by Nicole Deese
With tentative steps, Rayne moved in closer. “Actually, I’ve given a lot of thought to this space. I have some ideas if you’d like to—”
Celeste plucked a lavender petal from its stem and rubbed it between her forefinger and thumb. She flicked the smashed piece of flower onto the table, where it lay battered and lifeless. “I know all about your ideas, Rayne.” She reached into her satchel and plopped a familiar blue folder onto the table.
Rayne’s proposal.
Her voice released a broken, unrecognizable sound. “How did you get that?”
“Cal brought it to dinner last night, wondered if there was anything salvageable inside.” Celeste tilted her head, a gut-stabbing pity staring out through her icy eyes. “And no, there definitely was not. This lodge is not a nonprofit organization. It’s a business. A profitable business that has missed way too many opportunities for growth.” For the umpteenth time since the tour had begun, Celeste tapped her digital screen. “But we’ll talk more about that on Monday when we discuss the changes.”
A poison-dipped promise that pierced Rayne straight through the chest.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Levi loaded the last box of early-harvest apples into the food truck. After a stiff yank of the roll-down door, followed by the satisfying sound of latching metal, he swiped his clipboard off the bumper and double-tapped the Winslow Farm logo on the side of the truck.
“You’re all loaded, Marty.”
“Thanks, man. And thanks again for the hours.” Under the green Winslow Farm cap, Marty’s baby face could hardly pass for seventeen, much less twenty-one, but his dark circles and two-day-old scruff were impossible for Levi to ignore. The kid had more going on than one could see at first glance.
“You can thank Ford.” Levi lowered his clipboard and studied the new hire. “He’s the man who signs your paychecks.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
Levi took note of the fresh memorial tattoo on Marty’s forearm. “Your old man serve in the Marines?”
A slow lift of his chin and then a flash of recognition in his eyes. “Yours too?”
Levi held back a morbid laugh. “Nah.” The only thing his father would ever serve was prison time. “You taking care of your family, then?”
“Working two jobs. Oldest of four.”
Levi had suspected as much. “We’ll keep you in the rotation as much as we’re able to.”
“I appreciate it.” Marty turned back to the driver’s side door.
“And Marty?”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure you grab whatever your family can use from the pantry. We appreciate your father’s service and sacrifice.”
With a hard swallow, Marty ducked inside the truck and then pulled away.
Before Levi made it across the gravel drive to Ford’s front porch, his boss approached him, Hauser on his heels. The retriever wagged his tail three times faster than his legs carried him.
A battered smile lit Ford’s sun-lined face. “I thought you’d be at BlackTail by now.” A wisp of graying hair lifted from his head like a flag waving in the wind. “Is the winner’s pot too small for your liking?”
“Not at all. I just had some things to finish up here first. The guys will wait.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will—though why they show up to lose week after week I’ll never know.” The puzzlement in Ford’s tone caused Levi to laugh.
“You have a standing invitation to join us, you know. Travis never gives up asking if you’ll come.”
“I gave up card playing a long time ago.” Ford took the clipboard from Levi’s hand. “You go have fun now. With all the business you’ve brought in over the last few weeks, you deserve a night off.” There was an undercurrent of pride in Ford’s deep tenor. Not the kind of pride the old man warned him about, but the kind of pride that rose up from some fatherly place deep within him. Levi had spent the first eighteen years of his life trying to find such approval.
Levi’s gaze swept over the Shelby tree line. From this distance he could make out the side of the ridge and the corner of the oversized back porch off the kitchen.
Ford clapped a rough hand on Levi’s shoulder. “They’re not giving you any trouble, are they?”
Levi tore his attention away from the property. “No. No trouble.” Although, if trouble meant seeing more of Rayne Shelby, he wouldn’t be opposed to it. He’d replayed her half-truths from the hardware store parking lot a dozen times.
“I’ll admit, when you told me you went over there, I was fairly certain I’d be hearing from Cal’s lawyer.”
