by Nicole Deese
Her concern regarding a certain extra confident farm boy had died as soon as the first course of the night had turned into the third, and then finally, into dessert and coffee.
Levi wasn’t coming.
Every tendon, muscle, and bone in her body sighed at the revelation.
Her floor-length pale-pink gown swooshed as she rotated her right ankle clockwise and leaned over the cedar railing. She scanned the tables and patrons below, enjoying what had always been her favorite part of a Shelby event: the afterglow at the end of the night, when pretenses were lowered and socializing with the masses felt far more comfortable than cumbersome.
Only tonight, her heart soared with a private celebration all her own.
The string quartet’s rendition of “God Bless America” sailed high above the rafters to her hidden corner. The notes swelled in her soul and pricked at her most tender of memories—of stretching tall on tiptoes to set the butter and jam on the breakfast table, of managing the check-ins and checkouts at the front desk during her middle-school summers, of the hundreds of validations from respected guests who spoke life into her most sacred of hopes. That someday she might be the Shelby who would carry her grandfather’s legacy into the next generation.
A tear escaped from the corner of her eye. So many moments had led up to this night. So many sacrifices for the sake of her dream. And all of it—every critical look, every tactless comment, every pitying pat on the back from family members who believed her daft for not going on to grad school or interning with one of her father’s associates—had been worth it. Cal’s rare nod of approval from the back of the room had diminished every last one of her doubts and reinforced her hope. He’d finally seen her. Not just the little motherless girl he’d tolerated at the lodge after her grandfather’s death, but her, a woman capable of organizing an elite dinner party for her father’s VIP guests. She wasn’t an aimless Shelby in search of purpose. She knew her purpose—had always known it. And in only a matter of days, Cal would hand her the proverbial keys to her destiny.
“Weren’t you warned never to lean over railings?”
The cool words were in direct contrast to the warmth feathering the hollow of her neck.
Rayne spun toward the husky baritone and blinked him in, breath seemingly trapped in the same unknown location as her voice. The man before her, the man who drank her in like duty-free liquor, wasn’t the same dusty-blond farmhand she’d spoken with two days ago wearing worn Wrangler jeans and work boots.
No, this man looked far, far more devastating.
In a three-piece suit that could have been taken straight out of a politician’s closet, Levi emanated status, prestige, and danger.
Heavy on the danger.
Words failed to form quickly enough, her thoughts breaking through like the faded dash lines of an old county highway.
Lazily, his gaze traveled the length of her gown. “I told you I cleaned up nice. I just wish you would have given me the same courtesy warning about you.”
She sidestepped him. “Why are you here?” The question came out sharper than she’d intended, but her every nerve felt exposed under his shameless scrutiny.
“Your memory can’t be that bad.” He angled his head, raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who gave me the ticket.”
An exasperated huff leapt from her lips. “But dinner started nearly three hours ago. So why are you here now? It’s over.”
“It’s not over for me.” He gave her a sly wink. “Make an impression at cocktail hour and they forget you by dessert. Catch them in the mingle at the end of the night . . .” Two bold parentheses indented each side of his mouth.
“Please, this isn’t a game.” She pressed two fingers to the center of her forehead, closed her eyes for half a beat, and recalculated. “This night means everything to me.” Despite herself, panic broke through her rationale. “If Cal catches you here—”
“He won’t.” Levi shifted closer. “Because my word means everything to me.” In the span of a single heartbeat the man’s arrogance morphed into amusement. “How’d those gift bags turn out anyway?”
She swallowed. “Nicely.”
“Good, that’s what I like to hear.” After a smug nod, he reached for her hand, brought it to his mouth, and planted a warm kiss just above her knuckles while he stared at her through hooded eyes.
For the briefest of moments, Rayne lost herself in those sea-green eyes, in the resoluteness of his voice, in the air of his unshakable confidence. The same way she’d lost herself on an August night long ago at the Falls.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“Please, you have to go.” She pointed and backed away, every part of her pleading with him to obey. “Take that staircase over there.”
