Man on a Mission (3 page)

Of course, it was possible the Delaney siblings would do what they had always done in the past—go their separate ways. The ranch would then be sold and the money go to their aunt Clara. For his sake, as well as for April Cartwright's, he hoped that didn't happen.

He turned at the sound of raucous male laughter and tensed as John Lassiter, the foreman, and several of the cowboys came into view.

“Hey, Mark,” Billy Carr called out, a wise-guy smirk on his narrow face. “How's it going?”

Mark forced his smile. “How's what going?” He sighed inwardly with resignation, knowing what was about to follow. Bait the fool. It had become a favorite game among the Neanderthals since Mark's supposed brain damage had become common knowledge.

“Life, my boy.” Billy clapped him on the back, at the same time winking at the others. “How's life for a man who is one crayon short of a box?”

“One fry shy of a Happy Meal,” Kip Randall chimed in, exposing protruding front teeth as he guffawed with ill-spirited laughter.

“That's enough,” John snapped, calling a halt to their fun. “Get to work, both of you.” When the two had disappeared in the direction of the barn, John turned and smiled at Mark. “You okay?”

“Sure, I'm okay.”

“Don't you pay any attention to them two,” John said. “They're morons.”

Mark nodded, his grin unchanging. And they would be the first two to be fired when Mark achieved his goals and reclaimed his intelligence, he thought with satisfaction.

“Mark, could you take a look at Diamond? I thought she was limping earlier this morning. You're the only one she'll let get close to her.”

“Sure,” Mark agreed. “I'll do it now.”

Despite his supposed short falls, nobody questioned his proficiency with the horses. From the time he'd been young, he'd had a special gift with the animals. He could play the idiot in all areas of his life except
this one, and he wouldn't allow anyone else to tend to the horses.

It took him only a few minutes to check out Diamond, the palomino that had been his father's favorite mount. A stone in the shoe was easily dislodged, giving the horse instant relief.

When he finished, he headed back to the house. Although he had his own cabin on the outreaches of the Delaney property, Matthew had insisted he stay at the house since the murder attempt.

Whenever possible he went to his own place, where he could drop the facade of fool and just be himself for a few precious moments.

He saw nobody when he entered the house. He knew Lucinda would be in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. Matthew was probably in the study, where he'd spent most of the past four days since Adam's death.

Mark went directly to his room in the back of the house. From the vantage point of his window, he could see the cottages where some of the household help lived and where April and her son were spending the night.

For the first time, as he thought of April Cartwright, he almost regretted the role he'd chosen to play. What woman would be interested in a man like the one he pretended to be?

He turned away from the window with a sigh of disgust. The last thing he needed to even consider was getting involved with any woman. Getting involved meant learning about and sharing pieces of yourself—something Mark could not do. At this point in his life he couldn't risk trusting anyone.

He had to find out what Marietta had wanted to tell him that night. She'd implied whatever it was put the entire ranch operation at risk. Whatever it had been had caused her death and Mark's near death.

He couldn't allow anything to distract him from his goals, including a shapely blonde with springtime eyes and an aura of vulnerability. He had to find a murderer. As Marietta warned him, he couldn't trust the sheriff. Nor could he believe Broder's theory that a missing ranch hand had been responsible for the murder.

By the time Mark had showered once again, washing off the scent of the stables, and had changed his clothes, he realized it must be getting close to dinnertime. As he checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror, his stomach clenched with tension.

Family powwows had never been particularly pleasant, and Mark didn't anticipate this one being any different. Although his brothers and sister had rallied around him when he'd been in the hospital, upon his release they'd returned to their separate lives.

Now, with the terms of their father's will, they were forced to deal with one another. They would either learn to work together in order to keep the ranch alive, or they would choose to continue their solitary lives and the ranch would die along with their father.

As Mark went down the stairs to the dining room, he shook his head ruefully. It was rather amazing to him that Adam, in his death, was attempting to make them all what they had never really ever been in his life—a family.

