The Promise of Rayne Read online

  “I am not in denial.” Despite herself, Rayne hurried after him, her sandals slipping on the slick concrete underfoot.

  Ignoring her, he plopped the hardware package onto a conveyer belt manned by a cashier who looked half-asleep.

  Levi slipped around the corner to retrieve five gigantic metal rods leaning against a patio set. Rayne placed her basket on the belt, hoping the college-age boy would ring up her items at a speed faster than drying paint. She tapped her foot, her gaze straying to where Levi stood at the self-checkout station. Was that really how he saw her? Like some scared little girl? Afraid of her own family? Ridiculous.

  Her eyes drifted again as Levi collected his receipt and hefted the poles onto his shoulder. Without sparing her another glance, he gave her a two-finger salute and swaggered out the automatic doors.

  Unreal.

  Whatever fantasy she’d invented about him in a three-piece suit the night of the VIP dinner faded into the background. She’d been a fool to ask him for help and an even bigger fool to step foot onto Winslow Farm. What had happened between them—the honey transaction she’d been stupid enough to initiate—would forever hang over her head. His arrogance would make sure of it.

  Stuffing her receipt into one of the crinkly paper bags, she exited the store with a purposeful stride. If she couldn’t go back in time and erase her error in judgment, she could—at the very least—have the last word.

  In the almost empty parking lot, Levi slammed his truck’s rusty tailgate closed, just three spaces away from her silver Audi. And to her annoyance, she couldn’t seem to ignore the staccato beat thrumming inside her chest as she neared him. Pressing the red button on her key fob, she popped her trunk and then tossed her bags inside. If she damaged her new flapper, so be it.

  She spun around to see Levi watching her. “It’s not true—what you said back there. I’m not in denial about anything.”

  “Really?” he challenged, hands on hips.

  “Yes, really,” she mocked. “But I don’t expect you to understand the ins and outs of my role—at the lodge or in my family.” She straightened her spine and narrowed her eyes. “I’m proud to be a Shelby.”

  His expression remained as unenthusiastic as her words had sounded. “Do you know that maintaining eye contact when trying to prove a point is not a sign of truthfulness?” He crossed his arms, his navy T-shirt tightening across his taut shoulders. “Really, that’s a widespread myth. Completely false.”

  He moved in closer. Or had she been the one to move closer? The familiar blend of his scent—minty soap and something earthy and crisp she couldn’t quite name—tugged at the recesses of her mind. In less than three seconds her entire body warmed.

  His gaze dipped to her mouth. “You should really work on your tells, Rayne.”

  After a too-dry swallow, she licked her bottom lip and backtracked several feet to her car. “I don’t have to convince you who I am.”

  But before she could slip into her driver’s seat, before she could shut him out entirely, he spoke again. “You shouldn’t have to convince anyone of who you are—but I have a feeling you’ve spent most your life doing just that.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Like the irritating buzz of an alarm clock set to a permanent snooze cycle, Levi’s words slipped into her subconscious and disturbed her dreams. All night long. You shouldn’t have to convince anyone of who you are—but I have a feeling you’ve spent most your life doing just that.

  When her actual alarm sounded a happily familiar tune, she whipped her summer comforter off her body and swung her legs to the edge of her mattress, thankful for the reprieve of morning.

  Yet it wasn’t until after her second cup of coffee and her fifth bite of extra-crunchy peanut butter toast that she made the decision.

  Today was the day she would meet with Cal about her proposal.

  By the time she retrieved the broom from the closet under the staircase in the lobby, she’d formulated a plan. And with every vigorous sweep of the hallway, she rehearsed her speech.

  Though she’d expected Cal’s “a promotion is a responsibility” lecture during her father’s visit last week, he hadn’t scheduled a meeting with her. There’d been no announcement and no further mention of the thick blue folder she’d handed him nearly a month ago. But she wasn’t a little girl content to hide in the shadows anymore. She was a grown woman, one who’d dedicated her life to the legacy of a man who’d cared as much about his community as he’d cared about her family.

