The Black Sheep and the Princess (10 page)

And Weaver's Pharmacy, which still stood right across the street from the bank where he'd opened his first account, had the honor of being the first place he'd ever bought a condom. And a pregnancy test. Ralston Cinema. First place he'd ever made out at the movies. Third row, balcony. Last place, too, come to think of it. He needed to get out more. Sheriff's office. His gaze lingered there, almost as a test. Didn't look any different now than it had when he'd shown up Sunday mornings to pick up his father. The cruiser parked out front was newer, but that was about it.

“You okay?”

He jerked his gaze to Kate's. So caught up, he'd forgotten she was even there. Watching him, seeing God knew what cross his face. He wasn't used to anyone watching him. Usually, he did all the observing. He didn't much like the reversal of roles. “Fine. I have a few things to take care of. Why don't you go see the chamber of commerce guy, and I'll meet you back here in about an hour. We'll go see the sheriff together.”

He didn't wait for her to respond. They'd gotten as up close and personal as he was willing to get. He pushed open the door and uncurled himself from the cab, wincing a little as his knees protested the sudden movement after being cramped up for so long. He heard her opening her door as he walked away, no immediate destination in mind other than to get away from her, and those blue eyes of hers that saw too much. Knew too much. About him, about his past, about the memories he was presently grappling with.

He stalked off down Tower Street, knowing he had to get a grip and get it fast. He should be sticking beside her, involving himself in the meeting with the chamber of commerce guy, watching the townspeople interact with her, testing his instincts about what he thought might be going on here. Not to mention, walking off like this would only give her time to regroup and rally her defenses back into place. Making his job that much more difficult.

But he kept walking.

At the moment, that was a risk he'd have to take. As soon as he'd gotten his bearings back and was certain he was emotionally bulletproof, he'd find her. After all, how much trouble could she get herself into inside one hour?

K
ate watched Donovan stalk off, her heart aching a bit more than it should. He was a grown man. It had been his decision to come back here, not hers. Still…Maybe he didn't think he was being obvious, that she'd think the reason he was suddenly being all business was on account of her hands-off rule. But she'd seen emotions flicker across that handsome face of his that had nothing to do with the kisses they'd shared, or the fact that he was disappointed he wouldn't be getting any more of them. Or of anything else, for that matter.

She shivered a little, thinking about how he'd tasted, how he'd kissed her as though he knew her, as though he'd been kissing her for decades. No. She firmly shook her head. No more of those. One little make-out session was already one session too many. But she found herself watching Donovan's retreat, nonetheless.

She shouldn't feel sorry for him. He'd hate it if he knew she'd felt an ounce of pity, even for a second. He was right—they were both products of their upbringing, but mostly as a measure of their ability to overcome some pretty serious obstacles. Hers might not have been so obvious, but his…his had been out there for all the world to see. And judge. Which had made his obstacles that much bigger. Donny Mac hadn't made any attempt to hide his contempt over being saddled with Marlene's “brat kid” as he'd often called his only son. Conveniently forgetting he'd been involved in the business end of creating his son, too. Then, in addition to dealing with an alcoholic father and a less than stable home life, Mac had spent Memorial Day through Labor Day each and every summer surrounded by an immediate peer group who happened to not only be from the better side of the tracks, but so far beyond the MacLeod's as to be in a different stratosphere.

Louisa had kept Donny Mac in her employ only because, despite his drinking and occasional brushups with the local law, he had magic hands when it came to any kind of machinery. He could fix anything, keep anything running, and though not always the most dependable person, he had saved the day on more than one occasion.

Donovan had inherited that gift, but it didn't earn him any respect from the campers. To them, he was just the scruffy son of the drunk handyman. A fact they took great pleasure in torturing him with all summer long, as far back as she could remember. Humiliating him—or trying to—had been one of their favorite sports. Even the counselors, who most often came from outlying counties, were from more improved circumstances than his, and tended to look the other way when their young charges indulged in their smug torment.

Donovan had always more than held his own, his hands being good for more than fixing engines as it turned out. Even so, it hadn't been right. But Kate had known better than to interfere directly. She'd tried to talk to her mother about it on several occasions, but Louisa felt she'd already done her civic duty in providing a job for Donny Mac in the first place. “Giving him a hand up in the world,” she'd say, as if her benevolence was strictly charitable and she gained nothing from their arrangement. When the truth was that Louisa Sutherland saw life as an endless business proposition, and ran her own—and her children's when she could—accordingly. Louisa already had what she wanted from Donny Mac and flatly refused to involve herself further. She'd allowed him to park his tiny, beat-up trailer behind the mechanic's building on the far side of the maintenance lot, and she'd said nothing about him having his son work for him at a far younger age than was acceptable. It wasn't her place to step in between parent and child, she'd say. Kate knew better than to argue further.

