A SEAL's Oath (SEALs of Chance Creek Book 1) (14 page)

Riley backed away. This was too much to take in all at once. Boone looked like he’d pursue her, but he let her go.

“I still want that date. We’ll keep our clothes on this time. We have some talking to do.”

“But—”

“Eight o’clock. Sharp.”

He turned and stalked off through the water like some ancient Greek hero, his body mesmerizing as he moved. Left behind, Riley could only watch him leave. She had no idea what had just happened.

Or what she meant to do about it.

‡

“S
low down,” Jericho
said over the phone. “You skinny dipped with Riley? Was that your idea or hers?”

“It just happened. I wanted to wash up for my date.” Boone stared out of the bunkhouse window at the manor on its rise of ground. The sun was low in the west, casting a soft glow on the ranch that made it almost look magical, which seemed possible after the experience he’d just had with Riley in the creek.

He’d never expected she’d let him kiss her like that, especially not after the way he’d treated her when they were young. He knew she hadn’t meant to let him, either. They’d both been carried away.

Still, their actions said something for their chances together. Their attraction was mutual and once they’d been good friends. Couldn’t that add up to a marriage?

Boone wasn’t sure.

“Sounds like she wanted to wash up, too. So you crashed her bath and decided to go for it.”

“That’s not exactly how it happened.” Boone ran a hand over his still-damp hair. “She said she doesn’t trust me. She probably thinks I did it on purpose. I’m supposed to pick her up in fifteen minutes and I need to figure out how to recover from this.” He was afraid what happened next would determine the outcome of their relationship. If she turned away from him now, he’d have lost his chance.

Was he so concerned because of Fulsom’s demands?

Boone didn’t think so. Maybe he’d first come up with the plan to marry Riley because it was practical, but that had lasted only an instant. Now he simply wanted her.

He’d never reacted to a woman this way before—with such naked need after such a short period of time. He couldn’t account for his feelings. But they were strong.

“She’s mad because you caught her naked?”

“Because of how I treated her the night before we left.” Boone jammed his free hand into his pocket and paced the empty bunkhouse he’d commandeered as his office. It was a rectangular building with white walls and a scarred wooden floor. One large empty room would have held bunks for the ranch hands in the past. A spare but functional bathroom with a shower stall opened off one end. A kitchen with appliances from the eighties by the look of them was visible through another door.

“It’ll take time to patch things up after something like that,” Jericho told him.

“So what do I do now?” Boone kicked a rusty metal wastebasket and sent it flying. “She thinks I’m a first-class prick and I don’t have time to change her mind; not with this deadline hanging over my head.”

“Well, you can’t bully her into falling in love with you. You have to make her want to be with you.”

“How do I do that?”

Jericho made a sound that was half derision, half frustration. “Find out what she wants and give it to her.”

“She wants a Jane Austen life.” He paced back to the window. “And I’m trying to give it to her—but I have to keep Fulsom happy, too.”

“Just listen to her. Ask questions. Find out what it is about Jane Austen she likes so much. See if it’s something you can help with. Now get out there and get yourself a wife.”

Boone chuckled. “All right.”

“How’s the ranch?”

“As good as we thought it’d be. We couldn’t have chosen better for ourselves.” He walked out of the bunkhouse. “Take a look.” He switched to video mode and panned his phone in a wide circle so Jericho could take it all in.

“So Riley’s up at the manor, and you’re stuck down in Base Camp, huh?” Jericho said when Boone got back on the line.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”
Base Camp
. He liked the name.

“Climb that mountain. We’re counting on you.”

“Will do,” Boone said and hung up.

Fifteen minutes later, Boone strode up the hill toward the manor, determination coursing through his veins. He was a Navy SEAL. He’d faced plenty of tough situations. He shouldn’t doubt his ability to prove to Riley they could make a go of this. He was worried Riley wouldn’t even open the door when he knocked, though, and he dreaded the humiliation of having to shout through it at her, or worse—having to walk back down the hill like a jilted lover.

It didn’t help to know he deserved it.

But the front door swung open as he approached and Riley waited for him just inside, her expression wary. She wore a fresh, pretty gown, with tiny flowers dotted over a white background and a funny little dark green jacket, too. It followed the contours of her bodice and ended just below her breasts. Her hair was caught up on top of her head and her straw bonnet was decorated with a wide green velvet ribbon around its crown.

“Miss Eaton.” He decided to go along with the old-fashioned mood. He bowed slightly and offered her his hand. She was wearing white gloves. He’d never seen a woman wear gloves—except the winter kind.

“Lieutenant Rudman.” She bobbed a curtsy and allowed him to take her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed her gloved fingers, hoping she knew he was thinking of their kiss in the stream. She tried to tug her hand away. After a moment he let her go.

“I’m not a—” he started to say, but realized he was fighting a battle he’d never win. “Never mind.”

“You haven’t told me where we’re going. I don’t know if I’m suitably dressed.”

Her formality told him she was feeling uncomfortable. He needed to re-establish the connection between them. “Are you ever suitably dressed?” He smiled to show he was joking and he was grateful when the corner of Riley’s mouth turned up.

“Not these days,” she admitted.

Savannah appeared in the hall behind Riley. “Lieutenant Rudman, I have to say I find it irregular that you’d offer to take my friend out for the evening without a proper chaperone.” Her eyes glinted with fun.

“I only mean to walk the property with Miss Eaton,” Boone assured her. “After all, what harm could come to her so near her home?” He raised his eyebrows at Riley, whose cheeks pinked slightly.

Maybe this Regency stuff wasn’t so bad; it made flirting easy.

