The glint of mischief in her eyes was answer enough.
Rayne stepped through the splintery doorway of the barn and nearly choked on a sharp intake of breath. The place was double-no, triple-the size she'd imagined. The half-obstructed view from the octagon window in the Blue Jay Suite had only revealed a small section of the barn's tin roof. But as Levi grasped her hand to guide her through the congested area, she realized her reference for scale had been way off base.
Harvest trucks with mechanical buckets, large blue barrels, and wood pallets stacked twenty feet high were just the beginning.
"Hey, what's that thing?" She tugged him to a stop and pointed to the strange machine parked behind a tractor.
"An apple conveyer belt. Never seen one of those before?" There was a hint of surprise in his voice, but she was too awed, too overcome by her surroundings, to think up a witty retort. Her senses were on overload. Her eyes could hardly take in all the tools and equipment, much less her nose take in the spicy scents of juiced apples and fresh-cut grass. All the while, overhead, the circular fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed like a swarm of angry bees.
Slowing her pace yet again, she ran her free hand along a stack of wicker baskets with rope handles. "And are these what you give to the U-pickers?"
Levi offered an easy half smile. "Yeah, Ford's big on nostalgia. Only a few of our acres are designated for U-pick, but for some families, apple picking has become a fall tradition."
There was something to those baskets-some memory stored away that she couldn't quite access. But hearing Ford's name quickly snapped her out of her own moment of nostalgia. If she allowed herself to dwell on what she was actually doing, allowed herself to think about what it meant for her to be here again, this whole night would be in vain.
Just don't think about it, a rebellious voice cooed.
She wasn't a Shelby tonight.
She was simply an average twenty-six-year-old woman. In a barn. With a man. A very good-looking man.
Levi squeezed her hand. "Hey . . . you okay?"
"Yep," she said much too quickly. "I'm just hoping your idea of fun isn't built around harvesting equipment."
"Not even close. Keep walking, princess."
And walk they did. To the very back of the barn, through a storage closet, and then finally into a large clearing. A room of sorts. No equipment, no tools. Just a massive roll-up door at the far end. Bark chips scattered the floor, and a few hay bales bordered each side wall.
"Wow . . . what is this space used for?"
His eyes danced with amusement. "Fun."
Goose bumps rose on her bare legs and arms. This area was several degrees cooler than outside, but it was the chill of anticipation that managed to get the best of her. She shivered when Levi let go of her hand.
He headed into the storage closet. "It will just take a minute for me to set up."
"How can I help?"
Again, his smile seemed to come easily. He pointed. "See that shelf on the far wall?"
She nodded as he slipped his pocketknife out of his jeans and placed it in the center of her palm.
"There's some twine on the bottom. Cut off a few strips-about five feet or so-and lay it on the ground between those two posts. We're gonna need some markers. Oh, and don't turn around until I'm set up."
"Okay," she agreed on a nervous laugh.
She didn't bother to ask questions. At the moment, she needed to do. Not ask. Because asking involved thinking, and thinking involved a level of complication she wasn't ready to deal with. But as she cut the strips of twine, her mind floated to a safe zone as she noted the expansiveness of the room. She couldn't help but imagine all the possible uses for a space like this. What it could offer the community. She'd organized several fund-raisers in barns and community centers half this size when she was in college. And though there was nothing posh or polished about this particular barn, nothing decorated or uniquely distinguishable, there was something so inspiring about the rustic feel.
Something homey.
A rush of guilt nearly swallowed her whole at the thought.
No. Just don't think about it.
While she'd been arguing with her internal opponent and laying out the strips of twine, Levi had been dragging out all kinds of-what sounded like-heavy objects from the storage closet. There was scraping and banging and then . . . she heard him behind her.
"I'm ready when you are."
She took just a second to temper her expectations before she turned. After all, fun was a relative term.
Yet once again, the man had exceeded the limits of her imagination.
No, he wasn't wearing a three-piece suit while crashing a high-society dinner party. Neither was he schooling her on the art of deception in the middle of a parking lot. This time, he was simply handing her a BB gun and telling her to shoot at his makeshift targets: two hay-stuffed scarecrows, five aluminum cans set on a wooden sawhorse, a crudely painted pumpkin, and a handful of other harvest-like paraphernalia.
The belly laugh that escaped her was so abrupt she couldn't wipe the tears clinging to her bottom lashes fast enough. "What is this stuff? And why-" She pointed to the pumpkin and tried again. "Why is that pumpkin so . . . creepy?"
"Hey-Pete's a jack-o'-lantern. And kids love him."
She'd almost calmed, almost dried her damp cheeks and righted herself, when Levi's flat-toned response put her in stitches all over again. That pumpkin had to be the worst rendering of a jack-o'-lantern she'd ever seen. Smeared black paint for eyes, a carved-out triangle nose, and a hideous curvature for a mouth that looked more like a grimace than a grin.
