The Promise of Rayne Page 21

  “Who?”

  Gia handed her a paper towel, and Rayne blotted her cheeks and then blew her nose. She met her cousin’s eyes with purposeful silence, saying everything she refused to speak aloud.

  “No.” Disbelief masked every line and curve of Gia’s face. “No way. You’ve been seeing him? In secret?”

  “Shhh.” Before another gush of tears, a hushed reprimand squeezed from Rayne’s throat.

  Gia hunched down farther, her palms flat against the granite, her pupils large and focused. “How long has this . . . this whatever it is been going on?”

  “A month. And like I said, it’s not going on anymore.”

  “A month?” Her cousin straightened, her springy curls framing her face like a glossy beauty-salon poster. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  Rayne swallowed another batch of rising guilt. She’d turned into a deceiver—the worst kind of secret keeper—and she’d lied to the girl who’d taught her how to tie her shoes and script her name in cursive. “I know, I’m sorry.” She exhaled, hunkering down for a storm she’d brewed all on her own. Whatever lecture Gia planned to spew, Rayne deserved.

  Only, Gia’s emotional pendulum didn’t swing toward outrage. “It’s not that I can’t see the appeal—I dated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, after all. You probably saw Levi as something new and exciting, something different than all the pretentious jerks who check in for weeklong business trips and flaunt their connections like designer watches.”

  True, but Levi was more than that. So much more. “Yes.”

  “And I’m sure he made you feel unique, special, even?”

  Again, Rayne nodded. She’d been a small child the last time she’d felt so cared for, so cherished.

  “Well, then be grateful you were smart enough to end it when you did. The whole forbidden-romance thing . . . it’s a myth. No woman ever marries the man they have to hide. The adventure, the adrenaline, those things are fun while they last. But that kind of commitment is as temporary as the heartache you feel now.”

  Levi’s haunted expression appeared like a mirage. “I hurt him, Gia.”

  Her cousin pushed off from the counter and leaned against the oven. “Better him than you, unless you were hoping to end up like Cousin Milton.”

  Cousin Milton’s fate took precedence in her mind—the man’s permanent removal from the Shelby history wall. From their family.

  Gia pinched the edge of the pie plate and pushed it closer. “Maybe you’ll change your mind about this piece of pie after you hear what happened between Cal and Celeste at dinner.”

  Gia could shift a conversation as fast as a NASCAR driver could shift gears.

  “Tonight’s dinner?”

  “Let’s just say, this shelter idea of yours could be the ticket to getting Celeste on a plane home. And soon.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s horrible with people. Snapped at a family of four checking in right in front of Cal. Celeste may know business on paper, but she doesn’t understand the art of common courtesy.”

  Despite her churning stomach, Rayne ran her pinky along the crumbly edge of the piecrust.

  “Cal scolded her in the hallway like she was an unruly teenager.”

  After being on the receiving end of so many of Celeste’s finger-pointing sessions, Rayne felt the tiniest tickle of glee at Gia’s report. Right or wrong, it was impossible not to. Slowly, she lifted her fork and trapped a fallen chunk of coconut between the tines. And then, she brought the bite to her lips.

  “You belong here, Rayne, because when you’re not, everything falls apart.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  He ignored the fatigue in his arms and tightened his grip on the ax handle, driving the blade straight through the center of another green pine round. The stiff recoil shot through his forearms and into his shoulders. A satisfying mask for his pain. He assessed the damage. The splintered kindling lay at his feet like matchsticks.

  It hadn’t been the first time he’d been left with a bullet wound of rejection. But unlike the hole his father had left, Rayne’s rejection felt closer to a grenade blast. A grenade he’d handed her.

  He shifted his stance, crunching foliage and sun-warped vegetation underfoot, his mind plagued by her words, her body language, her perfectly pitched voice. He sailed a curse through the air and struck the hard block again.

  With fires raging east and west, the air reeked of ash and irony. The burn ban for residential properties tacked a hefty fine, but Levi didn’t need the wood for burning. He needed it to keep him sane. Keep his uncivil and unlawful thoughts in check.