“I
'm not about to give up my law practice to shovel horse dung here,” Johnna Delaney glared at Matthew. She had the same bold, dark features as her brothers, and at the moment those features were twisted into a frown. “I can't imagine what father was thinking of when he wrote this will.”

The evening meal was finished, and the Delaney siblings had all gathered in the study to discuss the future.

“Well, I'm not exactly champing at the bit to work the ranch,” Luke drawled lazily as he poured himself another drink.

Luke, Mark's younger brother, was a sometime musician, a sometime carpenter and an all-the-time hell-raiser. Had it been a hundred years earlier, he probably would have been a gunslinger.

As had been the custom, particularly in the past
three weeks, the conversation swirled around Mark, rather than included him. Nobody asked his opinion, offered him suggestions or spoke directly to him at all.

He was virtually invisible, as he'd felt for most of his life as the middle son sandwiched between the two strong personalities of his older and younger brothers.

“Then we just let it all go?” The muscles in Matthew's jaw tightened visibly. “All Father's hard work and dreams, all the years of planning and struggling, we just let it die with him?” He glared first at Luke, then at Johnna.

Johnna flushed and looked down at the glass of wine she held. “I'm not moving back here, Matthew. This dude ranch was always yours and Mark's and father's dream, not mine.”

Walter Tilley cleared his throat. The diminutive lawyer sat in a wing chair near the fireplace. Until this moment he'd been so quiet, Mark had nearly forgotten he was in attendance.

“If I might interject,” he said calmly. “Johnna, your father's will does not stipulate that you must live here at the ranch. You can remain in town and still adhere to the conditions outlined by your father.”

“I'll listen,” Luke said, a wry grin curving his lips. “I don't know about the rest of you, but losing the money the ranch is worth to Aunt Clara doesn't sit much better with me than giving up my time for a year to work the ranch.”

Walter smoothed his thin mustache with the tip of a manicured finger as he stepped in to further explain the terms of the will. “Specifically all the will requires is that you keep the ranch running for a year
and that you each put in a total of twenty-five hours per week working a specific position. After the year has passed, you're free to keep the ranch running or sell it and split the proceeds.

“Might I suggest you seriously consider adhering to the terms of the will,” he went on. “There would be a considerable amount of money coming to each of you should you decide to sell at the end of the year.”

“I don't care about the money,” Johnna exclaimed irritably, and walked to the window that looked out onto the front of the property. “I hate it here,” she said more to herself than to the others.

“This must be a unanimous decision,” Walter said. “Either you all agree or the ranch is sold and the proceeds are paid to Clara Delaney.”

There was a long, tension-filled silence.

“I have a new friend,” Mark said to nobody in particular. He knew his comment was completely inappropriate but in keeping with the path of subterfuge he'd decided to follow.

“That's good, bro.” Luke clapped Mark on the back absently. “So, what's the decision here, gang? I've got plans for the night.”

Johnna turned from the window and faced her brothers, then looked at Walter. “Tell me again how this works and who is responsible for what.”

Mark stifled a sigh, wondering how many more times they would have to go through all this before a final decision was made. One thing was clear: Matthew wasn't willing to let go of the ranch. Was it because he was involved in the illegal activity Marietta had discovered?

“Your father requested I continue as overseer of ranch finances,” Walter explained. “Each of you would log in with me concerning your hours worked here. Matthew, your father wished you to continue as manager, overseeing the daily operation of things. Mark would remain in charge of the livestock. Luke would take care of maintenance and repairs, and you'd handle public relations and publicity.”

As Walter continued to talk, Mark cast surreptitious glances to his siblings. He'd like to think he knew them well enough to know that none of them would be involved in any nefarious operations on the ranch. But he couldn't.

Sadly, at thirty-three years old, Mark was no closer to knowing his brothers and sister than he'd been at ten.

