A SEAL's Oath (SEALs of Chance Creek Book 1) (25 page)

“I
’ve got some
good news and some bad news,” Boone said when Julie finally patched him through directly to Fulsom. He sat in the bunkhouse on a metal folding chair in front of his new desk—a large surface Clay had knocked together from scrap wood he’d found around the place. It was far more sturdy, functional—and cool—than any such thing had a right to be, but then that was Clay, a genius at carpentry. Fulsom stared back at him from the screen of his laptop.

“Good news?”

“We’ve got scores of responses to the ad from men wanting to participate in the project. After a preliminary look I can say with confidence we’ll ramp up to ten easily during the course of the show.”

“What about women?”

“I’m happy to announce my engagement. My wedding is set for June first—when we’ll be filming the first episode. We have three other women interested in the project.” Not a total lie. They were interested even if they weren’t participating yet.

“You’ll need more than that, but congratulations—you’ve made a good start. What’s the bad news?”

“My fiancée and several of her friends are very interested in the Regency period.”

Fulsom frowned, his patience obviously waning. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Before I committed to your show, she committed to a six month experiment living a Jane Austen-style Regency life.”

“Jane Austen?” Fulsom scowled. “Are we talking
Pride and Prejudice
?”

“They’re staying in the manor at Westfield—”

“In the middle of your sustainable community? Are you shitting me?”

Boone sighed. He’d known this wasn’t going to go well. “It’s not in the middle of the community. It’s—”

“No. Absolutely not.” Julie’s arm appeared on the screen as she tried to hand Fulsom a piece of paperwork. He grabbed it from her, scrawled a signature and tossed it aside. Julie caught it just before it hit the floor. “And I want to know right now, are you serious about this project or not?”

“Sir, I—”

“I don’t want to hear another goddamned word about Regency anything. Have I made myself clear? You get your people pointed in the same direction. Sustainable community or nothing. That’s the way we’ll play this. Got it?”

“Got it, sir.”

Fulsom cut the call. Boone stared at the screen. He’d known this would be Fulsom’s answer, but he’d hoped he was wrong.

He was an idiot for thinking it could turn out any other way, though, and he dreaded the conversation he needed to have with Riley. Last night had been… amazing. There was no other word to describe it. The way she’d looked at him after they’d been together had rendered him speechless. And when she’d drawn him down again, ready for another round of lovemaking, it had been even better than the first time. He wasn’t sure how that was possible.

Sweetest of all had been their walk back to Westfield. Finally on the same page, they couldn’t talk fast enough to keep up with their ideas. By melding their visions, Boone instinctively knew he’d won her over to his cause.

She wanted to marry him.

Now he had to tell her to mothball her Regency life until the series was over?

She’d never agree to it. He’d lose her—and for what?

For the chance to get an important message out to the American public, he reminded himself.

Fulsom wasn’t wrong; Riley’s B&B confused the message. It would confuse viewers. Boone had seen enough reality television to know the recipe: simple message, simple storyline, lots of human interest. One big goal at the end.

Jane Austen didn’t fit anywhere in that formula.

But how could he tell Riley?

“Laundry day, I
see?” Maud said several days later when Riley was just wringing out a dress and adding it to the stack of others in preparation for hanging them on the clothesline. She looked up to see both Maud and James had managed to sneak up on her. It was the second time she’d performed the arduous task, but she didn’t mind it. The physical work left her mind free to wander, and she had so much to think about these days. She’d decided the trick was to do the laundry more frequently, so there was less to wash at one time.

Andrea had jumped at the chance to hold her wedding at Westfield. “She’s waited five years for him to propose,” Savannah said to explain her cousin’s extremely short engagement. “She’s afraid if she waits too long he’ll change his mind again. That’s why she wants to host it here. She knows it’ll be unique and she won’t be able to find a venue this last-minute in California.” They were already working like crazy to be ready on time, but the truth was, Riley was excited, too. She was sure they could pull it off, and Savannah had dropped hints that Andrea’s family was very well connected. The word-of-mouth advertising she and her friends might give them couldn’t be beat.

