by Cora Seton
All in all, it was a fine day’s work and he should have felt energized by the progress he’d made. Instead, he was as jumpy as a bronco with a burr under its saddle. When he’d left the manor this morning, he’d thought he had the upper hand in the situation. But when Riley had come marching down the hill like an avenging angel it had all gone to hell. It hadn’t occurred to him she’d object to the location of his houses. The truth was, he hadn’t given a second thought to the manor when he’d set up his plans. That old-fashioned monstrosity was superfluous to the community he was building.
It wasn’t to Riley, though.
Now he didn’t know what to do. After she’d stood up on that hillside and watched him work for a while, he’d felt like ants were crawling over his skin. He didn’t understand it. He’d kept his cool in all kinds of situations under the scrutiny of men far more dangerous than that bonnet-wearing Austenite. But this was Riley. He cared what she thought.
When he’d stood back and pictured the cluster of houses he’d designed, for the first time he saw the way it would look from the manor.
A slash of ugly industrial buildings across what once had been a pastoral view.
Boone swore again in memory of the revelation. He was drawn to steel and glass structures and he’d been enamored of the designs he’d cribbed from online plans. The idea was to reclaim shipping containers and trick them out with scrap metal and glass. It worked from a sustainability standpoint—reuse, repurpose and all that.
It would look like ass here at Westfield.
It infuriated him Riley could lay bare his inadequacies with just a few words and a judgmental glare. He’d worked hard to consider every angle when he designed his community.
Except beauty.
Boone’s shoulders slumped. What if he’d missed other things? What if he failed—he who had one of the best records for successful missions in the SEALs? What if Montague destroyed Westfield?
This was all a huge mistake.
Still, it wasn’t fair to fault him for not spending time on luxuries like beauty. He was trying to set an example for the rest of the world to follow. Beauty as an abstract notion was all well and good, but too often the pursuit of it was an excuse to spend money on things that never should have been manufactured in the first place.
He remembered Riley talking about all the outfits she’d owned. He’d bet she and her friends had rented storage containers to stuff with all the things they hadn’t brought with them to Westfield. The bathrooms in the manor were probably filled with makeup, hair products, perfumes and the like. She certainly had no right to judge him.
He and his friends needed women who found beauty in nature rather than artificial things. Who thought the face God gave them was good enough.
He frowned. Had Riley been wearing makeup when she confronted him? Had any of them?
He couldn’t recall. He’d been far too busy… talking.
Boone shifted to dispel an uneasy feeling that trickled through his veins, sure that Jericho would have some comment on his bossiness. To hell with that. They had definitely been wearing makeup. And if he searched the house he’d find evidence to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that their pledge to live like Jane Austen characters was frivolous and wasteful—nothing like his own goals.
But maybe he should look at those house plans again. Or better yet, let Clay do it.
Discouraged, he finished his simple dinner of soup, baked beans, and a couple of protein bars, and cleaned up after himself, the familiar motions and quiet surroundings working their magic on him. The sun was low in the sky. Soon it would be time to head up the hill and pick Riley up for their date, but if he didn’t want to frighten her with his manly stink, he needed to rinse off after a long day’s labor.
He grabbed a towel and a bar of soap from his bag, but instead of heading to the bunkhouse to shower, he set off the quarter mile to Pittance Creek, which ran through the property on its way to connect with Chance Creek.
As he strode past the stakes and twine he’d used earlier to designate possible housing sites, he couldn’t help but glance up the hill across the way to the high ground Riley had stood on earlier when she’d folded her arms and watched him work, her displeasure all too clear even across that distance. No one was in sight. No doubt the women were eating a four-course dinner up there off of newly purchased plates.
He squared his shoulders and kept walking, refusing to bend to an urge to look back again. When he reached the creek, it gurgled and chuckled over rocks as it flowed through its curving banks and bit-by-bit, Boone’s mind emptied of his troubles and filled with a kind of contentment he hadn’t known in a long time. A memory bubbled up—another hot summer day when they were kids and Riley had decided to dam up the creek with a stone wall. She’d figured they could corral fish like they corralled horses. Boone had known it wouldn’t work, but he struggled on gamely to move rocks under her command. He had no idea what had possessed him to become Riley’s laborer that time when normally she was the one to carry out his orders. Maybe he’d instinctively known the balance of power between them was unfair and was trying to put it back somewhat to rights.
In any case, it was one of the happiest memories he had. The dam hadn’t worked, but they’d goofed off and laughed throughout the afternoon. What he’d give for that kind of peace again.
Or at least to be alone with Riley for a couple of hours.
His body responded to that idea and with a growl of frustration, Boone stripped down, stepped into the shallow, icy water and bent down to splash himself. The sting of the cold spray felt good, but it wasn’t enough to shake the vision of Riley in his arms. He’d need a full dousing in this cold water to accomplish that. He surveyed the creek, but didn’t see a deeper pool.
He decided to head upstream.
