The Black Sheep And the Princess. Donna Kauffman

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