Man on a Mission (11 page)

 

April didn't see him the next day. She looked for him around seven that evening, when he usually showed up to go through Marietta's files. But he didn't appear.

She sat at the table alone and opened the file. There weren't many pages left that they hadn't gone over. She would look them over alone.

Over the next hour she tried to concentrate on the paperwork, but her mind kept skipping back to the night before.

Making love with Mark had been every bit as breathtaking as she'd fantasized it would be. He'd been alternatively demanding and gentle, commanding and vulnerable, taking and giving.

She'd awakened that morning with her body aching, but it was the pleasant ache of a woman who'd been fully loved.

Not loved, she reminded herself. What they'd shared had nothing to do with love and everything to do with an explosion of lust. Chemistry had been at work between them from the moment they'd met. Last night they had acted upon that chemistry. Nothing more. Nothing less.

At least this time she understood the rules going into it. Unlike Derrick, who had crept into her heart like a thief, stolen all that she had to give, then left her bereft and broken.

She wouldn't, couldn't give Mark that same power over her. She knew exactly where he stood. And she knew she'd be a fool to trust again, especially a man who had begun a relationship with her based on deception.

However, she had lied to him. When she'd told him the last thing she wanted was another man in her life, it had been a lie. She'd sensed Mark's distance, felt his panic when he'd thought she was getting too close, asking questions that went to his heart.

She'd said what she had—about them sharing good sex and her wanting nothing more from him—to ease his conscience. He'd made it more than clear that he had no intention of pursuing a real relationship with her, one that would eventually lead to a lifetime commitment.

She didn't know what sort of baggage Mark carried from his father, but it seemed to be plentiful. She didn't understand the Delaney family dynamics and she wasn't in a position to fix them.

All she knew for certain was that when she found the man who would be her true soul mate and a stepfather to Brian, he would want a future with her as much as she did with him. And it seemed obvious that man wasn't Mark Delaney.

 

The next week flew by. The ranch hummed with activity as the hired help worked to ready things for the arriving guests. Both Brian and April received their first paychecks and celebrated by opening savings accounts and eating dinner in town.

Throughout the week April saw Mark often. She saw him in the corral working the horses, bumped into him in the main house as she came out of a meeting with Johnna. Each morning after working several hours in the stables, Brian came in chattering about what Mark said or what Mark did.

April only knew the things Mark didn't do. He
didn't come by the cottage to see her. He nodded to her, smiled at her, but gave no indication that she was anything other than a fellow worker.

April told herself it was ridiculous to feel hurt. She'd told him she expected nothing from him, and she'd meant it. But at night in her lonely bed, she remembered those moments of being held in his arms, of his mouth taking such utter possession of hers, and she realized she wanted him again.

It had nothing to do with love, she told herself again and again. It was about need, about want. It was all about hormones not hearts. She would never, ever allow her heart to be vulnerable again.

At the moment she had little thought for Mark. She stood before her bedroom mirror, applying the last of her makeup. Her mind raced, going over all the details of the welcoming barbecue she'd arranged for the guests who had arrived that day.

She was unbelievably nervous about the event. She desperately hoped everything went smoothly, that the guests had a roaring good time and she'd finally get a nod of approval from Mr. Stuffy, Matthew Delaney.

She stepped back to view her reflection. The denim dress she wore wasn't new, but had only been worn once before. Sleeveless, it exposed the tan she'd acquired over the past couple of days and hugged her curves in all the right places.

“Mom.” Brian knocked on her door. “Isn't it time yet?”

She opened the door and smiled. “Yes, it's time for us to get to the barbecue. But you know it doesn't really start for another hour.”

“I know, but you said there's lots of work to do.”
Brian grabbed his cowboy hat and plopped it on his head, his smile eager. “I told Ricky to come early, too. He can help with the work.”

“Many hands make light work,” April said as they left the cottage.

Directly in front of the main house a flurry of activity was taking place. Several of the cowboys were busy setting up chairs, and a band was unpacking its equipment. The scent of savory ribs and tangy sauce wafted in the air from the industrial-size steel cooker. Baked beans bubbled in large pots over fire pits, and April knew there were tons of potato salad in the refrigerator, just waiting to be served.