Levi turned much too slowly before he stepped in the direction she pointed.
A new voice, a familiar mix of sass and sarcasm, filled the space. “You know, someday you could stand to shed a layer or two of predictability, Rayne. I mean, I’m gone for a couple of months and I still know exactly where to find you during one of these fancy shindigs.”
Gia!
With an overwhelming swell of joy, Rayne swiveled on her heels and rushed toward her cousin, nearly tripping over her hem as she neared the top of the staircase. She threw her arms around Gia’s neck. “You didn’t tell me you were home!”
“Technically, I didn’t know when I’d get home. International travel tends to screw up my reference of time. Besides, you know there’s nothing I enjoy more than upsetting the Shelby fruit basket with my punctual arrivals. I never like to miss a party.” Gia tilted her head toward the elegant crowd waiting downstairs, a stark contrast to Gia’s attire of ripped jeans and her “Fear The Artist” T-shirt. “But it seems you’re the one who surprised me . . .” She wiggled her eyebrows and all at once Rayne’s blood felt as thick as sludge. She followed her cousin’s dark gaze and caught only a sliver of Levi’s golden hair as he descended the far staircase.
Had he been watching her reunion with Gia?
“Who’s the guy? And since when did you start using this spot as a secret rendezvous?” Gia poked Rayne in the rib cage.
“No one. And since never,” Rayne said in her most convincing tone.
Her too-smart-for-her-own-good cousin cocked an eyebrow. “There’s only two reasons you blush like that: One, a hot guy has you all flustered because you don’t know the first thing about flirting.” Gia held up her pointer finger. “Or two, when you’re three seconds away from a full-fledged combustion. And let’s face it, you haven’t been angry like that since my brother tossed your pinned-butterfly collection into the burn pile. So yeah, Hot Guy has my vote for sure.”
Rayne shook her head and linked arms with Gia, guiding them down the opposite staircase. “Of all the things I’ve missed about you, your imagination holds first place.”
“Funny, I just got a call from an international art dealer who told me almost the same thing. Right before he bought two dozen of my pieces. Now”—Gia searched the downstairs lobby as the duo stepped into a cloud of overpriced perfume—“where’s the wine? You and I have a lot to celebrate.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news, Gia!”
“It kind of is, yeah. So what about you?” Gia nudged her. “Please tell me Cal finally acknowledged your undying loyalty to this place and promoted you.”
Rayne couldn’t help but smile at her cousin’s backhanded compliment. “Not yet, but I have every reason to believe it’s coming soon.”
“What is he waiting for? You’re practically the den mother of this joint.”
Rayne laughed and steered her cousin down the hallway, hoping to avoid another surprise encounter with Hot Guy.
She gave her cousin a gentle push toward the kitchen door. “I need to go shake some hands, but there should be a bottle of red breathing on the counter. Want to stay at my cabin tonight? I can’t wait to hear all about your trip. I shouldn’t be more than an hour. Two at the very most.”
“Are you trying to hide me from Cal? Because I really thought he’d get a kick out of my new shirt.”
If Gia only knew who Rayne was really trying to hide.
“Somehow I doubt he’ll find it quite as humorous as you did.”
“True, but it’s my way of quietly rebelling against the family image. It’s an art form I’ve perfected. You should learn from me.”
“I’m not nearly as skilled as you. If I tried to rebel, I’d probably end up like Cousin Milton.”
Gia pinched Rayne’s arm and then crossed herself. “Don’t even joke like that.”
Momentarily shamed, Rayne bit the inside of her cheeks. The fate of their great-cousin Milton had only ever been discussed in private. It wasn’t a joke between them, or a joke anywhere really. His name wasn’t so much as breathed inside the Shelby family, mostly because he’d been renounced. Excommunicated. Cut off from all Shelby privileges. The man had raised too many questions, pried too deep, and overstepped too many boundary lines, all while riding on the shirttails of his surname. Not surprisingly, Cal had been the one to lead the charge against him.