Levi flicked his gaze back toward Ford. “Trespassing is one thing, but you know I’d never take it so far as to jeopardize the farm. Or you, for that matter.”
Even after eighteen years, Cal’s ironclad restraints still bound Ford and the farm to his rules. He’d made sure of that the day Ford signed the nondisclosure agreement.
“Too far is relative, son. One doesn’t realize they’re drowning until the water’s filled their lungs.”
In a town the size of Shelby Falls, there were only so many establishments that could host a weekly card game—especially when Levi’s oldest friend, Travis Garrett, was among the crew. But despite Travis’s obnoxious antics, not only did BlackTail Bar and Grill allow their standing Friday night game, they welcomed the lot of them.
Travis smacked his beefy hand onto the green felt, his cards fanning and flipping from the vibration. At a height of six foot six, with muscles stacked on top of muscles, his presence was hard to miss. His opinions harder still. “This was supposed to be my night.” Travis knocked back in his seat, swiped his beer off the table, and drained it by half.
“I can hardly remember the last time you made such a claim,” Levi deadpanned.
“I can. Last week,” Devon said. “And only every week before that for the last three years.”
“Shut it,” Travis shot back. “It’s not like I don’t put up with your OCD freak-outs every single day.”
“My freak-outs?” Devon spat the words. “Excuse me for thinking hand washing is an essential part of hygiene.”
“Is that what you tell yourself all forty-eight times you pump that soap?” Travis prodded.
Levi shut the idiots out and accounted for his latest win before pushing the discard pile toward Eli, their fourth and quietest player. After nearly three years together, Levi had only educated guesses on what Eli did for a living. Something as technical as it was profitable. But one thing Levi did know for certain: Eli never brought his work—or his personal life—to the poker table. A trait Levi valued more and more each week.
Levi took a deep swallow of his Coke. Between the constant drivel of Travis and Devon and the blaring eighties rock music, he almost regretted his stance on sobriety. He was a hand away from calling it a night . . . when he saw her.
Wearing a pink short-sleeved cardigan that hugged the subtle curves of her chest and hips, Rayne moved through the restaurant with fluid grace, her trim legs accentuated by the swing of her skirt. Not bothering to spare a glance at her surroundings, she strode straight to the back counter and slid onto a barstool. And, as if on a single exhale, she offered an immediate reply to the bartender’s query.
To the average onlooker, Rayne would appear to be a regular at BlackTail.
But Levi knew differently. He’d been coming here for almost as long as he’d been a resident of Shelby Falls, and never once could he recall the governor’s daughter crossing the threshold of this blue-collar establishment.
He studied her.
Though her posture appeared relaxed, only a slight slouch to her shoulders, her profile looked anything but stress free. Even from his seat across the room, the pinched concentration on her face alarmed him. There was no reaction when the bartender slid her drink down the counter. Not a head tilt. Not an eyelash bat. Nothing. Something was definitely off. And no matter what he felt for the Shelbys as a whole, he’d failed to stuff Rayne into the same mental compartme
nt as her family.
A hard slap to his back tore his attention from the lone beauty to the impatient glare of his best friend. “You in for another round or you gonna go talk to that—” Travis stopped short, eyes rounding. “Is that Rayne Shelby?”
“I doubt she appreciates the announcement.” Levi turned to Eli and inclined his head at Travis. “Cut him off after this one, okay?”
With Eli’s silent confirmation, Levi pushed back in his chair.
Travis clasped a clammy hand to Levi’s forearm. “What are you doing? You can’t talk to her.”
“Why not?” He didn’t actually care to hear Travis’s opinion—especially Travis’s intoxicated opinion—but the question matched the one circling inside his own sober mind.
Devon, the ever-faithful realist, tossed one of his chips into the air and caught it in his palm. “Uh, maybe because her kind hates your kind.”