  She’d secured every precious memory of her grandfather into a special pocket of her heart for safekeeping. The piggyback rides through rows of apple trees after a summer rain. The ice-cream dinners when her father left town for business. The bedtime prayers that came with a gamut of questions about heaven and angels and the mother she could hardly remember. But it was his way of connecting with people, his generous offering of time and resources, his simple invitations to meet the needs of those around them that had marked her destiny. William Shelby had been a friend to everyone, and his lodge had once been the lifeblood of Shelby Falls.

  Rayne wanted nothing more than to revive his vision.

  The minute her shift ended today, Rayne would knock on Cal’s door and share her ideas with him in person. He might be able to ignore her printed thoughts on paper, but he couldn’t deny the passion that brewed inside her. She’d gathered dozens of contacts since college, researched hundreds of service opportunities, and read thousands of inspirational articles on growing community centers nationwide. Shelby Lodge had an opportunity—maybe even an obligation—to connect and serve the people of Shelby Falls the way her ancestors had done in generations past. She simply needed to convince Cal the efforts and change would be worthwhile.

  Rayne propped her chin on the broomstick handle and peered out the front lobby window, her daydream lost when her gaze caught on a strange grayish haze hovering above the mountain range across the river. Yet unlike the cloud cover that slumbered atop their town during mid-autumn, this gloomy mass definitely wasn’t fog.

  “News said the wildfires are expected to spread as far as Blanchard by next week.”

  The broom sprang from Rayne’s grip and clattered to the floor. “Blanchard?” she repeated, eyeing Delia. “That’s only a hundred miles from here.”

  The head cook rubbed her fingertips down the front of her white apron. “Don’t I know it.” Delia’s cropped locks played off the silvery hue of her blue eyes. “I can already taste the smoke in the air, which means it’s gonna be wretched for us allergy sufferers. With the lack of snowfall last winter, I’m predicting this will be the driest summer we’ve had in decades.” Her plump cheeks hollowed on a hard breath.

  One of Delia’s many talents included her uncanny ability to predict weather patterns. The woman was a walking, talking barometer, as fascinated by the changes in nature as she was by the spices in a new recipe. “You know, your sixth-sense detection skills could teach that meteorologist over at Channel 9 at thing or two,” Rayne said as she bent to retrieve the broom.

  “Don’t think I haven’t kept my options open for when this gig finally gives out.” Delia winked. “Weathercasting is my plan B.”

  Delia had joked about a plan B since before Rayne moved into the lodge with her father. Over twenty-three years ago. Delia would no sooner leave the lodge than Rayne would submit her notice as a Shelby. Hospitality was too ingrained in them both to ever leave.

  At nearly forty years her senior, Delia was one of Rayne’s most treasured relationships. Their connection was unique, tethered by monotonous tasks and daily repetition, and yet the woman had waited on the sidelines during every awkward transition Rayne braved: glasses and braces, training bras and failed friendships, and of course, crushes on boys she’d never been bold enough to approach . . . except for one. Even still, the standing invitation into Delia’s kitchen had remained open. And what they hadn’t exchanged in conversation over the years, they exchanged in recipes and taste tests and d
ough punching.

  Delia’s brow puckered slightly. “Speaking of jobs . . . haven’t you heard anything on your promotion yet? I figured you’d be begging me for some celebratory coconut cream pie by now.”

  “Not yet, but I’m going to meet with Cal later today.” There. She’d said it out loud. No going back now. “I’m sure he’s been preoccupied with the follow-up from my father’s dinner.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but still, he ought not keep a smart girl like you waiting. Lord knows you’ve paid your dues to this place.” Delia’s lips eased into a maternal grin. “Your grandfather would be proud of the work you put into that proposal, Rayne. I wish he could see you now, the woman you’ve grown into. What he wouldn’t give for a front-row seat in that meeting today.”

  And what Rayne wouldn’t give to have him back.

