The Promise of Rayne

by Nicole Deese

  Gia drilled him with a glare that could have shot fire. “Stay away from my cousin.”

  Rayne clamped a hand at Gia’s elbow. “Stop it, Gia.”

  His face darkened. “The last time I checked”—Levi cut his gaze to Rayne—“which was quite recently, your cousin’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.”

  A chill feathered Rayne’s exposed skin as she slipped out of the plaid garment and stretched her hand toward him. Her eyes pleaded with him to take the shirt and leave without further comment. She’d have enough to explain as it was.

  He didn’t oblige her; he simply stared at her face until her legs felt as weak as her pulse. “Keep it. See you in another nine years, Rayne.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he revved his engine, rolled up his window, and disappeared into the night.

  The blue-static security light that stained the walls of the gallery reminded Rayne of a scene from Ocean’s Eleven. Paranoia had her gaze bouncing from corner to corner as if expecting—maybe even hoping for—a group of undercover agents to pop out of hiding and drag her into an interrogation cell. They’d question her on tonight’s whereabouts, ask her about the article of clothing still clutched in her fist, and eventually let her go.

  But that kind of Hollywood drama would have been far too easy.

  Rayne wove through a maze of randomly placed display pedestals and past endless shelves of Gia’s glazed pottery. She sucked in a gasp after narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a small table of handcrafted clay jewelry. Though her cousin had a perfectly usable flashlight on her small person, she hadn’t offered to flip the switch. A decision that was most definitely purposeful.

  Gia drew back the curtain near the red-lettered exit sign, took a sharp left, and tromped up the steep staircase to her living quarters. She didn’t bother to check behind her. She didn’t need to.

  Rayne had been trailing after Gia since they wore multicolored bangles and played in Aunt Nina’s makeup during Sleep-In Saturdays, careful to put every expensive lipstick and mascara tube back in its rightful place before Gia’s mother was aroused from bed. They’d captured frogs in the pond near the lodge, made mud-and-grass stew for their imaginary clubhouse guests, and camped under the stars in the Shelby pasturelands.

  They were cousins by blood, sisters by circumstance, and best friends by choice. Rayne would always follow Gia.

  Her cousin pushed through the door of her one-bedroom apartment and marched into the could-hardly-count-as-a-kitchen kitchen. Rayne braced herself against a piece of furniture she knew almost as well as her own bed, the hide-a-bed sofa in Gia’s living room.

  “Do you have any idea how many times I called you tonight?”

  Rayne hadn’t bothered to bring her clutch purse into the barn, which meant she hadn’t checked her phone since . . . before BlackTail. “I didn’t have my phone on me, Gia. I’m sorry if you were concerned—”

  “Concerned? No.” She laughed like a cartoon villain. “Concern is when your pants feel snug after a long holiday season. Concern is when you see your first wiry gray hair at twenty-seven. Concern is not when your overly predictable cousin tells you she’ll be waiting at your apartment that evening and then doesn’t show up. For hours. I went to the lodge, Rayne. And you can imagine what a help sweet Celeste was when I asked where you were.”

  The gut-punch she’d felt earlier when Celeste had shot down her proposal hit her all over again, but Gia wasn’t finished.

  “I called the restaurant and had my mom lock up the gallery for me so I could look for you. I called and I called and you didn’t answer. Nobody knew where you were. So no, I wasn’t concerned. I was out of my mind with worry!”

  “I’m sorry, Gia. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Gia kicked off one boot at a time. The hard plunk vibrated the thin laminate floor. “I was going to give it one more hour before I called my dad for help. You better be thanking God that I didn’t, because he would have found you.” She crossed the room and pointed to Levi’s shirt as if it were a dead animal. “With him.”

  Rayne’s skin chilled at the thought of her uncle Tony finding her at the barn with Levi. “I know what you think of him—what the family thinks, but he’s . . .” What? What could she really say? “He’s different than I thought.”

  Gia didn’t move, didn’t even blink. “He’s a con man. Just like Travis. Just like Ford.”

  “No, he’s not.” Rayne had little to go off of but intuition, yet she felt more sure about that statement now than she had a few hours ago. Than she had a few weeks ago.

