The Promise of Rayne Page 8

  He smiled fully. “A girl in heels who likes to shoot. You’re just one walking contradiction, aren’t you?”

  “You shouldn’t sound so shocked. I did grow up on acreage in north Idaho.”

  He cocked his head and studied her. “Maybe you’re due for a round or two tonight.”

  “You want to take me shooting?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “If you’re willing to agree to a truce.”

  She blinked, letting his words settle into comprehension.

  “For one night,” he continued, “no talk of families or feuds or property lines. Just . . . a night to cure your bad day, and to redeem me for making a beautiful woman cry outside a bar.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I was a mess before you followed me, remember? And I’ve been less than kind to you after what you did to help me—”

  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be responsible for a single one of your tears.” He held her gaze. “What do you say, Rayne Shelby? Can we be friends for a night?”

  She ignored her balking conscience—the wailing siren screaming inside her head. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Hadn’t she already lost too much because of her association with Levi Harding?

  And yet, not even the answer to that question could make her yearning for a reprieve disappear.

  “For one night?”

  “One night. We can go back to ignoring each other tomorrow if we must, but rest assured that I’m not stupid enough to go shooting with a mortal enemy.”

  He retreated several steps, and strangely, her cheeks burned hotter with every inch of space he relinquished, as if his nearness had lit a brush fire under her skin.

  “You know you want to say yes.” His half smile, half smirk unbalanced her in more ways than one.

  She did. She did want to say yes. More than she wanted to say no. More than she wanted just about anything at the moment. But could she really do this? Let go for a single night—of her conscience, her position, her last name?

  Levi opened the passenger door to his truck and waited for her to make a decision.

  She looked from him to the cracked vinyl seat.

  “Okay,” she said. “One night.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  With a relaxed grip on the steering wheel, Levi glanced at her again, sure that in just a matter of seconds she would come to her senses and order him to turn around and take her back to her car. But instead, she sat quietly, staring out the passenger-side window as their town faded from view.

  After their truce was all said and done, he’d walk away with a clean conscience. His fascination with Rayne was nothing of substance—nothing more than a fantasy developed over nine years of untamed curiosity.

  Tonight would cure him of her for good.

  The full moon illuminated the old country road that cut through dense pine trees and pastures of grassland. Ramsey Highway was the only road that led to and from Shelby Lodge and Winslow Farm. He’d driven it thousands of times, passed the cedar-planked estate and pristine landscape without a second glance. Without care or consequence. But tonight, it was impossible to ignore. His awareness of the wealthy estate had become as real as the girl tensing beside him.

  “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know.”

  “You’re positive Ford is asleep?”

  “The man wakes before the roosters. I’m positive. He’s usually in his second cycle of REM before nine.”

  His statement caused her head to turn, yet her attention remained far away.

  “Then I’m not changing my mind.”

  “Okay, then.” He took note of her bare legs and her delicate choice in footwear. “But you realize I can’t take you out to the actual shooting range, right? It’s too dark, not to mention the issue of your . . . uh, attire.”

  “My attire shouldn’t be a deterrent.”

  Oh, it certainly wasn’t a deterrent, but it was an issue. “You’d think differently after a hot shell casing burns the top of your foot.”

  “You seem very concerned with my feet.”

  “I’m more concerned with getting sued by a Shelby.”

  “You’re breaking our truce,” she said, her eyes fully engaged on his face. “No more mention of family ties.”

  He slowed the truck and signaled onto the gravel drive that stretched from the road to the farm. “Fine by me.”

  She sat up a little straighter and scanned the property. “If we’re not shooting on a range, then what are we—”

  “I’ve got a plan B.” He always had a plan B. A life lesson he’d learned early on. He rolled past the houses on the property and then the warehouse, heading straight back.

  “You’re taking me to the barn?”

  “Trust me.”

  “I’m trying to.”

  He laughed at her honesty, parked the truck, and then looped around to open her door. Her entire body seemed to relax as she stepped into the twilight.

  Levi jogged toward the large red doors, yanked one side open, and called back to her through the dusky haze. “It will take about ten minutes for the overhead lights to warm up. Just stay here, I’ll be quick.”

  But stay she didn’t.

  When he doubled back, she wasn’t in the barn. Or his truck. Or—wait.

  The faintest flash of her white skirt pulled his gaze to the far left. Heels in hand, she walked along the railroad ties that bordered the Christmas tree farm and the orchard. Her dark hair flirted with the moonlight. He fought the urge to call out to her as she teetered momentarily, but as quickly as she lost her balance, she righted herself again. A heartbeat later she stopped and tipped her head toward the darkening horizon.

  His breath faltered.

  Whether it was the star-speckled backdrop, or the rare innocence she exuded, Rayne Shelby was far and away the most enchanting woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

  She didn’t startle when he came to stand next to her; she simply sighed. “It’s strange what your heart remembers when your mind’s been told to forget.”

  What had she been told? Certainly not the truth. He’d bet the farm on that. “When was the last time you were out here?”

  “My seventh birthday.” She looked to him, almost eye to eye with the added elevation of the railroad tie. “With my grandfather. He bought me an apple tree.”

