Page 10 of Tempting Fate
Gabe nudged his head at Clay, who’d wandered to their end of the table. “Let’s talk about it later.”
“Hi, Clay.” He was standing right next to her, so it wasn’t as if she could ignore him, even though he was ignoring her.
“Raylene,” he said tightly.
“How are you?”
“Best Christmas ever.” For a second, he dropped his reserve and smiled. But just like that, the grin was gone. He didn’t like her, and on several occasions in the past he’d made it known that he thought she was a spoiled brat. She supposed it was better than what he thought of her now. But for the sake of Logan and Annie, he was being cordial. It didn’t take a particularly astute observer to know that.
Raylene was relieved when he moved on to talk to Rhys Shepard, the police chief. That glass of wine still sat at her elbow, teasing and tempting.Just one sip.
“You want dessert?” Gabe asked her. Members of the Baker’s Dozen, a cooking club, had baked enough cakes and pies to feed the entire state of California. Someone had even brought homemade ice cream.
“I’ll get it.” She needed to stretch her legs and wished she’d taken up smoking. Then she’d have an excuse to go outside for a cigarette break.
The sweets were laid out on the counter, and several people stood huddled around the assortment, trying to make their selections, Raylene noted as she entered the kitchen. She’d just started to exercise an about-face when she heard the whispers.
“I still can’t believe her audacity.”
“This has to put a pall over the whole wedding. But Logan and Annie are too sweet to turn her away, even though I can’t imagine them wanting her here. For goodness’ sake, she and Butch tried to sue Logan and steal his inheritance.”
“The scheming bitch should’ve gone to prison like her daddy.”
From their backs, Raylene couldn’t tell who they were. Not Donna or Ethel—too young. Quietly, she slipped out of the room, wended her way back to the table, and grabbed her wineglass. The powder room in the hallway was empty. She ducked in and quickly locked the door, leaning her back against the pedestal sink.
She pushed the bowl of the glass underneath her nose and inhaled. After all this time, she’d forgotten how good wine smelled. Like fruit and earth and freedom. Her father used to sneak her sips of the Russian River pinots he liked so much behind her mama’s back when she was just a little girl. She’d giggle and he’d laugh. Their own private joke. Later, he’d slip her shots of whiskey. If you were a Rosser, you held your liquor. Inebriation was for the weak, he’d say. But she’d always been a lightweight. A sloppy drunk who danced on tables, took off her clothes, and wept until she passed out.
“To you, Ray.” She held up the glass in a salute, letting the rivulets catch the light. “May you rot in hell.”
* * * *
“You okay in there?” Gabe knocked. He’d seen her go in at least ten minutes ago.
The toilet flushed and Raylene emerged, holding an empty wineglass.
“You drinking alone, Ray?”
“I’m not feeling well.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Stomachache. I think I’ll go up to my room.”
He gave her a long, hard look. “I thought you were tougher than that.”
“You want me to throw up on you?”
He rolled his eyes. “There’s that flair for dramatics you’re so famous for. You can’t tough it out another hour? By then, I’m gauging everyone will go home.”
“No, I need to lie down.”
She looked fine to him, but he couldn’t force her to stay. She’d surprised him by holding her own over dinner. She’d been subdued, gracious, even friendly, despite the death glares that had been thrown her way. For a minute there, he thought Clay McCreedy was going to bite her head off. And Harlee’s resting bitch face would’ve scared an entire SEAL team.
“All right,” he told her. “Take care of yourself. We’ve got a long three days ahead of us.”
“Night.” She handed him the wineglass.
Okay, apparently he was a waiter now. He watched her climb the stairs in her little black dress, a few inappropriate thoughts flitting through his head. She was Logan’s sister—andNightmare on Elm Street.
