The Promise Of Rayne - The Promise of Rayne Part 12
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The Promise of Rayne Part 12

"If you came for more honey, I'm afraid you're too late. Sold my last monthly subscription yesterday."

Her gaze softened as a sincere voice caressed his ear. "I'm sorry, Levi."

This was . . . not at all what he'd expected. He blinked her in. "For what?"

"For treating you the way I did the other night. You showed me compassion and kindness and I . . . I was ungrateful and rude and I'm very sorry for how I acted."

If this were a trick, he would sense it. Sniff it out the way he'd done hundreds of times in his youth. But whatever this was, it wasn't a game. At least not one he knew the rules for.

"Come in." He took a half step back to allow her room to pass, but still her shoulder brushed his chest upon entry. "I would have tidied the place up if I'd known the governor's daughter was coming for a visit."

Midway into the living room she stopped, her face crimped in confusion. She turned in a slow circle, eyes wide and scanning. "This . . . this is my cabin."

"Pretty sure I would have noticed a roommate. Especially if that roommate was you."

"No, I mean, this is so similar to the floor plan in my cabin. Like . . ." She ducked into his kitchen, skimmed her fingers along the maple cupboards, and then peeked into his walk-in pantry. "Like an exact replica."

Levi would have shrugged the statement off, but the gesture felt too careless compared with the awestruck expression on her face.

"Wish I could take the credit, but I only worked with the lumber, not the blueprints."

Either she didn't hear him or she didn't care for his explanation. She wandered the short distance to the back of the cabin, taking in every wall and window before placing her palm on his bedroom door. As if zapped by an electric charge, she dropped her hand and backed away. Apparently, according to Rayne Shelby, crossing into his personal space constituted a breach of intimacy.

He folded his arms. "I disarmed the trip wire if that's what you're worried about."

"I . . ." Her voice wavered slightly. "Sorry, I was just curious to see if . . ."

"It looked the same as yours?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure it's just a coincidence. I mean, there can't be too many ways to arrange a two-bedroom cabin."

He waltzed past her, pushed open the door, and threw on the light. Permission granted, she stepped into his room. Sure, there was a pair of work jeans tossed over a chair and his blankets rumpled on top of his unmade bed, but the same something that stirred in him the other night when she'd asked about his home-hopping childhood stirred in him now as he studied her.

Few people in life were brave enough to search for truth. Fewer still to accept it.

He'd always believed the Shelby family bred cowardice, but that was before he'd spent time with Rayne.

He remained in the doorway watching as she took in the corner bookshelves built into the far wall. When she approached the walk-in closet, Rayne gasped.

She tipped her neck back, scanning up the narrow stairway leading to a small landing at the top of the A-frame attic. "Is that an . . . octagon window up there?"

"Installed it myself." Even as he said it, he knew his answer would hardly satisfy her growing curiosity. Octagon windows weren't standard issue in homes in these parts. Especially not the kind with blue stained-glass panels.

"How?" It was a breath more than a word. Her fingers hovered near her lips. "My grandfather built the cabin I live in now over thirty years ago. And that window . . . that exact window is in my attic too and in the Blue Jay Suite on the fourth floor of the lodge. My old bedroom."

"Ford." The only answer he could give. "The plans were his."

"But why would he have the plans? And why would he even want to replicate the cabin on our property? I don't understand."

He wished he could say, There are a lot of things you don't understand. But while he'd love nothing more than to rip the Band-Aid off of her family history and expose eighteen years of festering wounds and secrets, his loyalty had already been pledged. To Ford.

Not all truth was his to share.

Besides, his fascination with Rayne was fleeting. Temporary.

Nothing he could say to her, or she to him, would change the past.

Or their allegiances.

"I told you. I just built it." He pushed off the wall. "Now, do you want something to drink, or do you want to explore my dresser drawers too?"

Her startled expression nearly cracked his mouth into a smile.

"How is this not weird to you? We share a custom-built house, Levi."

"So do millions of people who live in suburbs all across America. Not weird. Just economical."

She craned her head to the side, narrowed her eyes. "I know for a fact that the octagon window up there was specially made by a craftsman in Coeur d'Alene. It's not something a person can just pick up at Hardware Depot. My grandfather loved those windows."

Rayne wasn't wrong. Levi had searched high and low to find the craftsman who sold the windows to William Shelby all those years ago. But the surprise on Ford's face when Levi showed up with the hard-won treasure had been worth the extra effort. "If you want to know more you'll have to ask Ford."

"Ask Ford? You can't be serious."

"Ya know, disgust isn't the prettiest expression I've ever seen on your face." Levi slipped out of the bedroom and headed toward the kitchen again. She followed.

"Like he'd even be honest with me if I did ask."

Levi gave a trifle laugh and opened the cupboard to remove two glasses. "You really don't know anything about him, do you?"

"I know enough."

At the odd inflection in her tone, he spared her a glance. "Code for you only know what you've been told from the Shelby nursery rhymes."

She released a long exhale, as if to clear all traces of Ford from their conversation, and then shook her head. "Believe it or not, I didn't come here to talk about Ford. Or my family."

He faced her fully. "Then why did you come, Rayne?"

"To apologize."

"Which you've done. So why are you still here?" He gripped the edge of the counter. "What is it you want from me?"