  “An interesting gift for a seven-year-old.”

  “He was . . . an interesting man.” She nearly laughed. “He told me to choose anything I wanted for my birthday, and all I could think was how much I loved homemade apple pie. So I asked for my own tree. And sure enough, he bought me a starter tree and helped me plant it somewhere in this orchard.” She took in a deep breath and then released it. “I can still remember the feel of his hands on mine as he helped me pack the dirt. He was so patient. So careful to make sure I understood every minute detail.” She shook her head slightly, then swept her gaze across the darkened orchard. “It looks so different out here now, but . . . it feels the same. It’s hard to explain.”

  “I get it.” And he did. More than he could explain.

  He took her hand, helped her down, but didn’t release her. Not even after she’d slipped her shoes back on. Heels weren’t suitable for the farm, no matter how graceful the wearer.

  “Now, are you ready for my plan B?”

  The glint of mischief in her eyes was answer enough.

  Rayne stepped through the splintery doorway of the barn and nearly choked on a sharp intake of breath. The place was double—no, triple—the size she’d imagined. The half-obstructed view from the octagon window in the Blue Jay Suite had only revealed a small section of the barn’s tin roof. But as Levi grasped her hand to guide her through the congested area, she realized her reference for scale had been way off base.

  Harvest trucks with mechanical buckets, large blue barrels, and wood pallets stacked twenty feet high were just the beginning.

  “Hey, what’s that thing?” She tugged him to a stop and pointed to th
e strange machine parked behind a tractor.

  “An apple conveyer belt. Never seen one of those before?” There was a hint of surprise in his voice, but she was too awed, too overcome by her surroundings, to think up a witty retort. Her senses were on overload. Her eyes could hardly take in all the tools and equipment, much less her nose take in the spicy scents of juiced apples and fresh-cut grass. All the while, overhead, the circular fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed like a swarm of angry bees.

  Slowing her pace yet again, she ran her free hand along a stack of wicker baskets with rope handles. “And are these what you give to the U-pickers?”

  Levi offered an easy half smile. “Yeah, Ford’s big on nostalgia. Only a few of our acres are designated for U-pick, but for some families, apple picking has become a fall tradition.”

  There was something to those baskets—some memory stored away that she couldn’t quite access. But hearing Ford’s name quickly snapped her out of her own moment of nostalgia. If she allowed herself to dwell on what she was actually doing, allowed herself to think about what it meant for her to be here again, this whole night would be in vain.

  Just don’t think about it, a rebellious voice cooed.

  She wasn’t a Shelby tonight.

  She was simply an average twenty-six-year-old woman. In a barn. With a man. A very good-looking man.

  Levi squeezed her hand. “Hey . . . you okay?”

  “Yep,” she said much too quickly. “I’m just hoping your idea of fun isn’t built around harvesting equipment.”

  “Not even close. Keep walking, princess.”

  And walk they did. To the very back of the barn, through a storage closet, and then finally into a large clearing. A room of sorts. No equipment, no tools. Just a massive roll-up door at the far end. Bark chips scattered the floor, and a few hay bales bordered each side wall.

  “Wow . . . what is this space used for?”

  His eyes danced with amusement. “Fun.”

  Goose bumps rose on her bare legs and arms. This area was several degrees cooler than outside, but it was the chill of anticipation that managed to get the best of her. She shivered when Levi let go of her hand.

  He headed into the storage closet. “It will just take a minute for me to set up.”

  “How can I help?”

  Again, his smile seemed to come easily. He pointed. “See that shelf on the far wall?”

  She nodded as he slipped his pocketknife out of his jeans and placed it in the center of her palm.

  “There’s some twine on the bottom. Cut off a few strips—about five feet or so—and lay it on the ground between those two posts. We’re gonna need some markers. Oh, and don’t turn around until I’m set up.”

  “Okay,” she agreed on a nervous laugh.

  She didn’t bother to ask questions. At the moment, she needed to do. Not ask. Because asking involved thinking, and thinking involved a level of complication she wasn’t ready to deal with. But as she cut the strips of twine, her mind floated to a safe zone as she noted the expansiveness of the room. She couldn’t help but imagine all the possible uses for a space like this. What it could offer the community. She’d organized several fund-raisers in barns and community centers half this size when she was in college. And though there was nothing posh or polished about this particular barn, nothing decorated or uniquely distinguishable, there was something so inspiring about the rustic feel.

  Something homey.

  A rush of guilt nearly swallowed her whole at the thought.

  No. Just don’t think about it.

  While she’d been arguing with her internal opponent and laying out the strips of twine, Levi had been dragging out all kinds of—what sounded like—heavy objects from the storage closet. There was scraping and banging and then . . . she heard him behind her.

  “I’m ready when you are.”

  She took just a second to temper her expectations before she turned. After all, fun was a relative term.

  Yet once again, the man had exceeded the limits of her imagination.

  No, he wasn’t wearing a three-piece suit while crashing a high-society dinner party. Neither was he schooling her on the art of deception in the middle of a parking lot. This time, he was simply handing her a BB gun and telling her to shoot at his makeshift targets: two hay-stuffed scarecrows, five aluminum cans set on a wooden sawhorse, a crudely painted pumpkin, and a handful of other harvest-like paraphernalia.

