The Promise of Rayne Page 11

  As one hour at the lodge ticked into the next, Rayne’s dread of what was to come grew. The thought of working through the night, losing her sunlight, losing her connection to the guests, losing her monthly tea dates with her grandfather’s oldest friend, Vilma Albright, was hard to swallow.

  Duster in hand, Rayne brushed the feathers over one of the brass frames mounted on the family history wall off the lobby. William Shelby stared back at her through the glass. In his lifetime, he’d held many prestigious titles. Yet she knew if he were here now, he would tell her his most treasured position wasn’t serving their state as governor—but rather, serving his family as grandfather. She considered his striking face: his predominant cleft chin, his meticulous mustache, his keen hazel eyes that concealed a plethora of wisdom. She’d spent hours studying this picture after he passed away, wishing he could talk back, wishing he could answer all her questions about her family.

  The phone clipped to her waistband rang.

  “Shelby Lodge, how may I assist you today?”

  “Yes, my name is Miles Higgins and my wife and I have the Hayden Suite booked for Friday and Saturday night.”

  “Oh yes. I made that reservation myself—that’s a beautiful suite.”

  “Well, unfortunately, we’d like to cancel our stay. Due to the fires.”

  “Oh?” Rayne set the duster down on the desk and went to the laptop. After logging in, she pulled up the most recent report on the fires and the air quality. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Higgins, and though I understand your concern, I’d like to assure you that the fires are still over seventy-five miles away, and with the river separating us, the threat to the lodge is minimal.”

  “We’ve been staying current on the reports, and to be honest, we just don’t feel comfortable.”

  Rayne clicked away from the fire danger site and opened up the reservation calendar.

  “Okay, I understand. Let me cancel this weekend out for you.” She highlighted the reservation and deleted it. “May I reschedule you for a future date? Possibly for this fall? It’s gorgeous at the lodge during the changing of seasons. I could even offer you a ten percent discount if you’d like to book today. We’d love the opportunity to have you and your wife as our guests.”

  “Absolutely. Thank you. Let me check with my wife on some dates and then call you back?”

  “That would be fine. Thank you.” Rayne clicked off the call and made a note to call the Higginses back if she didn’t hear from them by the end of the week.

  “Was that a cancellation?” Celeste stood before her, electronic tablet in hand.

  Rayne let out a breath and straightened. “Yes, we’ve had several over the last couple weeks due to the smoke and proximity of the fires—”

  “I didn’t hear you mention the cancellation policy.”

  “Because I didn’t.”

  Celeste pinched the framed red-letter policy on the desk and read it word for word. “All cancellations occurring within thirty days of the reservation between May first and September first are subject to a fifty percent cancellation fee.”

  “Yes, but the fires—”

  “Should I read this to you again? It doesn’t say barring natural causes. It’s June twenty-sixth, Rayne. We are well inside the window to collect on those fees. Is this how you’ve been managing all our reservations?”

  “Collecting fees should be secondary to repeat customers.” Rayne pushed the words out, willing her quickening pulse to steady.

  “Did you learn that while studying for your MBA—oh wait . . .” The perma pout on Celeste’s lips quirked. “You never went to grad school.” Her glower intensified. “Collect the fees, Rayne. And yes, consider this a warning.”

  The last two hours of her shift were much the same as the first six, excluding the thirty-minute noninteractive staff meeting held in the parlor at noon. Apart from that, everywhere Rayne turned, everything she did, was subject to Celeste’s commentary and reprimands. And she hadn’t been the only one. The hostile takeover had reached every corner of the lodge. While delivering a wine-and-cheese basket to a couple celebrating their thirtieth anniversary, Rayne overheard two of the housekeepers whispering behind a leafy plant—worried about their paychecks.

  She wished she could reassure them, wished she could stop the gossip virus spreading through the staff like a flu bug. But how could she save them when she wasn’t even sure she could save herself?

  She was two steps away from the back door when Cal called her name. “I wanted to make sure you’d heard.”

  Dare she hope he’d fired the blond dictator so soon? Or maybe he’d changed her schedule back?

  “I’ll be heading to Boise tomorrow to meet with your father and his team. I need you to be available for Celeste—in case anything comes up. She’s a sharp cookie, but I need to know I can count on the two of you while I’m away.”

  “The two of us?” It was the first time she’d heard the phrase. Did he really picture them working together—as in a partnership?

  “You’ll be the only Shelbys at the lodge. Don’t disappoint me.”

  Whether from emotional exhaustion or unrestrained insurgence, the words slipped out before she could stop them. “I thought I already had.”

  Multiple times. In multiple ways.

  His brow wrinkled. “There’s no need to be childish.”

  Apparently he hadn’t eavesdropped on any of Celeste’s one-sided conversations today.

  Rayne curled her toes in her shoes and plastered a Shelby-worthy smile on her face. “I’ll be available if she has any questions.”

  He returned a fraction of the phony gesture. “Good. I’ll check in by phone over the next few days. I plan to be back before the weekend. If things go well here while I’m away, I’ll likely trek back and forth a few times over the next month.”