  Long after Delia had said her good-byes for the day and Rayne had finished her daily sweep of the main floor, Rayne glanced down the vacant hallway to Cal’s closed office door. Strange that she hadn’t seen him come out of his study all morning—not even for his usual coffee refill between ten and eleven.

  She slipped her phone from her pocket and checked the time.

  Thirty more minutes.

  Might as well have been a year.

  She clicked into the home screen on the front desk computer, deciding to better acquaint herself with upcoming events. The color-coded calendar grid was one she’d worked on for weeks.

  The height of tourist season was just a month away, and even though several destination weddings, galas, and reunion events would max out the lodge near the end of summer, there was an emptiness she felt could never be filled by a full reservation calendar.

  Just like the common areas that sat vacant during the majority of the year.

  These quieter days made it hard for her to believe that her grandfather used to joke about replacing the main entrance to the lodge with a revolving door. Back then their clientele had been ordinary townsfolk, Shelby Falls residents who’d stop in for a peaceful view and a hot cup of tea or an ice-cold glass of lemonade. And while she could barely remember those days, something inside her ached for them still.

  She clicked through July’s reservations and took in the colorful grid of August—their busiest month, thanks to a town that tripled its population during tourist season. The smallest wink from the sun, the briefest flash of warmth, and every resident in Shelby Falls would be in full preparation for the coming burst of activity.

  The lobby door pushed open, and she looked up from the screen.

  “Dad? I didn’t know you were back in town?” He’d headed home to Boise just twenty-four hours after last week’s dinner. And he wasn’t expected for another visit until early fall, before his official campaign kickoff.

  Her father planted a light kiss on her cheek, and the biting smell of cigar smoke wafted from his jacket. She wrinkled her nose involuntarily.

  “I’m only back for the afternoon. Had a few things I needed to attend to in town.” He glanced down the hallway. “Have you spoken with your uncle today?” It was an odd question, not the words exactly, but the detached way in which he spoke them, like they’d been unhooked from emotion.

  “No, he’s been tucked away in his office since early this morning. Are you here for a meeting?”

  “Unofficially, yes.” Ever the groomed politician, her father met her confusion with a steady expression that was anything but comforting. He patted her on the arm. “Cal holds a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, Rayne. More than you see here. It’s best not to forget that.”

  Without another word, he released her and strode down the hallway.

  She hadn’t forgotten anything. Cal was as busy a man as her father these days, more reason why he needed to pass the management baton on to her sooner than later. She was ready for the handoff—had been ready. Her father’s unexpected visit wouldn’t deter her plans; if anything, his visit confirmed her decision. Speaking to them at the same time would avoid the inevitable delay in their back-and-forth conversations.

  She read the clock on her phone again.

  In fifteen minutes she’d knock on that door and propose her dream.

  On the release of an optimistic exhale, Rayne lifted her fist and knocked on Cal’s study door. The masculine swell of voices on the other side of the polished walnut hushed, and her uncle’s command to enter zipped through her insides with a flurry of nervous energy. Pushing the door open and her anxiety aside, she stepped into her grandfather’s old study, a room she’d sought refuge in dozens of times. But where his office used to hold casual furnishings and a jar of Tootsie Pops for everyone who entered, Cal’s expensive decor and dim lighting lacked her grandfather’s warm welcome.

  She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the change of light. “I was hoping, with my father here for the afternoon, this might be a good time to discuss my ideas for the lodge.”

  “Please.” Cal motioned for her to take a seat. “Your timing is impeccable. We were just discussing the future of the lodge.”

  She lowered into one of the imported leather chairs opposite him, her gaze flitting from her uncle to where her father stood propped against the side of Cal’s mahogany desk. When he made no attempt to meet her eyes, a cloud of confusion fogged her mental clarity. She searched the top of Cal’s organized desk for her blue folder—the one her fifteen-page business outline was assembled inside of—but it was nowhere to be found.

  She cleared her throat and Cal raised his hand, as if to quiet her unspoken thoughts. He pushed away from his desk a few inches, crossed his legs, and leaned his back into his brass-trimmed leather chair.