With Brian's help, she busied herself setting up tables, placing them close enough together to inspire friendly chatter.

By the time they'd set up the tables, Ricky had arrived, and April assigned the two boys to the task of arranging name tags on one of the tables.

Feeling as if everything was under control, she walked over to the cooker to take a peek at the ribs. The man wielding tongs and basting brush didn't need a name tag. His strong features and dark hair identified him distinctly as a Delaney.

“You must be Luke,” she said. “I'm April, the new social director.”

“Ah, yes, the lovely April. Mark has mentioned you about a hundred times.” He gestured with his tongs to the surrounding commotion. “I assume you're the cause for all of this.”

She nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

He grinned, and instantly she understood why Luke Delaney might have a reputation with the women.
Handsome as the devil, he had a wicked gleam in his eyes, as if he had the ability to see beneath your clothing. Mark's attractiveness was far less blatant, and to April, far more appealing.

“Actually, it's a good idea,” he said, then smiled dryly. “We'll see if the ranch stays open long enough to repeat the festivities.”

“We all have our fingers crossed,” April said.

She said her goodbyes to Luke, then went back to check on Brian and Ricky's progress with the name tags. None of the Delaneys seemed to have much hope of holding things together and maintaining control of the ranch.

What would happen to Mark if the ranch was lost? He, more than any of the others, seemed most vulnerable to the loss of the place.

Not my problem, she told herself firmly. Then, realizing the first of the guests had begun to arrive, she hurried to greet them.

Nearly two hours later she sank down at one of the tables, exhausted but pleased as she watched the people dancing to the boot-kicking country music. Children chased one another, playing games of tag amid the grown-ups.

April's crowning moment had occurred ten minutes before when Matthew passed her with a “good job” and the hint of a smile.

“Why aren't you dancing?”

April tried to ignore the pleasure that swept through her at Mark's voice near her ear. He walked around her chair to stand in front of her.

“Nobody has asked me,” she replied.

He held out a hand to her. “I'm asking.”

She wanted to say no, to tell him to find somebody else to dance with, to hold in his arms. But she didn't have the willpower. He looked too handsome in his tight jeans and short-sleeved Western shirt. His dark hair was in careless disarray, only intensifying his overwhelming attractiveness.

With a sigh, she stood and allowed him to pull her closer to the band. “I've missed you this week,” he said as they began to two-step with the other couples.

She looked at him in surprise. “Missed me?” she echoed faintly.

He nodded. “It's been a hell of a week. I spent a lot of my time in town, staking out Larry Greco's place, hoping to find out what he's up to and what it has to do with the ranch.”

She watched as frustration etched a line across his forehead.

“I've also staked out the old barn every night this week, but haven't seen anything or anyone. And I still don't know what the supposed shipment is all about.”

Instinctively April's arm tightened around him. “I wish you'd stop this Lone Ranger stuff and go to the sheriff,” she said.

He grinned at her, a lazy, sexy grin that caused her heart to skip a beat. “You worried about me?” he asked.

She eyed him seriously. “Yes.” And in that instant, she realized she did care about Mark—more than as a co-worker, more than as a friend. Her emotions where he was concerned went far beyond that depth. The realization both thrilled her and frightened her.

She looked away from him, not wanting him to see
any emotion in her eyes, any telltale sign of affection. “I'd worry about anyone taking the kinds of risks you are,” she said briskly.

He tightened his arms around her and for a moment she closed her eyes and pretended it meant something, something more than lust, something more than sheer physical attraction.

“Hey, Mark, buddy.” Billy Carr slapped a hand on Mark's back. “How about I cut in and take the little lady for a twirl.”

Mark grinned one of his patented empty smiles at Billy. “She doesn't want to twirl. She wants to dance, and I'm dancing with her.”

“Yeah, well, maybe she'd rather dance with a man who isn't one taco shy of a combination plate,” Billy said, then laughed as if he'd said something incredibly witty.

“Actually, I hate tacos, but I love dancing with Mark,” April said coolly, satisfied when Billy's smile instantly fell.

“When I'm able to reclaim my intelligence, the first thing I'm going to do is fire his ass,” Mark said as Billy stalked away.

“Does he say things like that often?”

