by Nicole Deese
At the mention of the farm, Cal’s coloring deepened, while her father, the ever-steady diplomat, remained taciturn.
She wouldn’t give up Levi’s name unless she was forced. “The vendor—”
“Levi Harding,” Cal interrupted. “The same charity case you were canoodling with at the Falls the night I sent Tony after you.”
She swallowed, a new sense of betrayal pressing against her conscience. “Yes, Levi assured me he could fill the large order and have it delivered on time for the event.” She sought her father’s understanding. “He kept his word and I’ve received nothing but high praise and gratitude from your supporters. They loved the honey, felt it both thoughtful and reflective of Shelby Falls.” She pushed her thumbnail into her opposite palm and reminded herself to breathe.
But it was all too apparent that her explanation had missed the mark of her father’s approval by miles. The thick stretch of silence that followed tugged at her intuition. Had they figured out the rest? Did they see Levi at the dinner? Did they know she’d given him a ticket?
Her father shifted his stance, accompanied by a resigned nod to Cal. Though her father’s political standing held weight outside the lodge doors, on the inside, family politics were less democracy and more dictatorship. The ten-year age gap between her father and her uncle had never been more apparent than in family-business deliberations.
Cal clasped his hands on the desk, tenting his index fingers while his heavy gaze fell to the tarnished check once more. “You know as well as I do that this has little to do with a few cases of honey and everything to do with you seeking help from a farm that would have been a part of your inheritance one day if not for that crook.” He shook his head. “If you were a new employee I’d fire you on the spot. But you’re not a new employee, Rayne. You’re a Shelby.”
You’re a Shelby. Her entire life had been defined by those three words.
“I take full responsibility for my actions. I should have come to you first. I’m sorry.” She couldn’t be more so.
Cal’s stern expression held, but a flicker of fleeting remorse in his eyes pummeled her with fear. “Managing your father’s campaign is my top priority. When I leave this fall to join him, I’ll be handing over the lodge and all its responsibilities to a single individual. To someone I trust. To someone who shares our core values.”
“I understand.” She nodded in earnest. “I won’t let you down again. I’ll take care of everything—”
“You’re not ready.”
She lifted her head and stared at the man who spoke the word daggers straight into her heart. Not her uncle, but her very own father.
“Not ready?” She pushed to the edge of her seat and implored them both. “But I’ve grown up in this lodge. I’ve spent every summer of my youth working that front desk. I drove back to Shelby Falls the morning after I graduated college. This lodge is my whole life—my future.”
“A week ago I might have been moved by such a loyal speech,” Cal stated dryly. “But that was before I spent the last forty-eight hours tracking down the alias on this check after one of your father’s largest donors requested the name of our local beekeeper so he could purchase more honey.” He tapped a finger against the shiny mahogany. “Do you understand how destructive a tie with that man could be to your father’s future? To his campaign? As a past employee of the lodge, Ford has had access to our family’s most private accounts. He knows intimate details about your grandfather’s political and personal life, information we’ve gone to great lengths to keep from the public. Information that could tarnish not only your grandfather’s legacy but your father’s impeccable reputation as well.”
“But what could possibly be Ford’s incentive now—after all these years? He already owns the farm.”
Cal tipped his gaze toward his brother, as if giving him permission to chime in. “He wanted more, he felt entitled to more,” her father answered. “What you have to understand is, from the day Ford came to the lodge seeking employment, Cal warned our father against him. He was only a few years older than your uncle, but we felt all along that the unassuming man he portrayed on the outside didn’t match who he was on the inside. Unfortunately, we were right.” Her father’s eyes narrowed. “Ford saw an opportunity while Cal and I were busy building our careers, and he took full advantage of it. The truth of his jealousy didn’t show in full until the day we buried our father. We’ve all been the victims of Ford’s deception.”
“And yet you handed him and his motley crew an invitation into our lives,” Cal said.
