The Promise of Rayne Page 22

  Her father turned toward the camera. “Again, I’m committed to seeing Idaho thrive—in whatever season we find ourselves.”

  Her father, the hero, the knight in shining armor of Idaho. Suddenly, she was the one who wanted to cry. Had he heard their guests’ stories? Had he seen their faces? Their need? Their heartache? Their courage? Or had he only seen the potential for favorable publicity and future votes?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Mindlessly, Levi riffled through his stack of poker chips. He hadn’t blinked in close to a minute. Hadn’t reached for his drink. Hadn’t celebrated his winning hand. No, his mind was far from the four kings and a jack slapped faceup on the table in front of him. He’d been transported 9.2 miles away. Inside the Great Room of Shelby Lodge.

  Ranger Hat Guy had flipped on the local news ten minutes ago, cranking the volume above the twangy country chick blaring through the overhead speakers.

  And now Rayne, his Rayne, stood next to the governor. Only she wasn’t his Rayne. She wasn’t the work-boot-wearing, get-her-hands-dirty Rayne. This Rayne was a politician’s daughter. Proper, poised, and perfectly untouchable.

  His fingers stilled the chips as he listened to her father’s phony speech about family taking care of family. The man didn’t have the first clue about what it meant to take care of his family.

  If Ranger Hat Guy didn’t turn the channel soon he’d—

  Her voice broke through his agitation and everything inside him seized up at once. He leaned forward, as if his proximity to the television might cause her to notice him. But unlike her father, sincerity flowed from her lips in a smooth, confident cadence. Her gold-flecked eyes were alight as she spoke of the shelter, the stories she’d heard, the hope she’d experienced. Adoration for the community radiated off every inch of her face, and a missile of jealousy fired straight from his core and leveled his inhibitions. She’d stared at him the same way not even three days ago.

  He knew then he’d been wrong. It wasn’t enough to let her go. He had to make it right, do what he should have done weeks ago.

  “I know that look.” A rough baritone cut through his plotting. “You’re about to do something really, really stupid, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.” Levi pushed out from the table and stood. “I’d invite you along but . . .”

  Travis eased back in his chair and gave Levi a see-ya-later salute. “If you’re going where I think you’re going, then I best stay put.”

  “Exactly.”

  There was no lack of activity surrounding the lodge. The cramped parking lot overflowed with cars, trucks, and small trailers. Orange safety cones lined the end of Levi’s driveway and spotted the country highway for a quarter mile.

  Levi pulled into the lot as a black Escalade with tinted windows was pulling out. Governor Shelby’s entourage, he was sure of it. If the man was headed back to Boise, then he’d lasted longer than Levi had expected. Long enough to pat some backs, shake some hands, and smile for the camera. A saint of a man, really.

  Levi flicked his hazards on and parked in the loading zone at the side of the kitchen. He gripped the steering wheel, said a silent prayer, and then carried his first box up the steps to the lion’s den.

  Like the front door, the side entrance remained unlocked. It popped open at the slightest push of the handle. The clattering of pans pinged against his eardrums as the smell of sugary pastries laced the air. Stepping inside, he off-loaded his cargo onto a granite countertop.

  He cleared his throat to alert the woman at the sink of his presence.

  She rinsed away the suds on a shiny baking sheet. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.” She dried her hands on her apron front and turned to face him. “You must be from the Red Cr—” Her words vanished along with her smile.

  So this was Delia. The lodge’s longtime cook. The same woman who’d made the cookies Rayne had gifted him with. The same woman whose timeless smile was framed on Ford’s bookcase. Though Levi had never seen her up close, never spoken to her, he hoped whatever affection she’d shared with Ford hadn’t faded as quickly as their relationship.

  Levi patted the cardboard lid. “I have a delivery for the shelter, a donation of perishable foods and other supplies. There’s a few more in my truck out back too, along with a list of vendors who’d like to help.”

  As if trying to orient herself, her gaze dropped to the label on the box. “You’re Ford’s boy?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Levi Harding.” He gave her his best boy-next-door grin. “It’s nice to meet you, Delia.”