“All the time.” He offered her a wry grin. “If you want to learn the true character of people, just act like you're mentally challenged. It brings out the worst and the best in people.”

“But you're betraying the people closest to you with this act,” April protested.

His eyes darkened, became tormented. “You mean my family? I can't forget what Marietta said, April. I
can't forget that it's possible my family is intimately involved in whatever the hell is going on here.”

She was teetering on the verge of falling in love with Mark Delaney. The realization struck her with the force of a lightning bolt. And it came at an odd time, right there on the dance floor in the midst of a budding argument.

April walked back to the table and sat down once again, afraid her legs wouldn't hold her as she faced the truth that sang in her heart.

Loving Mark would be a ridiculously foolish thing to do and yet she didn't know how to stop her heart from feeling for him, caring about him, worrying about him…loving him.

She rubbed her forehead, wondering what kind of weakness she possessed, what character flaw it was that made her vulnerable to loving the wrong men. How on earth could she possibly be falling in love with a man who was proving himself quite adept at deceiving his entire family?

M
ark had never been so frustrated in his life. And the frustration seemed to batter him from all sides. He was tired of playing the fool. Forcing the empty smile was becoming more and more difficult. Pretending not to understand the events going on around him was becoming torturous.

Sheriff Broder had not returned with any more questions, and Mark had spent hours agonizing over whether he should go and talk to the sheriff about what little he knew. Broder's investigation appeared to be stymied, and Mark's personal investigation was just as dead.

He'd spent an entire week hidden by the cloak of night, watching the old barn and hoping to discover what Marietta had apparently known. Nothing had happened. The barn had remained empty and dark, and Mark's frustration had grown by leaps and bounds.

Twice in the past week Johnna had threatened to walk away from the ranch and the will. It had taken talks from both Matthew and Mark to convince her to give the arrangement more time.

It wasn't just the mystery and the uncertainty of the ranch's future that filled him with frustration. It was also April. April with her halo hair and winsome green eyes. The week he'd spent away from her had been a torment.

He'd gotten accustomed to spending time at her place in the evenings, small talking as they went over Marietta's file. He'd made a conscious decision to stay away, but it had been the most difficult thing he'd ever done.

But he'd wanted to make sure she understood their lovemaking had changed nothing between them. Unfortunately, things had changed for him, and the week away from her had only underscored the changes.

He missed her smiles and her low, sexy laughter. He missed the way her eyes warmed and sparkled as she spoke of her son, how they darkened and grew luminous when she talked about her past.

He wanted her again, wanted her with every fiber of his being. And he didn't just want her body. He didn't just want her kisses and her caresses. He wanted her smiles and her laughter. He wanted her memories and her disappointments, her successes and her dreams.

But he didn't want her love. And he absolutely refused to consider loving her. The Delaneys weren't good at love, and Mark refused to put himself in the position of letting down another woman.

Still, that didn't stop him from seeking her out. It
was early evening when he left the main house and walked toward her cottage, hungry to spend some time in her company.

The past three days had been busy ones as nearly all the guests had been eager to ride, and he'd spent most of those days saddling horses and leading trail rides.

Tonight the ranch was quiet. The town of Inferno was having an ice-cream social and most of the guests had gone to it. April's car was parked out in front of her cottage, so he knew she hadn't gone into town.

He knocked on her door, a rush of anticipation sweeping through him. When she opened the door, her eyes widened in surprise. “Mark,” she said, and there was pleasure in her voice, a pleasure that pulled an evocative joy through him.

“Hi. Things are quiet around the old homestead, so I thought I'd drop by for a visit.”

“Come in.” She stepped aside to allow him entry.

Instantly he saw that the room had been transformed by personal touches and items of hers. An eight-by-ten framed photo of her and Brian now graced the space where an old landscape print had been. Rose-colored throw pillows had been added to the sofa, along with a like-colored silk floral arrangement in the center of the coffee table.

“You've added things,” he said.

She nodded. “I wasn't going to, but Brian insisted.” She gestured him toward the sofa. “I think he needed our things filling the room in order to give him a sense of permanence, no matter how false it might be.”

“So, you know things have been shaky the past week.” He sat on the sofa.

