The Promise of Rayne

by Nicole Deese

  The fireman’s call hadn’t been social in nature—a fact that rivaled two opposite emotions. “What’s going on, Rayne?”

  “Bear Canyon is under a Level 2 evacuation. The fires are headed for the ridge.” The strain behind her voice could have caused a stress fracture.

  Levi’s spine straightened. “They’re evacuating the whole town?”

  “Everyone north of the river has been put on standby, including Jason’s grandmother. He doesn’t want Vilma leaving in the middle of the night when they blow the official whistle. He said most people will probably leave voluntarily this afternoon.”

  “And Vilma is the lady you have tea with every month?”

  “Yes. Her husband was a good friend of my grandfather’s. The lodge can give her a safe place to stay until her home’s been cleared. Her local family members all have children and pets to look after so—”

  “He asked you to take her in.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  “You want to help?”

  He tried not to let the surprise in her voice irritate him, but did she honestly think he’d be content to pat her on the back and wish her well in her endeavor to rescue a grandma during a fire evacuation? He bit back a sarcastic reply and tempered his thoughts as best he could. “She’ll likely have more stuff than your little sedan can hold. I’ll follow you in the truck.”

  “But that means you’ll be away from the farm most of the day.”

  He laced his fingers through hers. “It also means I’ll be with you.”

  An easy choice no matter what the circumstance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Rayne marveled at Vilma Albright’s ability to prioritize in a crisis. Not only had her suitcases been packed and ready to go when they’d arrived at her home, but so had her cat’s belongings. Penelope’s monogrammed cat carrier and matching satchel—both bedazzled with pink rhinestones—had been placed near the front door. She was, without a doubt, the most self-sufficient eighty-six-year-old woman Rayne had ever known.

  Levi had lucked out. He’d won the job of hosting the white Persian cat and all her personalized gear in the cab of his truck while Rayne drove Vilma to the lodge.

  Rayne obeyed the sequence of detour signs through Bear Canyon, flicking her turn signal in the direction of every blinking arrow. Meanwhile, her sweet passenger hadn’t stopped talking. There was a tinny quality to Vilma’s speech, a rushed cadence so different from their easy conversations over hot tea in china cups. Mrs. Albright seemed to be funneling her anxiety into ancient gossip and her jumpy nerves into deflective chatter that had little bearing on her present reality. But if it calmed her, if it took her mind off the circumstances around them, then Rayne would accommodate her friend. She would be a listening ear.

  Rayne peeked in her rearview mirror, assured by the sight of Levi’s truck trailing behind her car. Vilma must have seen the not-so-subtle glance.

  “Are you positive that young man will be okay with my kitty?”

  “More than positive. Penelope will be just fine. My friend”—whom she’d intentionally failed to name—“will keep her well cared for while I work out the kinks of our no-pets policy with Cal. It’s better to have those kinds of conversations in person.”

  Vilma rubbed her palms down her polyester pant legs. “Callan’s always been a bit too temperamental, if you ask me.” She let out a soft chuckle. “Your grandfather once threatened to send him off to boarding school if he didn’t simmer down.”

  “Oh?” It was hard for Rayne to picture Cal as anything but a refined entrepreneur. “I can’t imagine Cal as a teenager.”

  Vilma turned in her seat, her attention fully engaged. “It wasn’t just the teen years that put those two at odds. All children are born headstrong, but Cal’s stubbornness never did lessen with age. Those two had more fallings-out than my daytime soaps.”

  Rayne wrestled with the image Vilma painted of Cal and her grandfather’s relationship. She certainly hadn’t sensed the tension as a child. Then again, the death of her grandfather had smudged some of her early memories—the same way the side of a hand can smear a charcoal drawing before it’s finished. The overall impression might remain intact, but the details became hazy, dull, absorbed with the passage of time.

  “What were their quarrels over?”

  “What most quarrels are over, I suppose. Different views on life. William decided he wanted to pour his life into the lodge and community, and Cal wanted his father to continue in politics.”