  She glanced at the service door with the same anxious gaze he’d seen on Rayne a thousand times. Voices echoed and chair legs screeched in the next room. Delia’s stance grew antsy. “That’s awfully kind of you, but I’m just about to serve dessert, so this really isn’t the best time for—”

  A blonde pushed into the kitchen, a snarl on her lips and a manicured hand at her waist. “The natives are growing restless out there. Can we get the kids their cookies already?”

  Levi clamped his mouth shut before a laugh could escape. Celeste was everything Rayne had said and more. Emphasis on the more.

  “Oh?” Celeste waltzed his direction. He didn’t miss the flick of her gaze to his left hand. “I didn’t realize you had company, Delia.”

  He wasn’t an expert in women’s fashion, not hardly. But he was fairly certain he’d seen her footwear in one of Ford’s World War II books, as a torture device.

  Delia touched Levi’s shoulder, and he couldn’t help but note she smelled like cinnamon-sugar toast. “He was just leaving,” she said. “I was about to walk him out.”

  “Actually,” Levi countered, “I need to get a signature from Rayne before I can go.”

  “From Rayne?” the women asked in unison.

  Levi nodded and hitched his thumb toward the noise in the Great Room. “I’m fine to find her on my own.”

  “Or perhaps I can sign whatever it is you need.” Celeste’s tone suggested her signature offered more than pen and paper.

  “Sorry.” Levi shook his head. “Has to be Rayne. Boss’s orders.” Self-employment had its perks.

  “I’ll get her,” Delia said, her eyes flicking to the tray of warm cookies set near the stovetop. “Celeste, take these cookies into the Great Room and make sure you limit the little ones to two each.”

  Celeste’s rumpled brow made her seem much older than a woman approaching thirty. “I could just take him out there, she’s right around the—”

  “No. I’ll do it. Just take care of the cookies.” Delia pushed through the swinging door and shot a silent warning over her shoulder.

  “Humph.” The blonde reached for the cookie platter, giving him a last once-over before exiting.

  Less than a minute later, Rayne breezed into the kitchen, her heels skidding to a stop, her lips framing his name in a soundless whisper.

  Obviously, Delia hadn’t mentioned who was waiting for her behind door number one.

  Rayne wore the same pink politician’s-daughter getup she’d worn on camera, her obsidian hair hidden in a tight knot behind her head. White pearls stabbed through her earlobes, and a matching string of beads choked her neck, peeking through the window of her open collar. But even still, even still, the sight of her up close wrecked him. A confirmation he needed. This was his chance to make things right—for her.

  She deserved the truth.

  Delia latched the kitchen door, her gaze sliding from one to the other. “Say whatever needs to be said, but you both better make it quick. I’ll be in the pantry.” She pointed to the lighted doorway a few steps away. Thankfully, he didn’t need privacy for this conversation.

  He expected his first line to be smoother, but her nearness seemed to strangle the words in his throat. “You gave a good interview.”

  Rayne shook her head as if to skip over any explanation he could possibly offer for why he’d shown up unannounced. “You can’t be here, Levi.”

  “As a concerned citizen o
f Shelby Falls, I thought it best not to ignore the governor’s request for supplies and fresh produce.”

  “Why are you doing this—to hurt me?” She cut her voice to a fraction above a whisper. “You asked me to choose. I chose.”

  If she only knew how many times he’d replayed her choice.

  “I love you, Rayne Shelby. I need you to hear that.”

  Delia mumbled something from inside the pantry in a language he didn’t recognize.

  Rayne’s bottom lip quivered. “You’re the one not hearing me. You can’t be here.”

  “I love you.”

  “Stop.” It was a cry more than a command.

  His fingers burned to touch her, to pull her close. What he wouldn’t give to breathe her in one last time before he struck the match that would set her world on fire. “Why? Would my feelings for you be any less real if I didn’t speak them? You know they wouldn’t.” He knew Rayne was familiar with the art of omission; she’d used it on him the other night. She hadn’t denied her feelings; she’d simply excluded them. A genius move on her part. One that had taken him the better part of two days to unravel.