Instead, she'd watched from a distance as Donovan had handled the ribbing, the catcalls, the demands that he step and fetch, all with a seething grace. He'd never looked bowed, or beaten, which she was certain had been a big part of why they never left him alone. It irritated them that someone so obviously beneath them in every measurable standard managed to somehow maintain his dignity and integrity, no matter how boldly they tried to rob him of it.

Worse by far was the fact that all the girls at camp wanted him almost desperately. And though he seemed rather nonchalant about it, Kate suspected he'd taken enormous pleasure in claiming what they saw as theirs.
And claim them he had
, she thought with a sigh. The girls all talked about him, lusted after him, drooled over him…and found many a reason to wander down the dusty road to the maintenance sheds after dark.

Except for Kate. Who, by virtue of being the camp owner's daughter, was an outsider in her own way at Winnimocca. Her family bank account might have slowly grown to rival those of the camp attendees, and, in fact, exceed a few. But no matter how high scale the camp, or the fact that it was one of many things Louisa owned, at Winnimocca, Kate was the innkeeper's daughter. She smiled, thinking of the resentment Donovan had felt toward her privileged lifestyle.

And yet, ironically, she'd rarely felt the pampered princess he'd thought her to be. Okay…pampered, maybe. Her life was a far stretch from his in that regard. But princess? Hardly. There was room for only one royal in their little dysfunctional family, and it was Louisa who'd worn that crown. She and Shelby had been mere pawns, used to an advantage, set against each other when deemed necessary. Now that crown had been passed to Shelby.

Who's become an even bigger royal pain
, she thought with a grimace. Impossible as that seemed. Her thoughts came full circle back to her reason for coming to town today. She got out of the truck, eyes still on Donovan—Mac's—retreating form. So different, the two of them, but more alike than he'd ever want to admit.

Yes, as a teenager, she'd known she had a privileged lifestyle. She was surrounded by everything a girl could ever want. Except the one thing money couldn't buy: love she didn't have to earn. George, her stepfather, had come closer than anyone, but left their lives too soon to help her during the more trying adolescent years. Louisa's affection had always come with conditions. Ever-changing conditions.

Shelby played her game and played it quite well. Not Kate. From the day she'd become a legal adult, she had refused to join in any further, and had instantly become the black sheep for her indifference. She'd been cut off and put out. It wasn't until she'd made the move to contact her mother's attorney to set up the meeting about the camp property that she'd learned her mother was even ill. Shelby, of course, hadn't bothered to tell her. Not that they'd kept in any kind of regular contact, either, but still. They were the only family each other had.

Wasn't it odd, she thought, as she watched Donovan turn the corner up Brevard, that of all the people she'd known growing up, he'd been the one person her romantic teenage heart had always imagined would understand her plight. She remembered thinking that if she could only explain to him that they had more in common than he realized, he'd stop looking at her like he did, with that disconcerting combination of lust and disdain…and look at her the way she wanted him to. Which was a whole lot like he had back in the cab of her truck. Right before he'd kissed her senseless.

It was her only excuse for letting him…for kissing him back. Or so she told herself. She looked at the now empty street corner and wondered if he'd stick to her rules.

Wondered if she really wanted him to.

Resolutely, she turned away and headed the opposite direction down Tower. She had business to take care of, which didn't involve Donovan “Mac” MacLeod, no matter that he thought he should know all about her business. She wasn't going to turn down help if it meant getting the camp up and running, but if there was going to be a camp to get up and running, then she had to figure out how to get the town to back her endeavor with more enthusiasm. Any enthusiasm, really.

She thought about the connection Donovan had made between the vandalism and the townspeople being apathetic to her business propositions. Was the developer involved in some way? And how did that tie into Shelby's no-show yesterday, if at all?

She smiled ruefully now, remembering the highly detailed fantasies she'd had of how she and Donovan would share their tales of woe, become star-crossed lovers, with a unique bond that no one else understood but them, joined forever to face down the taunts and torments of the outside world, so strong in their union that no one could defeat them.

