Читать книгу The Black Sheep And the Princess - Donna Kauffman - Страница 8

Going into the city had been a complete waste of two of Kate’s most precious commodities: money and time. She’d suspected Shelby wasn’t going to make probating the will easy for either of them, and he hadn’t. Why should he change spots now? He’d spent a lifetime making 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?” she called out, summoning the one male in her life she could always count on. “Where are you, buddy? Mommy’s home and she could use a slobbery hug.” She was surprised he hadn’t been waiting for her at the door, tail thumping, whining with excitement at the sight of her. You couldn’t beat a dog for giving a great welcome home. “Did you get into something? Listen, whatever you chewed up, threw up, or peed on, today you get a pass. Come on out.”

She let everything slide from her hands onto the small wooden bench that was currently doubling as a side table by the front door. She’d worry about all that later. Right now, the only decision she had to make was red wine or the chilled white. She’d found a stash of both along with a few bottles of champagne in the wine cellar of the main lodge while doing her initial walk-through assessment and brought a couple of each to her cabin. She’d put the champagne in the fridge before leaving, thinking she’d celebrate closing the deal with a little private toast. Now the white would have to do. “Might just drink the whole damn bottle, too. So there.”

“I have some spare beer, if you’re interested.”

She let out a little scream of shock and spun around, heart lodged in her throat as she searched the far shadows at the opposite end of the wraparound porch. The light had dimmed quickly in the falling twilight. “Who’s there?” she demanded, wishing like hell she had her truck keys in her hand. Not much of a weapon, but they’d have been better than nothing. They were still in the ignition, where she always left them. Though she’d been debating changing that policy with the recent vandalism. But they’d never locked things up around camp, and old habits died hard.

She tried not to think about that dying part.

She was debating just making a run for the truck and driving straight down to Gilby’s office, when the disembodied voice stepped from the shadows…and she froze to the spot, unable to move or breathe. No. Her mind spun wildly, trying to make some sense of it all. It couldn’t be.

“Hello, Kate.”

But it was. Eighteen years melted away in a blink of an eye. Though he’d been only seventeen the last time she’d laid eyes on him, she’d know those eyes anywhere. That chin.

And that voice. That slow, lazy, sexy-as-hell voice.

“Donovan?”

There was a pause; then he said, “It’s been a long time. My condolences on your mother’s passing.”

She accepted the platitude with a jerky nod of her chin, but her mind went immediately to the graffiti that had started popping up shortly after her arrival. But that made no sense. As far as she knew, Donovan had left the day he’d turned eighteen and hadn’t even returned for his father’s funeral. Did he think with Louisa gone he had some right to the place? She knew there had been some talk in the papers about her wild deal with Shelby, but certainly he didn’t think—“Is—is that why you’re here? Because she died this past December. The funeral was a long—”

He shook his head. “I didn’t come to pay my respects, though you have them.”

“Then…why?”

He took a scant step forward, and she was suddenly painfully aware of her appearance, which was ridiculous, but true nevertheless. He’d always had that effect on her. And it had always been ridiculous. Growing up, he’d been Donovan MacLeod, son of drunken Donny Mac, the camp handyman. Hardly a member of her peer group. Most times when their paths had crossed, he’d been in little more than ragged cutoffs, with callused hands and hair in desperate need of a cut. While she’d been clad to the nines in the latest styles, her hair and makeup nothing less than perfect, as she’d intended when she’d made certain he’d see her.

Her cheeks heated now as they always had when he looked at her with those silver-gray eyes of his, somehow always managing to make her feel like the discombobulated one. This time he probably could make a case for it. She resisted the urge to push her hair behind her ears, smooth the rumpled suit jacket she’d forgotten to take off when she’d stormed out of Shelby’s attorney’s office.

“I read about you—your camp, I mean—in the paper.”

It was the slight hesitation in his voice that snagged her attention, dragging it from past to present. He’d always been laconic, with a bit of a cocky edge. Or maybe the challenging edge to his tone had been exclusively for her. Regardless, she didn’t think she’d ever heard him sound anything less than certain. Of course, though it shamed her to say that she could probably still recall every single second of every encounter they’d ever had, they hadn’t exactly shared long conversations together. Most of what she knew about him had come from obsessive observation and listening to the other girls’ comments.

He’d been the living embodiment of every one of her fevered, youthful dreams. The proverbial black sheep, the bad boy every good girl would die to have look at her, hold her, touch her…take her.

Kate had fantasized about all that and more. In fact, it was the only reason she’d bothered to come anywhere near the lake property every summer. Shelby had always been around, and he’d been just enough of a creep even then that she’d done almost anything to steer clear of him. But the lure of seeing Donovan, dark shaggy hair, rippling belly muscles, piercing gray eyes, working around camp, even if just for a weekend, had been too strong to ignore.

Now, at thirty-four, and thinking herself quite past the age of feverish sexual fantasies, it was a shock to discover just how wrong she actually was.

“You—you read about my camp? Where?” she stuttered, feeling like a complete fool for being so off balance. If he knew the direction of her thoughts, he’d likely laugh himself sick. Though why it mattered what he thought, she had no idea. Old habits, indeed.