Levi focused again on the woman in question. Her drink sat untouched, her face still burdened by an expression that nagged at his insides.
He stiffened when the man who’d warmed the last stool on the left side of the bar lumbered toward her. Ernie’s cheap taste in cologne matched his cheap taste in beer . . . and usually in women.
Levi shucked off Travis’s clumsy hold and took a calculated step in Rayne’s direction—willing her to dismiss the drunk’s feeble attempts at flattery. Instead, when she lifted her chin to answer the creep’s nonsensical babble, Levi’s intensity and irritability multiplied.
The slight shake of her head didn’t seem to faze Ernie. He dropped an elbow beside her, his chest brushing against her arm.
Levi tightened his fists and didn’t slow until he stood at her back. As a big fan of the power of suggestion, Levi offered Ernie little more than an unimpressed stare, and given the man’s intoxication level, Levi allowed for a slight delay in comprehension time.
“Oh . . . hey, Levi,” Ernie slurred and swayed on his feet.
Rayne’s back tensed as she turned her head. Something heavy sank in his gut at the sight of her rose-rimmed eyes blinking him in. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a ten, and dropped it beside her drink.
With a hand curled loosely around her bicep, he bent and spoke directly into her ear. “Come on, let’s get out of here, Rayne.”
“No.” She tugged free of his hold.
Stupidly, Ernie snickered at her response. But only three seconds of a hard stare later and Levi’s silent encouragement proved effective. Ernie picked up his watery beer and migrated to the end of the bar.
Rayne’s blotchy cheeks darkened as she looked from Levi to the crisp greenback next to her drink. Without a word, she slipped her hand into her purse, removed a folded bill, and set it under her sweaty glass.
In a synchronized movement, she shoved his money down the counter and slid off the barstool. “Please. Leave me alone.”
Clutching her purse, the dark vixen sped toward the exit.
He inhaled the scent of honeysuckle and wildflowers that lingered in the air. A scent, he realized, he’d committed to memory after only three brief encounters.
He exhaled.
Only a fool would chase after a girl who’d been bred to hate him. But Levi had been called much worse than a fool.
And by a Shelby no less.
CHAPTER NINE
Rayne hurried across the black pavement in her open-toed heels, wishing she could ignore the masculine shadow trailing after her. “Why are you following me?”
“I could use some fresh air.” He trotted alongside her now. “Bar was a little stuffy tonight, don’t you think?”
“I’m not doing this with you.” She stopped. “You won, okay? You can go back to your buddies and have a good laugh at my expense.”
“Is that supposed to be my prize for chasing a beautiful woman out of a bar? I get to laugh with my buddies over a beer? Pretty sure I could think of a thousand better ways to spend my evening.”
“Then don’t let me keep you.” She twisted away and quickened her pace.
“Why have you been crying, Rayne?”
“If there’s some kind of neighborly quota you’re trying to fill, then, please, consider it filled. I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed.”
“I’m not psychoanalyzing. Just observing.” He jogged ahead of her and reversed his stride. “If you don’t want to tell me what brought you to this fine establishment tonight, then perhaps I’ll make a few educated guesses.”
She ignored him, nearing her parking space.
“Let’s see,” he began. “Maybe you dented your uncle’s car with a golf cart. No? Okay, then. So maybe you stained your favorite ball gown and the cleaner couldn’t get it out. No, again? Hmm . . . I got it—you lost your summer bonus to your father’s greedy campaign fund.”
“You don’t understand anything about my life or what I’ve lost.”
“Then help me understand. What did you lose?”
“Just my future.” No louder than a breath, she tossed the words into the air as if they meant nothing to her at all. Only they did. They meant everything.
“That seems pretty dramatic coming from someone who’s set to inherit the whole freaking state of Idaho.”
“There you go again!” Like a bolt of lightning, fury flashed through her body. “I’m not your problem, Levi. And I’m not your friend.”
