The Black Sheep and the Princess (14 page)

She sent a pointed look to where his hands were bracing both of her elbows.

“That's different,” he said immediately. When she just looked at him, he smiled, but lifted his hands away, palms up. “Fine. But, for future reference, if I'm going to put my hands on you in a rule-breaking way, I'm not going to waste time with your elbows, okay?”

Her skin pinked and her eyes darkened, and Mac was reminded why he shouldn't play with her particular brand of fire. She only had to stand there and stare him down and he was suddenly in trouble. “All I was trying to say was that unlike your mother and Shelby and who knows who else in your life, there are no strings attached to my help.” He grinned. “I'm your proverbial fairy godmother.”

A laugh snorted out of her, catching them both off guard.

“Fairy godfather?” he amended.

She laughed outright. “Stop.”

And he thought,
I could so fall for you
. Which shouldn't have come as such a complete shock to him. But it was a fact that a whole lot more than his hormones were getting engaged here.

He struck off across the parking lot. “Come on, we'll get Bagel his fancy-schmancy doggie food—although you do realize you're unmanning the poor guy. Just give him regular old dog chow—then you can help me pick out some mountain man stuff. After that, I need to find a place to rent a post office box. I'll buy you lunch and we'll go over everything, set up a game plan you can live with. We should have something from Finn by then. I'll even drive home—back to camp.”

Home. It wasn't a word that sprang to his lips, even casually. Maybe especially then.

“We'll see,” was all she said, and matched his long-legged stride across the lot.

“Y
ou shop like a man.”

Kate walked around to the driver's side of the truck. “I'm going to take that as a compliment.”

Donovan followed her around and reached past her for the door handle. “Take a break, General Patton. I'll drive.”

She beat him to the door handle and shot him a look, debating the relative merits of fighting that particular battle. She was bone tired, still a little freaked out despite his attempts to lighten things up during their little impromptu shopping spree, and she'd just spent a mind-numbing forty-five minutes in a noisy mall speed shopping with Neanderthal Man so she could get them out of there and back to the more important business of finding out what the hell was going on.

She lifted her hand from the handle. “Fine.” She dropped her key ring into the waiting palm of his hand, ignoring his look of surprise.

He tossed his shopping bags in the back and quickly climbed in as she walked around to the other side and got in.

“I asked at the information desk while you were trying on that God-awful green and black plaid shirt, and they said there're no postal box rental places anywhere around here. I'm not even sure they knew what I was talking about. But I'm fairly certain they're right. Most folks here wouldn't have the need of a separate box. Why can't you just use the Winnimocca address?”

“Security. Don't worry, I've got another idea.” He pulled out on the main road and continued heading in the opposite direction of the camp.

“Shouldn't we start heading back? Did you check to see if Finn called?”

“Yes, dear. Five minutes ago when we left the mall, right around the last time you asked.” He didn't turn the truck around.

“And to think I was nice and let you drive. Where are we going?”

“You're beat, I'm starved, and we could use a little refueling. So could your truck from the look of the gauge.”

“It's broken. I go by the mile counter.” She leaned over to get a look, instantly regretting the move when she got a whiff of, well, Donovan. He smelled all woodsy and good and—she looked at him. “What?”

“You sniffed me.”

“I did not.” She straightened back to her side of the truck and tried not to look mortified.

“Cologne Girl ambushed me going into Melton's department store.” He glanced at her, gray eyes twinkling. “Do you like it?”

She turned her attention resolutely forward. Couldn't incriminate herself—or worse, encourage him further—if she kept her mouth shut.

He drove for another minute, then shot a grin her way that she couldn't miss even in her peripheral vision. Donovan had the kind of smile you felt.

“That good, huh? Maybe I should go back and—”

Her hand shot out when he changed lanes and looked as if he were going to pull a U-turn. “No. Food is the only thing I want to be sniffing right now.”

He let her keep her dignity. For three seconds. “Liar.”

She ignored him and his tangible grin. “How long do you think it will take Finn to get back to you? And what, exactly, are you having sent up here? Why not just ship it directly to the camp? Who'd know?”

