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“Thank you,” April replied.
“Don’t thank me,” Matthew said. “You can thank Mark.” Without another word he turned and left the doorway.
Mark stepped out onto the porch, bringing with him the scent of a freshly showered male.
“Maybe we should just go,” April said. It was obvious Matthew Delaney wasn’t pleased with even giving the reprieve of a night. “Matthew didn’t seem too happy.”
“Matthew is my brother, and he’s never happy,” Mark replied. “It’s all right. Come on, I’ll show you.” When she hesitated, again he smiled that wondrously warm smile. “Come on,” he repeated.
April followed him from the porch and gestured for her son to join them. Brian bounded from the car, all skinny arms and legs. His face was lit with eagerness.
“Brian, this is Mark. Mark, this is my son, Brian.”
“How do you do, sir?” Brian said.
Mark grinned widely, as if Brian had told a joke. “My name isn’t sir, it’s Mark.”
Brian looked at April, a question in his gaze. April shook her head, indicating to him that they’d talk later.
Mark led them around the huge, rambling ranch house. To the left of the house were the guest quarters, attractive little cottages, which at the moment were empty.
When April had spoken with Adam Delaney a week before, she’d been told that the ranch had two dark months a year, months when they didn’t take guests, one month in the spring and one month in the fall. The down time was used for major repairs and cleaning. This was the last two weeks of the spring down time.
In two weeks time, the dude ranch would be jumping with guests, families and newlyweds, young couples and old, all here to enjoy the novelty of the Old West that the resort offered, unless, as Matthew Delaney had indicated, Adam’s death was also the demise of the highly reputed dude ranch.
April was intensely conscious of the man next to her. He walked with a loose-hipped gait just shy of a swagger. He was all man yet, in his eyes, in his smile, he appeared rather simple.
As they walked, the midday sun beat down with relentless heat, and thick dust rode a breeze that seemed to spew straight from a blast furnace.
She struggled for small talk, but was too tired, too hot and too disheartened. Besides, she couldn’t very well comment on the beauty of their surroundings. There was nothing but barrenness. A land suffering sunstroke. Scrub grass struggled to survive in the blistered red earth, where cacti seemed to be the only vegetation that flourished.
Inferno, Arizona. The tiny town southwest of Tucson, near the Mexican border, was to have been the place for her to start fresh, begin to build something good.
She was in the middle of hell, with no job, no money and an eleven-year-old boy who’d been angry at the world for the past two months.
Behind the big house was another group of out-buildings, these less attractive and smaller than the guest bungalows. “Number three,” Mark said, breaking the silence between them. He stepped up on the small porch and thumped the black numeral nailed to the door. “See, number three.”
Again Brian looked at April, as if sensing something not quite right with the tall, handsome cowboy. “Thank you, Mark,” she said.
A pleasant smile curved his lips. “Welcome,” he returned, then clapped Brian on the back. “Come on, let’s get your stuff from the car.”
“You don’t have to do that,” April protested. He’d already done enough by convincing his brother to allow them to stay for the night.
“I can do it,” Mark replied. “I’m strong.”
Oh, there was no doubt he was strong. His broad chest and thick biceps attested to that fact. He was strong but seemed gentle at the same time.
“Let us guys do it, Mom,” Brian said.
A lump rose in her throat and she nodded. She watched as Mark and Brian went back to her parked car.
Brian matched his stride to that of Mark’s, looking achingly youthful as he struggled to keep up. He’d been so excited about living on a real dude ranch with horses and cows and wide-open spaces.
How was she going to tell him that they were only here for the night? She’d made so many promises to him, certain that finally things were going to go their way for a change.
With a weary sigh she stepped into the small bungalow. It was a cheerless place, furnished with bland, utilitarian furniture. Next to the kitchenette was a narrow, drop-leaf table and two chairs. The living room contained a wall of shelves, a sofa bed and an Early-American coffee table, whose base was shaped like a wagon wheel. In each of the two bedrooms was a double bed and a small chest of drawers.
At least there’s a shower, she thought as she went into the bathroom. At the moment a shower sounded divine.
When she heard the sound of footsteps on the porch, she left the bathroom. Mark entered first, carrying two suitcases. Brian followed just behind him with the ice chest that contained the last of the fruit and cheese they’d nibbled on the ride.
