The Black Sheep and the Princess (5 page)

“Ralston. Errands.”

“At seven-fifteen in the morning?”

She simply stared at him, and for a second, dropped her guard. She was tired. But, if he wasn't mistaken, she was also more than a little unsettled. Either by what was going on at the camp, or by something else entirely, he had no idea. He didn't know Kate or what was going on in her personal life. A salient point he should make a personal note of.

“I was headed there myself. Let me ride along and I'll fill you in on what I know so far. And what my recommendations are.”

She looked as if she was about to argue, but in the end, she jerked her chin to the other door. “Get in, then.”

He found himself smiling again. “Please, no need to thank me, my pleasure.” Like hell it was. Pleasure was going to have absolutely nothing to do with this little adventure. No matter if his rapidly responding body parts were telling him otherwise.

“I didn't ask for your help,” she reminded him flatly when he rounded the other side.

He had to work the handle a few times, but finally wrenched the door open. “That's the beauty of this arrangement. You don't have to ask.”

“Exactly. You're here because—well, because I don't know why exactly—but you don't have to be, so don't expect me to fall all over myself in gratitude.”

“Yet,” he said as he climbed in. His knees protested a little as he crammed them into the too small cab. “What, couldn't afford a real truck?”

She peeled out, spewing gravel behind her and making him grab for the door handle and his seat belt at the same time. “I'll be more than glad to drop you at your car.”

He shot her a sideways glance, surprised to see the flash of real anger, not just irritation. He doubted she was all that angry with him. He hadn't been around long enough yet for that.
Give it time
, he thought. “What's got under your skin this morning?” he asked. “Besides me.”

“None of your concern.” She glanced at him, then shifted her gaze firmly back to the winding mountain road. “Why are you here, Donovan? Just tell me.”

“Mac,” he reminded her, shifting a little in his seat as the fit of his jeans got that much more uncomfortable. Dammit. “Just Mac. And I told you. I saw the write-up in the paper, saw you needed some help.” He lifted a shoulder in what he hoped came off as a nonchalant shrug. “I happen to be in the helping people line of business these days. Or you can just consider it assistance from an old friend.”

She snorted at that, then looked almost surprised at her own outburst. “We were hardly friends,” she said, shifting uncomfortably, possibly feeling his steady regard.

He didn't look away. Couldn't, actually. The morning light was far more revealing than the porch light had been last night. Much to the detriment of his physical comfort, but it also got his mind to working, too. And not strictly on the business end of things. Not a good sign, but perhaps if he just indulged himself now, he could get it out of his system and find a way to take her out of his past and put her squarely into the present. As his client. Not some teenage sexual fantasy come true.

“No, I guess we weren't. Sentimental reasons, then. I grew up here, after all. Is it so strange to want to give back?”

She looked at him again, clearly suspicious. “You couldn't be bothered to come home after your father was buried, and please forgive me if I'm being completely insensitive, but you don't strike me as the sentimental type. Especially where Winnimocca is concerned. Not that I blame you.”

Mac decided to drop all pretense. “You're right about that. I'd just as soon never step foot back on this property. A lot of memories are tied up here, most of them bad.”

“Then my question stands. Why did you come back? And don't tell me it's about some stupid newspaper article. There has to be more to it than that.”

“It's the God's honest truth that if not for that article, I wouldn't be here. But, actually, it was Rafe who spotted it.”

“Rafael Santiago? You're still in touch with him?”

“I work with him. Finn Dalton, too. Rafe ordered me to come up here and fix the situation you're in. Finn backed him up.” He raised his hand. “Scout's honor.”

He saw the corner of her mouth quirk slightly. “Like any of you were ever scouts. Finn, maybe.” She paused for a split second. “No, I don't see him playing by anyone else's rules either.”

Mac smiled and settled back in his seat a little. She was talking to him, and, for the moment, not threatening to leave him on the side of the road. It was a start. “True. But my word is still good. Always has been. There have been times when that's all I had, so I don't give it lightly.”

She didn't say anything to that, concentrating on the road instead, probably choosing her next words. Or figuring out how she could ditch him in town. “So you're saying the Unholy Trinity has this sudden vested interest in saving a rotting old camp for sentimental reasons, or because of some little newspaper write-up.”