  “Oh? And did he tell you that as he wrapped you up in his shirt?” Gia dropped her voice a full octave and added a husky drawl. “Rayne, sweetheart, don’t worry. I’m one of the good guys, you can trust me. I’m definitely not a con man.”

  “Don’t be mean.”

  “Then don’t be naive.” Gia spun toward her miniature wine rack and selected a bottle of red.

  “It was an innocent night of fun.”

  “There is nothing innocent about playing with matches.” She riffled through a drawer. “I don’t even understand how you two—wait.” Gia gripped the wood handle of the corkscrew, her eyes opening wide. “Is he . . . is Levi Hot Guy from the party?”

  Rayne’s expression was answer enough.

  Gia plunged the spiraled tool into the cork, and Rayne would have sworn she felt the prick through her chest wall. “You have got to be kidding me. When I encouraged you to rebel, I meant, like, go get a wrist tattoo, not go have a fling with your family’s enemy.”

  “It was one night. Not a fling. I went to BlackTail after work and he happened to be there. I just needed a mental break, but it’s over now. So please, just drop it, okay?” The last thing on earth she needed was another lecture from a Shelby.

  “You went to BlackTail?” Gia’s stern tone slipped.

  “Yes.” Rayne sighed. “And yes, Travis was there too. And no, I didn’t talk to him.” Truth be told, she wouldn’t have spoken to anyone if Levi hadn’t chased her outside the bar. But in her rush to exit, she’d seen Travis. His imposing stature was hard to miss, even while he was seated. The relationship between Gia and Travis might have ended after their senior year of high school, but for reasons Rayne couldn’t understand, the drama between them hadn’t. “Can we move on from this topic now?”

  After several seconds, Gia finally relented. “Fine. I’ll drop it. For now.”

  “Thank you.” Rayne slid onto the couch and pulled a pillow into her lap, allowing her head to rest on the back of the sofa, and closed her eyes.

  Gia joined her a moment later, a glass of wine pinched between her fingers as she stretched her legs over the middle cushion between them. “So, I’m guessing it went pretty badly today with Celeste.”

  Rayne didn’t want to think about how badly it had gone, but she couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d had her reprieve, her escape, her . . . fun. It was time to be an adult again. To face the truth, no matter how ugly or painful. “You were right; she hasn’t changed.”

  “If it helps, I wish I weren’t.” Gia nudged Rayne’s leg with her socked feet.

  “I keep thinking this is all a bad dream, ya know? Like the kind you try to wake yourself up from but can’t.” She toyed with the frayed edge of the pillow. “I really believed I could be the one to continue Granddaddy’s legacy after Cal moved on.”

  Gia slumped her shoulders. “Nostalgia won’t win this battle, Rayne.” There was no malice or contempt in her voice, just bone-chilling honesty. “I know that’s not what you want me to say. I know how hard you’ve worked, how hard you’ve tried to prove yourself to the family, but . . .” The corners of Gia’s mouth turned down. “I asked my mom what she knew about this whole Celeste thing.” She released a hard exhale. “I guess Celeste and Cal have been corresponding for months. She sent him ideas for improvement, marketing plans for growth and expansion, and basically told him she’d be his little trophy employee whenever he needed her.
Of course Mom told him he couldn’t do that to you, not after all the years he’d groomed you for management, but . . .”

  But Cal had done it.

  Just like she’d gone and proven herself unworthy of such an iconic Shelby position.

  Rayne stared at the crumpled overshirt draped on the arm of the sofa, Levi’s words ping-ponging inside her skull. You shouldn’t look so surprised. That’s what your kind does. They eat their young. Everything is image and polish and pretense . . . Four hours ago his statement had felt like a personal attack. Now it felt like a prophecy.

  Rayne stood and paced the length of her cousin’s apartment.

  “What are you doing?” Gia asked.

  “Trying to think like a Shelby.”

  “Care to clue me in?”

  Rayne swiveled to a stop on her second pass. “Who is Celeste? I mean, really. What do we know about her?”