“We have to make another trip to get the rest of it,” Brian said.
“That’s enough for now,” April replied. No sense unloading everything from the car when they would only be packing it again tomorrow.
Mark set the suitcases just inside the door, then walked over and turned on the window air conditioner. “You’ll fry like bacon if you don’t use this.”
Brian looked around, then called to his mother, “Which bedroom is going to be mine?”
“You can have the bigger of the two,” she replied, dreading the moment she had to tell him it was only for one night.
She smiled once more at Mark. “Thank you again for your help. We’ll be fine now.”
He reached out and took her hand in his. Instantly warmth seeped up her arm. She held his hand for a moment too long, wanting to convey to him how grateful she was for the reprieve he’d granted them.
When she finally dropped his hand, she was startled to see a flash of…something in his eyes. It was there only a moment, then gone.
“You’ll be fine,” he agreed. Again he smiled a sweet, uncomplicated smile. “I’ll be back later.” With this promise he turned and left them alone.
“He’s nice, but something isn’t working right,” Brian said as he tapped the side of his head.
He’d been more than nice, April thought, and his smile had reached inside her and touched her like none had in a very long time.
Perhaps because it had been such a nonthreatening, gentle smile. No cunning, no shrewdness, nothing but innocent pleasure. The smile of innocence and yet it had warmed her like that of a man’s.
She shook her head, dismissing all thoughts of Mark Delaney. She had more important things to think about—like the fact that come morning, they’d be back on the road to nowhere.
As Mark walked toward the stables, he wondered what had prompted him to come to April Cartwright’s rescue. Had it been because her hair was the rich-gold of a daisy, or because her dewy, green eyes had radiated the promise of spring—something Inferno, Arizona, didn’t normally enjoy?
Or had it simply been because he’d felt her desperation, sensed a disturbing resignation? She’d looked so small, so defenseless when Matthew had told her there was no position available.
Adam had promised her a job, and now Adam was gone. A shaft of pain pierced through Mark as he thought of his father.
He grieved not so much for the man who had died, but for the fact that now he and his father would never be anything more than what they’d been to each other—virtual strangers.
Shoving aside these thoughts, he entered the stable. As always the scent of oiled leather, fresh hay and horseflesh filled him with pleasure and a sense of homecoming.
The horses had always been his family, the stable his home. As he walked down the center of the building, the horses in their stalls on either side greeted him with soft whinnies and welcoming nickers.
He whispered soft words to each animal he passed, pausing to stroke a mane or scratch behind an ear. There was no sound of another human being, and Mark knew the men who worked for the ranch would be on their lunch break.
What had happened to April and Brian Cartwright? No money and no place to go. What kicks had life delivered to them that had landed them here, broke and hopeless?
He couldn’t very well ask such questions. He wasn’t supposed to be bright enough to understand such things.
Frowning, he reached up and touched the back of his head. In the past three weeks, the wound had nearly healed, although he’d led everyone to believe the assault had left behind inexplicable brain damage.
Although the physical wounds were mending, he was still suffering from a disturbing rage. He was racked by the need to discover who had attacked him with a shovel and who had killed Marietta Lopez.
A vision of Marietta exploded in his mind. Dancing dark eyes and a generous smile, the attractive young woman had been a favorite among both guests and the other workers at the ranch.
But the last time Mark had seen her, she hadn’t been smiling and the light in her eyes hadn’t danced. Her eyes had shone with the darkness of secrets. She’d been afraid.
How he wished he had a clue as to her murderer and what secrets she hadn’t had the opportunity to share with him. How he wished she’d been as hardheaded as he was, then perhaps the blow from the shovel wouldn’t have killed her.
Was it possible he’d seen something in April’s eyes that had reminded him of Marietta’s that night? The same kind of fear, the same expression of anxiety?
April. Her eyes had been the brightest green he’d ever seen and something in their depths had stirred him—a slight wariness, a vulnerability. The look of a dog that desperately wanted a soft touch, but anticipated a swift kick.
She’d said she’d been hired by his father as social director. The position had opened up when Marietta had been murdered.
If, at the family meeting at dinnertime, his brothers, Matthew and Luke, and his sister, Johnna, decided to abide by the terms of their father’s will and work the ranch together for the next year, then they would need a social director.
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.
Chapter 2
“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.”