  “You’re making this so much worse. For both of us.” The slip in her voice sharpened his senses.

  “Worse?” He shook his head. “No, worse is watching you on a flat screen and wondering if that’s the only version I’ll ever get to see of you again.”

  She pressed the tremble from her lips and peered at the floor through dark lashes.

  He inched closer, his voice pinched and hoarse. “For what it’s worth, you were right when you said this is bigger than us. It’s always been bigger than us.”

  Rayne angled toward the back door, as if to encourage him to leave, but instead he succumbed to temptation. He captured her wrist and brushed his lips across the back of her hand.

  When her glassy eyes met his, he said the only thing he could. “I’m sorry, Rayne, but this is the only way.”

  There were only two people on the planet who could unravel the web of deceit Rayne Shelby lived in: one she called a cheat and the other she called an uncle.

  He released her hand and headed in the opposite direction of the exit.

  In four long strides, he reached the kitchen’s service door and entered the Great Room.

  It was time to set the lies on fire.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Like in the worst of her nightmares, she couldn’t force her muscles and bones to synchronize. Her legs felt like they were wading through a sea of wet concrete, every part of her moving in slow motion until she gripped the door Levi had disappeared behind.

  Perspiration gathered underneath her arms and at the back of her neck. Her belly churned with the kind of dread that could make her retch into the nearest trash can. He’d tricked her, pulled a bait and switch on her heart, and for what?

  Her vision clouded as she wove through the maze of tables in the Great Room. The urge to call after him pressed against her vocal cords. But he’d already been swallowed up in the crowd. He patted several men on the back, greeting them by name and asking for updates on their homes, their families, their properties, all while continuing to push toward the front of the room.

  He knew their community well, likely better than she did. He’d worked with these people, sold goods to these people, shared his life with these people.

  She picked up her pace. He stood only two table lengths away now. When she bumped the back of a chair, a tiny hand stretched out and tugged on the sleeve of her suit coat.

  “Miss Rayne, will you play Go Fish with us?”

  The mental downshift was painful, but somehow, she formulated a polite decline before spotting Levi near the picture windows. In less than two minutes, he’d managed to capture the attention of every adult in the room.

  Including Cal’s.

  Bricks of fear stacked up inside her as her uncle stalked toward him, his glower honed and sharp.

  Now one table away, her legs finally caught up to her mind. Cal wrapped a hand around Levi’s arm, bearing a tepid grin, the kind that masked murder. He pushed in close, his mouth less than an inch from Levi’s ear. She studied the snarl of his lips as they spoke in a hushed staccato. To the casual eye, the exchange could look cordial, but she knew differently. Her uncle’s words were a calculated death sentence.

  When she closed the distance, Levi didn’t reach for her. He simply shifted his gaze to a look that made every bone in her body liquefy.

  “Tell Rayne the truth about the farm.”

  Cal angled his back to the curious onlookers and spoke through gritted teeth. “You have ten seconds to vacate my premises or—”

  “Tell her you’ve lied to her for the last eighteen years or I’ll start telling a bedtime story to this room full of people. It’s your kind of tale, Cal. Full of villains and deceit and family betrayal.” Levi stared him straight in the eye. “You may own half of Shelby Falls, but you will never own me. And your lies won’t own her for another minute.”

  Cal’s grip tightened on Levi’s arm. “Shut your mouth.”

  “Then start talking.”

  Rayne’s lungs burned as she waited for her uncle to dismiss Levi’s claim, to cling to the only story she’d been told since Grandpa Shelby’s funeral.

  Cal shifted his stance. “We’ll discuss this in my office.”

  “No.” Levi’s jaw pulsed on the word. “We’ll discuss it right here. Look your niece in the eye and tell her she’s believed your lies for the past eighteen years. Tell her Ford didn’t manipulate that land from your father. Tell her you offered Ford the farm in exchange for his signature and his silence.”