  “That depends. How many expletives am I allowed to use in this conversation?”

  Rayne pressed the heels of her hands against her temples as she carried herself back and forth. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  Everything felt clearer, sharper, fresher than it had moments ago. “Based on the brag letters at Christmastime from Great-Aunt Christine and all of Celeste’s social media posts . . . she’s in constant activity.”

  “Yeah, so—”

  “Go with me on this. Everything Celeste does is a calculated step toward her next career goal. And you and I both know she doesn’t crave small-town life, not when she’s spent the last decade in New York City trying to make a name for herself. Shelby Falls isn’t her scene. And she knows it.” Rayne pivoted. “Which means . . . she’s not planning on staying here long; she’s only here now to soak up all the limelight she can.”

  “I think I’m going to need another glass of wine.” Gia hopped off the sofa to pour herself another glass, while Rayne followed the winding trail of her thoughts.

  “Think about it, Gia. Summertime is the liveliest season at the lodge—weddings, dinner parties, a full wait list for reservations. Very high-profile, especially during an election year. It’s no wonder she wrote to Cal during the same time my father announced he was running for reelection. She’s hoping to share the spotlight. But after Cal leaves for the campaign and our busy summer turns into a much slower fall and then into a practically dead winter . . .” Rayne secured her hands on her hips. “Don’t you see? Celeste’s marketing plan for the lodge is more of a marketing plan for herself. She’s only here to rub elbows and soak up some publicity to add to her résumé. And when it’s all over, she’ll move on.”

  Gia took a small sip of her vino, her dark lashes peeking over the rim of the wineglass. “Okay, so let’s say your Nancy Drew hypothesis is correct and she’s only planning to stay as long as it benefits her. What will you do in the meantime?”

  “I’ll wait her out.”

  “You realize she’s going to do everything in her power to snuff you out so she can soak up the glory.”

  “Yes.” Rayne straightened, her face etched with steely resolve. “But you were right before; it won’t be my nostalgia or my passion that wins this war. It will be my loyalty. I’m the tortoise in this race, Gia.”

  Gia lifted her stemware high. “Well, let’s hope your shell is thick, Tortoise. Because this is going to be one loooong summer.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  At a quarter to six, a single ray of sunlight pushed through the low-lying smoke cloud. The faint tap of Rayne’s canvas flats against the rock pavers leading from her cabin to the lodge kept time with her steady pulse.

  There was hardly a morning Rayne wasn’t showered, dressed, and fully caffeinated before the sun’s first yawn of light. Hardly a morning she wasn’t prepared to face the challenges of managing a forty-three-room lodge. And today—day one of the proverbial tortoise-and-hare race—was no exception.

  The practiced pep in her step was as purposeful as the positive self-talk on perseverance she’d rehearsed all weekend.

  As she neared the expansive wraparound porch, she took in the withering herb garden under the back kitchen window and made a mental note to water twice a day. The forecast called for yet another week of dry heat and wind. No chance of rain.

  The screen door sang a sweet welcome of familiarity, reminding her once again that her home and her heart resided nowhere else. There would be trying days, weeks, and months ahead, but there were certain comforts she could always find joy in: the hint of lilac in the summer air, the funny notes Teddy left her on the front desk every morning, and Delia’s off-key humming as she manned the breakfast spread.

  “Good morning, Delia.”

  The frosting knife in Delia’s hand stilled over a particularly gooey batch of cinnamon rolls. “You can swipe the good right off that greeting and just say, mornin’. ’Cause that’s what it is—a morning. Not much good I can see about it, and I’m not even the one who has to work with her.”

  Rayne heeded the “Approach with Caution” undercurrent in Delia’s tone and added an extra beat of happy to her smile. If she could win Delia over to her positivity plan—encourage her to weather a few Celeste-size wind gusts, then maybe she wouldn’t have to run this race on her own.

  “It will be an adjustment.” Rayne touched the back of Delia’s cotton blouse. “But we can handle this. Together.”

  A glob of buttery frosting plopped onto the corner roll, and Delia’s mouth dipped into a frown. “So it’s true then. Cal gave her your promotion.”

