The Black Sheep and the Princess (4 page)

“Deenie's place is still there, huh?”

She frowned a little. “I thought you said you'd done some research.”

“On you,” he answered directly, apparently having no idea how badly he was unsettling her. Or maybe he did, and just enjoyed it. Lord knew he always had in the past. “I could give a damn about the town.”

“Well, the town has a lot to do with things. Or might. I don't know.” She sucked in a breath and tried a tight smile. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow.”

She glanced at the cabin door, wanting badly to be on the other side of it, with something, anything, between them. She needed to regroup. She needed wine. A lot of wine. “Good night.”

Still, he didn't shift away, didn't let her past. But he made no move closer. For the longest moment, he simply held her gaze, trapped it in his own, and kept it there while he studied and probed. He never dropped his gaze below her own, and yet she felt thoroughly…frisked. She wanted to fold her arms over her chest, hide her reaction to him. She didn't dare move a muscle.

“I can help you,” he said quietly. “You'd be wise to let me.”

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly, if somewhat breathlessly. “We'll talk about it tomorrow.”

“Good night, Kate.”

It wasn't until he shifted back, putting some semblance of space between them, that she let out the breath she'd been holding. She reached past him for the door, determined to end this little tête-à-tête right now. Before she did something even more reckless than letting him get that close to her. Like inviting him in for a glass of wine.

“Good night.” She opened the door, forcing herself to do it calmly, naturally, when what she wanted to do was dart inside, slam the door shut, and bolt it into place.
Like that would keep him out if he really wanted in
. She shivered in renewed awareness. She didn't want Donovan MacLeod back in her life, much less her cabin.

She held the door open for Bagel and flushed when Donovan had to shoo the dog in after her. She could feel him standing behind her, staring at her from the shadows. She made the mistake of glancing back. “Tomorrow.”

He surprised her by grinning. Broadly. With every ounce of black sheep bad boy he still had in him. Which, as it turned out, was quite substantial. “Tomorrow it is. See you then, Kate.”

“Yeah,” she said faintly as she watched him step off the porch and disappear into the darkness. “See you then.”

It wasn't until much later, when she was wrapped in more layers than the night chill warranted, third glass of wine in hand, that it occurred to her that he'd never told her where he was staying.

And that she'd never heard a car engine start up after he'd disappeared into the night. Nor had there been one parked anywhere around her cabin or on the road in.

She shivered a little, imagining him still out there, somewhere on the camp property. Watching her, maybe?

The shiver wasn't one of fear…It was one of anticipation.

Donovan MacLeod was back in town.

And Kate Sutherland still wanted him.

M
ac paused next to the stand of pine trees and studied the brush of needles scattered around the base of the trunks. Someone had been through here, and recently judging by the way the needles had been disturbed. There were no clear footprints, unless you knew what to look for. He knew.

He stepped behind the trees and positioned himself in the same place, facing the same direction that the intruder had—the other intruder, he amended. He hadn't exactly been invited here, either. At least Kate knew he was on the premises. Perhaps not at that very second, but he doubted she knew anything about the other one. Question was, what did the other intruder know about Kate? Anyone who would go to this much trouble, this far out in the middle of nowhere, had one of two motives. They were either after Kate, or something Kate owned.

Or maybe both.

He looked through the trees, along the same sight line as the person who'd stood there before him. From this spot, he could see her cabin, including both sides of the wraparound screened-in porch. He also had a clear line into the cab of her pickup truck. Someone was definitely spying on her.

He crouched down slightly, but the bows of the tree were closer together there, and his sight line was immediately obstructed. He straightened. A man, then. Or an inordinately tall woman. But his gut told him it was a man. In his experience, women ambushed, and they generally preferred trapping their quarry in as public a place as they could manage. Men hunted. And the fewer people around to contest the hunt, the better.

He looked over his shoulder and noted the direct path of cover from where he stood, straight through a short stand of woods, to where several yet-to-be remodeled camp cabins still stood. Beyond them, he knew it was only a short hike through another dense stand of trees, then a quick scramble up a rocky slide to where the main road wrapped around the top of the mountain before dipping down the other side toward town.

He could track it, and would, but he'd seen enough for now. He'd checked the property boundaries on this side of the lake yesterday before parking himself on Kate's porch with her trusty sidekick. Bagel. Honestly, it was no wonder the dog had defected to his side.

He'd noted the graffiti on several stands of trees and on one of the service sheds, but this was the first evidence of someone actually watching the cabin itself. It was harder to tell if anything had been vandalized in the cabins as most of them were empty and had just been left to suffer the elements for over a decade with no apparent maintenance.