  He’d split and stacked another five rounds when Ford appeared in his peripheral vision. He swung again, not yet ready to chop the mound of fury building inside him into coherent words.

  “Enough, son.”

  “You don’t want to do this right now.”

  “I know you’re angry with me.”

  Levi squeezed the hickory handle, his calluses splitting under the strain. “You had a golden opportunity, Ford. She was right there, right in front of you, and you let her run. Without the truth! Without the real story of what happened between you and William’s sons!”

  “You didn’t tell her?” Ford’s calm question only fueled Levi’s frustration.

  “I gave you my word.” And Levi wouldn’t break it. Not even for the only woman he’d ever loved. Not when the consequences weren’t his alone to bear.

  “I appreciate that, Levi. More than you know.”

  Too bad Levi was in no mood to be appreciated. “You should have told her, Ford.”

  “She isn’t ready.”

  Levi embedded the blade into the center of the wood round and kicked his stack of freshly cut pine. “Seriously? Eighteen years isn’t long enough?”

  “Lies are easier for people to accept. Especially the ones with roots.”

  “That’s your answer? You freak her out and then decide she’s better off believing Cal’s brainwashing?”

  “I shared as much as I could. My words will mean nothing to her if she doesn’t trust the man who speaks them. To her, I’m a stranger.”

  Levi slashed a finger through the smoky air. “You are her family, Ford! Her blood! She deserves to know you and you deserve to be known!” His heated words echoed through the darkness.

  “I understood the cost the day I signed my rights away.”

  A martyr’s explanation if ever Levi heard one. “Doesn’t matter. Cal manipulated you. His ultimatum was a lose-lose.”

  “I don’t disagree, but the what-if game will only take you so far. If I hadn’t signed those papers, Winslow Farm wouldn’t exist. Second Harvest wouldn’t exist. And neither would your future inheritance. This land—this property—was the avenue God chose to bring you to me. A provision, not a punishment. Never forget that.” Ford shuffled closer, the dry brush underfoot snapping and popping. “I’ve planted the seed, son. If Rayne wants to find the truth, she’ll have to ask.”

  “She’s made her choice; she chose her family, the lodge. You were right.”

  “I take no joy in being right. I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

  “And I’m sorry she’s too afraid to stand up to her family.”

  “A lesson we’ve both learned the hard way.”

  Levi scrubbed a hand up the back of his neck and expelled a weighted sigh. He’d acted out of fear plenty of times in his youth, believed physical pain was the only remedy for the pain within. Before Ford had taught him to think with his mind. To use his God-given gifts for something better. For something bigger than himself. His gaze dropped to the ax he held. But this time, before Levi could lift it, Ford gripped the end of the handle.

  “Enough.”

  At the sound of Ford’s hushed command, Levi’s hold relaxed. He pictured Rayne again, the way she’d kissed him, the way she’d fit in his arms . . . the way she’d shut him out and left him standing in the dark. Alone.

  Enough, he repeated to the urge within. Enough.


  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Her shriek could have shattered Plexiglas. Cold water trailed over her scalp and dripped down the back of her neck onto her pale-green shirt. A gaggle of giggles issued from behind her favorite old climbing tree out back. Incredibly, the oak’s drought-resistant leaves still held their waxy shine—a sight she took comfort in, despite the ever-changing climate.

  “We’re sorry, Miss Rayne! It was kind of hazy over there. We weren’t sure that was you,” came the playful voice of a boy peeking around the tree trunk. Brian Miller.

  Rayne whisked her damp hair off her shoulder and wrung it out, holding back a smile and a giggle of her own. “Sure, sure, try and blame the smoke. Too bad I can see you just fine.” She reached into their bulging bucket of water balloons and selected the plumpest one she could find. “Brian Miller, this one has your name written all over it.” She flung it toward the tree, missing her target by several feet. Apparently her sure-shot aim with a pistol didn’t translate into water play.

