The Black Sheep and the Princess (7 page)

Her eyes widened. “The duration of what?”

“The duration of however long it takes to resolve the problems you're facing. At the very least, until you get your name on those papers and we make sure you're not under any kind of serious threat from whoever is vandalizing the place. We should look into the developer end of things, too.”

“What could they possibly have to do with vandalizing my property?”

Mac shrugged. “They want something bad enough and can't get it through proper channels…”

“I think you're being paranoid.”

“And I think you should find out exactly what Shelby is up to, too. What contact he's had with them. I'm telling you, it all probably factors in.”

“And you know this because…?”

“Because my instincts tell me so. And they're rarely wrong. I wouldn't be sitting here in this truck if I didn't listen to them.”

He was so intent, so serious, so certain. It was unnerving, both his mere presence and his focus on what, by rights, was none of his business. She'd be lying if she said there wasn't a tiny part of her that was grateful for his timely intrusion. But it was that timely part that still had her concerned. Maybe she was the paranoid one. “Exactly what kind of business is it that you three run anyway?”

Which should have been the first question out of her mouth when the other two names came up. They'd been known as the Unholy Trinity with good reason from the first summer they'd united at camp. If there was trouble brewing, the trail had inevitably led back to one of the three, or, as was more often the case, all three combined.

Kate hadn't spent much time out there each summer, but between her brief jaunts and listening to her mother complain about, well, everything, it was no secret that the three of them hadn't done much to make camp life run smoothly. Each of them was so different, but still a black sheep of sorts in his own way. Donovan was the bastard kid of the camp handyman, Donny Mac, who'd spent a fair share of time in the Ralston drunk tank, when he wasn't beating up on his only son. Rafe was an inner city kid whose mom worked several jobs, one as a maid for some Wall Street shark who made himself feel better by sending her kid to rich kids' camp every summer. He'd been a fish out of water with an attitude the size of the Empire State Building. He'd bonded with Donovan immediately.

Finn was the unexpected addition to the trio. Every bit as wealthy as his camp counterparts, if not more so, he should have fit right in at Camp Winnimocca. He was the stereotypical golden boy, from his blond, bronzed good looks to his big fat trust fund. By all rights, he should have been camp leader. Except Finn had been rebelling against his father, his own wealth, and his defacto place in the world, pretty much, it seemed, since birth. He'd intentionally aligned himself with the camp outcasts and all but dared anyone to challenge his choice in friends. In fact, he had challenged them, and their preconceived notions, all the time.

Kate had secretly admired, even coveted, his rebellious nature. But it wasn't Finn's gleaming perfection that had caught her eye, or fueled her midnight fantasies. The source of every single one of those had been Donovan.

“So if Finn spent years tearing down his father's empire while you were chasing bad guys and Rafe was doing God knows what, when did you start this joint venture?”

“About eighteen months ago. Once Finn had everything set and control over his own destiny, so to speak, he brought us in.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

There was a pause. Then he said, “Helping people.”

She glanced at him. “In what capacity, exactly?”

“In whatever capacity they need us. I'm all for justice and the American way; it's part of why I became a cop. I'm proof positive you can make anything out of yourself if you want it badly enough. This is the land of opportunity. Only, some folks don't always get a fair shake. Either because they can't help themselves, or because the system fails them, which it often does. Having been on the inside of it, it's an understaffed, underpaid, overworked system, which, frankly, works far better than it should given the circumstances it operates under. I credit that to the human spirit of those involved. But there are insurmountable obstacles, both within and without. We…overcome those obstacles for people who otherwise can't do so on their own.”

“And how do they pay you for these…services you provide them?”

“They don't.”

“Finn ended up with that much?”

Donovan smiled. “Let's just say it was more than enough seed money to start a global chain of your camps. In our case, we rather enjoy spending all of Harrison's ill-gotten gains helping people. And Finn's smart about money. He knows how to make money with money. Without stepping on anyone to do it.”

She glanced at him. “So, I'm one of your charity cases, then? Although I suppose the irony of you having to rescue me is somewhat satisfying, I'm still having a hard time with—”

“It's not charity,” he said, cutting her off abruptly. “We fix things that need fixing. Things that shouldn't have gone wrong in the first place. People benefit, yes, but they're far from charity cases. They're victims in need of a little extra help. When the system doesn't work, or simply can't work, we do. All three of us spent a lot of time trying to work it from the other side. Now we work it from our side.”

She sat back a little, surprised by the vehemence of his response. “Okay. So it's a noble endeavor. I still don't see where I rate your assistance. Even you admit you still thought I was living the high life, perhaps just dabbling in this little camp venture. Surely there are other, far more pressing cases out there.”

“There always are. More than we can do anything about. But we're not a charity. We don't advertise. We're not Make-A-Wish. And it's definitely not about being noble. If anything, it's a purely selfish endeavor.”

“You help people out of jams and don't charge them. How is that selfish?”

“We pick and choose who we help. Our reasons are our own. Sometimes because it's the right thing to do, and sometimes because it feels good to stick it to someone who needs to be stuck.” He tensed his shoulders, then flattened them out, as if purposefully trying to control his temper. And she was reminded then of the angry, recalcitrant youth he'd once been. She'd be wise to remember that side of him was still there, too, no matter how deeply buried or tamed into submission.

