The Black Sheep And the Princess. Donna Kauffman
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things as difficult as humanly possible for her. But even she hadn’t seen this latest stunt coming. Everything had been finally decided upon, and well in Shelby’s favor, to boot. All he had to do was sign the damn papers.
She took the last couple of mountain curves a little more tightly than might have been perfectly safe. The wheels of her secondhand Toyota pickup squealed in protest, but she didn’t ease up on the pedal. She’d been here as a permanent resident for only a little over a month now, but she already knew the roads through this range of the Catskills so well she could drive them blindfolded.
Which was a good thing considering she was blinded with fury at the moment. She’d left Manhattan behind two hours ago, and she still wished she could strangle Shelby with her bare hands.
If such things were possible in the afterlife, she had no doubt her mother was off somewhere enjoying the havoc she’d wrought when she’d changed her will for what had turned out to be the final time. Louisa Slavine Hamilton Pepperdine Sutherland Graham had loved nothing more than wielding the collective assets of her deceased or departed husbands over the heads of her only daughter and stepson. Most especially her last husband, given how their divorce had provided Louisa the most to work with. And by then she’d had plenty of practice and knew exactly what to do with it, too.
She’d tortured Shelby the most, probably because he cared the most. Hell, Kate wasn’t even a real Sutherland. She was a Pepperdine. But she’d only been four when her mother had remarried and had her daughter’s name legally changed in order to let the world assume George Sutherland had adopted her, which he most definitely had not. Though, to be fair, he’d been more of a father to her than her own, whom she didn’t even remember, seeing as how he’d died when she was two.
George had lasted until just after her eleventh birthday when his heart had quite literally given out. After marrying and divorcing quite young her first go around, her mother had developed a penchant for older men. Much older. As with Kate’s natural father, Louisa hadn’t spent long in mourning for the dear departed George. The only real surprise had been that it had taken her seven years to land husband number four. Although Trenton Graham had been her biggest fish by far, so perhaps worth the wait. Even though the union had been short-lived, a tumultuous four years that she often said felt like fourteen, her divorce settlement alone had ensured her continued residence amongst the highest of high society. Her transformation finally complete.
And although Kate had never gotten along with her sole stepsibling, by rights, the pile of assets her mother had accrued upon her death should have gone to Shelby. No matter whether the slimy little toad had actually deserved any of it or not, he was the one who had stuck by Louisa’s side, year in, year out, husband in, husband out. He was the one who’d endured working for her all those years, helping to grow her fortune, doing whatever was asked of him, taking her abuse with a smile and a nod, waiting for the day it would all pay off.
Kate, her only natural child, hadn’t done any of those things. So no one had been more shocked than Kate when Louisa’s lawyer had calmly recited the contents of the will stating Shelby was to inherit Winnimocca—which had belonged to his father and was, at the time, the single greatest asset he’d brought to his union with Louisa—and only Winnimocca. Leaving Kate to inherit everything else.
Although, to be fair, perhaps Shelby had been even more shocked. If the instantaneous blanching of every bit of color from his already florid complexion and the white-knuckled grip he’d had on his Hermes briefcase were any indication. She’d been half afraid he’d go into full coronary occlusion right then and there.
The final irony was, she’d wanted the only thing Shelby had gotten. She’d wanted Winnimocca. Kate turned onto the long drive that led into the camp grounds. Well, maybe it wasn’t so ironic. Just before her death, Kate had ended her long estrangement with her family to ask about leasing Winnimocca. So, with that bit of information at hand, Louisa could use her last will and testament to deprive both of her children their hearts’ desire in one fell swoop.
A small smile curved Kate’s lips. Well, Mother, she thought, you can’t control things now. Before they’d even left the probate lawyers’ office, Kate had proposed a deal to essentially swap her inheritance with Shelby’s, giving them both what they wanted. Perhaps it had been an emotional and not entirely rational decision on her part, but, of course, Shelby had jumped at her offer.
Her expression grew more determined as she passed the cheerfully painted sign announcing the new Winnimocca Youth Camp. She’d officially moved in thirty-seven days ago. Shelby hadn’t said a word about it, which she’d taken as a good sign, as their arbitration had headed into the final stages. The sign had been the first thing she’d changed. More as a statement to herself, one of hope and optimism, than to the world at large, but it was only a matter of time. If everything went as planned, next year at this time, the whole world would know. And Winnimocca Youth Camp would be open for business.
She tightened her grip on the wheel as she thought about her endless wait that morning, and the formality that had never happened. She didn’t know what stupid game Shelby was playing, but he was going to find out, and find out quite swiftly, that she wasn’t going to be jerked around. She and her mother might not have had a loving relationship by any definition, but he was going to learn that there was, in fact, a bit of Louisa Slavine, secretary from the Bronx, in the daughter. Kate had already put a call in to her attorney to see what leverage she had in bartering her inheritance back from Shelby. He wasn’t the only one who could jerk the marionette strings.
Her determined smile slipped a little when she saw the neon orange spray paint streaking across the trunks of several red spruce and old-growth hemlocks that crowded the steep camp terrain down to the lake. Not again. Hadn’t she suffered enough setbacks for one foul day?
Apparently not.
GO HOME, RICH BITCH!
Same as before. If she hadn’t been so emotionally drained, she would have laughed. Rich bitch. If only. On a heavy sigh, she continued past the fresh graffiti, driving through the entrance, past the defunct guard building and equally defunct electric gate, on past the central lodge that housed the kitchens, dining rooms, and staging areas. Or would once the roof and the flooring were replaced. And the porch. She looked away, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. So much work to do. None of which she could officially start until the paperwork was signed.
Normally she was a determined optimist, but her spirit had suffered a bit too much of a beating today. She’d go home, call Sheriff Gilby about the graffiti—again—and try to figure out what Shelby’s latest ploy was all about. But first she was going to indulge in a long, steamy bath. The truck’s heater left a lot to be desired, and though April had finally arrived, spring was taking a bit longer to officially show up this year. The breezy days still carried a bite in the higher elevations, and the evenings were downright chilly. Her toes were already numb. She made a mental note to check her firewood before going to bed. She’d have to stack the stove carefully tonight. It felt like it might get close to freezing. Praying for an early summer, she swung into her spot in front of the camp director’s cabin. Or what she’d decided was going to be the camp director’s cabin.
Her cabin.
A little of the smile returned as she climbed out of the cab and rubbed at the ache that had settled in her lower back. There would be no opening of the champagne she’d reserved for her own private celebration, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a glass of wine. Yes, a glass of chilled White Zinfandel and a long bath were in her immediate future. She deserved that much.
Tomorrow she’d tackle Shelby, the as yet unresponsive sheriff, and…whatever else she could handle.
She climbed the five steps up to the screened-in side porch, balancing her purse and briefcase as she bumped the door open with her hip and simultaneously kicked off her low-heeled pumps. To think she used to collect shoes like some people collected earrings. To think you actually enjoyed wearing them, she thought, letting out a heartfelt groan of relief as she flexed the soles of her feet and wriggled her toes into the stiff pile of the doormat just inside the porch door. She couldn’t wait until it was warm enough for flip-flops.
“Bagel?”