He didn't know why Louisa had shut the place down, or why she'd left it to simply rot rather than sell the property off while it was still in decent shape. That was on his growing list of things to check out. Just as soon as he decided how to handle Kate.

He looked back at her cabin. The curtains were old, the color long since bleached out from the sun. The screens needed patching in a dozen places, something she'd need to do before the mosquitoes hatched for the season. The steps to the porch sagged in the middle where the cinderblock propping them up had sunk into the ground. The roof needed new shingles. The stovepipe chimney worked, though. A wispy curl of smoke wafted from the top and drifted slowly upward through the trees.

His stomach growled, and he could already feel the back of his neck tightening up. The result of sleeping in a cramped rental car with no supplies. He'd kill for a cup of coffee and a better-fitting pair of boots. The ones he'd been wearing when he left the city the day before yesterday smelled like that harbor Dumpster. Unfortunately, the little general store he'd stopped in on the drive up hadn't exactly sported a huge variety of men's clothing. He could have gone on ahead to Ralston, the town closest to the camp, but it had been hard enough just coming here.

He shuttered any thoughts of the past away, just as he'd done from the moment he'd crossed the county line. He was here to do a job. Kate Sutherland was just another client. Even if she didn't know that yet. Rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, he turned away from the cabin and began tracing the trail of evidence back through the woods, past two of the cabins, doing whatever it took to keep his thoughts focused exclusively on the situation here. Trying like hell not to care about how pathetic and rundown the place had gotten. Like it mattered. He hadn't given Winnimocca a single thought since he'd peeled out of here on the old FXS Low Rider he'd spent two long summers rebuilding.

And yet, the swiftness with which he moved through the trees and up the side of the mountain belied his own past there. He'd been gone half his own lifetime, yet easily traversed the grounds as if he still did it every day. It shouldn't have surprised him, shouldn't have bothered him. It was just a place. But as he dug his way up the last rise to the side of the main road, he admitted to himself that it did.

He pulled out the new slim satellite phone Finn had gotten for them each to carry and made some notes, used the camera function to snap a few more shots, then added a few more things to the list of equipment he was going to need Finn to ship up to him. The property was expansive and mostly wooded, which would make it a bitch to secure. It wasn't going to be easy, and it wasn't going to be cheap, but it could be done. Fortunately for Trinity, money was never the issue.

What he really wanted to do, though, was dig a little more, find out who the hell was watching her, track those fuckers down, and make the whole problem go away without installing so much as a single surveillance camera. That would also take care of having to talk to Kate again. He wasn't sure which was the more daunting task, and didn't want to know.

Whoever was bothering her wasn't putting much muscle behind it. Yet. They were using grade school scare tactics designed to discourage rather than harm. Zap Kate's will by hitting her in the checkbook, forcing her to spend money cleaning up the vandalized property, and slowing down the progress on restoration work.

If they knew Kate, they'd know this wasn't going to work. He paused, then chuckled ruefully. Like he knew Kate, or knew what the hell had really motivated her to take on this camp. He'd done some digging on her, too, had to if he was going to understand his client's needs. Which was mostly a bunch of bullshit, even if true in any other case. Kate wasn't any other case, and he'd probably be better off admitting that to himself right now. The ten minutes he'd spent with her on her porch last night should have made that blisteringly clear.

At fifteen, hell, seventeen, he'd lusted for her in every possible way a boy could lust for a girl. She'd kept him so jacked up he didn't know if he was coming or going. Though he'd spent an inordinate amount of time coming on those few times each summer she'd swing through camp. Not once had she ever actually been present, however. No, he'd jerk off, or head down to Benny's and pick up someone willing. Someone more suitable for him. Someone who wasn't Kate Sutherland. But someone he'd pretended was Kate as he'd pounded himself relentlessly into her.

He'd taken Kate every which way a man could take a woman. And he'd never once so much as laid a finger on her. Back then he'd prided himself on his control, on not letting her push him into doing anything rash. Anything that would ever actually give her the chance to outright reject or humiliate him. Like it was some big fucking contest. Only he was the only one playing.

Last night, standing on her porch, a grown man who had moved far, far past his angry, rebellious youth, and even farther from any fantasies he'd held for one long-ago unattainable princess…he'd been so razor hard for wanting her he could have cut diamonds. It had taken every last ounce of his restraint not to touch her. Not to push, poke, prod, or do whatever it took to see exactly where the boundaries might lie between them now.

He knew she'd watched him when they were teenagers. Knew he could have taken her. Just as he knew she'd never have asked him to, much less begged, as he'd fantasized about. God only knew what she'd have accused him of if he ever had.