“There was a mention in the Times.”

“Oh.” Probably another snide little column about the idiotic heiress who’d given up her fortune, she thought with an inward sigh. What did people think, that when someone died, they just gave their inheriting family member a check for their bulk net worth? “So, uh, what made you come all the way up here? You’re still in the city, right? A…detective or something?”

She knew exactly what he was because she’d been the one who’d forced her mother into tracking him down when Donny Mac had his heart attack. It was one of the last times Kate had had contact with her mother, until right before her death. But he didn’t have to know any of that. “And I’m sorry, too. About your father. I know it’s been a very long time since…since it happened. But, still, I regret my mother didn’t get word to you in time, back then. It was—”

“Water under a very old bridge.” He appeared relaxed on the surface, but when he’d stepped closer, she could feel the tension emanating from him. It was costing him, the casual nonchalance.

“Some would say the same about you being here,” she said, feeling the same tension coiling inside of her. “Why did you come back, Donovan?”

“Mac,” he said, sounding irritated all of a sudden. “Just—it’s Mac.”

“Okay. Mac. Were you in the area on some other business? Why are you camped out on my porch?”

“I read about the problems you were having. In the article.”

That caught her badly off guard. No way could he have known about what happened earlier today. Unless—but no, how on earth could he be part of that? That was all Shelby being typical Shelby.

“With the vandalism, the developers leaning on you,” he went on when she didn’t immediately respond. “I thought I might be able to help.”

She frowned. “You came back here, after all these years, because you read in some article that someone was vandalizing the old camp property? Isn’t that taking your oath to protect and defend a little far? We’re a bit out of your jurisdiction, Detective.”

“I’m no longer with the department. I’m in the private sector now.” He rocked back a little on his heels. It was only then she noticed Bagel, sitting quietly by his feet.

Traitor, she thought. So much for dependable males of any species.

Donovan—Mac—followed her gaze downward. “Quite the watchdog you got for yourself.”

Kate had to fight to keep from reflexively calling the dog to her side, only half sure he’d listen. She didn’t need to look more the fool in front of Donov—Mac—than she already did. “That’s Bagel.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “You named your dog after breakfast food?”

“He’s part basset, part beagle. It’s just a combination of—never mind.” Her cheeks flushed a little, but she’d be damned if she’d apologize for her choice in canine companionship, much less the name she’d christened him with. “And he’s not a watchdog, he’s—”

“No kidding.” He leaned down and scratched Bagel behind his ears, earning an enthusiastic thumping of tail and a near orgasmic whimper of pleasure. This didn’t come as a surprise to Kate, who would have likely whimpered in near orgasmic pleasure if he’d touched her, too.

She struggled to rally her wayward thoughts and blatant physical reaction. Like you ever could before. “I still don’t understand why you drove all the way up here. Surely not because of some silly article. Were you here on other business?” And did it have anything to do with her camp?

He straightened and looked at her intently again, in that way he had of making her feel as though she was the only one in the universe. His universe. It was both disconcerting…and quite a turn-on.

She really needed to find a way to turn it back off again.

“I’ve done a little research,” he said, not directly answering her question. “You might want to reconsider the guard dog option. You’re being looked at pretty closely. Or your property is.”

Kate couldn’t keep up with the barrage of information her tired brain was being asked to process. First him showing up, now him standing there telling her he knew all about her business. It was all simply too much. Eighteen years had passed, yet here Donovan MacLeod stood, in the still rippling flesh, still making her heart pound. Her camp was under siege. She was under siege. By too many memories and too much responsibility. And, to be perfectly honest, more than a passing ripple of fear. She hadn’t really let herself think about it too much, focusing on Shelby as the source of her problems. Once she had him dealt with, then she’d force Sheriff Gilby to stop brushing off her concerns and figure out who was playing stupid games on her property.

“I appreciate the concern, but that still doesn’t explain why you just popped up out of nowhere to stick your nose in my business.” She wanted—no, needed—him to go away. She desperately needed to sort out her thoughts, and she couldn’t do that with him standing less than five feet away, pinning her with that intent gaze of his. Maybe it was better not to confront him so directly. After all, she really didn’t know him or what he was capable of, then or now. “Listen,” she went on, trying to sound conciliatory, “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, really, I don’t. It’s just…it’s been a very long day, and I’m not really prepared to deal with this”—or you—“at the moment.”

Given her continued, rather visceral reaction to him, even after all these years, perhaps she’d never be ready to deal with him. She’d been so focused on launching her mission here, it had been quite a while since she’d enjoyed the company of…well, anyone, much less a member of the opposite sex. Bagel had pretty much been it in terms of companionship. But even she knew that excuse didn’t cover the extent of her reaction. It was as if all the intervening years meant nothing. Everything had changed…and yet nothing had changed. The last time she’d felt this pull toward him, she’d been a girl. Almost two full decades had passed, and she was a woman now…and yet the pull was only that much stronger. The kind of pull only an adult truly understood and appreciated.