She nodded and joined him on the opposite end of the sofa. “Matthew set me up sharing an office in the house with Walter Tilley. Walter mentioned that Johnna was talking about forgetting the terms of the will.”

Mark frowned. “Walter shouldn't be discussing family business outside of the family.”

“I don't think he meant any harm.” April hurried to the small, dapper man's defense.

Mark sighed. “I know you're right. Walter's a good man.” He raked a hand through his hair, then leaned back and eyed her curiously. “If the ranch is sold, what will you and Brian do?”

She leaned back, as well. The rose-colored pillows behind her appeared to pull a becoming color to her cheeks. “I don't know. I know I won't go back to Tulsa.” She frowned. “I'll probably try to find a position with a hotel. Maybe Tucson. I hear there's work there.”

“Brian will be disappointed if you have to leave here,” Mark said. “Speaking of Brian, where is he?”

She pointed to the closed bedroom door. “I took him to the library yesterday and he checked out a bunch of books about cowboys. He's been poring over them ever since.”

Mark smiled, thinking of the young boy. “He grills me about cowboys every morning when we're working together in the stables.”

“Brian is convinced that cowboys are the heroes of the world.” She rubbed her forehead, as if a headache were bothering her. Mark fought the impulse to
reach out and rub it for her. “He thinks cowboys are all good men, men who would never leave their wives and children.”

“Well, you know that's a fantasy. Cowboys are just like any other men. There are good ones and bad ones.”

She stopped rubbing her forehead and eyed him curiously. “And which kind are you, Mark Delaney? A good cowboy or a bad one?”

His initial instinct was to whip off a humorous reply, but the seriousness in her tone and the intensity of her gaze stopped him. He thought for a moment. He wanted to say he was one of the good cowboys, but the thoughts he was entertaining about her at that very moment were distinctly disreputable.

Before he could reply, Brian came out of his bedroom. “Mark!” His face lit with pleasure. “I didn't hear you come in.” He plopped down between Mark and April on the sofa.

“Your mom says you've been reading up about cowboys,” Mark said.

Brian nodded. “I got a whole bunch of books from the library. Can you read, Mark?” It was an innocent question from an innocent child, but it pointed directly to the deception Mark had been living for more than a month.

“Sure,” he replied.

“You know how to play cards?” Brian asked.

“What kind of cards?”

“Poker.” Brian leaned toward him eagerly. “Cowboys play poker.” He looked from Mark to his mother, then back again. “Why don't the three of us play some poker right now?”

“Brian, honey, I'm sure Mark isn't interested in—”

“Sounds like fun to me,” Mark interrupted April with a wink. “We cowboys never turn down a hot game of poker.”

“I'll go get a deck of cards.” Brian jumped off the sofa and raced for his room.

“You don't have to do this,” April said as she and Mark moved from the sofa to the small table.

“I know that. I wanted to.” He grinned. “And I think you and I should make a little side wager.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of a side wager?”

“The winner gets to kiss the loser.”

She laughed in protest. It was that low, sexy laugh that made him want to sweep her into his arms and make love to her right then and there.

“What's the matter?” he teased. “Scared of a little kiss?”

“Of course not,” she replied, her cheeks flushing with color. “You're on,” she said just as Brian flew back into the room.

They played for toothpicks, and it didn't take Mark long to realize several things. Brian never bluffed. If he bet, he usually had a winning hand.

April liked to bluff, but each time before she did, she toyed with a strand of her hair, unconsciously letting Mark know she was misleading him. She also played to win, her eyes flashing with a competitiveness he found charming.

For Mark, it was an evening unlike any he'd ever experienced. The warmth of love that existed between Brian and April seemed to spill over on him. The
shared laughter felt good, and he realized this was what family felt like—warmth, laughter, good times.

He reached back in his memories for one single time he'd experienced the same kind of feelings with his own family. There were none.

You can make memories for yourself, a small voice whispered inside him. You can make memories with this woman and this needy boy. You could build a family with them and fill the hunger inside you.

He mentally shook his head to still the voice that whispered of forgotten dreams and fantasies. It had been those kinds of foolish dreams that had led him into his relationship with Rachel. But she had seen through the fantasy and recognized that Mark didn't have the qualities it took to be a husband and a father.