“We just paraded ourselves all over Ralston. Word will spread that you're not living alone out at the camp.”

“Does anyone know you're back? Has anyone recognized you?”

He shook his head. “No, and I didn't recognize anyone either, but it won't take long to figure out.”

“Does it really matter?”

He shrugged. “Don't know yet. But it might not be bad for them to realize you're not fending for yourself out there. And if they figure out it's me keeping you company, that might actually work in our favor.”

“Why is that?”

“Who'd ever suspect drunk Donny Mac's son had amounted to anything?”

Kate massaged her temples, but the beginnings of a tension headache persisted. “I really want to believe you're wrong about all of this. I want to believe that I'll get a hold of Shelby. He'll sign the papers. I can start hiring work crews and they'll see I mean business. And who knows, maybe just having the laborers around will deter whoever is spray painting messages all over the property. Problems solved.”

That was the plan she should be preparing for. All this wild speculation about developers wanting to take over her property and the townsfolk wanting her out, or Shelby maybe working some kind of side deal intending to screw her over, was pure fantasy. He was selfish, greedy, and petulant, but she didn't want to believe he'd go this far.

“I'm not going to tell you that's an impossible scenario. I don't know enough yet. But highly improbable? I'm afraid so.”

“So you think Shelby is somehow linked to the townsfolk, the developers, and the graffiti? Why would he risk losing the entire Sutherland inheritance?” When Donovan didn't say anything, she folded her arms. “What?”

He glanced at her, then back to the road. “I didn't say anything.”

“If you know something else, just say it.”

“I don't. But it's not a bad thing to talk out alternatives. You never know what correlation we might draw, or put together some other lead we might have missed. Speculation isn't a bad thing. Even if it's wrong.”

She wanted to be mad at him, even though she realized it was just an excuse to focus her feelings of helplessness on something tangible. Or someone. Instead, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to relax back against the seat. Getting worked up wasn't going to help matters any. Besides, she'd already gotten worked up quite enough for one morning, thank you. Her gaze slid sideways across the seat, to where Donovan's hand rested on the gear shift. His jean-clad legs just beyond in the same line of sight.

His hands were broad, flat, with wide, scarred fingers. And there was nothing scrawny about those thighs of his either. She swallowed another urge to sigh; only this time she was afraid it would sound more wistful than weary. He'd put his hands on her, his mouth on her…Her heart kicked up just thinking about what had happened in this very cab on the way here. Yes, she was tired, and scared and worried about getting her dream realized…but that wasn't the reason her pulse was racing and her palms grew damp.

No, the reason for that was driving her old pickup like he'd been born to it…and driving her to distraction while he was at it.

The truck bounced hard as he turned off the main road onto a dirt and gravel route. “Where in the heck—?”

He held up his hand. “Trust me.”

“I'm already getting tired of that one. Just tell me. I'm not feeble-minded or fragile.”

He glanced at her. “Never said you were.”

“So, then…?”

“I need to pin down an alternate delivery address.”

“Out here?”

“Hope so.” They bumped and bounced over the rutted road, making her grab the dash and the armrest to keep from cracking her head against the roof. She already knew better than to ask him anything else. She'd find out soon enough anyway.

A few teeth-jarring minutes later, he pulled off into an overgrown field. A weather-beaten barn held court amongst the shoulder-high weeds.

He parked and got out. She sighed and followed him. “I don't think this thing has a mailing address.”

“Nope.” He stopped and stared at the barn, hands on his hips. “Makes one hell of a nice mailbox, though. Can't beat the price either.”

He started walking toward it, beating aside the grass as he went. “Watch out for snakes.”

“If you're expecting me to leap and squeal, you're going to be sorely disappointed. You might have wanted to change out of those running shoes, though. Snake teeth'll go right through that open mesh weave. Perfectly nice, brand-new boots back in the truck.”

The grass and weeds were so tall they kept the sun from penetrating all the way down, and the ground beneath their feet was more muck and mire than packed dirt.

“I'll manage.”

