Man on a Mission

by Carla Cassidy

  She would help him go through Marietta’s file, but that was where their interaction halted. The last thing she needed in her life was a man who’d already proven he was adept at deception.

  It was exactly seven when Mark walked from the main house toward April’s cottage. He was looking forward to spending the evening with her, especially since she now knew the truth about him.

  When he’d initially told her he was faking his injuries, he’d been surprised by her anger. Although she’d claimed that she didn’t know him well enough to be angry, that it was none of her business and therefore she couldn’t be angry, her outrage had been obvious.

  He’d thought about that outrage all evening after leaving her, and it had finally dawned on him that kissing her while pretending to be mentally challenged had been not only unfair, but wrong.

  Had she responded to his kiss simply from compassion?

  From pity? Had she been afraid of offending “poor Mark” by rebuffing his kiss?

  He frowned. Surely it hadn’t been compassion he’d tasted on her lips. It had been the heat of desire, the sweetness of a response that had nothing to do with pity.

  As he neared her place, his heart seemed to skip a beat in anticipation. He was nearly as eager to talk to her as he was to kiss her again.

  It had been impossible to talk to her, really talk to her while functioning beneath the weight of his pretense. It would feel good to be able to be himself for a little while.

  April answered his knock with a tentative smile and gestured him in. The cottage retained the scents from their dinner, tangy tomato sauce with a hint of garlic.

  She was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved peach-colored floral blouse that emphasized her full breasts.

  “I made a pot of coffee,” she said, and gestured to the table, where a thick manila envelope sat in the center. “The paperwork is all there, so we can get started right away.”

  She obviously intended the evening to be strictly business. “Where’s Brian?” he asked as he sat at one of the chairs at the table.

  “Outside with Ricky. Those two have become best of friends. Cream or sugar?” she asked as she poured coffee into two awaiting cups.

  “No, just black.”

  She joined him at the table, sitting across from him rather than next to him. Even with the relative distance between them, he caught the scent of her fragrance, a sweet floral scent that evoked thoughts of spring and budding life.

  “I’ve gone through the first thirty pages or so,” she said as she opened the folder. “I’ve found grocery lists, notes about errands run…the whole file seems to be a mix of business and personal notes.”

  He noticed her hands, pretty hands with slender fingers and blunt-cut nails covered in a pearly pink polish. If he’d still been pretending to be ill, he would have blurted out how pretty they were. Now he kept the thought to himself, realizing that there had been a certain freedom in his chosen role.

  “We’ll probably find nothing here that can help you, but I thought it might be worth looking at.” She finally gazed at him.

  “It was a good thought.” He smiled. “Let’s get started.”

  They worked for almost two hours straight, interrupted only when Brian and Ricky came to check in, then disappeared into Brian’s bedroom.

  The whole time Mark was trying to focus on the notes before him, his head was filled with April’s nearness. Her scent stirred him to distraction. The sight of her hands shifting through papers made him wonder what those delicate fingers would feel like dancing over his skin.

  It was close to nine when Mark decided he’d had enough for one night. The words had begun to dance dizzily as his eyes grew tired of the meticulous work.

  “Why don’t we take a break,” he said, and shoved back from the table.

  “Sounds good to me. You want more coffee?”

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.” He stood and stretched his arms overhead, then gestured toward the front door. “Want to step outside and get a little air?”

  “Sure, just let me tell the boys where we’re going.” She walked over to Brian’s door and knocked. “Mark and I are going to step outside for a few minutes,” she told her son when he answered. “Why don’t you and Ricky go ahead and get into your pajamas.”

  A moment later April and Mark stepped outside into the night. He sat on the porch stoop, and she joined him there, smiling self-consciously as their shoulders momentarily bumped against each other.

  She drew a deep breath. “I still can’t get over how warm it stays at night after the sun goes down,” she said softly.

  “After you’ve been here awhile you begin to appreciate the subtle nuances of temperature.” He looked at her curiously. “What brought you here? You mentioned that your father knew my father. Had he been here as a guest or did you visit as a child?”

  “Neither.” She lifted her face to peer at the sky, and the moonlight washed over her features, giving them a luminous glow. “After my father’s death, I was going through his paperwork and found a letter and a brochure from your father. The letter indicated that the two men had been friends for years, and Brian and I desperately needed a new start, so I called your father, who offered me the position as social director.”

  “You said you needed a new start. Did something happen?” He wanted to know all about her, where she’d been in the past, where she wanted to go in the future.

  She pulled her gaze from the moon and instead focused on the dark landscape before them. “Brian and I were living with my father, and we discovered after his death that the house was heavily mortgaged and he had day-traded away everything, including all of my savings.”

  In the last five words she spoke, he heard a wealth of pain and deep betrayal. That was what family had the power to do, he thought. To hurt. And that was why he would never have a family of his own, never bind himself to anyone. He didn’t ever want the responsibility of hurting somebody as only a loved one could do.

  He was a Delaney, and Delaneys didn’t “do” relationships…at least not long-term ones.