Typical foolish teenage fantasy.

So that did little to explain why she was having a hard time shaking the feeling that he'd finally ridden to her rescue after all. It had just taken a little longer than she'd imagined.

Shoving shaky hands into her pockets, she congratulated herself on being strong enough, mature enough, to rise above her foolish weakness where he was concerned. She'd laid down the law, and he'd listened. Now all she had to do was uphold her own rules. “No sweat.” Uncurling her hands and smoothing them on her pants, she slowed as she reached her destination. She had to shove Donovan from her mind and focus on her reason for coming into town.

She'd planned on seeing Gilby first, but decided it was for the best to accept Mac's help in that particular case. While she'd like to think she didn't need rescuing at this point in her life, she hadn't gotten anywhere with Gilby the last time. Perhaps having someone with Donovan's police background by her side would change that. She was kind of hoping he'd know what to say to motivate Gilby to take a stronger interest in looking into her vandalism problem.

A bell jingled when she pushed open the door to the Ralston Chamber of Commerce. Hopefully Stan wouldn't mind her showing up a bit earlier than planned. The office was a cramped space squeezed between the town's only barber and beauty shop. The faint smell of permanent wave solution and coffee lingered in the air. She tried not to wrinkle her nose, but it wasn't easy.

She was ostensibly meeting with Stan to garner his support and pick his brain over ideas and ways to promote her camp in both Ralston and the rest of the county. Her real mission, however, was to make sure he knew how serious she was about getting the camp up and running, and maybe gain a little insight about why the townspeople were being so standoffish. Donovan's ideas about the vandalism and the supposed developer deal being connected had to be factored in now, too. She wasn't sure she believed there was a bigger conspiracy to this whole thing, but until she talked to Shelby, she'd have to at least take it into consideration.

The reception area was tiny. There was a Formica-topped desk, the surface of which was mostly consumed by an old computer monitor and keyboard. What little space was left over held a bank of two phones and a card file. On the paneled wall behind the desk was a rather grand plaque, bearing a shiny gold plate announcing the offices of the Ralston Chamber of Commerce, founded in 1927, and proudly delivering over seventy-five years of dedicated service to the community.

There was no one, dedicated or not, seated at the desk, so Kate stepped around it to the only two doors leading from the room. One was propped open, revealing a coat and storage closet, so she knocked on the closed one. “Stan?” she called out, and tapped again. “It's Kate Sutherland. I'm early. Hope that's okay.”

She stepped back and waited, but no one came out. She checked her watch. She'd called him before leaving for the city yesterday to confirm their meeting, and the secretary—or whoever had answered the phone, a woman anyway—had told her they were in by eight and to drop by anytime. She'd confirmed for nine o'clock, which wasn't for another forty-five minutes, but that didn't explain why they'd left the place unlocked and empty. “So much for dedicated community service,” she murmured.

She stepped back and glanced in the coat closet. It was still early enough in the spring to warrant at least a jacket most mornings. There was only a handful of empty hangars, and one lone umbrella, propped just inside the door, along with several cartons of printer paper and a bulk package of paper towels shoved in the opposite end.

Where the hell was everybody? Not that the streets of Ralston were ever a beehive of activity, but, come to think of it, she hadn't seen a single soul on her way into town. Of course, it was after eight on a weekday morning. Everybody was likely busy doing whatever it was they got paid to do.

She turned and saw the wall behind her sported two framed prints of what looked like early paintings of the town. But the predominant feature was a giant cork board, filled to bursting with flyers, business cards, anything and everything any business or businessperson in town might want to advertise. Including…she leaned closer…yep, that's what the postcard said all right.

Mounted deer head for sale. Nice eight-point. Will look good over your fireplace!

Then she smiled when she saw the name scribbled next to the phone numbers on the fringe of handy tear-off tags: Edna. Somehow she doubted the deer head was Edna's, but around here, you could never be too sure.

She skimmed the other cards, half expecting to see another one from Edna listing a recliner, television, and remote, but no such luck. What she also didn't see was any kind of cohesive promotion for the town businesses. No brochures or print-shop-produced flyers.

She turned back around and leaned over the desk. There was no scheduling book that she saw, and when she inadvertently jiggled the monitor, it shifted out of sleep mode to show a half-played hand of solitaire. She looked at the plaque again and wondered what their definition of “service” was.