“Men.”

He chuckled, and she found herself smiling.

They walked the circumference of the weather-beaten building, which was surprisingly solid. No boards missing, the roof still mostly intact. “We're probably on private property, you know.”

“Oh, I know we are.”

He had driven right to this place, so he obviously knew more about it. “Who owns it?”

“Growing up, it was old George Stanfield's place. Probably his daughter, Deirdre's, now, or his grandkids'. Doesn't much matter. I'm only going to need it for about thirty minutes. An hour tops.”

She stopped in front of the double doors and watched him throw his muscle behind lifting the iron lever that shifted the bar out of the handles.
Impressive
, she couldn't help but think, when the thing slowly ground and squealed its way out of the rusted-over tracks.

Once he got the bar free, they both pushed at the wooden doors and trundled them open enough to let the sunlight in before stepping into the cool, gloomy interior. The barn rose two stories at the center with parallel lofts framing either end. Both appeared empty from where she stood, as did the barn floor itself. It smelled dank and musty; the packed dirt floor was concrete hard. Mac walked to the matching set of double doors at the opposite end, then turned back and surveyed the barn as a whole.

“This'll do.” He unclipped his phone, but apparently couldn't get a signal, or something, and put it back. He slid another gizmo out of his jacket pocket, along with what looked like a slender PDA. He walked the perimeter, tapping in notes, then took some kind of reading from the gizmo, noted that down, then looked up at her and smiled. “I need to walk around a bit outside.”

She followed him back out, but stayed by the open doors as he walked out farther into the grass field, tapping in other notes, taking more readings.

“What are you measuring?”

“Not measuring now. Getting coordinates.”

“For?”

He turned, smiled. “Landing pad.”

“Landing p—” She broke off, shook her head. “Why do I ask questions I might not want the answers to?”
Landing pad
. Not landing strip. Or drop zone. That could mean only one thing.

He swatted his way back through the tall grass. He was less than ten yards away when she said, “Helicoptor?” At his nod, she asked, “What on earth do you need delivered that badly?”

He didn't even blink. “It's not the urgency, though this kind of is. You do have a deadline you're operating under. It's more a matter of getting what I need, when I need, how I need, without anyone else needing to know I have it.”

“And you think having a helicopter land in the middle of a field just outside of town isn't going to raise one or two eyebrows?”

“First of all, we're far enough outside of town to be on the backside of the range separating us from Ralston. If we use the right approach pattern”—he patted his PDA—“which we will, no one will see us come in or go out. In case you haven't noticed, not a lot of traffic or established residences on this side of the mountain.” She glanced up as he pointed to the rise behind her, which she noticed was mostly all sheer rock wall. Nary a chimney or building marred the vista for as far as she could see.

“I picked this place for elevation—most farmland is in the valley. This is tucked away, high up, easy access. In and out.”

“I'm building a camp for challenged kids. I don't think it requires planning like we're evacuating refugees out of Cambodia.”

“A plan is a plan, regardless of the objective.”

She just stared at him.
Who is this man?
He'd said, in the truck this morning, after kissing her, that he really didn't know who she was. Clearly she didn't know who he was either. The teenager she'd known could have dismantled and reassembled any engine blindfolded, and was reputedly just as good with his hands in other arenas. But that was where his skill set had begun and ended as far as she knew. The man standing before her now, plotting helicopter coordinates as easily as if he were jotting down directions to the corner store…she had no idea who that guy was. Or what he was truly capable of.

“What?” he asked, looking up from tapping on his Black-Berry screen and catching her watching him.

“Just wondering,” she said, not bothering to pretend she hadn't been staring. “How did you go from rural boy to city cop to—” She made a half gesture toward his PDA.

“I seem to have a knack for it.”

There was an understatement, she was sure. “For what, exactly? I know you had a way with mechanical things when you were younger, but—”

He flashed her a grin. “Clever hands, you mean?”

It was silly to flush, when she'd just gotten done thinking the same exact thing. But when all she could do was think about him putting those clever hands all over her, it was kind of hard not to.