  Rayne furrowed her brows. She’d known Cal once had a profitable business in Southern California before taking over the lodge and managing her father’s political campaigns, but she’d always envisioned the three Shelby men—her grandfather, Cal, and her father—as a solid unit.

  “Regret is a heavy burden to shoulder—even for people who appear to have skin made of steel.”

  Rayne pumped the brake hard. A steady stream of red taillights illuminated the bridge up ahead. Even a small town like Bear Canyon could produce a traffic jam when half its residents were given evacuation orders.

  Vilma sighed wearily. “Jason said it could be days until we’re allowed back, maybe longer, depending on the shifts in the wind.”

  Rayne reached over the center console and took Vilma’s hand in her own. The woman’s translucent skin was papery, her veins a map of marbled blue ridges. And cold. Too cold for a hot summer day. “We’ll get you everything you need, Vilma.”

  She squeezed Rayne’s hand in reply. “I just wish everybody had such a nice place to stay and wait this out. Jason said the Red Cross was setting up accommodations at Shelby High, and there’s one chain hotel that’s agreed to a subsidized rate, but even still, I doubt there’s enough lodging to match the need. And in such a trying time too.” Vilma pressed the pads of her fingertips to the window as they passed the exit for Bear Canyon. “The fire threat seems to elevate every summer, but this year . . . this year it’s just hit so much closer to home. I think I’m still in a bit of shock.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rayne glanced at Vilma, whose eyes shimmered with tears, and blinked back the emotion filling her own. “I know how much your home means to you.”

  “My Howie built it—right alongside your grandfather. And Ford Winslow.”

  “Ford?” Rayne nearly choked on the name.

  “Yes. William was the one who referred Ford to Howie’s construction crew—I guess that would have been forty some odd years ago now. Such a hard worker, that man. Howie was a bit miffed when William offered Ford a side job at the lodge, though.” A faint smile touched her lips. “Ford never came back to work for Howie after that summer. He stayed at the lodge, working for your grandfather in some capacity or another up until the day William died. I expected Ford to step into the management position at the lodge, but, of course, Cal showed up instead. It’s a pity to see what’s happened since.”

  A pity was certainly one way to put it.

  Rayne refrained from further comment. Vilma’s version of the Shelby-Winslow tale had left out a few crucial plot points. The rumor mill in Shelby Falls had circulated many variations of the story over the years, but even still, the facts remained the facts: Ford had stolen from the hand that fed him.

  That didn’t make him devoted. It made him an opportunist.

  Rayne’s eyes flicked back to her rearview mirror once again.

  Vilma continued to skip through conversation topics like rocks on placid water until Rayne settled her into a lower-level room at the lodge, complete with a gas fireplace, walk-in closet, garden tub, and complimentary glass of wine and cheese platter.

  “This seems like too much.” Her voice and hands shook as she glanced about the river-view suite. “There’s just one of me—well, two, if Penelope gets clearance to stay.”

  Rayne wrapped her dear older friend in a hug. “I’ll talk to my uncle about Penelope as soon as I can. I know you’re worried, but we’re standing with you and the en
tire town of Bear Canyon.”

  “Thank you, sweetie. Oh, and Rayne? Before you go, would you mind turning on the news for me? I can never figure out those fancy remotes, and Jason said there should be coverage on Rockvale and Bear Canyon.”

  “Certainly.” Rayne clicked on the TV and punched in the numbers for their local news channel.

  Tina Tucker, the evening anchor for Channel 9, stood near a tent of supplies, interviewing a fire marshal in front of a gas station in Bear Canyon.

  “Good evening, I’m here with Fire Marshal Jack Harris in Bear Canyon, Idaho—which just a few hours ago was declared to be in a state of emergency by Governor Shelby. Marshal Harris, can you please tell us again how many residents could be affected if the wind doesn’t let up?” Tina asked, swinging her microphone toward his mouth.