RILEY STUMBLED DOWN a path from the manor she hadn’t traversed since she was a teenager, so deeply lost in thought she barely noticed where she was going. She and her friends had spent the afternoon at their separate pursuits, but Riley had found it hard to concentrate on her sketches. She’d tried several versions of the landscape outside the windows, but she kept arguing with Boone in her head and at one point she looked down to find she’d sketched him instead of the pastures and mountains. She’d ripped the drawing from her sketchbook and balled it up.
As the afternoon waned, her nervousness grew. Boone would want an answer when they met tonight, and she didn’t know what to tell him. She wasn’t sure what he wanted from her—or if it was worth it to enter a legal entanglement to secure the manor for a short time period.
On the other hand, the thought of leaving Westfield and giving up on their experiment was too awful to bear. When it had finally been her turn with the phone, her heart had raced when she’d seen there was an answer from Russ.
Riley,
I was out of town when your first e-mail came, so I couldn’t warn you that I’d sold Westfield. I’m sorry you made the trip for nothing. I have exciting news, however: I’m finally getting married. I need to buy a fitting house for my wife and can no longer afford to carry Westfield while it sits idle.
Your parents report that you are happy with your life in the city. We’ll both hold fond memories of Westfield as we move ahead, won’t we?
I wish you luck in all your endeavors.
Uncle Russ
Riley had been so appalled at the message she’d had to leave the room and pace the kitchen until she’d regained her composure. How could he back away from a promise he’d made her without even missing a beat? Why did she figure so little in everyone else’s thoughts? The three women who’d come to Westfield with her were the only ones alive who truly cared about her at all. Neither her mother nor her father had much to say when she’d informed them she was moving to Montana for six months.
Meanwhile, Savannah, who’d been thrilled to find Riley’s grandmother’s baby grand piano in the drawing room, had spent the whole afternoon practicing, despite the fact it needed to be tuned. Avery
and Nora had each slipped away to their rooms and came down at dinnertime equally energized.
Riley was the only one who’d seemed to struggle. Sensing her discomfort, Avery suggested they try their hand at cooking over the large hearth fire to experience an authentic Regency meal. Nora had pointed out that by the late Regency, cooks would have had wood fired stoves on which to create their meals. Avery stole the cell phone and found an early Regency sketch that showed a very primitive hearth and grate affair. Their bickering and the difficulty of the task both worked to distract Riley, but not the way Avery had meant it to. It had taken forever to coax flames from the wood and they’d forgotten to open the flue, so they’d nearly choked themselves to death on the smoke that billowed throughout the kitchen before Savannah figured it out and fixed it.
Then Nora had managed to char the potato soup she’d tried to prepare, while the bread Avery had made according to a camping recipe had turned out so doughy that none of them could stomach much of it. They’d choked down what they could of the meal, refusing to throw it out and start over. All of their brand new outfits reeked of smoke and the burned food proved so hard to clean up, they’d ended up leaving some of the dishes in the sink to soak overnight.
Savannah was the one who’d said, “Okay, let’s all take a break. One hour to ourselves before we regroup. Riley, you’d better get ready for your date. Scatter!”
They’d scattered—the others to their rooms and she to walk this lonely trail she’d often traversed when she was younger. She needed the quiet offered by the woods before she faced her next challenge—Boone.
Still, even with all the day’s ups and downs, it had been far more interesting than a workday back in Boston. If they didn’t manage to kill themselves with their Austen experiments, she and her friends could have a wonderful time together. If only Boone wasn’t set on spoiling it all.
A glint of sunlight on water caught her attention as she rounded a bend in the path. Pittance Creek—a small stream that flowed into the larger Chance Creek that gave the nearby town its name. There was far more than a pittance of water in it at this time of year. In fact, a pool had formed in a bend in the creek that was all too inviting. Suddenly aware that she was hot and sticky from her labors over the fire, Riley considered the flashing, bubbling creek before her. Maybe a quick dip was just the thing. Not that she cared what Boone thought of her, but it would be hard to have the upper hand if she was covered in grime and sweat. If she cleaned up she could return home and change into one of her nicer outfits without ruining it.
She glanced around to assure herself she was alone, glad that the creek was sheltered from the house by a strip of forest. No one was in sight. In fact, she could be alone on the Earth for all the signs of civilization she could see from here.
She had her bonnet off in an instant, but getting out of her dress was a struggle. By the time she’d accomplished it, she was warmer than ever. She was glad to be free of the chemise and petticoat, as well, and the slight breeze and late day sunshine felt liberating on her bare skin.
Plucking the hair pins from her bun, she let her hair swing loose. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone skinny dipping. In her early twenties, maybe. She remembered how delicious it felt to bathe outdoors with nothing between her body and the water. She shrieked a little and then laughed as she stepped into the cool creek, but nothing could stop her from plunging in now. She ducked right under the water and came up splashing, delighted with the feel of it. Jane Austen probably never skinny dipped in her life.
She’d missed something wonderful.
If only she’d brought some soap and shampoo down here to rid her skin and hair of the smoky smell from the hearth fire. She ducked under the water again, swished her hair around, hoping that would do the trick, and came up for air.
