Man on a Mission

by Carla Cassidy

  The shadow passed and once again Doreen’s eyes sparkled. “Thanks, we’re coping as best we can. Things will be easier with Brian around for Ricky to play with. And maybe sometime the four of us can plan something fun. Go to the movies or out to dinner.”

  “That sounds great,” April said warmly. A new start and a new friend. She desperately hoped the Delaneys decided to keep the ranch running.

  “I’d better get out of here and let you get back to whatever you were doing.” Doreen stood and motioned to the paperwork April had shoved aside so they could sit at the table.

  The two women stepped out on the small front porch. “You’ll like working here. The Delaneys are a strange family, but they’re good employers.”

  Before April could ask what made them a strange family, the sound of horse hooves filled the air. Mark rounded the corner of the workers’ cottages, mounted on a huge black stallion.

  Breathlessly April watched as he danced the horse in front of them. The horse reared up on its hind legs as if to dislodge the rider. But Mark appeared to be one with the horse, easily controlling the massive creature.

  He tipped his hat, his eyes glittering as he held April’s gaze. Then the horse came down on all fours and galloped away until man and beast were nothing more than a speck on the desert landscape.

  April stared after him for a long moment after he’d completely disappeared from sight. His gaze, as it had held hers, had drawn her in, and again she’d thought she’d seen a glimmer of intelligence and more than a whisper of desire.

  Was she only imagining things? Was she so pathetically lonely and in need of male companionship that she would manufacture desire in any attractive man’s eyes?

  “Whew. Like I said before, who cares about geometry?” Doreen exclaimed. With another friendly smile, she said goodbye and started off in the direction of her cottage.

  At that moment Brian and Ricky came around the front of the building, preceded by a remote control car that buzzed and whirled in the sand.

  “Hey, Mom,” Brian said. “I talked to Mark a few minutes ago, and he’s coming over tomorrow night for my special hamburgers.”

  “Brian, you should have checked with me before inviting Mark to dinner,” April protested.

  He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Mom, we talked about it this morning in the car on the way home from the grocery store,” he protested.

  But that was before Matthew had warned her away from Mark, April wanted to tell her son. And that was before he’d looked at her with that hunger—a look that had caused a deep yearning on her part.

  She’d only been at the Delaney Dude Ranch for two days, and already her head spun with confusion. She’d already been branded a gold digger by her boss; her son entertained a hero-worship for a man who probably didn’t have the mental capacity to be a parent; and somehow that same man had managed to stir a crazy physical desire inside her.

  She’d have Mark over for dinner the following night, but after that meal, when Mark had gone, she would explain to Brian that Mark wasn’t a buddy and couldn’t be a father figure. Mark was a worker on the ranch, brother to her boss, and the more distance she and Brian put between them and Mark, the better.

  Mark tried to focus all his attention on the smooth, galloping of the horse beneath him, fighting the conflicting emotions that had driven him from the house.

  The afternoon had begun innocuously enough. After arriving home from town, he’d gone to work, finding pleasure in the tasks required of him in the stables.

  Around twelve-thirty he’d left the stables and headed inside the house for some lunch. It was while he was eating a sandwich that loneliness swept over him. A deep, abiding loneliness that had been with him for as long as he could remember.

  He thought about going to find Matthew, whom he knew would be in the office, working on ranch business. But as quickly as the thought entered his mind, he shoved it aside.

  Matthew never talked to Mark, he talked at Mark. It had always been that way. Matthew did an uncanny imitation of their father, and Adam had been a cold, hard man who’d driven his sons mercilessly for the sake of the ranch.

  For the sake of the ranch… The words played in his mind over and over again as he thought of his older brother. How far would Matthew go to ensure the success of the ranch? Would he dabble in something illegal?

  He’d finished his sandwich with the burden of his suspicions burning in the pit of his stomach, then had decided to take a ride out to his place. It had been a while since he’d been there, and he needed to make sure no varmints, human or otherwise, had managed to breach the place.

  Brian had found him in the stable and had extended the invitation for dinner the next night. Seeing the eagerness in the boy’s eyes, Mark had been unable to decline.

  He recognized the need in Brian as the same need he’d experienced as a boy. A need to connect with somebody, to find a place where he belonged.

  Mark pushed the stallion faster, the breeze hot on his face as his mind flashed back to his childhood. Matthew had been the closest to their father. Adam had carefully groomed his eldest son in his own image.

  Luke and Johnna had each other. When they were young, they’d made up their own language, shared adventures and looked upon their older brothers as their enemies.

  The family dynamics had left Mark without a place—the middle son who was somehow lost to everyone else. Yes, Mark could definitely identify with the need in Brian’s eyes.

  A sense of peace swept through Mark as his house rose up before him. Although not huge by any standard, the three-bedroom ranch house was to have been Mark’s future with Rachel.

  At the time Mark had been working on it, he’d been frustrated by Rachel’s lack of interest. Now he was grateful for it. She had only come here in the beginning stages of the building. But they had never made love here, had never shared moments of planning their futures here, and so the house was blessedly void of painful memories.