But they were adults now. And he didn't know if he wanted her as a way to settle some past score that had existed only in his frustrated, confused mind…or if he wanted her because she was still the finest damn thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

She hadn't looked like the adult version of the unattainable, rich princess teenager last night. Cool, poised, and decked to the hilt in designer everything. She'd looked tired, worried, rumpled. He'd heard the strain in her voice…and wanted her so badly it made his teeth ache. Just thinking about the way she'd said his name, his given name, which he hadn't heard in years, made his body twitch to life all over again.

He jammed the phone back in his pocket. Time to hike to his car and make the trek down into town, contact Finn, set up the shipment, then buy whatever real supplies he could to settle in here for the duration. After that, he planned on heading back up here and camping out, literally, on her doorstep, until she heard him out and agreed to his help. Then he'd move into whichever cabin was in the best shape and get to work.

He had it all planned out.

If he could just figure out a way to do all that and not want to take her up against the nearest wall, he might actually survive this.

He started hiking back down the paved road toward the camp entrance. On second thought, maybe he owed her a thank-you. The more distracted he was by fighting his constant hard-on, the less time he spent having to fight the avalanche of childhood memories that threatened to bury him every time he let his guard down for half a second.

The sound of an engine slowed his steps. A moment later Kate rounded the bend in her little pickup. He made a mental note to look that up, too. He could understand the need for a truck over a sports car, but this one was not only undersized for the task, but had seen far better days. From his look around the camp, it also seemed to be the only vehicle she had on the premises. He recalled her first car had been a gleaming midnight blue Porsche 911 that he'd wanted to get his hands on almost as badly as he wanted his hands on her. The Kate Sutherland he knew was not a pickup truck kind of woman, and definitely not a used-vehicle-of-any-kind type.

Which did absolutely nothing to explain why his pulse kicked up a notch and his body tightened in immediate response when she braked to a stop next to him and rolled down the window. Her mouth was pinched at the corners. Clearly she was not happy to see him. Perversely, that made him want to smile.

“Car break down?” she asked.

He debated on whether to get into it here, or wait until he had more of an advantage. Any advantage would be nice. So far, Kate had unknowingly robbed him of it, and quite easily, too. “No,” he said, opting for blunt honesty. After all, it had gotten him pretty far in the world. “I was doing a perimeter check on the property.”

Her eyes widened and her throat worked, but when she spoke, her tone gave no indication of how she felt about his unwanted incursion. Still the cool princess. Even with her trademark shoulder-length blond hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, not so much as a dab of makeup enhancing her smooth as silk skin, and sporting a faded blue sweater, she was every inch the debutante.

He curled his fingers inward and propped his fists on his hips. It was that or reach for her, see if he could muss up that too perfect control a little to match the rest of her look.

“A perimeter check,” she repeated. “Funny, I don't remember hiring you on as a security guard.”

“Yet,” he responded, giving in to the grin that threatened out of nowhere. She frustrated him to the extreme in ways he didn't begin to try and understand. She sure as hell couldn't know. So why the almost giddy response his body had to even a hint of banter, he hadn't a frigging clue. He should have stayed in the damn city with Rafe. Chasing scum like Frank DiMateo, even getting shot at and blown up, was preferable to dealing with this inner turmoil shit. He'd spent the last eighteen years doing whatever he had to, to escape exactly that. He'd gotten pretty good at it, too. And yet, here he was. Right back where he'd started.

“You've got some guests,” he told her. “Uninvited, as far as I can tell. Unless you're into playing some kind of kinky hide-and-go-seek that involves orange Day-Glo spray paint.”

“It's just graffiti,” she said, but her casual tone was belied by a quick swallow and the way her hands flexed on the steering wheel. “A pain in the ass, but harmless, I think.”

“A pain, yes. Harmless, I'm not so sure. But I wasn't talking about the graffiti, or not only the graffiti.”

She tensed further, and he could see her wage her own internal battle. He had no idea where she was off to this early in the morning, but it was clear she hadn't intended to deal with him, much less the news he was bringing her. For a moment, he felt bad about ruining her morning, which he was clearly doing. A night's sleep hadn't erased any of the strain on her porcelain-fine features. But she'd have other mornings, better ones, if she'd listen to him now.

“There's more,” he told her, deciding there was no point in sugarcoating anything. If he wanted her to enlist his help, laying it out as bluntly as possible was probably best. The sooner he could get her to understand the potential depth of her situation, the sooner she'd agree to let him fix the problem. And the sooner he could get the hell out of there. “Where are you headed?”