But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy this night of shared laughter and warmth with Brian and April. That didn't mean he wasn't fighting overwhelming desire for April.

The desire that raged inside him was fed by his thigh brushing April's beneath the table, their hands meeting over the cards. Her smile seared heat through him, and the memory of their lovemaking stoked the flames even higher.

They played for a couple of hours, then took a break so April could make popcorn. Mark used the opportunity to step outside and stretch in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension that tightened his muscles.

Brian walked out with him and mimicked Mark's movements, stretching with arms overhead. “Nice night,” he commented.

Mark hid a smile at Brian's attempt to make adult small talk. “Sure is,” he agreed.

“You think my mom is pretty?”

Mark looked at the young boy with surprise. “Sure, she's real pretty.”

Brian nodded, as if satisfied. “She's a real good cook, too. And sometimes when I'm sick, she rubs my back and she has really soft, nice hands.”

Mark knew intimately the qualities of April's hands…how her fingers could dance over heated flesh, how they grasped his shoulders when he'd taken her.

“Hey, guys,” April called from the doorway, “popcorn is ready.”

The scent of the buttery snack drew him inside. As they resumed their card playing, Mark tried to ignore the craving April stirred in him. But he couldn't.

And he knew she felt it, too. Physical awareness spun in the air between them, a shimmering thread of want that connected them on an ethereal level.

He could tell she felt it, in the way she pulled her hand back too quickly when they touched and the way she averted her gaze from his.

At midnight they called a halt to the game. Brian's eyelids were drooping, and it was obvious it was past his bedtime.

“This was fun,” Brian said as he got up from the table. He walked to where Mark still sat and in a surprising gesture threw his arms around Mark's neck. “Thanks, Mark.” He hurried to his bedroom, as if embarrassed by his spontaneous display of affection.

Mark picked up the cards as April tucked her son
into bed. Brian's hug had unsettled Mark, opening his heart in a way that it had not been before.

He remembered the brief conversation they'd had outside, when Brian listed April's attributes in an obvious matchmaking attempt. The last thing Mark wanted to do was fall into Brian's fantasy, play to the boy's need for a father.

He stood as April reentered the living room. “Guess I'd better get out of here,” he said. “Morning comes early.”

She stepped outside with him. The warm night air wrapped around them, and the stars winked down from the black velvet sky.

“It was fun, Mark.” Her voice was soft, and she stood close enough to him that her floral scent teased him.

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped off the porch.

“Aren't you going to collect on your bet?”

He turned to look at her, intending to laugh off the silly bet. But any laughter that might have surfaced died as desire welled up inside him.

There was an aching vulnerability in her eyes, a sweet acceptance of whatever he chose to give her, or whatever he chose to withhold.

He pulled his hands from his pockets and rejoined her on the porch, unable to fight what felt so inevitable. Before he even reached for her, she tilted her face upward in anticipation of their kiss.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her tight to him, the desire he'd fought all evening now wild and running through his veins. Her mouth opened beneath his, welcoming him.

An eternity seemed to pass before he finally broke the kiss, breathless and hungry for more. The intensity of his hunger shocked him. He'd thought that making love to her that first and only time would be enough to satisfy him. But that initial experience had only stirred a deeper, more profound hunger inside him.

He dropped his arms from around her and swallowed hard, fighting to control his need for her. He didn't want to need her. He didn't want to need anyone.

“I'll see you later,” he said, then turned and walked away, mentally running as fast as he could to escape his own disturbing emotions.

 

April remained on her porch for several long minutes, drawing in deep breaths of air in an attempt to ease the tension that coiled tightly inside her.

Mark's kiss had stirred longing—the longing to once again be held in his arms, to feel his naked body against her own. Her entire being ached with the memory of making love with him, and she wanted it to happen again and again and again.

She sank down on the stoop and tilted her head back so she had a panoramic view of the sky overhead. It was impossible to blame her feelings on a coyote moon. That phase had passed and now only half a moon was apparent in the sky.

For so long, the sum total of her self-identity had been as a mother and caregiver. Now Mark made her feel vibrantly alive as a desirable woman. She'd almost forgotten how wonderfully compelling that could feel.