“Hardly little. It was the
New York Times
. And the headline was something about an heiress giving up her inheritance to take control of family lake property in order to open up a camp for disabled kids. Is that true?”

“Which part? That I swapped my inheritance with Shelby? Or that I'm planning on a camp for kids? And why is it I think both of those things surprise the hell out of you?”

“They both do, frankly. Although, perhaps you're doing well enough on your own not to need Louisa's money.”

“Does it look like I'm rolling in it, Donovan?” She briefly lifted a hand. “Mac.”

“I have no idea what game you might be playing at. With Shelby involved and an inheritance worth a lot of zeros, now vandalism, and rumors of developers being involved—”

Kate braked and abruptly pulled over. “Get out.”

“I'm not judging, Kate. I'm just calling it like I see it. Do you want me to sugarcoat it?”

“I want you to get out. And stay off camp property. My property.” She wasn't looking at him, and her tone was flat and hard. But he saw the tremor in her jaw, the vein standing out in stark relief along the side of her neck, and the white knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

“Someone isn't just spraying unhappy little messages on trees, Kate. Someone has been watching you,” he said without preamble. “You may not like me or what I have to say, or believe why I'm here, but that's beside the point. The point is I have the resources to help get you out of whatever it is you've gotten yourself into.”

Her cheeks drained of color, and she swallowed hard.

“You may not even know what you're up against,” he said, a tad less stridently. “So stop looking the gift horse you have in the mouth and let me help you.”

Her chest rose and fell more quickly.

“Look at me.”

Her throat worked.

“Kate.”

She swung her gaze to his, and there was no mistaking the fatigue, wariness, and the healthy dose of fear he saw there. “What?”

“To be perfectly honest, I haven't the faintest freaking clue why I'm here. Maybe it's some sort of whack karmic justice, or God having a really big laugh at my expense. All I know is that I felt—we all felt—like it was the right thing to do.” Now it was his turn to look away. Because he still wasn't being completely truthful with her. “And maybe it's because once I saw your picture, it stirred up a bunch of stuff I thought I was long done with. Stuff that not even my father dying stirred up.”

He felt her gaze flicker to his and looked up in time to catch it, hold it.

“Meaning what?” she asked.

“Meaning we have unfinished business, you and me.”

“We don't have any business. We never did.”

“I know.” His grin was slow, but it kept on growing until he saw the color steal back into her cheeks. “That's the unfinished part.”

K
ate didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or throw up. Her stomach was in knots, her emotions were all over the map…and her body was responding to Donovan's grin as though she were still seventeen and prowling the campgrounds trying to sneak a glimpse of him with his shirt off.

“The only business I'm interested in is getting my camp up and running.”

“What's the holdup on starting the renovations? How long have you been up here?”

“A month. I'm still assessing what needs to be done and organizing the labor I'll need.” Although that had also proved to be a more difficult challenge than she'd anticipated.

“And?”

“And what? It's not something that gets done overnight. My target opening date is next spring. I'm in good shape.”

“Tell me about the developers. Did the papers have that right? Is there interest from them on the property?”

“I—I wouldn't know. Exactly.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“Shelby and I still have some details to work out. He's—still the legal owner of the property. Any dealings with developers would have been through him.” Something she'd thought long and hard about after Donovan had left last night. Could they be any part of the reason why he hadn't shown up? She knew about the articles; her attorney had mentioned them to her during their last talk, that word had gotten out about the wacky heiress to Louisa Graham's fortune giving it all away. She hadn't read them or paid any real attention to what he'd been saying about them. She didn't get the
Times
up here in Ralston. And her focus was on getting started on the renovations, not on what Manhattan society thought of her business dealings. But maybe she should have paid closer attention. The developer angle had been news to her.

“What do you know about Timberline?”

“Is that the development company? I've never heard of them.”

“The news story made it sound like—”

“I don't care what they made it sound like. I haven't heard of them. If it wasn't for my lawyer—and you—I wouldn't even know my inheritance situation was news.”

“They didn't interview you for the article?”

She shook her head.

That quieted him for a moment.

The silence didn't soothe her rapidly fraying nerves. “Is there a problem? What in the world did it say? I thought it was just some piece ridiculing me for giving up Louisa's fortune.”