“Hell—Riley?”
Riley shrieked at the masculine exclamation and whirled to find Boone not five feet away. Thigh deep in the swirling water, he was as naked—and as shocked—as she was.
“What are you doing here?” She clapped her arms over her chest and ducked down in the water, hoping he hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t wearing a bathing suit. Judging by the direction of his gaze, he’d noticed.
Judging by a certain other part of his anatomy, he liked what he saw.
Unlike her, Boone didn’t rush to hide himself, just ambled into deeper water until it was up to his waist. She had to admire his poise. He apparently didn’t possess an ounce of self-consciousness. She was glad he didn’t, because it gave her time to examine the prime specimen of maleness in front of her. Boone naked was a spectacular sight.
He’d bulked up a lot over the years and his body bore scars whose origins she could only guess at. He was powerfully built, his muscles cut from hard work and training.
Despite the icy water surrounding her, heat traced through her cheeks and Riley forced herself to look Boone in the eye and keep her gaze there. “Well? You didn’t answer my question.”
He nodded slowly. “I suppose I’m here for the same reason you are.”
“Can’t you swim somewhere else?”
That sudden, devastating smile of his flashed across his face. “I don’t think I should leave you here all alone. Haven’t you ever heard of the buddy system?”
“I don’t need a buddy. I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe I’m the one that needs watching then,” he said conversationally.
“Don’t think I’d save you if you were drowning.” Did he know what a liar she was? She’d never thought of herself as the type of woman whose common sense would fly straight out the window when confronted with a hot body, but Boone was far more than a hot body. He always had been. As much as she’d wanted to paint him as the enemy today, it hadn’t been his handsome face she’d fallen for as a teen. There were plenty of handsome faces around Chance Creek if that was what she’d wanted.
Instead she’d fallen for the way he was gentle with a colt, the way he could sit in silence beside you without making you feel alone, the way he did everything with a sure precision she’d never felt about anything in her life. The way he’d taken so much time to teach her all the things he’d thought were important. She’d thought about that over the years and realized how sweet it was he had done that. As a ten-year-old, Boone could hardly have found it fun to oversee an eight-year-old girl’s riding lessons. As a thirteen-year-old, had he really wanted to teach an eleven-year-old girl to fish? He’d been so patient with her when they were alone.
So why had it been so easy for him to turn his back and leave her in the end?
He took another step toward her. She stepped back, struggling to find footing on the rocky bottom of the stream. “Keep away from me.”
“All right.” He stopped and put his hands on his hips.
She couldn’t help wondering what was happening below the water line. The look in his eye told her he knew exactly where her thoughts had gone.
Why didn’t she turn away? Riley couldn’t answer that. Maybe it was simply that Boone represented her ideal man. His body looked like a sculpture, all hard planes, light and shadow.
“Now what?” she demanded. She couldn’t move while he stood there. Not without exposing herself. The thought sent a delicious throb through her veins that irritated her all the more. She could not be attracted to this man. Not when chances were he’d hurt her again.
“You tell me.”
Riley’s breath hitched. Was he coming on to her? “You should leave,” she said again.
“Ah, you want another look.”
So he knew she’d taken in all the contours and planes of his body when he’d first approached. How could she not?
“I couldn’t care less about your appearance.”
“You could leave,” he suggested.
“So you can watch?”
“It would only be fair.”
“Nothing about this is fair.”
Boone’s eyes narrowed and he took a step toward her. “Neither of
us has to leave.” He took another step. “I’ll wash your back if you wash mine.” His voice caressed her as he moved even closer. Before she knew it he was within touching distance. She found herself leaning toward him, wanting his hands on her skin.
But that was crazy. This was Boone. She couldn’t trust him.
She needed to back away. Instead she moved closer as if he’d put her under a spell.
“You’re so beautiful.”
His whispered words pierced through the lustful haze that had enveloped her only a moment ago. He’d spurned her the last time she’d allowed herself to feel something for him. She wouldn’t set herself up for that kind of treatment twice.
Riley lurched away, but her foot didn’t find purchase on the rocky bottom. She slipped under the water altogether and came back up gasping and choking. As she scrambled to find the ground, she slipped under again. Two strong hands clamped around her arms and Boone pulled her to the surface, steadying her until she could stand.
She peered up at him through the runnels of water streaming from her hair, all too aware of her nakedness—and his—and read his intention in his eyes before he even began to move. Boone gave her plenty of time to pull back as he bent closer, but Riley could have no more turned away than arm-wrestled him for a victory. She wanted to know what he tasted like, and soon she found out, when he pressed his mouth to hers.
He tasted of fresh water, cool air and warm skin all in a heady mix that made her senses reel, and Riley forgot all about her reservations. She pressed her hands flat against his chest and leaned into his kiss, drinking it in as if she’d been craving its refreshment for hours. As his powerful arms circled her body, they made her feel slight and supple. She melted against him, knowing the contrast of her soft curves against his hard muscles would make her irresistible.