  As she pushed outside onto the path leading to her cabin, pressure built inside her lungs, smothering the remains of her positivity. The fresh air did nothing to cure her suffocating doubt, and it did nothing to release the tension coil of questions inside her mind. How long could she live like this? Had the race between her and Celeste even started? Were her tortoise legs even moving?

  And worse . . . today was only day one.

  There couldn’t have been a lonelier realization in all the world.

  She tugged open the door to her quaint cabin, seeking comfort—needing comfort. But the comfort she found inside wasn’t attached to the familiar scent of lavender, the inconsistent drip of a leaky kitchen faucet, the couch she’d purchased with Gia last summer, or even the bookshelf of hardback classics she’d collected since high school. No, her gaze stilled on the plaid overshirt crumpled on the chair at her dining table.

  Levi’s shirt.

  She’d pretended to ignore the shirt’s tempting presence all weekend, the same way she’d pretended that their night together hadn’t meant something significant. The same way she’d pretended to forget how Levi Harding had offered her a temporary respite from life’s chaos.

  She fingered the soft collar, remembering how the bottom corner had flipped up after he’d tossed the beanbag at Apple Adam. She’d wanted to smooth it—to fix it. Only, she hadn’t been the one to fix anything that night. Ironically enough, she’d been the one to break things further.

  She told herself it was just a walk. Just some time in nature to strategize and plan and maybe even pray. But her pace didn’t slow when the grassy terrain shifted from manicured to untamed. She didn’t look back, not at the ant-size lodge or the multitude of trees guarding her escape.

  She simply kept walking until she reached the fence line of Winslow Farm. And for the second time in four days, Rayne crossed into forbidden territory.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Levi said around a tart bite of apple.

  Yet there was little humor to be found in him as he watched Rayne Shelby through his upturned blinds. Sundress hiked to her knees, she slipped between the fence
boards onto his side of the property divide. For a girl who’d made him feel like the equivalent of a roach on a shower-room floor just three nights ago, she had some nerve showing up here again.

  Based on their history, her visit was about a decade too soon.

  She conducted a traffic check of the farm, her gaze sweeping from left to right, her bottom lip tucked firmly between her teeth. She was right to be hesitant. She’d be even more right to go back home where she belonged.

  He took another bite of his sour apple, his eyelid ticking as he chewed the bitter fruit. What more could she possibly want of him? He’d invited her into his world, extended a peace offering, and she’d wadded it up and thrown it back in his face at the first sign of discomfort.

  Crazily enough, he regretted not listening to Travis’s inebriated advice. But his friend had been right. He shouldn’t have gone after Rayne at BlackTail. He should have minded his own business. Let her deal with her family drama on her own.

  He strolled into his kitchen and pitched the apple core into the trash can. And then he heard a knock.

  He didn’t move. Not a single muscle.

  She knocked again.

  He faced the sound.

  On her third knock, he strode for the door and yanked it open. “Does your uncle know you’re here?”

  Instead of shrinking back the way he’d envisioned, Rayne squared her shoulders. “The last time I checked—which was quite recently—I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions.”

  The sound of his words spoken through her pert lips nearly sprang the lock on his resolve. Yet no matter her plight, he wouldn’t give in to her. Not this time. He wasn’t interested. He leaned against his splintery doorjamb, hoping to appear unmoved by her presence on his front porch—the exact opposite of the full-throttle awareness that thrummed inside him at her nearness.

  “If you came for more honey, I’m afraid you’re too late. Sold my last monthly subscription yesterday.”

  Her gaze softened as a sincere voice caressed his ear. “I’m sorry, Levi.”

  This was . . . not at all what he’d expected. He blinked her in. “For what?”

  “For treating you the way I did the other night. You showed me compassion and kindness and I . . . I was ungrateful and rude and I’m very sorry for how I acted.”

  If this were a trick, he would sense it. Sniff it out the way he’d done hundreds of times in his youth. But whatever this was, it wasn’t a game. At least not one he knew the rules for.

  “Come in.” He took a half step back to allow her room to pass, but still her shoulder brushed his chest upon entry. “I would have tidied the place up if I’d known the governor’s daughter was coming for a visit.”

  Midway into the living room she stopped, her face crimped in confusion. She turned in a slow circle, eyes wide and scanning. “This . . . this is my cabin.”

  “Pretty sure I would have noticed a roommate. Especially if that roommate was you.”

  “No, I mean, this is so similar to the floor plan in my cabin. Like . . .” She ducked into his kitchen, skimmed her fingers along the maple cupboards, and then peeked into his walk-in pantry. “Like an exact replica.”

  Levi would have shrugged the statement off, but the gesture felt too careless compared with the awestruck expression on her face.

  “Wish I could take the credit, but I only worked with the lumber, not the blueprints.”

  Either she didn’t hear him or she didn’t care for his explanation. She wandered the short distance to the back of the cabin, taking in every wall and window before placing her palm on his bedroom door. As if zapped by an electric charge, she dropped her hand and backed away. Apparently, according to Rayne Shelby, crossing into his personal space constituted a breach of intimacy.

  He folded his arms. “I disarmed the trip wire if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I . . .” Her voice wavered slightly. “Sorry, I was just curious to see if . . .”