“The first is true, but the second’s only true if you want it to be,” he said plainly. His muscled frame blocked her path. He leaned against the trunk of her car and tilted his head in that annoying I-can-pluck-the-thoughts-from-your-mind way of his. “And, as I see it, you seem in need of a friend tonight, and I seem to be the only one offering.”
“Friend?” He couldn’t be serious. “We can’t ever be friends.”
“Says who?”
She saved her breath; the answer didn’t need to be voiced.
“Do you listen to everything your family says?”
“Yes.” Her insides recoiled at the pitiful statement and she folded her arms, the clasp on her clutch purse digging into her rib cage as she prepared for another round of his deception detection.
He scanned her face and lowered his voice. “Did someone hurt you tonight?”
The question unsteadied her. “Why would you think—”
“Deflection doesn’t work well on me.”
Apparently, he wasn’t going to let this go. “I hurt myself.”
He sighed. “Try again.”
“It’s the truth! Unless there’s something you’d like to admit?”
He reared back a step. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” Surprised at her bold assertiveness, she mirrored his narrowed gaze. “Did you or did you not set me up the night of the party?”
A muscle at the base of his jaw jumped. “Set you up how?”
“My uncle traced your alias check. He knows it’s connected to the farm.”
“That’s impossible—” His concentrated stare morphed into confusion. “We haven’t linked it yet.”
“He linked it.”
Levi leaned in close, his face a whisper away. “I didn’t set you up, Rayne. I played fair. Did exactly what you asked of me.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “Well, then, it’s like I said. I hurt myself.”
“What did he do?”
Rayne knew exactly who Levi was referring to. The overreaching power of her uncle was known by all.
She worked to regulate her tone, mute her hurt for the time being, but the gravelly sound that escaped betrayed her. “I’m not your problem.”
“No. You’re not. I’m glad we can finally agree on that.”
She shouldn’t say anything more to him. She shouldn’t even be standing here at all. This entire scenario was backward. Messed up. Wrong on every level imaginable. And yet, she couldn’t seem to stop the words. “He gave my promotion to someone else.” Her fingers skimmed the length of her braid. “I came here after . . .” She tugged at the rope’s end until her scalp stung. “After my repl
acement showed up.”
“Your replacement?” he asked. “Wait . . .” His discerning gaze intensified, and she glanced away a moment too late. “Did he give it to another Shelby?”
Tears built behind her eyes, the truth too raw to speak. Too exposing.
“Figures.” But the way he said it—the tone, the undercut of resentment and disgust—unnerved her.
“You shouldn’t look so surprised. That’s what your kind does. They eat their young. Everything is image and polish and pretense—if something doesn’t go their way, well . . .” He waved a hand at her face. “This happens.”
As hard as she’d worked to keep her tears tucked inside during Cal’s reprimand yesterday, and during Celeste’s verbal beating today, the last of her Strong Independent Woman front had faded. She pinched her lips together and turned her head. Hurt spilled down her cheeks while a sensation like burning coals radiated in the pit of her stomach.
“Hey.” With a feather-soft touch, Levi’s fingertips grazed her elbow. “I’m sorry. I took that too far. I was honestly trying to make you feel better, not worse.”
He dropped his hand, discomfort spanning their sudden silence.
Rayne had every reason in the world to leave this man behind, every reason to climb into her car and never look back, yet none of those reasons could compel her to go. And despite the progression of subtle expressions playing across his face, Levi didn’t retreat either. He simply stood there, waiting, as if he, too, were trying to understand why his legs weren’t moving away.
“I have this ritual,” he said with a tug on the back of his neck. “When I have a crap day.”
“Yeah?” She blotted her cheek with the back of her hand and warily met his gaze. “What’s that?”
“I shoot stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Was that interest I just heard in your voice?”
“Possibly.” It’d been far too long since she’d felt the weight of cold, hard metal pressed into her palm, or the rush that followed the pull of a trigger. Her fingers twitched in memory.