  Nostrils flaring, Cal’s scowl turned lethal. “You will pay severely for this stunt.”

  Unfazed by Cal’s threat, Levi continued, “Story time begins in three seconds. Three, two—”

  Cal turned his hate-filled eyes on her. “I lied about the farm.” Her uncle’s overly pronounced words stabbed into her eardrums, a pain that reverberated throughout her skull and knocked the breath from her lungs.

  Teeth bared, Cal jerked Levi closer. “Now get off my property before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

  Levi broke away from Cal’s hold and started for the exit as if to leave her behind with a million unanswered questions.

  On impulse, she reached for him—“Wait.”

  Every hushed murmur in the room paused as her plea echoed throughout the hall. In the span of a few lost heartbeats, Levi’s gaze trailed from her face to the hand on his forearm.

  There was a look—something like an apology in his eyes, yet no words followed from his mouth. He slipped out of her grasp and didn’t turn back.

  Gone.

  “My office. Now.”

  Ice licked the length of her spine, crystalizing every organ in her torso.

  After a stiff yank on the lapels of his coat, Cal trailed through the chairs and tables, his pace eerily understated for the drama that had just occurred. Rayne stayed close on his heels, catching sight of Delia as they rounded into the lobby. Had Delia witnessed what had happened? Did she understand it?

  Cal’s footsteps paused when he addressed the cook. “Make sure he leaves the premises immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” Delia met Rayne’s eyes again, pity replacing her earlier bewilderment before she turned away.

  Cal tapped a bony finger to his study door, and it creaked open as if on its own. He waited in the doorway for her to pass, the narrow gap a tight fit, even for her small frame. Heart pounding, head swimming, Rayne jetted past him into the familiar den. Clove and tobacco seasoned the air and her eyes drifted to the sealed cigar box on his right.

  “Sit,” he ordered.

  Her adrenaline would never allow her to sit. “I want to stand.”

  “I didn’t ask what you wanted. Sit down.”

  She perched on the edge of a seat closest to the door, her knees bouncing to the second hand of the clock. The tick, tick, tick of a bomb that had already been thrown. She wa
ited for him to speak, to explain, to fill in the hidden holes of her history, but he said nothing as he lowered his rigid frame into the leather chair.

  “Tell me about the will—about what really happened with the farm,” she said.

  “Are you really going to question me?”

  Rayne flinched, but no matter how glacial his stare, she wouldn’t be deterred. “What happened with the farm, with Ford Winslow?”

  Cal pressed back in his chair and drummed his fingers on his desk in slow repetition. “Do you know what I find so interesting? Why, after all these years, Ford’s little charity case would turn up inside my lodge and demand answers . . . for you.”

  She coached herself to remain calm. He wanted nothing more than to mask the scent of his own sin by a curtain of accusations. She wouldn’t let him. She wouldn’t leave without answers.

  “What did Ford sign? What did he have to stay quiet about?”

  Cal angled his head as if to retrieve a piece of information he’d filed away in the back of his mind. “You’ve always been so naive, Rayne. A trait I’ve tolerated out of respect for your father. But the problem with naive people”—he leaned forward and steepled his fingers—“is that they trust too easily. Get taken advantage of too often. And worse, they become pawns in a game they were never meant to play.”

  “Don’t be a politician with me. I’m your niece; I deserve to know the truth about my grandfather’s will—that does not make me a pawn.”

  “No?” The weak overhead light and dark-mahogany walls carved shadows above his eye sockets, in the hollows of his cheeks, and in the family divot at the base of his chin. “What do you know about that boy? Please tell me you don’t actually believe his hero ploy.” Cal inched closer. “The son of a convicted cop killer is hardly a hero.”

  Blood drained from her head and sloshed in her belly. Cal’s mouth twisted into a venomous smile. “Oh, he failed to mention that tidbit of information? It’s true. A life sentence for shooting a state trooper in the head during a drug run.”