  “It looked the same as yours?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. I mean, there can’t be too many ways to arrange a two-bedroom cabin.”

  He waltzed past her, pushed open the door, and threw on the light. Permission granted, she stepped into his room. Sure, there was a pair of work jeans tossed over a chair and his blankets rumpled on top of his unmade bed, but the same something that stirred in him the other night when she’d asked about his home-hopping childhood stirred in him now as he studied her.

  Few people in life were brave enough to search for truth. Fewer still to accept it.

  He’d always believed the Shelby family bred cowardice, but that was before he’d spent time with Rayne.

  He remained in the doorway watching as she took in the corner bookshelves built into the far wall. When she approached the walk-in closet, Rayne gasped.

  She tipped her neck back, scanning up the narrow stairway leading to a small landing at the top of the A-frame attic. “Is that an . . . octagon window up there?”

  “Installed it myself.” Even as he said it, he knew his answer would hardly satisfy her growing curiosity. Octagon windows weren’t standard issue in homes in these parts. Especially not the kind with blue stained-glass panels.

  “How?” It was a breath more than a word. Her fingers hovered near her lips. “My grandfather built the cabin I live in now over thirty years ago. And that window . . . that exact window is in my attic too and in the Blue Jay Suite on the fourth floor of the lodge. My old bedroom.”

  “Ford.” The only answer he could give. “The plans were his.”

  “But why would he have the plans? And why would he even want to replicate the cabin on our property? I don’t understand.”

  He wished he could say, There are a lot of things you don’t understand. But while he’d love nothing more than to rip the Band-Aid off of her family history and expose eighteen years of festering wounds and secrets, his loyalty had already been pledged. To Ford.

  Not all truth was his to share.

  Besides, his fascination with Rayne was fleeting. Temporary.

  Nothing he could say to her, or she to him, would change the past.

  Or their allegiances.

  “I told you. I just built it.” He pushed off the wall. “Now, do you want something to drink, or do you want to explore my dresser drawers too?”

  Her startled expression nearly cracked his mouth into a smile.

  “How is this not weird to you? We share a custom-built house, Levi.”

  “So do millions of people who live in suburbs all across America. Not weird. Just economical.”

  She craned her head to the side, narrowed her eyes. “I know for a fact that the octagon window up there was specially made by a craftsman in Coeur d’Alene. It’s not something a person can just pick up at Hardware Depot. My grandfather loved those windows.”

  Rayne wasn’t wrong. Levi had searched high and low to find the craftsman who sold the windows to William Shelby all those years ago. But the surprise on Ford’s face when Levi showed up with the hard-won treasure had been worth the extra effort. “If you want to know more you’ll have to ask Ford.”

  “Ask Ford? You can’t be serious.”

  “Ya know, disgust isn’t the prettiest expression I’ve ever seen on your face.” Levi slipped out of the bedroom and headed toward the kitchen again. She followed.

  “Like he’d even be honest with me if I did ask.”

  Levi gave a trifle laugh and opened the cupboard to remove two glasses. “You really don’t know anything about him, do you?”

  “I know enough.”

  At the odd inflection in her tone, he spared her a glance. “Code for you only know what you’ve been told from the Shelby nursery rhymes.”

  She released a long exhale, as if to clear all traces of Ford from their conversation, and then shook her head. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come here to talk about Ford. Or my family.”

  He faced her fully. “Then why did you com
e, Rayne?”

  “To apologize.”

  “Which you’ve done. So why are you still here?” He gripped the edge of the counter. “What is it you want from me?”

  When she didn’t answer, Levi shook his head and turned back to the sink. He flipped on the faucet. Cool water splashed into his glass, dotting his forearm. “If you’re here to explore some late-onset rebellion from your repressed adolescence, you’re out of luck. I’m not that guy.”

  At the press of her hand against his back, his muscles went taut.

  “You weren’t wrong when you said I could use a friend the other night, and the truth is, I could still use one.”

  Glass full, he bumped the tap with a closed fist. “You have Gia.”

  “Yes, and she’s my best friend, but she’s also . . .”

  “A Shelby.”

  “Yes.”

  He handed her the glass and searched her eyes. “You want to extend our truce?”

  “If your offer hasn’t expired.”

  “So I would be what—an escape? Your personal ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card from that overpriced prison?”

  Her cheeks blanched. “I wish I could deny it, but that’s a pretty accurate assessment right now. All of your assessments have been pretty accurate.” When she brought the rim of her glass to her lips, he tore his gaze away. Unlike the last two times she’d shown up on his property, there was nothing logical about today’s visit. She shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing in his kitchen asking him for anything, least of all his friendship. And maybe that was exactly why her request appealed to him so much.

  An uncomfortable silence rubbed against his conscience.

  “You’re debating why you should trust me, right?” She paused and scanned his face. “But you do. You do trust me.”

  “More than I should.”

  “The same can be said for me when it comes to you.”

  In Levi’s world of bartering and bargains, the earning of trust was the one component that couldn’t be faked. But there was no commodity for sale here. No contracts being signed or deals being made. Whatever was happening between them now, it definitely wasn’t business.