  Another eruption of laughter echoed through the property as the children chased each other, smashing swollen balloons and squealing as if they were at summer camp and not a fire shelter. Regardless, the sound instantly lifted Rayne’s divided spirit, providing a momentary pause from the drama in and out of the lodge.

  Despite the latest fire updates and neighborhood clearances in Bear Canyon, every available room at the lodge remained occupied. The fire evacuations were far from over. Several more bordering towns had been alerted to the emergency-protocol procedures over the last few days. The total number of firefighter recruits had increased to over eight hundred in the last week, but due to the thirsty topography, the containment level still remained just under 30 percent, and current statistics showed these fires were not only the worst in Idaho’s history but the worst in the nation.

  Rayne passed a young couple—Dan and Michelle Braiker—who’d checked in last night. They sat on the porch swing out back, cuddling their baby boy and whispering sweet assurances to one another. Unlike the Bear Canyon residents, they’d only been given a five-minute evacuation warning. Five minutes to lock up their home and flee to safety. Rayne wasn’t about to turn them away. Luckily, one of her father’s assistants hadn’t arrived with his entourage yesterday afternoon, so she’d been able to give them a suite on the top floor.

  She strolled around the corner to the dead garden and plucked several crispy weeds from the soil. The Pinskey family waved from the picnic table nearby, a game of Monopoly in play.

  “Ha! I got Park Place! I’m so going to win this thing,” their middle son boasted, waving the miniature deed in the air like a winning lottery ticket. Rhonda Pinskey chuckled and nodded at Rayne’s soaked shirt. “Please tell me you retaliated.”

  Rayne tucked her damp hair behind her ear and shrugged. “Tried but failed.”

  The woman winked. “That’s exactly why I stick to board games.”

  “Smart woman.”

  Rayne climbed the side steps onto the back porch and peered into the Great Room from the outside window. Several parents had adopted the mind-set of the Pinskeys during their wait, keeping their children entertained and their anxiety in check. The common areas brimmed with activity. Families and friends gathered in every pocket of the lodge. And the sight of such camaraderie warmed the uncertainties of Rayne’s heart. This was what she loved. This was why she’d stayed. This was why she’d chosen the lodge. She’d been a young girl the last time she’d seen such a beautiful display of community inside her grandfather’s lodge, not to mention the last time their open-door policy had applied to more than just the affluent.

  She scanned the yellowing lawn and spied a trio of teenage girls, water balloons behind their backs, creeping up on a group of unsuspecting boys. She laughed as their sneak attack was met with hoots and hollers. Could Levi hear them from the farm? Was he even home? Did he hate her?

  The dip in her stomach and the hum of her meandering thoughts were almost enough to derail her efforts to forget her heartache, but then she focused her attention on the yard in front of her, forcing herself to remember the Shelby Falls Easter-egg hunts that her grandfather had hosted right here. And then, how on Sunday afternoons in the summer, their barbecue chicken and watermelon feeds would draw families from several communities over. Kids would splash in the stream at the edge of the property while adults chitchatted in the sunshine.

  Much had changed since then, and yet, the shelter had brought it all back. The purpose. The meaning. The legacy. She couldn’t be the only one who felt it. The people of Shelby Falls were as much a part of Shelby history as her own blood.

  “Rayne—” Her father jerked to a stop while straightening his suit coat. “What happened to you?”

  She shrugged. “Water balloons.”

  If there was ever a time she saw the resemblance between her father and Cal, it was in their shared scowl of annoyance.

  “Well, you’ll need to get presentable quickly. You’re giving a tour of the shelter tonight.”

  “To who?”

  “Celeste didn’t tell you?”

  “She tends to have her own communication style.” As in cold-shoulder communication. Although Celeste had wasted no time fawning over the governor by asking him all sorts of who-do-you-know questions. Her father’s favorite kind.

  “I’m sure she was just busy.”

  She caught herself before she could ask, Busy with what, exactly?

  Celeste had done nothing but complain about excess clutter. Cal hadn’t been much better. This morning at breakfast, Rayne had overheard him recounting a near-death incident involving an abandoned Matchbox car and the bottom of his shoe.