"Wait," she said. "That thing's for children? Levi, I've seen scary movies less horrifying-that pumpkin will give me nightmares."
"Give me that." He snatched the gun back from her hand. "You're gonna lose an eye if you don't stop flinging that barrel around. And for the record, that thing happens to be a work of art."
"Please don't tell me you were the one who painted it." Rayne sucked in her cheeks, pinching them tight to keep her laughter under control.
"Well, it's not like I had a lot of other options." The side of his mouth twitched as he spoke, but amazingly, he managed to keep a straight face. "I don't screen our seasonal employees for artistic ability."
"Perhaps you should start."
"And perhaps you should be grateful for this spectacular indoor shooting range I've created in less than ten minutes. Bet you've never had a date quite like this one."
She brushed aside his casual use of the word date and simply held out her hand to retrieve her gun. "Can't say that I have." She eyed the crooked face of the ugly pumpkin once again. It didn't take much more than a squint for Rayne to replace Pete's twisted smile with the mocking grin and haughty eyes she'd endured only a few hours ago.
Rayne adjusted the target in her scope and pulled the trigger.
Pete went down on her first shot.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
If a picture was worth a thousand words, then Levi's mental snapshot of Rayne peppering two pathetically thin scarecrows with BBs was worth a million.
The girl didn't mess around. Every item he'd brought out of storage was either lying prostrate like Old Pete or no longer intact. So much for taking turns.
"You do realize you've made it impossible for me to shoot now, right?"
She assessed the damage. "Don't worry, I'll set everything back up the way you had it. Creepy pumpkin man and all."
"Jack-o'-lantern. And that's not the reason."
She lifted an eyebrow. "Then why-you afraid I'm a better shot than you?"
"Who taught you to shoot like that?"
She handed Levi the gun, crossed over the forbidden line of twine, and retrieved two of the scattered, hole-drilled cans. "My cousin Joshua."
Ah, Gia's brother. "He the family hit man or something?"
"He's an Air Force officer." She reset one of the cans and then the next, spacing them perfectly. "No family talk, remember?"
"Right." He studied her. "Is that the only topic off limits tonight?"
Even under the harsh fluorescent lighting, her dark-amber eyes sparkled. "I suppose so. Within reason."
"Good, 'cause reasoning happens to be my specialty."
She straightened the scarecrow's arm, bending the wire underneath to stay in place. "I believe that."
"So what do you say to a friendly get-to-know-you game?"
She shot him a look of suspicion. "Depends what you mean by friendly."
"Please, Rayne. Try and keep your mind out of the gutter."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. How do we play?"
"For every target I miss, you get to ask me one question. And vice versa."
She wrinkled her nose. "But you already know I can shoot the tar-"
"You in or not?"
"Sure, I'm in."
"Perfect." He set the gun on a hay bale and headed for the storage closet.
"Where are you going?"
"To retrieve the target."
"But I thought-"
Levi rolled out a six-foot apple punched full of seed holes. "Be a dear and grab that red bucket of beanbags, will ya?"
"A beanbag toss? That's the game? You tricked me!"
Levi leaned the apple against the far wall. "No, you assumed I meant target shooting."
"Only because you led me to that assumption."
"Exactly." He winked at her. "Hope your arm's as good as your trigger finger."
She reached into the bucket, grabbed a beanbag, and threw it at him. It grazed the top of his shoulder.
"Oops, sorry." She shrugged. "Slipped right out of my hand."
Levi smiled. So Rayne Shelby has some fire in her blood after all.
He placed the line of twine ten feet away from the happy apple and then gestured to her. "Please, ladies first."
She kicked off her heels-something she hadn't bothered to do for target shooting-grabbed a handful of mismatched beanbags, and marched herself behind the line.
"Oh, and just the center hole counts," he added.
Like a slow-moving bullet, her gaze shifted from him back to the apple.
He stifled a laugh when she scrunched up her shoulders, rotated her hips in an awkward half-twist maneuver, and chucked the bag with a stumble-step forward, followed by an unladylike "Oomph."
She missed.
"Tough break. Looks like I get to ask you the first question."
She gave a long sigh and then conceded with a nod.
"So, Rayne Shelby, what's your hidden talent?" He lifted a finger. "And please, if at all possible, include a demonstration."
She tilted her head. "Is that another add-on rule? You just keep tacking them on-"
"You're stalling."
"Fine." She huffed. "I can sing all the names of the fifty states in less than twenty-five seconds."
"And to think, I didn't even have to pay for this kind of entertainment."
She cleared her throat while he took out his phone, found the stopwatch, and pointed at her to start.
She didn't miss a single state. Alabama to Wyoming. And all were said-or, sung-in twenty-two seconds flat.
She pointed to the bucket and then to him. "You're up."
Making sure to match her dramatic windup, he flung the bag straight into the center bullseye. "Guess I get to ask you another one."