The Black Sheep And the Princess. Donna Kauffman
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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?”
“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