  Annoyance edged his weathered features. The marshal either had zero interest in her canned questions or had little regard for news media in general. Perhaps both assessments were true. “About ninety homes up on the ridge and nearly twice that down on the prairie. Given what happened in Rockvale, we don’t want to take any unnecessary risks.”

  Tina’s eyes rounded into perfectly lined orbs—as if she hadn’t heard all the fire statistics beforehand. “That’s an estimated three hundred families who will be displaced because of this growing threat.”

  “We’re doing everything we can, ma’am.” He forced the words through tight lips and then glanced over his shoulder.

  “And how many fires have been reported thus far? How many acres of national forest have burned at this point?”

  “Fifteen fires of varying degrees and nearly a hundred thousand acres have burned. We’re currently at twenty percent containment with four hundred and ninety-five firefighters working on the ground, but the high winds have compromised our fire lines.”

  Rayne slumped next to Vilma onto a tower of bed pillows, captivated by the red emergency banner scrolling along the bottom of the screen.

  Vilma covered her mouth with a shaky hand. “Oh my.”

  Rayne could only stare as the marshal detailed evacuation procedures and rattled off the 800 numbers for local Red Cross shelters. The live camera cut away from the interview and rolled footage of the raging fire that had swept through Rockvale the day before. She watched the destructive monster of heat and flames devour everything in its path. Charred remnants of homes and properties just north of Bear Canyon flickered across the screen like casualties of war.

  Vilma jerked forward on the mattress and jabbed her finger at the TV. “That’s Roy and Marsha Benton’s ranch! Oh sweet Lord, no.”

  Through a sequence of time-lapsed images, the footage revealed that fires had reduced the once-picturesque equestrian property to nothing more than a pile of blackened lumber and ashy remains.

  “I was just there a month ago, watching my great-granddaughter ride her horse.” Vilma’s tears streamed in earnest.

  Rayne clutched at the base of her throat, wishing there were something more she could do besides sit and watch the devastation unfold. If there was a worse feeling in the world than helplessness, she didn’t know it. The Bentons were simply one family of many who were facing this horrible reality of loss.

  She touched Vilma’s back in hopes her presence brought more comfort than her silence and kept her eyes on the television. After the footage recycled for the third time, Rayne finally stood, her sleep-deprived body feeling overwrought with several emotions all at once, none she could define with words.

  “I should go ask about Penelope for you.”

  “Thank you,” Vilma rasped, her eyes still plastered to the news. “I need to make some phone calls.”

  Rayne pulled the door so it latched behind her and started down the long, empty hallway. The time read a quarter after five, but knowing Cal, he would still be in his study.

  With each step, the graphic news images from moments before flooded her mind. What would tomorrow bring—or the day after that? What happened when fires broke through fire lines? How many more people were about to watch their homes and dreams burn?

  As she rounded the corner into the lobby, her gaze sideswiped the wall of photographs that had documented more just than her family’s history, but their legacy as well. The same legacy that had inspired her to stay in this town when the majority of her family had stretched their influential wings and flown from the nest.

  She’d memorized the pictures and stories of her ancestors by her tenth birthday, but tonight, one picture stood out from the rest.

  Her footsteps halted.

  An invisible weight rammed the center of her chest as her focus narrowed on her great-great-grandmother’s weathered portrait. Rayne had always felt a special connection to Nettie Shelby through her grandfather’s stories. But there was something else tonight, something urgent that tugged at Rayne’s heart. Something that pleaded for her to understand.

  The promise. Nettie’s promise to her community after she’d lost so much, her drive and dedication to serve others, her open-door commitment to help those in need . . . all of it came rushing back.

  The helplessness Rayne had felt moments ago in Vilma’s room was replaced by an idea that captured her mind with overwhelming possibility and purpose: What if Shelby Lodge became an evacuation shelter for their community?

  Rayne had waited her entire life for her passion to align with her position . . . and tonight it finally had.

  She bypassed Cal’s study and headed for her laptop. She’d spend her shift researching so that, come tomorrow morning, she’d be ready to face the firing squad.