“We're fortunate to have the resources to indulge our little endeavor. And yes, it feels good—no, great—to be able to make good things happen, to set things right. But it's not like we're performing miracles here. We're just making sure the good guys win every once in a while.” He grinned suddenly, and her entire body went on red-hot alert.

Yeah, she'd be real wise to remember all the sides to Donovan MacLeod were still there.

“I just wouldn't necessarily say we always use good guy methods, is all.”

She slowed down as she rounded one of the last curves before the road bottomed out in the valley, heading across and into Ralston. “Exactly what kind of methods are you talking about?”

“Let's just say we basically go by the all's-well-that-ends-well motto. How we get there is the fun part. And nobody's business but ours.”

She was almost sorry she'd asked. The three of them had taken mischievous behavior to new highs—and lows—back in the camp days. She couldn't even imagine what that meant as adults…with endless funds at their disposal. “So,” she said at length, “if I'm not a charity case, then I'm what, some sort of joke to you guys?” She held up her hand. “I mean, you had no use for me or ‘my kind' when you were young, and I'm not getting that your opinion of the privileged or wealthy has changed all that much. So this must have been quite amusing to you guys, helping out the poor little rich girl.”

“There is nothing remotely amusing about this job for me. Coming back here…well, I think I've made my opinion clear on that. I was honest when I said I really don't know why I took this on. I just knew—we all did—that it was something we needed to do. Does it really have to be any more complicated than that?”

“No. But you'll have to forgive me for being at least a little suspicious. After all, there's no denying I am having a few problems getting the camp up and running. And then you bounce in from out of nowhere, riding to my rescue for no apparent gain, when, if you'd asked me up until that moment, I'd have said you'd probably enjoy knowing I was in trouble.”

“Who else could I be here helping? Shelby? Hardly. If it will make you feel any better, check with Finn or Rafe and talk to them. I'll call right now.”

“On what? Cell service is highly unreliable.”

He slipped out a slender black and silver phone from his jacket pocket. “Satellite phone. Finn's latest toy.”

“Awesome,” she said dryly, even as she had to restrain herself from asking to see it. Just because she didn't live the high life any longer, and hadn't for longer than she could remember, didn't mean her head couldn't be turned by the occasional bright, shiny object. Which was the very last thing she'd admit to Donovan, all things considered. “But it wouldn't matter. Like I could trust them any more than I can trust you.”

His eyes widened at that. “When have I ever done anything untrustworthy?”

“You couldn't stand the sight of me when we were young. You hated me and everything I represented. It was clear on your face every time I stepped foot on camp property. Of course, their having money didn't keep you from charming the pants—literally—off of every other girl in camp, but—” She broke off when he started laughing. “What's so damn funny?”

“You were jealous.”

“I was not! Why in the hell would I be jealous of—” She stopped abruptly, but it was far too late.

His smile died. Well, not completely. What remained was rueful and, if she wasn't mistaken, a bit disappointed. “Why would you be jealous of the attentions of the son of the local drunk? Yeah, I don't know the answer to that either. As to why I didn't favor you with my apparently much wanted attentions way back when, I'll be frank and honest with you. Something, by the way, I have always been and will always be, with you and everyone else.”

She didn't say anything. She was too busy feeling exactly like the rich society bitch he'd always thought her to be. She slowed down to a stop in front of the train tracks that crossed the main road before entering town. Just her luck the lights were flashing and the bars were lowered.

Mac shifted his weight and turned toward her more fully this time, his shoulders filling up way too much of the rapidly shrinking space between them. She felt his hot gaze on her and was completely helpless not to turn and gaze directly back. Her skin prickled in awareness, her nipples tightened to two painful little points, and no amount of squeezing was going to stop the ache building between her thighs. She wanted to damn him for that, but she suspected the problem—as it had always been—was hers and hers alone.

So his next words stunned the hell out of her.

“I've wanted to put my hands on you from the very moment I first laid eyes on you. So badly I could taste it. I spent an inordinate amount of my summer months thinking about you, wondering when you'd show up, wondering if I'd make it through the torture once again without acting on it.”

She had no idea how to respond to that. “I—I thought you couldn't stand me. The way you looked at me—”

“Could have melted the polar ice cap. You saw what you wanted to see.”

“What I saw was you smiling at every girl but me. With me, you were always scowling. Why?”

“I learned very early not to want things I couldn't get for myself. So I never let myself want anything I couldn't have. Except you.”

That shocked her into silence. When she finally found her voice again, it was tight, and a bit raspy due to her throat having gone completely dry. “Why—why did you think you couldn't—”

He laughed rather harshly. “Oh, come on, you just admitted it yourself when you questioned why someone like you would be jealous of the attention someone like me would pay to other girls.”

“I didn't say that. Not exactly,” she added, knowing she'd done exactly that. “I wasn't speaking from my own perspective, just the expectations of our surroundings and, for that matter, of you.”

“Cop-out.”

Her cheeks burned. Mostly because he was right. “We were from opposite sides of the tracks. That was a fact I couldn't change. Nor could I change that I was the owner's daughter. Or that I led a privileged life that you did not. But that's exactly what I'm getting at. What did or didn't happen between us was more a product of our respective backgrounds, and the surroundings we found ourselves in, than a reflection of what we might have really wanted.” Too late, she realized what she'd admitted.

If she'd thought his gaze intense a moment ago, she'd had no idea of the intensity of which he was capable. Perhaps it was the close confines, the air between them growing more damp and humid as their body heat changed the temperature inside the cab of the truck. Or maybe it was simply Donovan.