“All sorts of trouble could happen with you around, I think.” Savannah smiled sweetly. “That’s why I’m coming, too.”

Boone’s heart dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

Savannah let out a peal of laughter. “Of course I’m kidding, but you should see your face. That was worth the price of admission.”

Riley’s lips twitched. Boone snorted. “Okay, you ladies have had your fun. Come on, Riley.” He tugged her hand.

“That’s Miss Eaton to you.” But Riley came along with him willingly. That was something.

He led the way back down the hill toward the cluster of outbuildings. He’d thought about what Jericho had said and realized he was right; Boone couldn’t bulldoze Riley into sharing his beliefs. He’d had years to build a worldview that made his current endeavor important. He had no idea what life experiences had led Riley to hers. It was up to him to find out.

He kept hold of her hand while they walked, and to his surprise she didn’t tug away from him.

“It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it?” he asked her.

“Ah, the weather. Always a safe topic. It is beautiful, though. I love the view from up here.” Her gaze fell on the south-facing slope where he’d staked out the houses. “At least I used to.”

“You’ll still love the view when my community is built. I promise.”

“Will they at least be pretty? The houses?” she clarified.

He wasn’t going to answer that. The houses wouldn’t be beautiful unless Clay could pull something out of his hat. “They’ll be incredibly functional.”

“That doesn’t set my mind at ease.”

He decided to steer the conversation to another topic. “You’ll like the vegetable gardens when they’re planted.”

“Will you have flowers, too?”

“No, but they’ll still look good. Rows of green growing things always do, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “I suppose. I like English cottage gardens, though. They have regimented shapes, but the flowers themselves are exuberant and spill over their borders.”

“You’ll have a garden up at the manor?” Jericho would be proud he was asking so many questions.

“We will. The bones are already there, but it’ll need a lot of sprucing up.”

“What about food? Will you grow any?”

She nodded. “As much as we possibly can. In Jane Austen’s time, food wasn’t shipped all over the world. They ate what was in season, and most of it came from their own village or property. I love that idea, and since we’ll be here all summer….” She trailed off and Boone knew she was thinking of his ultimatum; she wouldn’t be at Westfield this summer unless she married him.

“I love that idea, too.” He squeezed her hand to emphasize their agreement and distract her from her concerns. Jericho would approve. “I think it’s great that you’re painting.”

“Do you?”

He knew why she asked. “I do, if it’s something you like.”

“But painting is hardly practical,” she pointed out.

“It’s not unsustainable, at least,” he countered. “If it keeps you busy you won’t feel the need to rip out a kitchen you just renovated three years ago to install a brand new one, like so many people do. And you’ll be too poor to buy a McMansion.”

“So now you support the arts?” She didn’t sound convinced. “What’s your favorite style of painting?”

“I don’t know. Never thought about it. I haven’t spent much time in museums this past decade.” Beauty hadn’t played much of a part in his days. That didn’t mean he didn’t notice it, however. It was the unexpected things that caught his eye: a sky-blue burka against a dusty desert landscape, a hawk soaring over a war-torn village.

A woman pacing beside him in a Regency gown.

She stopped. He did, too. “Look at this scene. It’s perfect for a painting. A landscape with barns and pastures and mountains in the distance. Would you prefer it to be painted as it is in a faithful replica or would you like something more impressionistic? Or maybe you prefer pointillism? Or something more modern?”

Boone gathered his thoughts. “I’ll tell you one thing. If some painter drew a green stripe and a red square and told me it was a ranch, I’d be pissed.”

Riley laughed. “I have to admit I’d be pissed, too.”

He relaxed. “I think I like realistic painting, but with the brush strokes showing. You know what I mean. Up close they don’t look like much at all, but you take a few steps back and suddenly they’re perfect?” He hoped she understood.

Riley nodded slowly, as if he’d surprised her by venturing an opinion at all. “Those are my favorite, too.”

“Is that what you paint?”

“Sometimes.”

They stood together for a moment. Then Boone tugged her forward. “I want to show you something.”

“What?”

He didn’t answer until they were standing among the staked out rectangles. He turned her to face the larger slope upon which the manor sat. “I picked this site for a couple of reasons. Like I said earlier, all the houses will face south, to make the most of the sun. The gardens are positioned to take advantage of it, too. Down here they’ll be somewhat more sheltered than yours up top on that slope. That’ll help extend the growing season. But there’s another reason I established Base Camp here.”

“What is it?” she asked when he didn’t go on.

“The view.” He gestured to the manor on top of the rise of ground in front of them. “I didn’t think about it consciously, but it was in the back of my mind. That old house is as inefficient as they come. You couldn’t pay me to live in it. But it looks good.”

He turned to Riley and caught the most interesting expression in her eyes before she pinched her lips together and nodded. She’d been looking at him with something like… fondness. Maybe they were closer to understanding each other than he’d thought.

“I hope the view will be as pretty from up there when you’re done.” Her pert tone put an end to the rapport between them.

Boone didn’t answer. He wanted to explain to her all the decisions that had influenced his choice of housing and the layout of the community. He wanted to go over the charts and graphs that showed energy efficiency and solar gain. Instead he simply said, “Yes.” Because it would be pretty.

If it killed him.

This time Riley squeezed his hand. Two emotions flooded Boone simultaneously, almost shorting out his inner circuitry. One was pure pleasure that the fledgling connection between them was back.

The other was pure fear he’d let her down.

“I guess I can’t wait to see it then,” she said.

“I can’t wait to show you,” he lied. He’d call Clay tonight, the minute he brought Riley back home. They’d change something. Anything. Whatever it took to make the community meet Riley’s expectations.

“What?” she said. “You look… worried.”