Rayne could only hope her uncle didn’t realize the full truth of his statement.
“Which is why,” he continued, “I’ve asked your cousin Celeste to step into the position of lodge manager during my absence.”
Rayne stood so abruptly her chair caught the edge of the Oriental rug and tipped over.
“What?” Shock numbed her senses.
A hand gripped her upper arm as if to steady her. Only, she couldn’t be steadied, not when her world had just been yanked out from underneath her. She looked into her father’s eyes and saw a truth that cut nearly as deeply as the day he’d told her Granddaddy Shelby had died of a heart attack. Tears climbed her throat and soured on her tongue. “You agree with this?”
“Your father spoke to her this morning before she left for the airport,” Cal said.
“Rayne, your cousin understands the complexities of running a business of this caliber. We’re fortunate she’s between projects. She has some great insights to enhance the lodge’s current structure of operation, and I believe she’ll be a good business mentor for you . . .” Her father continued to speak, continued to fill the space with all the credentials her second cousin possessed. All the business plans she’d drawn up for profitable franchises. All the fancy degrees and letters trailing her name.
All the ways in which Rayne had failed to measure up.
Rayne turned back to her uncle, every ounce of her pride stripped bare before him. “Please, please, don’t do this. I know I made a mistake, but you have my word I’ll never step foot onto their property again. I can make this right, I promise you I can.” She pressed a hand to her heart, the strong beat thrumming against her palm. “Don’t give away my dream.”
Cal rubbed his forehead as if to erase her plea from his mind. “The problem, Rayne, is that you already gave me your word. Nine years ago.” He stared at her head-on. “Sometimes the best thing we can do for a person is identify their weaknesses. Your talent for hospitality has never been in question, but your naiveté and lack of business instinct have revealed you simply aren’t mature enough to manage the lodge without supervision. Your most recent lapse in judgment is a case in point.”
She closed her eyes briefly against the watery sting while the obedient side of her personality sidestepped her passion and surrendered to practicality. “When? When will she be here?”
“She starts tomorrow morning,” her father answered.
Rayne couldn’t bring herself to face him, couldn’t bring herself to see his disappointment in raising a daughter who never seemed to spread her wings wide enough for his liking. “And what about my cabin?”
“You can keep it. We’re prepared to continue your salary as a front-desk clerk and event planner. Celeste will take the Blue Jay Suite on the fourth floor.”
Another blow Rayne couldn’t dodge. All those repair supplies she’d gathered yesterday were for her replacement. Celeste was moving into her old bedroom.
“May I be excused?” Her voice thinned to a whisper.
With a stiff nod, Cal granted her leave.
Halfway out the door she heard her father mumble a question she couldn’t quite decipher, and her hand stilled on the knob as if in wait for an undeserved mercy pardon.
Her uncle’s reply was immediate. “Mistakes which don’t teach us become habit. It’s long past time she learned how to think like a Shelby.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Every pathetic dri
p of coffee through the makeshift paper-towel filter she’d concocted in Gia’s tiny kitchen seemed to magnify Rayne’s current view on life. She peeled the soggy napkin back and took a small sip before tossing the contents down the drain. Sometimes the quick fix ruined the whole pot.
“Why are you making coffee in the middle of the night?” Gia stumbled out of her bedroom, arm slapped over her eyes. “And why is every light in my apartment competing with the surface of the sun?”
“It’s five thirty.” Rayne’s voice sounded as far away as she felt. “And you’re out of coffee filters.”
Gia lowered her arm just enough to test her squinty scowl before returning to her duck-and-cover stance. “You wouldn’t need coffee if you were still sleeping.”
Robotically, Rayne reached for her purse. “I work at six. Every day.”
Gia flipped the light switches off in the kitchen and living room before slumping onto her sofa. “I still don’t get why you’re so bent on going in today. You need a mental-health vacation, especially after—”
“We talked about this, Gia.” At length, until two in the morning. “I’m going in because it’s my job.” And her life. She could no sooner live without the lodge than she could without Gia.