  “I’ve always prided myself on putting our family first.” Loosely, Cal threaded his fingers in his lap. “After growing and selling a successful business of my own, I’ve spent the last twenty-plus years pouring my resources and time into advancing your father’s political ambitions, as well as continuing my father’s honorable legacy.”

  Rayne tucked her chin, knotting her own fingers together. Cal often started their discussions this way—like he was standing at a podium about to give the State of the Union address.

  “Do you remember a conversation we had in this office, say, roughly a decade ago, after Tony picked you up at some godforsaken hour and dropped you off to me in his patrol car?” he asked.

  “Yes, I remember.” How could she not?

  “I thought you would”—he swiveled the seat of his chair side to side in a seasick motion—“seeing as that was the night you assured me of your desire to stay true to your family and follow in my footsteps at the lodge.”

  “Yes, it was—is—still my desire. And I can assure you that my vision for the lodge’s future mirrors Granddaddy’s, while also increasing our annual revenue.”

  Cal continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Not only did I feel you were mature enough to learn the details of my father’s last will and testament that night, but I answered every one of your questions regarding what had happened eighteen years ago after my father’s wayward employee betrayed our entire family. I explained in no uncertain terms how Ford used my father’s most private information against him, how he swindled a lonely, grieving old man into changing his will without a thought to the man’s own children. How my hands—as the executor of my father’s estate—were tied because Ford had covered his tracks like a seasoned criminal. How when we’d offered Ford a check for double the fair market value to buy our property back—to keep the farm our ancestors had tilled with their own hands inside our family—he refused, only to build his own home and business on Shelby land just to spite us.” He stopped the twisting of his chair and leaned forward. “So how does a man who came from nothing, a man who has no family to speak of, no college education, and who worked a blue-collar job his entire adult life end up with a two-hundred-acre orchard and farm?”

  Like in Sunday school, she knew the correct answer without having to dig deep. Repetition tended to store knowledge close to the s
urface. “Because Grandpa Shelby trusted the wrong man.”

  Cal hooked a finger under his top desk drawer and slowly dragged it open, reached inside, and produced a folded receipt. “And it would appear, Rayne, that so have you.”

  He slid the tissue-thin paper toward her using only the tip of his pointer finger, and then pressed it flat. And there, staring back at her, was a carbon copy of the check she’d written to Levi before the dinner.

  This meeting between Cal and her father hadn’t been happenstance. They hadn’t been discussing polls or political agendas.

  They’d been discussing her.

  Rayne’s throat tightened, muting her voice to a panicky rasp. “I can explain—”

  “Why you ignored my warnings? Why you went behind your family’s back? Why you negotiated a business deal with a farmhand employed by the man who conned your grandfather weeks after he’d lost his wife?” He slapped the flat of his hand on the shiny desktop and every organ inside her recoiled. “This is unacceptable, Rayne.”

  Her vision blurred but she refused to give in to her tears. Crying in front of them would only compound their list of grievances.

  “Cal.” It was her father’s voice that sliced through the tension. His tone remained predictably calm, yet his arms stayed crossed. And despite the vacant chair beside her, he made no attempt to occupy it. “Let’s allow her a chance to defend herself. Go ahead, Rayne.”

  Cal pressed his mouth into a grim line and nodded once. Only now that she had their undivided attention, her thoughts toppled over themselves, much the same as her racing heartbeats.

  Suddenly, every excuse in the world felt wrong. Cal wouldn’t care how many media questions she’d fielded, or how many food orders she’d placed, or how many party supply shops she’d called for the exact burnt-crimson red tablecloth he’d requested. There was only one answer to give: she’d screwed up.

  She twisted her hands in her lap and forced herself to hold Cal’s darkened gaze. “I forgot to order the patron gifts, and I didn’t realize my error until it was too late. I just . . . missed it. It was an honest mistake. I knew how important this dinner was to you and my father, and because of the short turnaround time and the gift specifications you’d outlined, I felt my best and only option was to seek out a vendor associated with the co-op at Winslow Farm.”