“Johnna, please.” Matthew's voice was tense and Mark knew the price in pride his older brother paid to beg. Was there also desperation there? “We have to come to a decision now. We've got a full slate of guests due to arrive in two weeks. Just give it a try.”

Mark looked at his sister. She was beautiful, but any softness she'd possessed had died when she'd miscarried in the sixth month of her pregnancy eight years ago without a man anywhere near her side.

All the pleading in the world wouldn't move Johnna if she didn't want to be moved. She'd become hard. Hard enough to get involved in illegal activity, Mark thought.

She sighed and looked at Luke. It had always been so, that the two youngest, Johnna and Luke, had a closeness that excluded their two elder brothers.

Luke shrugged with his usual devil-may-care grin.
“Why don't we try it for three months, then see how things are going? We can always walk away at that time. What do you say, Mark? We give it a try?”

“Sure,” Mark agreed then added, “My new friend's name is April.” He smiled at his brothers and sister as if he didn't feel the raw emotion, the heightened tension in the air. If only he could trust his family enough to let go of the fool's role, he thought. But he couldn't forget Marietta's words of warning.

“April?” Luke raised an eyebrow in Matthew's direction.

Matthew waved his hand in dismissal. “I'll explain later,” he said, his gaze focused intently on Johnna.

“All right,” she said to Matthew, her features taut with irritation. “I'll give it a try. Not for father's sake, but because I know how important the ranch is to you and Mark.”

“Then it's settled,” Walter said as he stood. “I'll be in touch with each of you later this week to work out the details.”

Mark stood, grateful the matter had been decided and eager to escape. Throughout dinner and during the entire discussion about the ranch, all he'd been able to think about was April and Brian and the cooler of food.

He'd seen the contents of the cooler when Brian had nearly upended it when he'd grabbed it from the back seat of their car. It had been a scant amount of fruit, several hunks of cheese and a couple cans of soda.

As he'd eaten his dinner of roast and potatoes, fresh corn and homemade bread, he'd thought of them din
ing on their pitiful fare and had decided a care basket was in order.

Matthew walked the others to the front door, and Mark made his escape into the kitchen. Lucinda, the woman who'd been cooking for the Delaney family for as long as Mark could remember, had already left for the night. The enormous kitchen was spotless, but Mark knew there were always plenty of leftovers in the refrigerator.

He grabbed a basket from the pantry, then checked out the contents of the large, stainless steel refrigerator. Spying several pieces of fried chicken from the night before, he wrapped them in foil and put them into a basket. He added a container of potato salad, a small tub of baked beans and bread and butter.

Then, thinking of the boy, he wrapped up half of the chocolate cake Lucinda had baked that day and added it to the basket.

He left by the back door, catching his breath as he stepped from the cool of the house into the heat of the evening. It was mid-May, but already the temperatures were consistently hitting the century mark.

As he walked toward the cottages, once again his thoughts went to the role he'd chosen to play. Initially he'd just wanted to buy himself some time, to gain enough distance from that night with Marietta in order to make sense of it all.

As soon as he'd started the pretense, he'd noticed something interesting. People talked in front of him as if he wasn't present. It was an odd phenomenon, one he had recognized years before when they'd had a Down's syndrome man working for them. Mark had noticed how people spoke in front of the man about
things they would never confide to anyone else, as if confident he would never repeat, or understand, what they were saying.

And that was exactly what Mark was counting on now. Already he'd noticed the ranch hands spoke more freely in front of him than they ever had in the past. And in that freedom, Mark hoped to glean clues about Marietta's murder and whatever it was she had believed threatened the very existence of the ranch.

He shoved these thoughts aside as he reached cottage number three. He was surprised as an eager anticipation surged through him.

Now that they had decided to keep the ranch running for at least three months, April and Brian would be able to stay. Somehow, he'd make sure of it. He didn't stop to analyze why it was important to him that they remain at the ranch. It was enough that she reminded him of spring.

He shifted the basket from one hand to the other, then knocked on the door.