  Mark reined in the stallion and dismounted. He tied the horse to the hitching post outside the front door, then pulled a set of keys from his pocket and went into the house.

  The moment he walked through the door, he realized why he had come here—to remind himself of Rachel’s loss and the inadequacies in himself that had made her look elsewhere for her future.

  Like all the Delaneys, Mark realized he was not cut out for relationships, that in the end he would only hurt a woman who entered his life on a long-term basis. He shoved these thoughts aside, fighting a renewed wave of loneliness.

  Mark had taken great care in deciding the floor plan of the house. The living room and kitchen were one large, open room with vast windows that looked out over the desert landscape. The furniture had been chosen to complement the aura of space and earth. A sand-colored sofa sat before the windows, cactus-green throw pillows inviting a person to sit and relax. All the furnishings were done in desert tones, colors Mark found relaxing.

  He went to a wooden cabinet and pulled out a large file folder, then grabbed a can of soda from the refrigerator and sat at the wooden kitchen table.

  Inside the folder were reports the sheriff had made about his investigation into Marietta’s death and Mark’s attempted murder. Sheriff Jeffrey Broder had left copies of the reports with Matthew, and Mark had copied them for himself.

  He opened the folder and thumbed through the stack of reports. He couldn’t fault Broder for not investigating thoroughly. In the days following the night of the crime, while Mark had been in the hospital, the sheriff had interviewed everyone on the ranch.

  Alibis had been substantiated, potential suspects eliminated, leaving little left to go on. Mark cursed softly beneath his breath, frustration eating at him.

  Was he wrong not to tell the sheriff what little Marietta had shared with him before her death? She had implied that it was possible the sheriff could be involved in whatever was going on. But what if he wasn’t? Was Mark’s deception making it easier for a killer to ge
t away, easier for an illegal operation of some kind to continue?

  He didn’t know what to believe, didn’t know who to trust, and he’d never felt so alone in his life.

  He leaned back in his chair and his thoughts drifted to April. Something about her touched him. Something about her pierced through the echo of loneliness in his heart and filled him with the promise of possibility.

  Frowning, he focused once again on the report before him, trying to shove her out of his mind. But she refused to be banished. The warmth of her smile danced in his head, the beauty of her sparkling eyes was etched in his brain.

  He wanted her. The force and intensity of his desire hit him like a punch in the stomach. He raked a hand through his hair and drew in a deep breath.

  He knew little about her, had only spent a couple of hours with her, but he wanted her as he hadn’t wanted a woman in a very long time.

  Rachel’s desertion had left a bad taste in his mouth. After she’d left him, he’d gone out occasionally, but hadn’t any interest in the women he’d casually dated. April was different.

  When he’d ridden by her cottage and she’d been standing on her porch, her cutoff shorts had displayed the sinful length of her legs—shapely legs he could easily imagine wrapped around him. Her breasts had pushed impudently against the cotton of her T-shirt, as if seeking, demanding his attention.

  The words of the report before him disappeared as a vision of her face usurped them. He’d had to fight with himself in the car that morning as they’d driven to town, fight the impulse to reach out and touch the strands of her hair. He knew it would be silky soft and would hold the dizzying floral scent that surrounded her.

  Still Mark knew he’d be a fool to follow through on the desire he felt for her. First and foremost, he was playing a role that wouldn’t make him particularly attractive to a woman.

  Second, he had no intention of attempting to be a forever kind of man to any woman. But most important of all he had a killer to catch and a ranch to save, and those two things took precedence over anything else in his life.

  Chapter 5

  It was after supper when April stepped outside on her porch and stretched. She’d spent most of the afternoon sitting at the table, going over Marietta’s file, and her body now protested the long period of inactivity.

  The evening hours stretched empty before her. Doreen had invited Brian to go into town with them for dinner, then spend the night with Ricky. Seeing Brian’s eagerness, she’d been unable to deny him the pleasure of spending time with his new friend.

  She was surprised to discover that with the coming of dusk had come a cooling of the temperature. Although it was still probably in the low nineties, after a day of heat over the century mark, the nineties felt relatively cool.

  Marietta’s file had held a lot of interesting notes, reports and maps. It was one map in particular that held April’s thoughts now. The map had depicted the structures on the ranch, with an arrow pointing to what was marked as an old barn. A note had indicated that Marietta had intended to speak to Adam about renovating the barn and using it for group activities.

  April peered out across the vast landscape before her, seeking the structure in question. But there was just enough of a rise in the land to prevent her from seeing anything that might exist beyond it.

  Now was a perfect time to explore a little bit, she thought. Brian was gone and there was still time before nightfall to do a little walking.

  Decision made, she went back into the cottage, filled a plastic bottle with ice cubes and water and grabbed the map. Back outside again, she took off walking at a brisk pace, occasionally glancing down at the map in her hand.

  She walked for about twenty minutes before slowing to a halt and taking several sips of her water. Looking ahead, she thought she spied the top of the old barn just peeking over the next hill.