When she didn't answer, Levi shook his head and turned back to the sink. He flipped on the faucet. Cool water splashed into his glass, dotting his forearm. "If you're here to explore some late-onset rebellion from your repressed adolescence, you're out of luck. I'm not that guy."

At the press of her hand against his back, his muscles went taut.

"You weren't wrong when you said I could use a friend the other night, and the truth is, I could still use one."

Glass full, he bumped the tap with a closed fist. "You have Gia."

"Yes, and she's my best friend, but she's also . . ."

"A Shelby."

"Yes."

He handed her the glass and searched her eyes. "You want to extend our truce?"

"If your offer hasn't expired."

"So I would be what-an escape? Your personal 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card from that overpriced prison?"

Her cheeks blanched. "I wish I could deny it, but that's a pretty accurate assessment right now. All of your assessments have been pretty accurate." When she brought the rim of her glass to her lips, he tore his gaze away. Unlike the last two times she'd shown up on his property, there was nothing logical about today's visit. She shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be standing in his kitchen asking him for anything, least of all his friendship. And maybe that was exactly why her request appealed to him so much.

An uncomfortable silence rubbed against his conscience.

"You're debating why you should trust me, right?" She paused and scanned his face. "But you do. You do trust me."

"More than I should."

"The same can be said for me when it comes to you."

In Levi's world of bartering and bargains, the earning of trust was the one component that couldn't be faked. But there was no commodity for sale here. No contracts being signed or deals being made. Whatever was happening between them now, it definitely wasn't business.

"If we do this, if we become friends"-he emphasized the word-"there'll be some rules."

She bristled, her glass clinking on the counter beside her hip. "I have enough rules to follow at the moment."

"Relax." He ticked a finger in the air. "That's the first one. I don't want to pal around with high-society Rayne. I want the girl who was here the other night with me-laughing, joking, being real. The version of you that doesn't care about disheveled hair or pants made out of a barn sheet."

"Fine."

"And two, I won't keep secrets from Ford. If you want to sneak around your family, that's one thing, but don't ask me to hide you. I won't. That old man means everything to me. Which leads me to three." He moved in close enough to see the flecks of green and gold in her eyes. "You can believe what you want to about him, but I don't take well to disrespect, especially when it comes to the people I love."

"Yet it's okay for you to bad-mouth my family every five minutes?"

"How 'bout we simply agree to disagree. If we can't find other topics to discuss, then maybe this whole thing is as broken as it seems."

"We can," she said with a confidence that took him by surprise. "You're more than Ford's apprentice and I'm more than my last name."

The sudden desire to touch that adorable dimple in her chin had him retreating a step, and then another. Perhaps the scent of her hair-that honeysuckle-lilac combination-was messing with his brain waves. He needed a breather and quite possibly an impulse-control check.

"I need to head into town for a meeting." He'd be able to think clearer on a drive, analyze how this agreement could affect Ford, the farm, their bottom line.

"Alright," she said.

"Alright." Levi repeated the word for no apparent reason and spanned the living room in six steps to open the front door for Rayne.

At his prompting, she stepped onto the porch.

"What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?" he asked.

Her shoulders sagged a few inches. "Sleeping."

"Aren't you a little young to be scheduling nap times?"

"My hours changed at the lodge." She scanned the farm again, searching the orchard before stepping onto the gravel drive. "Starting tomorrow I'll be working the graveyard shift."

Even with her back to him it was easy to deduce the change hadn't been her idea. "Who changed your schedule? The blonde you told me about?"

"The fake blonde. And yes." She glanced over her shoulder at him, a weak smile tugging at her lips. "But it will be fine."

"You just broke rule number one."

She turned, eyebrows raised. "What-how?"

"That was a pathetic attempt to save face. You hate the new schedule. Admit it."

Her lips twitched and gave way to a grin that tugged at his gut. "I hate it."

"Better." He winked at her. "Now, hand me your phone."

"I think you mean, May I please have your phone, Rayne."

He tried it her way, drawing out the word please until she let out a laugh.

"Better," she mocked. "But I don't have it on me. Not a lot of sundresses have pockets, if you haven't noticed."

Oh, he'd noticed. Every single seam and sunflower. Levi took his phone out of his back pocket, swiped into his contacts, and placed the device into her open palm. She tapped his screen with her fingertip and added her number into the blank space.

"Don't suppose you'd accept a lift home?"

Her you-can't-seriously-be-asking-me-that expression was funnier than he'd imagined. "I'm joking."

He waited for her to slip through the slats of the white fence and disappear into the pasture beyond before climbing into his truck. The instant his engine fired, he slumped against the seat and rubbed at his temples, wondering when the last of his common sense had escaped him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Three days ago Rayne believed she knew everything there was to know about Shelby Lodge. But that was before she'd worked her first graveyard shift.

Shadows slinked along walls, windows reflected like fun-house mirrors, and every single sound that pricked her eardrums seemed to reverberate her paranoia. Not even the most inviting spaces in the daylight were immune to the drop cloth of night. Darkness had transformed her familiar haven into a haunted house.

At a quarter to four, she walked the length of the dim corridor toward the poorly lit lobby. She rubbed her arms, more to keep alert than to keep warm. No wonder Teddy had penned so many mysteries while working these unnerving hours.