Though, in her father’s eyes, choosing to stay at the lodge wasn’t even in the same stratosphere as those fancy internships he’d offered her fresh out of college.
“You realize you’re not Cinderella, right? You’re not the family slave. You could do something else.”
Her eyes dragged to Gia’s. “Like what?”
Gia’s mouth hung open, and Rayne could practically see her cousin’s brain cells overheating.
“I belong at the lodge as much as you belong with your art.”
Gia huffed and rested her chin on her knees. “I wish I could have been in that meeting. One stupid mistake shouldn’t wipe out a lifetime of loyalty.”
One stupid mistake. One quick fix.
Rayne had dug her own grave the day she’d crossed the property line into Winslow Farm. She’d told Gia as much; although, she’d been careful to leave Levi out of the retelling. No good could possibly come from her cousin connecting the dots. Gia had her own issues with Levi Harding—or rather, with Levi’s best friend. No, what Rayne needed most was the ability to rewind time, to leave the golf cart parked at the lodge, to tell Gil at Gilbert’s Party Palace that she’d happily purchase a hundred and thirty-six plastic kazoos if it meant keeping her promotion.
But nothing in life ever worked out that easily.
“She’s not better than you. You know that, don’t you?” Gia’s voice cut through Rayne’s childish yearning. “Celeste might have all kinds of fancy degrees, but that doesn’t make her more capable. It doesn’t make her more deserving.”
Her father and uncle had certainly believed so. The same way they believed Rayne to be too soft, too naive, too heart-strong.
Her role in the family had yet to be seen. It wasn’t just her overall lack of political ambition that had dropped her to the bottom of the totem pole—it was her lack of credibility and purpose. Gia’s artistic drive and talent were both respected and esteemed; the same could be said of Gia’s brother, Joshua, whose honorable pursuits in service had ranked him an officer in the US Air Force. Outside of her great-cousin Milton, Rayne couldn’t name a single relative who hadn’t achieved some grandiose level of personal and professional success by twenty-five.
Levi was right when he’d said Rayne didn’t fit into the Shelby family.
She never had.
“Rayne.”
Rayne’s forced smile wasn’t enough to reassure her protective cousin, but it would have to suffice for now. If she didn’t leave Gia’s studio soon, she would add tardy to her list of offenses. Cal would expect her at the front desk at six o’clock sharp. Punctual, positive, and perky.
She buttoned her crop-sleeved pink cardigan. “Maybe Celeste has changed,” Rayne added with a spark of hope she didn’t feel.
“That’s about as likely as chocolate being named a vegetable.”
“We haven’t seen her in years. Maybe . . . maybe this won’t be as horrible as I’m envisioning. Maybe Celeste and I can build a cousin bond, a friendship, even.”
“I really don’t want to pop your positivity bubble, but before you float off into the clouds, I feel it’s my duty to ground you. The woman’s as self-absorbed as a Jersey Shore housewife.”
Rayne made for the door. “Gia, you can’t possibly know—”
“I stalk her on social media. I know.”
Rayne had seen the posts as well, but not everyone was who they appeared to be online. She turned the knob.
“Want to stay over again tonight? I won’t be home until sometime after nine since I have that private showing for the Art Institute, but I want to hear how your first day with the wicked witch from the east goes.”
Even in Rayne’s foggy mental state, the invitation to stay with Gia felt like a better idea than staying alone in her cabin. “Sure.”
Gia smiled. “Good, then I’ll buy the ice cream. And the wine.”
Rayne gave Gia one last glance over her shoulder, then took three steps down the flight of stairs.
“Remember,” Gia called after her. “Stay grounded, Rayne.”
Stay grounded.
Words that hadn’t quite registered until Celeste descended into the lobby at a quarter after eight, an electronic tablet pinched between her French-tipped fingers. “Hello, Rayne.”