  “Sounds like a tough break,” he said sympathetically.

  “It was devastating,” she admitted. She sighed, a sigh that reflected a despair of the soul, a sigh that somehow touched a chord of response in him.

  But that was ridiculous, he scoffed inwardly. There was no despair inside him. He was angry about the crime that had taken place here at the ranch, worried about the repercussions of what Marietta had known. He was tormented by the knowledge that there was a possibility one of his family members was involved. There were even times he would admit he suffered a touch of loneliness. But there was certainly no soul ache inside him.

  She straightened her shoulders, as if in doing so she’d gather inner strength, and smiled at him. “It was devastating, but I’m a survivor. I’ve been through bad times before, and I’ll get through this time, as well.”

  Her smile was bewitching: her full lips curved upward and her eyes sparkled with determination. The gesture lasted only a moment, then faded. “It’s Brian I worry about. He’s had so little stability in his life so far.”

  “He seems like a good kid. Sometimes a difficult childhood makes a strong man.”

  “I suppose,” she agreed thoughtfully. “But that doesn’t mean a loving mother would consciously create a difficult childhood for her child.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” he replied. “My mother died giving birth to Johnna. I was five when my mom died.” Again a nebulous memory whispered across his consciousness—the memory of his mother’s laughter, warm and musical.

  April’s hand on his arm banished the echo of memory. “That must have been terrible for you…all of you, growing up without a mother. And how terrible for your father to carry the burden of four children alone.”

  “Yeah, well, he didn’t exactly qualify for father of the year,” Mark said unevenly. He drew a deep breath to still the emotions that suddenly simmered close to the surface, alien emot
ions that were disturbing and unsettling.

  “What are you going to do if we don’t find anything in Marietta’s notes?” she asked.

  He stretched his legs out in front of him, grateful for the switch of topic. He didn’t want to think about fathers and families. “Keep doing what I’m doing and hope I stumble onto something. I spent the afternoon in town, trying to find out about the Larry that Billy Carr was talking to in the stables the other night.”

  “And what did you find out?”

  “That his name is Larry Greco. He’s been in town about six months and has no visible means of support. He has a reputation as a loner with a hot temper.”

  “You learned all that this afternoon?” she asked, searching his features in amazement.

  He grinned. “I told you, when people think you’re not all there, they tend to run off at the mouth in front of you.”

  Suddenly he didn’t want to discuss Billy Carr or Larry Greco. He didn’t want to think about the ranch or their respective pasts. He’d much rather talk about how her hair shone as if gilded by the moonlight. He’d rather focus on how her lips, slightly shiny in the lunar light, seemed to beckon him closer, tease him with possibilities.

  “Tell me something, April Cartwright,” he began. He leaned closer to her, so that he could once again smell the floral scent of her, feel it wrapping his senses in sweet petals. “Have you ever been kissed by a cowboy no longer pretending to be brain damaged beneath an Arizona coyote moon?”

  Her eyes flared bright, then she smiled, a teasing, smile that lit a fire in the pit of his stomach. She tilted her head to one side as if thinking. “No,” she finally replied. “And I’ve never walked buck-naked down Main Street, either.”

  Before he could guess her intent, she jumped up and opened the door. “Good night, Mark.” Without waiting for his reply, she disappeared into the cottage, leaving him sitting alone beneath the full coyote moon.

  Chapter 8

  Sheriff Jeffrey Broder eyed Mark from across the expanse of Matthew’s study. Matthew stood to the left of the sheriff, looking as imposing and tense as Mark had ever seen.

  “I just stopped by to do a little follow-up, Mark,” Sheriff Broder explained. “I was hoping that with a little time and a little healing, maybe you would remember something else about the night you got hurt.”

  “I thought you were certain that Boles was guilty,” Matthew interjected. “Have you found him?”

  “Not yet. We put out an APB on him. If he shows his face around these parts or anywhere else in the country, he’ll be stopped and detained for questioning.”

  “If you’re certain he’s your man, then why are you bothering Mark again?”

  Mark studied Matthew with eyes of suspicion. Matthew had seemed more on edge, more irritable lately than Mark had ever seen him. Was it because he was “the boss” of whatever illegal operation was functioning here at the ranch? Was it possible he was feeling the heat of this investigation and getting nervous?

  “A case is never closed until somebody is serving time,” the sheriff replied. “I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t talk to Mark again.” Broder looked from Matthew to Mark. “Anything new to add?”

  Was it possible the sheriff wanted to know what Mark remembered in order to assess if Mark was a threat? Mark had never felt so torn in his life. He was growing weary of his game, a game that had yielded far too few clues.

  But he was aware that trusting the wrong person might not just be a mistake but could cost him his life. He shrugged and smiled helplessly at Sheriff Broder. “I don’t remember anything,” he said.

  All he needed was a little more time, he told himself. Billy and Larry had mentioned a shipment coming in, in two weeks time. That meant sometime in the next ten to twelve days something would be happening somewhere on the ranch. And Mark intended to patrol the ranch as best he could to see what he could discover.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing, Mark?” Sheriff Broder asked. “Anything…any little thing might help.”