  Her mind whirled with possibilities for the place. The guests could be transported back and forth by a horse-drawn wagon. The activities she could offer them in a barn were endless—dances, bingo, craft classes. She suspected the biggest obstacle she’d face was getting Matthew’s approval for such a project.

  Still, she would face that particular chore after viewing the barn.

  She picked up her pace as the barn rose before her. Although weathered to a dull gray and needing obvious cosmetic attention, the building looked sturdy and sound from the outside.

  She approached the barn eagerly and saw that the large double door hung open, spilling light into what would have been a dark interior.

  Stepping through the opening, she saw that the floor was completely covered in a thick layer of sand and dirt. An old broom stood in the corner as if awaiting the hand of a ranch worker.

  It would be perfect, she thought with a touch of excitement. She could easily imagine a band playing in one corner while couples danced in the vast open area in the center.

  No light shone through the walls, indicating to her that the building was relatively sound. She could tell Matthew that very little work would need to be done. Keeping the building as rustic as possible would only add to the charm of the activities she would plan to take place here.

  The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she walked the length of the barn, her mind whirling with all the possibilities.

  A rustling noise echoed through the large building, followed by what sounded like a deep male voice emitting a single inaudible word. April froze, her heartbeat suddenly thundering in her ears.

  “Hello?” she called.

  Silence. Deep and profound silence.

  Had she only imagined the noise? She was certain she’d heard something, and it was impossible in the cavernous building to discern where the sound had come from. Whoever had made the noise, it was obvious by the silence greeting her now that they didn’t intend to show themselves.

  She suddenly realized being here alone was probably not a great idea. Neither was coming here without telling somebody where she was going.

  Thoughts of Marietta’s murder filled her head. The killer hadn’t been arrested and might possibly be hiding out right here in the old, abandoned barn.

  She turned and raced for the door. It wasn’t until she was outside in the waning evening light that the momentary panic faded and she felt foolish. Surely she’d just imagined the noise, or it had been an animal of some sort, scurrying to hide from her.

  Unless a person was thin enough to conceal himself behind the broom handle, the barn had contained no other viable hiding place that she could immediately see.

  She had panicked for nothing. Silly goose, she chided herself. She walked for what seemed like a long time, a new flutter of anxiety sweeping through her as she saw no sign of the ranch in the distance.

  Night was falling quickly, painting deep shadows across the sand, transforming cacti and rocks to black silhouettes. The last place she wanted to be was lost in the desert in the hours of darkness.

  She half jogged for another few minutes, the flutter of anxiety transforming to near full-blown panic when she still didn’t see the ranch.

  Was it possible that in her panic in leaving the barn, she’d been disoriented and taken off in the wrong direction? Had she unconsciously been veering completely off course since leaving the barn?

  She’d been a fool to go exploring so far from the main buildings in the late-evening hours. Nobody would know where she had gone. With Brian staying at Ricky’s house, nobody would even know she was gone until morning when Brian returned.

  Icy fingers of fear danced up her spine. She stopped walking, afraid she was going in the wrong direction, afraid to worsen her stupidity by possibly moving even farther away from the ranch.

  She took a sip of her water in an attempt to calm herself. Panic would serve no purpose. As she screwed the lid back on the bottle, she looked around.

  In the distance she thought she saw the pale glow of a light against the encroaching night. A house?

  She hurried forward, relief cour
sing through her. Where there was light, a house, there would be people. Surely somebody could point her in the direction of the Delaney Dude Ranch.

  It was no wonder she nearly missed the presence of the house. Without the illumination spilling out the large front window, the house blended nearly perfectly into the rock cropping behind it.

  As she got closer, she noticed the large horse tied to the hitching post outside the front door. A familiar horse, the one she’d seen Mark riding earlier. The horse’s ears pricked up, and he snorted and pawed the ground as if the slight breeze had carried her scent to him.

  With the light on in the house and the darkness of the night falling outside, April had a perfect view of Mark sitting at the kitchen table, apparently studying a pile of paperwork in front of him.

  What was he doing here? Who lived here and why did Mark look so at home? She remained standing just outside the window, watching him, fascinated by the picture he presented, the picture of a man in deep concentration.

  At that moment Mark looked up and through the glass, and their gazes locked. Disbelief swept over his features, and she watched as he left the table, momentarily disappeared from her sight, then reappeared at the front door.

  “What in the hell are you doing out here at this time of night?” he demanded, his eyes flaming with outrage.

  “I went for a walk and sort of got lost,” she confessed.

  “Don’t you realize how unforgiving this place can be to fools?”

  April stared at him in astonishment. These were not the words of a man suffering brain damage, nor were they delivered in the halting fashion she’d come to expect from him.

  He frowned, his cheeks taking on a ruddy color that April perceived to be embarrassment. This only added to her confusion. “Come in.” He averted his gaze from her and stepped aside to allow her to enter the house.

  She stepped inside, her curiosity piqued as she entered the attractive living room. “Mark, whose house is this?” she asked.

  “Mine.” He moved to the round oak table and quickly slid paperwork into a folder and placed it in a kitchen drawer.