Savannah had taken charge of the project and had written up huge to-do lists for each of them. Now every moment of their spare time was taken with wedding preparations, but although they’d shortened their afternoon creative hours, they’d made a promise to each other not to abandon them altogether. Riley had begun a new painting that really interested her. It was another landscape, but it included the manor and the outbuildings. She was trying to contrast the manmade house and barns with their natural setting. She was struggling toward some kind of understanding she couldn’t quite grasp yet, but she was confident it would come. This was what she’d missed about art.

“Looks like hard work,” Maud went on, lifting her skirts and coming closer. “You ladies need to hire help.”

“We probably will in the future.” Riley’s hand drifted down to her abdomen. In a day or so she’d be able to take a pregnancy test and it was hard to think of anything else. She didn’t feel pregnant, but she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel anything this early on.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you four have come to town. Westfield is a special place. It deserves special treatment.”

Riley nodded and plunged the last dress into the scalding hot water. She’d already done the sheets, towels and other household linens. She was getting faster at the job.

“How are your preparations going for Savannah’s cousin’s wedding?”

“There’s still so much to do.” Riley kept working. “You should see our lists.” She knew if she didn’t start on her own wedding plans soon, she’d never be ready for June first, either.

“I came to make you an offer. I know you’ll try to refuse because you’re so well-mannered, but I want you to consider it carefully. I hope you’ll indulge an old woman.”

“You’re not old,” Riley told her.

Maud waved that away. “Just listen. I’d like you to borrow Mrs. Wood for the duration of the wedding party’s stay.”

Riley sat back on her heels. “We couldn’t do that. We can’t afford—”

“I’ll pay her wages. She’ll simply report to you instead of me.” Maud looked very satisfied with this idea, but Riley was already shaking her head.

“That’s way too expensive. We couldn’t possibly—”

“Nonsense, dear. You’ll let Mrs. Wood help you and that’s that. I insist.”

Riley faced Maud with exasperation. “That’s far too extravagant.”

“You can’t stop her. She’s a very determined woman,” James put in with a smile.

Maud tutted. “It would be downright mean of you to deprive Mrs. Wood of this opportunity. She loves to cook for a crowd. She heads up the food committee for the re-enactment group every year. She’s a genius at cooking over an open hearth and she hardly gets a chance to do it. You have no idea how happy it would make her. I’ve explained to Mrs. Wood about Avery’s interest in historical cooking and she’s agreed to teach Avery all her little tricks when there’s time.”

“I’ve heard the Civil War re-enactments are a big thing in the summertime.” Riley gave up. They needed a caterer, after all, and Mrs. Wood was a fantastic cook.

“You should see it. The whole thing was petering out about eight years ago and there was talk about shutting it down. Then we had a resurgence and now the club is bigger than ever. It’s become an event everyone loves.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Back to the wedding,” James said. “You’ll need carriages and drivers. With livery. We’ve got just the thing.”

“Oh, but—”

“I’ve been waiting for an occasion to pull our old covered buggy out of storage,” he said. “I know a couple of young bucks who’d enjoy the work.”

Riley’s protests were all in vain. “I can’t let you and Maud fund our entire venture,” she finally exclaimed.

“My darling girl, someday I hope you’ll understand how tiresome it is when you’ve amassed great wealth and no one will allow you to spend it on them. Why on earth did I work all these years if I’m not allowed to enjoy it?”

Riley had never seen the dear old man so serious. She stood up and hugged him impulsively. “I don’t know what to do with you two.”

“Enjoy us as much as we’re enjoying you,” Maud advised her. “And let my dear husband have some fun organizing things for you!”

“I can do that—as long as you agree to be guests of honor at the wedding!”

“What’s eating you?”
Clay asked when he stumbled on Boone pacing the bunkhouse later that day.

Boone decided it was time to confess. “I think I screwed up. Big time.”

“Uh-oh. What’d you do?” Clay leaned against the desk he’d built for Boone. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Worse.” Boone related his discussion with Fulsom.

Clay whistled. “Why haven’t you said anything to Riley?”