“Sorry,” Rayne said. “That was a stupid thing to say.”
“You’re fine. Just be glad Cal didn’t overhear you.” Gia waved her hand dismissively. “Now, I need a glass of vino. Jet lag’s a beast. It’s like seven in the morning Rome time.” Gia’s exotic copper complexion matched her saucy Italian personality, a perfect blend of both her parents. Aunt Nina was a successful franchise owner of Italian cuisine bistros, with credit for the authenticity of her menu going to Gia’s father, a full-blooded Italian who knew his way around the kitchen almost as well as he knew his way around their town. No one messed with her uncle Tony, Shelby Falls’ chief of police.
Gia pranced past Rayne and pushed through the doorway of the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I’d offer to save you a glass, but you wouldn’t know the first thing about appreciating a good Cabernet.”
Rayne winked at her. “I might grab a sparkling water.”
“Ooh, be careful not to overdo it there, cuz.” Gia rolled her eyes and let the kitchen door swing closed.
On the way back to the lobby, Rayne narrowly escaped the grasp of two wine-wobbly couples, both wishing to compliment her on such a nice affair. She’d smiled gracefully, while her eyes continued to scan every last corner of the lodge for her neighbor.
Levi was nowhere to be found.
Her little secret was safe.
CHAPTER FOUR
The screen door to Levi’s modest abode squeaked open, but he didn’t have to spare a glance to imagine Ford’s patient stance or the rancher hat curled inside his leathery hand. He knew the sight well, had seen it from his first day on the apple orchard nine years ago. It simply wasn’t Ford’s style to interrupt. The man gave respect the same way he earned it, by making others a priority above himself.
After entering one last figure into the spreadsheet on his laptop, Levi pushed back from the small kitchen table, which doubled as his work desk, and grinned at his mentor. “You get the backhoe up and running again? Travis said you were both up to your eyeballs in hydraulic fluid all afternoon.”
“Your friend exaggerates.” Ford’s push-broom mustache danced as he chuckled. He strolled into Levi’s kitchen and took a seat at the table. “Although I won’t say I wasn’t grateful for his help. Replacing the pump in Old Bess is not the easiest task to perform solo. But she’s up again, diggin’ like she was twenty years ago.”
Levi shook his head and stood to grab a couple Cokes from his fridge. Ford’s affection for his backhoe was borderline cause for concern, second only to his first love, Tabby the Tractor. “Glad to hear you two have been reunited.” A rush of chilled air swept across his face as he reached onto the top shelf, grabbed the red-and-white cans, and then bumped the door closed with his elbow. “You digging that new irrigation line?”
Levi handed a sweaty soda can to Ford and then popped the tab on his own. After a long, and much-needed, fizzy swig, he searched the property through the side dining-room window overlooking the apple orchard, pumpkin patch, corn stalks, and Shelby Falls’ favorite Christmas tree farm. If he strained, he could almost make out the seasonal gift shop and the storage barn. Too bad the profit on all those commodities combined had given them little more than sore backs and pennies on the dollar.
But that was all before the launch of Second Harvest, Winslow Farm’s personalized farm-to-table collaboration.
“Well, I got it started at least.” Ford spun the can on the tabletop, the undersides of his cropped nails a permanent stain of oil. “I promised Hauser I’d take him for a ride and now the dog won’t move from his post.”
Levi laughed when he spotted Old Bess parked to the west edge of the orchard where Hauser, Ford’s golden retriever, was stationed next to the back tire, waiting for his master’s return. “No one could ever discount his dedication, that’s for sure.”
Ford raised a woolly eyebrow. “Kinda reminds me of someone else I know.”