  The belly laugh that escaped her was so abrupt she couldn’t wipe the tears clinging to her bottom lashes fast enough. “What is this stuff? And why—” She pointed to the pumpkin and tried again. “Why is that pumpkin so . . . creepy?”

  “Hey—Pete’s a jack-o’-lantern. And kids love him.”

  She’d almost calmed, almost dried her damp cheeks and righted herself, when Levi’s flat-toned response put her in stitches all over again. That pumpkin had to be the worst rendering of a jack-o’-lantern she’d ever seen. Smeared black paint for eyes, a carved-out triangle nose, and a hideous curvature for a mouth that looked more like a grimace than a grin.

  “Wait,” she said. “That thing’s for children? Levi, I’ve seen scary movies less horrifying—that pumpkin will give me nightmares.”

  “Give me that.” He snatched the gun back from her hand. “You’re gonna lose an eye if you don’t stop flinging that barrel around. And for the record, that thing happens to be a work of art.”

  “Please don’t tell me you were the one who painted it.” Rayne sucked in her cheeks, pinching them tight to keep her laughter under control.

  “Well, it’s not like I had a lot of other options.” The side of his mouth twitched as he spoke, but amazingly, he managed to keep a straight face. “I don’t screen our seasonal employees for artistic ability.”

  “Perhaps you should start.”

  “And perhaps you should be grateful for this spectacular indoor shooting range I’ve created in less than ten minutes. Bet you’ve never had a date quite like this one.”

  She brushed aside his casual use of the word date and simply held out her hand to retrieve her gun. “Can’t say that I have.” She eyed the crooked face of the ugly pumpkin once again. It didn’t take much more than a squint for Rayne to replace Pete’s twisted smile with the mocking grin and haughty eyes she’d endured only a few hours ago.

  Rayne adjusted the target in her scope and pulled the trigger.

  Pete went down on her first shot.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  If a picture was worth a thousand words, then Levi’s mental snapshot of Rayne peppering two pathetically thin scarecrows with BBs was worth a million.

  The girl didn’t mess around. Every item he’d brought out of storage was either lying prostrate like Old Pete or no longer intact. So much for taking turns.

  “You do realize you’ve made it impossible for me to shoot now, right?”

  She assessed the damage. “Don’t worry, I’ll set everything back up the way you had it. Creepy pumpkin man and all.”

  “Jack-o’-lantern. And that’s not the reason.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Then why—you afraid I’m a better shot than you?”

  “Who taught you to shoot like that?”

  She handed Levi the gun, crossed over the forbidden line of twine, and retrieved two of the scattered, hole-drilled cans. “My cousin Joshua.”

  Ah, Gia’s brother. “He the family hit man or something?”

  “He’s an Air Force officer.” She reset one of the cans and then the next, spacing them perfectly. “No family talk, remember?”

  “Right.” He studied her. “Is that the only topic off limits tonight?”

  Even under the harsh fluorescent lighting, her dark-amber eyes sparkled. “I suppose so. Within reason.”

  “Good, ’cause reasoning happens to be my specialty.”

  She straightened the scarecrow’s arm, bending the wire underneath to stay in place. “I believe that.”

  “So what do you say to a frie
ndly get-to-know-you game?”

  She shot him a look of suspicion. “Depends what you mean by friendly.”

  “Please, Rayne. Try and keep your mind out of the gutter.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. How do we play?”

  “For every target I miss, you get to ask me one question. And vice versa.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “But you already know I can shoot the tar—”

  “You in or not?”

  “Sure, I’m in.”

  “Perfect.” He set the gun on a hay bale and headed for the storage closet.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To retrieve the target.”

  “But I thought—”

  Levi rolled out a six-foot apple punched full of seed holes. “Be a dear and grab that red bucket of beanbags, will ya?”

  “A beanbag toss? That’s the game? You tricked me!”

  Levi leaned the apple against the far wall. “No, you assumed I meant target shooting.”

  “Only because you led me to that assumption.”

  “Exactly.” He winked at her. “Hope your arm’s as good as your trigger finger.”

  She reached into the bucket, grabbed a beanbag, and threw it at him. It grazed the top of his shoulder.

  “Oops, sorry.” She shrugged. “Slipped right out of my hand.”

  Levi smiled. So Rayne Shelby has some fire in her blood after all.

  He placed the line of twine ten feet away from the happy apple and then gestured to her. “Please, ladies first.”

  She kicked off her heels—something she hadn’t bothered to do for target shooting—grabbed a handful of mismatched beanbags, and marched herself behind the line.

  “Oh, and just the center hole counts,” he added.

  Like a slow-moving bullet, her gaze shifted from him back to the apple.

  He stifled a laugh when she scrunched up her shoulders, rotated her hips in an awkward half-twist maneuver, and chucked the bag with a stumble-step forward, followed by an unladylike “Oomph.”

  She missed.

  “Tough break. Looks like I get to ask you the first question.”