She felt his gaze on her.

“I wouldn't have come up here if that had been the case. It specifically mentioned the vandalism and the developers. If you didn't tell them about that, who did? Shelby?”

Her mind was spinning again. “I—I don't know. I suppose it would have to have been.” Except her stepbrother didn't know about the vandalism. Not through her anyway. And she seriously doubted he was keeping close tabs on the property itself. It had sat vacant now for almost a decade, and clearly no one had been paying any attention to it up to this point.

But then he hadn't mentioned the developers to her either. Had he suddenly developed a renewed interest in his initial inheritance?

“What steps have you taken regarding the graffiti and any other damage?”

“What did the article say about the development deal, specifically?” she asked at the same time.

Mac answered first. “Not much, other than an attempted buyout had been made. And that there had been reports of vandalism on the property. Did you report that to the sheriff's office?”

“Yes.” For all the good it had done. Gilby had assured her it was nothing but some local delinquents. Except Ralston, the nearest town to Winnimocca, was still almost an hour away. She had no “locals.” She'd gotten up this morning and called his office, only to be brushed off again. So she'd decided to head down and park herself in front of Gilby himself until he agreed to send someone out again to look at the new damage.

“Did you file a report?”

“For what it was worth, yes.”

“What's been done?”

She debated telling him. She still didn't know why he was really here. But a trip to see Gilby would give him the same information. “They sent someone out, but he essentially patted me on the shoulder and told me not to worry my pretty little head about it, that it was just some kids having a laugh at my expense. He said if I actually saw anybody and could give a description, or saw a vehicle on the property that I could get plate information off of, he'd be happy to follow up on that. Otherwise, it was a matter for me to take up with my insurance company.”

“But he didn't happen to mention that anyone else's property was being vandalized in the area.” Mac made it a statement.

She shook her head. “No. And I sort of thought ‘Go Home, Rich Bitch' was pretty personal, but they didn't seem to share my concern.”

“Is the sheriff aware of the particulars in terms of ownership of the property?”

She glanced over at him, her wariness returning. “I don't know why he would be. Through me filing the report, he knows I've come back to rebuild here and open a camp. But I've also been making calls to some of the construction businesses in Ralston, trying to line up estimates.” Not that she'd been all that successful on that front either. She'd chalked it up to the old-fashioned mentality of most of the guys she'd talked to, who didn't want to deal with a woman. They'd find out she was more determined than they were narrow-minded. She figured as soon as she hired one crew, and they realized she was serious and could pay them, the rest would come calling. “Ralston is a small town, word travels, so I'm sure it's no secret around the whole county that I'm here and planning to reopen the camp. I assume they all believe I'm the owner, and I let them believe that. It's merely a formality anyway.”

“When does it become official?”

She faltered. “I—I'm not sure.”

There was a brief pause; then he asked, “Where were you yesterday?” When she looked at him warily, he lifted his shoulders. “You were wearing a nice suit when I saw you last night, carrying a briefcase. I don't imagine there's much need for that in Ralston.”

“I was in the city for meetings pertaining to the property. But…it's not finalized yet.”

She waited for him to poke and prod further, but he switched tactics. “I'm just trying to follow the same path the reporter did who put the article together. So far, their sources would—or could—include Shelby and the sheriff.”

“Or possibly anyone in Ralston. For all I know the vandalism is common knowledge.”

“Is the
Sentinel
still up and running?” Donovan was referring to the paper that was based in Ralston, but pretty much served everyone on this side of the county.

“Yes. I used it when I started compiling names and businesses to call.”

“Did they run a story on the vandalism?”

“No. I mean, not that I know of. No one contacted me. It might have been mentioned in the little sheriff's crime column, but other than that—why do you ask? What difference would that make?”

“I don't know yet. But, at least back when I lived here, it was big news if someone ran the only light in town. You'd think this would have been at least filler on the local interest page if nothing else.”

She shrugged, though if his goal was to further unnerve her, he was doing a good job. “Winnimocca isn't all that close to town. Maybe it never came up.”

“And after telling the sheriff about your plans to open a camp for disabled kids, no one came out here to do a little local feature story either?”