“Because she’s going to be upset. I told her she could have a Regency wedding. I said I wouldn’t separate her from her friends. Now I have to tell her I was full of shit.”

“At least they can hold Savannah’s cousin’s wedding. Filming won’t start until a week later.”

“I hope that cushions the blow a bit,” Boone said. “But what if Riley calls everything off?”

“Maybe you two should move your wedding up and get it done before Fulsom comes. You could always do a second wedding for the show.” He eyed Boone speculatively. “Should I be worried about the fact Riley still hasn’t told her friends about your engagement?”

“I sure am,” Boone said.

“I noticed she’s not wearing a ring, either.”

“I haven’t bought it yet.” Boone couldn’t look Clay in the eye. “I was…” He’d been about to say afraid, but he didn’t want to admit that. “I was worried that I’d jinx it somehow. Like if I bought the ring too soon it would mean it wouldn’t happen.”

“You’re not usually superstitious.”

“I’ve never wanted anything this much.”

Clay rubbed the back of his neck. “Time to buy that ring, Boone. Time to tell her the truth, too. You can’t mix marriage with lies, I know that much.”

“What if she says no?” Boone asked.

“You’ll have to find someone else.”

“I can’t do that.”

Clay pushed away from the desk. “Then tell her it’s only for six months, and we’ll do everything we can to make it up to them later.”

“I guess that’s our only shot,” Boone said.

But he didn’t think it would work.

“They make a
good couple, don’t you think?” Boone whispered into Riley’s ear the following night. They were seated on a divan in the Russells’ parlor watching Savannah play the piano and Jericho turn the pages for her. Jericho had already botched it once. Riley was beginning to suspect he didn’t actually read music. But his interest in Savannah was plain to see and it worried her.

She’d wanted to warn her friends about the men, but she couldn’t do that without telling them about her own engagement—and why she’d initially agreed to it. If they thought she was only marrying Boone to save Westfield, they’d have all kinds of objections. As much as they loved the manor and their plans for it, none of them would understand why she’d go so far to save it. They didn’t understand her past and what it meant to her.

It was all so complicated. She loved Boone, even as she knew she had to protect herself from his tendency to rank Base Camp above her aspirations. It hurt to know that what was important to her came second in his book, but at the same time she could understand his position. If you believed you could alleviate future suffering, it made sense to focus on taking those steps. But wasn’t there a balance?

“I’m not sure,” she said to Boone. “I don’t entirely trust Jericho’s intentions.”

“I think he intends to care about Savannah.”

“But does he intend to care about what she cares about?” Riley asked.

She wanted her friends to fall in love with good, decent men. Jericho and Clay fit that bill. Still, they shared Boone’s obsession. She didn’t want Nora and Savannah to face the gut-wrenching choices she was having to make. Savannah had been spending every spare moment at the piano. Nora was back to working on her novel. If Clay or Jericho put an end to that, she’d be furious.

“He’d do his best,” Boone said.

“I’m not sure that’s good enough.”

It wasn’t entirely fair of her to say that. Boone had been trying to work out with her how to balance their competing interests, but she still couldn’t shake the sense that Base Camp—and Fulsom’s orders—would always come first. As they talked more about the show, Boone had begun to hint that it might take up most of her time. It had been a blow to realize she’d have to shelve her painting for another six months, especially when she was beginning to make progress. Still, if it meant she could hold onto Westfield and build a future here long term, she could handle that. What made it difficult was that Boone didn’t have to give up anything. On the contrary, he always got what he wanted. She’d agreed to move down to Base Camp for the duration of the filming. She’d agreed to help out with his projects. She’d agreed to hold their wedding on camera. It was hard not to resent Boone when everything skewed his way.

The piece came to an end and everyone clapped. As a musical evening, the night had been a great success. The Russells had invited the Halls, too, and while their modern clothing made a contrast in the parlor, the musical members of that family had jumped right in to play, too. Regan turned out to be a whiz on the piano, while Storm had a wonderful singing voice, but Riley enjoyed most of all the rousing chant offered up by the Hall men, apparently a tame version of the ones they’d all learned in their various branches of the military during basic training.