She answered almost immediately, and it was obvious she had recently stepped out of a shower. Her hair was curly and damp and she smelled of soap and shampoo. She was clad in a mint-colored, sleeveless shift that skimmed her slenderness and stopped just above her knees.

“Mark.” Her eyes widened as she saw him.

“I brought a surprise,” he said, and held up the basket.

“A surprise?” A tiny wrinkle furrowed her brow as she gazed first at him, then at the basket. “Please come in.” She stepped aside to allow him entry, then
closed the door behind her to stop the flow of heat into the air-conditioned room.

A small suitcase was open on the sofa, revealing pastel-colored lacy things, and the sight of those feminine items caused a flutter of heat to sweep through Mark.

He set the basket on the table, wondering what it was about this particular woman that affected him on a level that nobody else had for a very long time.

He'd been invulnerable, untouchable both physically and mentally when it came to women since Rachel's defection three years ago.

“What's all this?” she asked, peering into the basket.

“Dinner.”

Her eyes appeared to grow impossibly luminous. “Oh,” she said softly. “Mark, you shouldn't have done this.”

“Why not? It's good food.” He rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets.

She laughed, a musical sound that was at once arresting. “I'm sure it's good food.”

“Then eat,” Mark replied. He pulled his hands from his pocket and began to unload the items from the basket. “Where's your boy?” he asked when he'd finished.

She pointed toward the closed bedroom door. “He's angry.”

“Why?” Mark went to the cabinet and pulled out two plates and set them on the table.

Again her brow crinkled with a frown, and he could tell she was trying to determine whether to tell him. “I had promised Brian we were going to stay here,
that I was going to have a job here. Now he's angry because there's no job and we'll be leaving in the morning.”

“You're going to stay,” Mark replied confidently. He walked over to the bedroom door and rapped on it, then smiled at April. “We had a family meeting. The ranch is going to stay open and you will have a job.”

“But your father hired me, and now he's gone. Perhaps your brother will want to interview—”

“You have the job,” Mark interrupted her, then knocked once again on the door. “Brian, come out.”

The door opened and Brian stepped out, a mulish expression on his face. “What?” he said with more than a touch of belligerence.

“Come and eat,” Mark said.

“I'm not hungry,” Brian said, but he moved closer to the table, and his eyes widened at the sight of the chocolate cake. “Well, maybe I could eat just a little,” he said and slid into one of the chairs at the table.

“Go on,” Mark urged April into the other chair, then he shoved the suitcase over and sank onto the sofa.

“This was so incredibly kind of you,” April said, her gaze so warm on him, he could feel the heat clear down to his toes.

He nodded and fell silent, afraid of saying too much, not wanting to expose himself, yet wishing to hell he could reveal himself to her.

He wanted to know where she and Brian were from, how Adam had come to hire her, what forces had driven her here. He wanted to know if her skin
was as soft as it looked, if it would be warm and inviting beneath his touch.

And he wanted to know why her beautiful, thick-lashed eyes emitted such fragility. He had a feeling keeping up his act with her was going to be the most difficult thing he'd ever done.

 

April ate self-consciously, unsure what to make of the man who sat on the sofa. His kindness in bringing them dinner had nearly undone her, and it was only with enormous effort that she hadn't cried.

She only picked at the food on her plate, finding Mark Delaney far more interesting than chicken and beans. He was a fascinating dichotomy, his face an arresting contrast of darkness and light.

With his strong, bold features, short black hair and thick dark brows over dark gray-blue eyes, he emitted an aura of hard arrogance, of cool confidence that was instantly dispelled by the sweet gentleness of his smile.

It was such a refreshing change from the men in her past, the two men who had betrayed her on every level possible. She shoved this thought aside, refusing to drown in past regrets. She also shoved aside her plate and left the table.

She moved the suitcase to the floor and joined Mark on the sofa. “I want to thank you again, Mark, for your thoughtfulness,” she said.