He glanced down at the worn leather briefcase again. Inside it lay a sheaf of paperwork and maps, along with the laptop he’d used to plan out every element of the community he intended to build when he arrived at Westfield ranch. It was strange to travel without the men he’d served with in the Navy SEALs for so long. Jericho Cook and Clay Pickett had watched his back since BUD(s) training. Chief Petty Officer Walker Eaton had helped guide their Navy careers and led them through situations they shouldn’t have survived.
Now he was on his own. Temporarily. Boone liked to think of himself as an advance party of one. He’d arrive in Chance Creek ahead of the others, scope out the terrain, set up headquarters and prepare for the rest of them to land. Together they’d build a community that could survive a future of climate change and scare resources. With their combined intelligence, knowhow and can-do attitudes they were singularly positioned to succeed in a way other would-be sustainable communities hadn’t.
As long as they could find some women.
As the plane taxied out to the runway and accelerated for takeoff, Boone wondered if it was the last flight he’d ever take. He didn’t plan to jet-set around the world anymore. That was too wasteful.
He greeted the flight attendant with a smile several minutes later when the plane levelled out and it was time for his packet of pretzels and cup of pop. He examined the items she placed on his tray table—the individually wrapped snack, the plastic cup, the soda can whose heavy contents had already travelled miles to get to him—and reminded himself not to lecture her. Change started with individuals who cared. First he’d fix his own life. Then he’d helped those around him. He was young, strong and smart. Plenty of time to change the world.
As he sat back and munched his pretzels, Boone relaxed, knowing he couldn’t fail. Walker had provided the land. He had the plans and the knowhow. His buddies would soon supply the man power.
All they needed was women.
Boone had no idea where those women would come from, but he felt confident he’d figure it out.
RILEY EATON DROVE the rental moving truck into the circular driveway and parked in front of the stone steps leading up to the front door of Westfield mansion. She sighed with contentment. “It isn’t Pemberley, but it’s as close as we’ll find in Chance Creek.”
“It’s beautiful,” Savannah Edwards said. “Look at it!”
Riley bit back a smile. Westfield was beautiful. With its stone exterior it presented a proud fa?ade worthy of Jane Austen’s Regency England. She didn’t care that it sat on an expansive ranch in Montana. It would do wonderfully.
“It’s gorgeous!” Avery Lightfoot said.
“More than gorgeous—three floors! It’s stunning, Riley!” Savannah echoed.
“I guess it’s nice,” Nora Ridgeway pronounced quietly, “but it’s so remote.”
Riley refused to let her enthusiasm be dampened by Nora’s reaction when Avery and Savannah were so thrilled. She couldn’t help but smile at the friends who’d stepped out of their lives to join her on this adventure. She wished she could take credit for the idea, but it had been Nora who instigated the decision—albeit accidentally. Classmates at Vassar, they’d scattered after graduation, but they’d kept in touch regularly and six months ago they’d met for their own private five year reunion at the Sanctuary Spa in Santa Fe, New Mexico. During the first couple of days they’d swapped stories of their career triumphs and bemoaned the lack of decent men in the world. Forty-eight hours in, however, they’d begun to speak their minds.
Savannah picked up the dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice which Nora had found tucked in the dresser in her room and carried with her to the patio where they sat. “Am I the only one who’d trade my life for one of Austen’s characters’ in a heartbeat?”
Riley remembered the hush that had fallen. They were seated in a flagstone courtyard around a clay chiminea as dusk eased into darkness and the air took on a chill. “You want to live in Regency England?” Nora had asked sharply. “And be some man’s property?”
“Of course not. I don’t want the class conflict or the snobbery or the outdated rules. But I want the beauty of their lives. I want the music and the literature. I want afternoon visits and balls. Why don’t we do those things anymore?”
“Who has time for that?” Riley’s job at the ad agency kept her working until all hours. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a full day off of work, let alone visited anyone.
“I haven’t played the piano in years,” Savannah said wistfully. “I mean, I was never any good—”
“Are you kidding? You were fantastic,” Avery said.
“I don’t think I could stand all those long walks through the countryside,” Nora said. “Have you noticed how much time those women spend walking in the movies?”
Riley knew Nora loved city life, but she was as burnt out as the rest of them. As a teacher she felt she should go where she was needed and she taught at in an area of Baltimore that resembled a war zone. She couldn’t imagine Nora was happy no matter how much she claimed the work fulfilled her.
“So why don’t we do it?” Avery said in the lull that followed Nora’s comment.
“Do what?” Savannah asked.