Levi brushed off the remark with an easy smile. “A lesser man might take offense to being compared to a dog, but since I know Hauser, I’ll consider it a compliment. For his sake. And . . . since you asked”—his voice dripped with sarcasm—“Second Harvest is having an excellent week.”
Without warning, a pretty face with doe eyes surfaced to the forefront of his mind. He blinked and returned his focus to the window.
On the other side of the farm’s two-hundred-acre parcel, the old storage warehouse had been fully transformed into Second Harvest’s distribution center. Inventory was based solely on the goods contracted to them by local farmers, merchants, and vendors. Second Harvest not only distributed the custom orders to local residents and small businesses, but also contributed to an in-house food pantry for the community. Ford’s decade-long vision had finally come to fruition, and Levi had been the one to make it happen.
Ford assessed him with knowing eyes. “Wouldn’t hurt you to take a break every now and again. Have a life outside all these spreadsheets.”
Levi hooked his foot around the wooden chair leg and dragged it away from the table before dropping into the seat. “You don’t hear me complaining.”
“No, I don’t, although sometimes I wish I did.”
An odd comment for Ford, yet Levi had a feeling he knew what was coming.
“You have more ambition than anyone I’ve known in my sixty-three years. But, Levi, I never want this farm to become a burden to you.” The vibration of Ford’s rumbly tenor knocked against Levi’s chest. “All this will be yours one day, but an inheritance should be received as a gift, not tacked onto a debt you feel obligated to pay back. You’ve paid me back. A hundredfold in a hundred different ways. No matter how much you slave away on your laptop or network with the biggest and the best, you can’t make a free gift any more free. Don’t kill yourself trying to earn something that’s already yours.”
But while Levi appreciated the man’s fatherly tone and valued his wisdom, he knew Ford was wrong. There weren’t enough resources in the world to pay the old farmer back for all he’d given him over the last decade. Levi would never forget his kindness, the same way he would never forget that fateful June afternoon just three weeks after his eighteenth birthday.
Wearing the last clean T-shirt he owned, he’d knocked on Ford’s front door and whispered a prayer to a God he wasn’t even sure he believed in. With little more than a weak job lead and a quarter tank of gas, Levi had gone all in on a chance for seasonal farm work. Only, the paycheck Ford had provided him every month for the last nine years represented the least of the man’s generosity. Ford had shared his food, his finances, and his faith, all in equal measure. But more than that, he’d given Levi the one thing he’d been certain he would never find: a family.
The intensity of Levi’s gaze held a message as bold as his words. “I don’t want an out—not now, not ever. This farm is a part of me, the same way it’s a part of you.”
Levi blinked twice, his mouth falling open seconds before sound followed. “Wait—Tom called you?” Not even his years of religious poker playing could mask his childlike enthusiasm. At the governor’s party, Levi had been given less than five minutes with the rich entrepreneur to pitch his business plan for the expansion of Second Harvest, and he’d left with nothing more than a noncommittal, Don’t call me, I’ll call you. But he had. The man had called.
“What did he say? What did Tom say?”
Ford’s expression gave away nothing. “A few things, actually. Told me the two of you met in person.”
Yeah, yeah. Levi would deal with that part of it later. “But what did he say about Second Harvest?”
“He said he’d never met a more determined salesman in his life, and that we have a deal for ten of his Wellness Smoothie Shacks.”
Levi could only gawk until the adrenaline pounding in his chest shot down to his calves and into his feet. With a leap, he pumped a fist to the ceiling. “Yes! Yes!” He spun around. “Do you realize what that means, Ford? That account is—”
“Substantial.”
Levi laughed in full at Ford’s humble translation. “There’s only a few accounts larger than his in the entire state!” And someday he would crack into those as well. How he’d love nothing more than to make the Shelbys beg for his business after all the years they’d tried to choke them out.
“He also said he’d like to come on as an investor.”
No words. Absolutely no words. Securing Tom as an investor would be the link he needed to secure others just like him. Levi would just have to work around the Shelby blockade to get to them.