  But truth be told, the lodge was holding up amazingly well, considering . . . well, everything.

  “I thought the producer for your ad campaign was delayed until tomorrow,” Rayne said.

  “He is, but Tina Tucker from Channel 9 will be here in an hour. They’re doing a live on-location shot from the Great Room for the six o’clock news—which reminds me, I need you to round up a few families to sit in the background. Preferably the ones with the most compelling evacuation stories.”

  “Round them up?” Were they cattle or people? “To do what?”

  A cloud of disapproval passed over his features. Randall enjoyed being questioned about as much as Cal did. “To share how Shelby Lodge stepped in during their time of need—if the opportunity arises.”

  Her stomach seemed to digest his words at the same rate as her mind. “You want me to ask them to cheerlead for us while they’re waiting to find out if they still have a home tomorrow?”

  “Just position them, Rayne.” Position them. The way he’d tried to position her before finally throwing in the towel on the whole politics is in our blood speech. The Shelby comparison game had started soon after.

  He patted her on the shoulder before striding back inside. Conversation over.

  She swallowed, looking from the Pinskeys to the Braikers to young, freckle-faced Brian Miller. They were all supposed to be guests of the Shelbys, not spokespeople.

  Rayne was no stranger to the media. She and Gia had been on a couple of commercials with their grandfather back in the day, one for a lodge advertisement and the other for a voting measure demanding safer school playgrounds. But the starry-eyed little girl who’d loved climbing into Grandpa’s lap and waiting for prompts to smile and nod like a glorified puppet would trade places with a root canal patient right about now.

  Tina Tucker’s perfectly sprayed-in-place hairdo would be entertaining if she weren’t so utterly enthusiastic about everything Governor Randall Shelby said. Sure, her father was handsome, even Rayne could see that, but this was live TV. And the man was a governor. A married governor. Keep it in check, lady.

  “It’s an honor to have you with us in Shelby Falls, Governor. Have you been surprised by the quick turn of events in this year’s fire season?” Tina asked with Miss America flair.

  His smile was as shiny
as his gold cufflinks. “My team has been keeping me up to date since the first fire broke out near Wenatchee. With the dry climate and lack of winter snowfall, we were prepared for a bad season, so we had very specific protocols in place to declare a county—or several counties, in this instance—in a state of emergency. Swift reaction time is the first key to providing help in a crisis.”

  “And what about deeming your family’s lodge—Shelby Lodge—a temporary shelter? How was that decision made?”

  “Some decisions are simply the right ones to make. As my late father, Governor William Shelby, used to say, ‘Don’t expect anyone to follow what you don’t live.’ If we aren’t willing to open our door to help families in crisis, how can we expect anyone else to? God, family, and community. That’s always been our family’s position.”

  Wait—had her father just insinuated the decision to open the shelter had been his idea? She blinked hard, only to be caught in Cal’s calculated glower from a few steps behind Tina. She could practically hear his thoughts pummeling into her head. Smile. Nod. Support your father. Be a Shelby, Rayne.

  “And Rayne.” Tina swooped her unmovable hair in Rayne’s direction. “I’m told you’ve grown up in the lodge, worked here since you were of legal age. Can you describe what the mood’s been like in the shelter for the past few days? I’m sure you’ve seen many tears.”

  “Yes, we’ve seen tears, but we’ve seen just as many smiles,” Rayne answered honestly. “The atmosphere around the lodge has been incredibly inspiring. To hear the stories of Bear Canyon, even from those who’ve lost their homes—there’s an undercurrent of hope that never seems to fade. I’ve witnessed neighbors helping each other, crying with each other, and encouraging one another time and time again. It’s given me hope for our community.”

  Her father pressed a firm hand to her upper back. “We’ll get through this together. As a community. Northern Idaho needs all the resources we can get—to rebuild and reestablish, which is why I’ve petitioned for help from the federal government.”

  Tina urged with a nod. “Yes, and as your daughter pointed out earlier in our interviews with the families, our community couldn’t be any more grateful.”