“No, but honestly, Donov—Mac, I didn't really assume they would. I haven't even begun repairs yet. Maybe they're waiting until there's more of a story. Who knows?” She didn't tell him that her other mission this morning, after seeing Gilby, was to pay a visit to the head of the Ralston Chamber of Commerce. Her intent there was to talk up the camp a little, see if she could get his support by bringing to his attention the future business the camp might provide to Ralston, in exchange for him talking it up a little with the local merchants, most notably anyone having anything to do with construction.

“Is there anyone else?”

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't follow the question. “Anyone else what?”

“Anyone else who might be talking. Do you have any partners, silent or otherwise? Anyone helping you in any way or otherwise involved with you?”

She knew he was talking business. He sounded just like the detective he used to be, and she was definitely starting to feel interrogated. And yet she didn't dare so much as glance at him. On the off chance there was anything personal behind the question. “No. Just me. I—I have connections with people I hope to hire as instructors and counselors, but in terms of ownership and management, it's just me.”

He fell silent again, and maybe it was her own mounting tension over the increasingly negative situation she was finding herself in that made the air between them seem to crackle. But, at least from her perspective, the awareness and tension were operating on another level as well. She did risk a quick sideways glance at him then; she couldn't help it. His profile was solemn, his jaw hard and set. His gaze was fixed on some point out the front windshield. And she had no clue what was going through his mind. Chances were he really was here on something of a lark, to help her out. Chances were, he didn't want or desire anything else from her other than a job well done and maybe a polite thank-you.

She settled more deeply into the sprung cushion seat and tried to tell herself all the reasons why being disappointed with that probable reality was a really dangerous way to feel.

“What are you planning to do during the off season?” he asked rather abruptly.

“What off season? Spring is here. Perfect time to get work done. By winter all the exterior work should be done, leaving only the inside refurbishing for the colder months.”

“I meant what are your plans during the off season of the camp. Louisa wintered in Manhattan or whatever island beckoned.” She felt his gaze shift to her. “Where do you plan to hibernate?”

She wanted to ask him what that had to do with the vandalism and possible developer intrusion, but didn't. Maybe his mind was following the same personal track hers was. Only what difference it made, she had no idea. “Are you—is your people-helper business based in the city?” she asked in return.

“No. Virginia. We have Finn's father's old place. It's the base of operations for Trinity.”

She happened to know that “old place” was a majestic sea of acreage in the old-wealth section of Virginia horse country. “Trinity? As in—” She glanced at him in time to see his lips curve.

“Yes,” he admitted, “as in Unholy Trinity.”

“I can't believe you guys stuck together all these years.”

Mac didn't respond to that; instead, he shifted the focus back to her. “So, where do you live? I mean, normally.”

“I live in that cabin back at camp.” She knew what he was getting after, but she wanted to let him hang himself on his own narrow-minded preconceptions of her. It wouldn't be the first time.

“Okay,” he said with the same exaggerated patience. “And this winter?”

“I'll still be living in the cabin. It is my sole residence now.”

“Where were you before moving up here?”

“Not that it has anything to do with the situation at hand, but before moving here I lived in university-funded housing just off campus from where I was teaching.”

“You're a teacher?”

She did look at him then. “I'm opening up a camp to help disabled kids learn new methods to help them cope with their limitations. What did you think I did?”

“I—I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it.”

She liked that little momentary catch in his voice. She doubted he was often caught off guard. Unreasonably cheered by having the upper hand, even if it was likely short-lived, she took advantage. “I'm not my mother, Donovan,” she said, purposely using his given name. And maybe he'd just have to get used to it. He simply wasn't Mac to her. “I'm not here to play camp owner to the offspring of the wealthy as a way to springboard myself into the realms of high society. This will be a working camp dedicated to helping those who need it, whether they can afford it or not. I am already working with several nonprofits and other charitable foundations in hopes of raising money to fund scholarships or something similar for kids who can't otherwise attend. And I won't be handing off the day-to-day management to someone else. I will be running this place from the ground up. It is my dream to see this camp realized, and I'll do whatever it takes to make it a reality.”

He didn't say anything at first, then, finally, “I'm sorry.”

“For?” she said archly, still revved up from her little speech and not quite ready to abdicate her temporary throne.