The natural-brunette-turned-platinum tipped her chin. Her metallic vented boot heels, black sleeveless blouse, and cropped white skinny jeans were a style Rayne had only seen on supermarket magazine covers. Slung over her tanned shoulder was an expensive-looking satchel.
“Good morning, Celeste.”
An awkward impasse stilled the air between them. On any other occasion, Rayne would have hugged a family member she hadn’t seen in almost a decade, but nothing about Celeste’s body language looked hug inviting.
“I hardly recognized you without those nerdy purple glasses. Lasik?”
Lasik? “Oh—Lasik surgery? No, actually, I wear contacts.”
Celeste paired her perfectly penciled eyebrow raise with an enigmatic “Ahhhh.”
Whatever reunion optimism Rayne had previously mustered plummeted at breakneck speed. “And . . .” Rayne searched her mental database for possible small-talk topics outside of her poor vision. “You went blond?” Or white. Considering the lighting.
Celeste’s peroxide locks seemed to swish involuntarily. “Yes, I did.” She offered nothing else.
At the sound of Cal’s distinguished gait in the hallway, they redirected their attention.
“Good.” He clasped his hands. “Glad you two have been reunited.”
Reunited was hardly the word for it. Celeste’s pursed glossy lips and smug gaze left little room for reminiscing about childhood summers. There weren’t many good memories to choose from.
“You haven’t seen each other since you were, what, sixteen?”
“Seventeen,” Rayne supplied.
“Which would have made me nineteen,” Celeste added. “I remember that reunion weekend well. A memorable one for sure.”
Considering Celeste had been the one to nark on Gia and Rayne’s attendance of a certain party at the Falls—Rayne would have to agree with the memorable comment. And she’d also have to agree that Gia had been right. Their grandfather’s great-niece hadn’t changed much at all in the last nine years.
Cal angled his head toward Celeste. “I have to run into town for a meeting with the city. Rayne can give you a full tour of the lodge. Make sure she points out all the common areas you were asking about last night.”
He snapped his fingers and pivoted on the polished hardwood. “And, Rayne, set up a staff meeting for next Monday afternoon. Celeste has some brilliant ideas we discussed over dinner last night. Turns out she worked with a bed-and-breakfast in Vermont last year—created a four-season business p
lan that really put them on the map by collaborating with some national travel sites.”
National travel sites. The complete opposite direction of her proposal.
“Sure,” was the only reply she could muster.
“I’ll be back around one.” He left them to bask in a trail of spicy cologne.
Celeste raised her shapely eyebrows. “Well, shall we get started? I’m ready if you are.”
Nearly three hours later, they’d toured every vacant room, peeked inside every storage closet, and noted every common area, the last of which was the Great Room.
“And how exactly has this space been advertised?” Celeste’s heels click-clacked onto the shiny hardwood.
“Well, it’s pictured in our gallery on the website—”
Celeste chuckled. “That website is getting a whole new look, and soon. I already booked my tech guy for next week.”
“The site was updated last year.” Rayne had contracted a local web designer. She’d been pleased with the quality of his work and his professionalism.
“Might as well have been last decade. Trends change quickly, and this room . . .” Celeste slinked farther into the cavernous space and leaned her sharp hip bone against one of the breakfast tables. She bent to sniff the fresh lilac bouquet in the center. “Is exquisite. It’s a waste for it to sit empty.”
Rayne couldn’t agree with her assessment more. “It’s used for all our big events—weddings, parties, business dinners—but of course I’d love to see it used more often.”
Celeste’s pensive expression and thorough scan of the open space seemed to revive Rayne’s dying hope. “It holds a lot of potential.”
Rayne felt the same way. Even now, her heart tugged at the thought of opening this room up to the community again, hosting events for underprivileged children, preparing holiday meals, creating memories for young families who needed a hand up in life.