  “He’s answered your questions, Jeffrey. I don’t want him upset.” Matthew’s voice held a steel edge.

  Again suspicion swept through Mark. Dear God, Matthew, he thought desperately. Have you done something terrible in order to keep the ranch? Have you sold your soul to keep Father’s dream alive?

  He wished he knew his brother well enough to discount his suspicions, but he didn’t.

  At the moment there was only one person in the world he trusted—April.

  The next three days flew by as April and Brian settled into a comfortable routine. In the daytime Brian worked with Mark in the stables and April planned her activities for guests. After her schedule had been approved by Matthew, she was given a budget and spent much of her time on the phone, ordering a variety of equipment and special foods.

  Most evenings Brian and Ricky played together and Mark and April sat at the table and plowed through Marietta’s files. After reading page after page of notes, they would break for the night and sit outside and talk.

  It was nearly seven and April stood at the window, watching for Mark’s familiar figure to approach the cottage. It bothered her that she’d come to look forward to his evening visits, that she was discovering he was just as Doreen had described to her—quick-witted, lively and genuinely nice.

  She frowned as a car pulled up out front. The back door opened and Brian flew out and into the cottage. “Mom, Ricky’s mom wants to know if I can go to town with them, then spend the night at Ricky’s house. Please, Mom. Please let me.”

  April smiled, her heart full as she saw the happiness that lit Brian’s features. There was nothing like a best friend to make a boy’s life right. It warmed April’s heart to know Brian had found a best friend.

  “Let me check it with Doreen,” she replied. Together mother and son left the cottage. April greeted Doreen with a friendly smile. “I hear you’ve got big plans for the night.”

  Doreen laughed. “Yeah, running errands and doing laundry. I told the boys if they were good while I’m doing all that, we’d maybe go bowling or go to a movie, then Brian could stay the night.”

  “Please, Mom,” Brian appealed.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” April asked Doreen.

  Doreen shrugged. “Sure. Actually, two are easier than one. You’re really doing me a favor if you let Brian come with us. It will be late when we get back from town, so he might as well just bunk at our house for the night.”

  April looked at her son. “What are you waiting for?” She laughed as he scrambled into the back seat with Ricky. The two boys punched each other in their arms, a ritual male-bonding thing April had never understood.

  She waved as Doreen pulled away, then turned to see Mark approaching. As always her heart jumped at the sight of him. She’d never seen a man wear a pair of jeans better, had never noticed on another man how the tilt of a hat could suggest such blatant sensuality.

  “Where are they off to?” he asked, gesturing to the car that was nothing more than a ball of dust in the distance.

  “Town,” she replied, then smiled. “Brian and Ricky have practically become joined at the hip.”

  Mark’s face beneath the hat was shadowed from the evening cast of the sun. He frowned, the gesture appearing to deepen the shadows on his features. “It’s good to see the two of them together. Boys need friends. My father never allowed us to have any.”

  They’d begun walking toward her porch, but at his words she stopped and turned to look at him once again. “Your father never allowed you to have friends? Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he was afraid we’d find out other fathers were different from him. Maybe he was afraid somehow having friends would undermine his total authority over us. Who knows what forces drove my father to be a mean, miserable man?”

  He’d intimated before that Adam Delaney had been a difficult father, but he’d never come right out and said it until this moment.

  April knew all
about relationships with difficult fathers, although she had finally come to terms with her relationship with her own.

  “Not everyone gets a lucky draw when it comes to fathers,” she said as they stepped up on the porch.

  He opened the door, the dark shadows still clinging to his features beneath the glare of the kitchen light even after he removed his hat. “We should get through the last of that file this evening,” he said, changing the subject.

  April sank into a chair at the table. For a moment she considered pursuing the topic of his father, but she decided to let it go. “What are you going to do if we don’t find anything tonight?”

  Mark sighed and sat down across from her. “I’m not sure.” The darkness left his features, and grim determination took its place. “All I know is that somehow I have to get to the bottom of whatever it is Marietta thought was threatening the ranch.”

  “Then I only hope we find some sort of clue in the last of this paperwork,” April said, then opened up the file.

  They settled in to read the last group of papers the file contained. For some reason April found concentration more difficult than it had been on the previous night.

  She was intensely aware of Mark’s scent, an utterly masculine fragrance that heightened her senses. She wondered if her increased awareness of him was due to the fact that Brian wasn’t home.

  Normally when they worked at the table, Brian was in and out of the room, chattering to Mark or getting an evening snack for himself and Ricky.

  Tonight there were no distractions, nothing to divert her attention from Mark’s nearness. Was it any wonder she was affected by him? When Derrick had left her, romance with anyone else had been the last thing on her mind.

  Left with a mountain of debt and a young son, April had decided she never again wanted a man in her life. From that moment on she’d thrown all her energies into raising Brian and working to rebuild the security that had been stolen.