“Why don’t you leave me the number where you’re staying, and maybe we can work something out to talk at a later time, if that’s okay.” She was still staring at him, drinking in all she could, while she could. Pathetic, perhaps, but it only cemented her decision to get him out of there as quickly as possible. “I appreciate the offer of help. I just…You caught me off guard.” Understatement of the century. He’d caught her hormones off guard, too. Every tingling, over-sensitized, and apparently vastly sensory-deprived one of them. “And unfortunately I’m not prepared to discuss any of this tonight.”

If he’d been anyone else, she’d have extended her hand for a polite shake, but she was half afraid she didn’t have polite in her where he was concerned. And touching him, letting him have any direct contact with her flesh…even all these years later…no. As badly as she’d wanted him to, she’d never let him touch her then. It would be the height of stupidity to think she could handle it any better now.

“I couldn’t find any contact information for the camp, and I didn’t have any direct information on contacting you,” he said by way of explanation. “Your mother’s attorney wouldn’t give that out.”

Her eyes widened. “You spoke to Donald?”

He nodded. “I didn’t know where else to start. You’re in trouble here, Kate. Trust me, no one wanted it to be otherwise more than me. I didn’t want to come back here. I never wanted to come back here. But…helping people is what I do. And I thought I could help you. I know I can.”

It just wasn’t adding up. No one just dropped everything to race off and play Good Samaritan for someone they hadn’t seen in eighteen years. There was only one explanation she could think of that made any sense, though she didn’t pretend to understand it. Yet. “Shelby put you up to this, didn’t he? Well, I don’t know what his game is, or yours, but you can tell him his ploy won’t work. We had a deal and, one way or the other, I’m holding him to it. Good night, Mr. MacLeod.” She slapped her thigh. “Come, Bagel.”

Not waiting to see if her fickle dog complied, she went to storm past Mac into the cabin, but he shifted slightly, causing her to stop short and almost lose her balance rather than allow herself to come into even the most incidental contact with him.

“What on God’s green earth would make you think I’d ever so much as lift a finger for Shelby Sutherland?”

Even if she hadn’t heard the banked fury in his tone, she was close enough now that there was no mistaking the same emotion in his eyes. “A lot of years have passed,” she managed, suddenly feeling a whole lot more than indignation. He was far too close. “People change.”

“Not that much.”

She realized she was shaking, but there was nothing she could do about it. “Then why help me? You wouldn’t give me the time of day eighteen years ago. Why go to all this trouble now? Have you changed?”

“I thought maybe you had. I guess I was wrong.”

“Donovan—Mac,” she corrected quickly, automatically, when his eyes flared, “I don’t know what’s going on here, or why you’re really standing on my porch.” She broke off, was forced to swallow, her throat suddenly gone dry and tight. He really was standing far too close. “But I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. We—we’ll talk later, sort this out. No more accusations, I’m just—it’s been a long day.”

He said nothing, simply held her gaze. Only there was nothing really simple about it. She had no idea if he was even affected by her now, so many years later. Maybe she’d just dreamed that all those smoldering looks he’d sent her way all those summers ago had meant something. Had meant he was as intrigued by her as she’d been by him. For all the opposite reasons. She’d wanted, badly, to walk on the wrong side of the tracks. For a while anyway. With him. She’d thought maybe he’d wanted to get a taste of her life, too. Get a taste of her. But she’d been young and most definitely foolish where he was concerned.

It appeared that with age didn’t necessarily come sensibility.

Then he was lifting his hand, and she knew, with absolute clarity, that the one thing she’d ached for, yearned for, fantasized about, all those hot summers ago, was finally about to happen…eighteen years too late. Donovan MacLeod was finally going to put his hands on her. And she wasn’t going to be able to let him.

“Good night, Mac.” She stared steadily back at him, or as steadily as she could manage, willing him to step back and allow her entrance to her own damn cabin.

He didn’t so much as budge. “It’s good seeing you again, Kate. I didn’t think it would be.” For the first time, amusement filtered into those eyes of his, and his mouth curved ever so slightly into a ghost of the cocky smile of his youth.

Her legs felt a little loose and wobbly. And her pulse jack-rabbited ahead with an abandon she couldn’t control. Dammit, but she wanted him to touch her. Foolish and stupid. He was right. She hadn’t changed at all. “Thanks.” She fought a sudden urge to smile. “I think.” It would be dangerous to let her guard down with him. Even for a split second. While she couldn’t really imagine him working with Shelby—there had never been any love lost between the two—his sudden appearance on the same day Shelby had pulled a no-show was too much of a coincidence to dismiss it out of hand.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said. “I didn’t know how else to get in touch.”

“You could have left a note.”

There was that little quirk again, at the corners of his mouth. Better not to look at his mouth. God, she was looking at his mouth.

“I could have done a lot of things.”

Was it her imagination still running wild, or had there been something suggestive in that? She dragged her gaze from his firmly chiseled lips—age had only improved every rugged inch of him—to his eyes. Eyes that had seen too much, more than she’d ever likely know. All that mattered was they probably saw way too much in hers.

“You, uh—” She had to clear her throat. “You staying in town? Maybe we’ll grab a bite at Deenie’s, talk all this out.”

“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.