  On a surge of adrenaline and courage, she rapped on Cal’s study door, her research in hand. Unfortunately, when she entered, Cal wasn’t alone. But not even Celeste’s presence could dim her elated spirit.

  “Rayne? I thought you’d gone home. Your shift ended”—Cal consulted his designer watch—“thirty-five minutes ago.”

  Celeste slid her gaze from her digital spreadsheet to Rayne, taking in her outfit the way one sorted through a recycling bin. “Maybe she’s here to submit her notice.”

  Wouldn’t she be so lucky.

  “No, I’m here to show you this.” Rayne pulled Channel 9’s website up on her phone and turned the screen to face Cal. “As of this morning, over three hundred homes in Bear Canyon have been placed under evacuation orders with more expected to evacuate in the next few hours. The crews have been working through the night, but conditions aren’t improving. I brought Vilma Albright to the lodge yesterday afternoon so she’d have a safe place to stay until her home’s been cleared.”

  Cal’s reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose as he studied her phone screen. “I take it you didn’t come to ask for my permission?”

  “No.”

  Cal frowned with his entire being, and Rayne shifted on antsy feet. “There are hundreds of people displaced from their homes right across the river from us, preparing for what could be the most devastating loss they’ve ever faced and—”

  “And you’re gonna join the fire crews?” Her cousin’s snotty response missed her intended target by miles.

  “I think Shelby Lodge should become an evacuation shelter.”

  Silence reverberated off the walls as her uncle and cousin gaped at her like she was some sort of circus-sideshow act. When they finally spoke, their replies toppled over one other.

  “Absolutely not,” Celeste said.

  “Not possible,” Cal added.

  But it was possible, and she’d prove it.

  She held up the printed documents clutched in her hand. “According to FEMA’s disaster relief policy, it’s not only possible, but running a shelter out of our lodge would be subsidized by the government. The lodge would be reimbursed not only for basic overhead costs like utilities and overtime wages for our employees but also for whatever supplies we purchase for the evacuees.”

  She laid the stapled packet in front of him. “Cots, food, linens, personal-care kits, extra towels, all of it would be c
overed.”

  “This is insane,” Celeste interjected. “If you haven’t noticed, we’ve been trying to cut back on the budget this summer, not add to it by housing freeloaders.”

  Rayne flipped to the third page of her research packet and pointed out a highlighted clause. “FEMA will reimburse the fair market value of any room used for the purpose of disaster relief. Our lodge is sitting at thirty percent occupancy as of right now, which means that seventy percent of our rooms are vacant and available for families who desperately need a safe place to wait out the fires.”

  Cal leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “And what about the extra hassle for our staff or the wear and tear on our property? I doubt FEMA has a clause that covers that.”

  “If you’ll allow me to work the day shift again, I will personally oversee everything having to do with the shelter.”

  Cal’s face remained firm, a solid rejection lurking in his eyes. “It’s not worth the effort.”

  The smirk on Celeste’s face ignited Rayne’s blood like a match thrown on a lake of gasoline. But thankfully, she’d come prepared for every possible outcome, including Cal’s first instincts. Celeste might know good business tactics, but Rayne knew her uncle. His hard-edged ways. His bottom-line mentality.

  “We could film my father’s campaign ads while operating as a shelter. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to interact with our local community. He’ll be seen as a philanthropist and a humanitarian.”

  As if he’d stumbled upon a pot of gold, a grin stretched wide across Cal’s mouth and didn’t stop until it reached his eyes. “Now, that is thinking like a Shelby. Well done, Rayne.”

  She ignored the sickening clench in her gut that betrayed her true motives, but she couldn’t ignore a compliment from her uncle. Positive reinforcement in her family was rare.

  Whatever it took to serve the families in crisis and bring the lodge back to its roots—its core values of faith, family, and community—she’d do it.

  Cal focused on each of the women before he spoke. “Celeste, you will continue to supervise the daily operations of the lodge while Rayne supervises the activities of the shelter.”