  “Cal did what he thought best.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’m going to keep doing what I do best.” The forced playfulness in Rayne’s tone fooled no one. “Make sure you behave.” She planted a rushed kiss on Delia’s squishy cheek.

  “Sometimes I think you’re too nice to be under the thumb of this family.”

  Hadn’t Levi said something similar? She shook her head, refusing to go down that mental rabbit hole again.

  “You’ve worked here since before I was born, so we must not be that bad.”

  “I’m a creature of habit.”

  “So am I.” Rayne winked and gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. “Just hang on, okay? I’ll do my best to cushion the blows.”

  With a huff, Delia picked up the tray and waited for Rayne to hold the swinging door into the Great Room. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

  There wasn’t a guest who refused Delia’s famous breakfast table selections: homemade cinnamon rolls, apple-berry scones, and cheddar quiche with bacon. The gourmet buffet had been built into the cost of the rooms. Guests often claimed the lodge offered the best French press coffee in town. Rayne couldn’t argue.

  Entering the lobby, she halted before she reached the front desk to read whatever Teddy had scribbled for her. He’d been entertaining her with his Post-it note stories of mischief and mayhem for years.

  But Teddy’s usual sticky note trail wasn’t waiting for her. Instead, a gridded yellow piece of paper lay on the shiny mahogany, Rayne’s bolded name printed at the top.

  SCHEDULE CHANGE—PLEASE BE ADVISED.

  The rotation of front-desk clerks had been the same since Rayne had graduated from college. She oversaw the morning shift that stretched from six to two; the afternoon/evening shift was split between Clara Brinkman, a retired preschool teacher, and Barbara Hale, a volunteer librarian. And then there was Teddy.

  And yet, it was her name typed in the column under the hours of ten p.m. to six a.m. Not his.

  “Oh good, you found the new schedule.”

  The single-ply paper suddenly felt like a brick in her hand under the scrutiny of her new supervisor. Rayne moved her lips but failed to form any of the questions circling inside her head.

  Celeste’s manicured hand retrieved the schedule. “I figured the lodge doesn’t need both of us working the day shift.”

  “You . . . you moved me to the night shift? To work with Teddy?”

&n
bsp; “No, I let Ted go so you could keep your job. His last shift is tonight.” Celeste’s blue eyes pierced her through. “Guess I thought you’d be grateful.”

  Rayne was no stranger to dealing with difficult personalities. She’d worked in customer service since before she was of legal age, yet Celeste seemed to take difficult to an extreme. “And Cal approved this?”

  “Of course, didn’t I tell you Monday would bring change?” Her reply dripped with contempt.

  “But what about Teddy? He’s worked here forever. You can’t just—”

  “I’m sorry, was I wrong to assume you wanted to keep your position after the reconfiguration? Cal assured me you were teachable, willing to be mentored. There’s only so much budget to be stretched.” Celeste angled her head, giving Rayne the once-over.

  Rayne bit the insides of her cheeks and reminded herself of her perseverance plan. She wouldn’t answer that—wouldn’t be a pawn in Celeste’s twisted power games. What mattered now was Teddy. She’d call him the second her shift was over, figure out a way to fix this for him. “The overnight shift is mostly to man the desk in case of late-night emergencies. I don’t see how working that shift could possibly benefit you or any of the duties I’m responsible for at the lodge.”

  “Perhaps that’s exactly why you weren’t consulted. It’s over your head.” She gave a pity-soaked smile and waved her hand as if to shoo a fly. “Stay close to the desk today.”

  “Wait—when is this schedule supposed to start?”

  Celeste pivoted on her snakeskin heels, her white-blond hair swooshing over her shoulder like a shampoo commercial. “Tomorrow. Well, tomorrow night for you. Rest up.”

  Rayne pressed her lips together, refusing to speak the rebuttals that formed on her tongue.

  Two things came to mind as Celeste sashayed out of the lobby: One, if Rayne was going to survive her cousin’s jaunt at the lodge, she’d need to memorize a few more perseverance quotes. And two, she wasn’t about to allow Teddy to fall victim to Celeste’s heartless business decisions. She’d make it right.