Two! For the next six months that’s the only choice I’ll have. Wear this one or the other one. How simple is that?”

  Boone’s attention snapped back into focus. He knew exactly what she was talking about now. “Simplicity. You’re into simple living?” He couldn’t believe his luck.

  “Not simple living. Beautiful living!”

  “But you just said about the dresses—”

  “Two morning dresses, one walking dress, one promenade gown, one riding habit”—she ticked them off on her fingers as Boone’s bewilderment grew—“and…well, we decided against getting evening gowns, ball gowns, and court attire since we intend to stay home for the most part.”

  “Yeah, I doubt you’ll need a ball gown in Chance Creek.” He waited for her to laugh, but she didn’t. Maybe they weren’t as compatible as he’d thought.

  “I suppose not. It was tempting, though,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

  Boone lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. This was not how he thought his first night at Westfield would go. He’d spent the last few hours walking around the ranch and taking in the contours of the land. Deciding on a building site had been easy. The rest was harder. “So you’re going to wear a bunch of impractical outfits and do what—sit around and read all day?” His disappointment made him angry. He wanted Riley to be a match, but ball gowns had no place in the world he was building, and if she was fixated on them, they wouldn’t get far.