Man on a Mission

April laughed. “Meat loaf isn’t particularly a favorite of mine, anyway.”

She was overly conscious of his nearness, of the scent of him wrapping around her as he walked close enough that she could feel the heat from his body.

“Wow, look!” Brian pointed to a store up ahead, where the window display consisted of a half-dozen ornate saddles and matching bridles.

“That’s the tack shop and next to it is the post office,” Mark said.

As he pointed out various places of interest, it was easy for April to forget that he was mentally impaired. He exuded an enthusiasm that was contagious and a candor that was refreshing.

He’d be easy to spend time with, she thought. A good companion who held no threat either emotionally or financially. A friend. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a friend, and the concept of Mark filling that space in her life warmed her. Perhaps warmed her a tad too much, she thought ruefully.

They stopped when they had gone completely around the square and were back to where April’s car was parked.

“I’ve got stuff to do at some other stores,” Mark said. “I’ll just meet you back here in a few minutes.”

April watched helplessly as he ambled down the sidewalk away from her and Brian. He walked with a masculine grace and for a moment April was completely engrossed in watching the slight sway of his slender hips and the awesome width of his shoulders.

She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake in letting him go off on his own. She’d hate to have to go back to the ranch and tell Matthew Delaney that she’d lost his brother.

“Mom?” Brian stared at her impatiently. “Are we going food shopping or what?”

“Yes, we’re going food shopping,” she said. As she and Brian entered the small grocery store, she shoved her concerns about Mark aside. She had more important concerns—like how to buy the maximum amount of food with a minimum amount of cash.

Mark had discovered that an eleven-year-old boy could be a veritable font of information. Through Brian’s early-morning chatter, Mark had learned that April was almost thirty years old, her favorite color was turquoise and sometimes at night she cried when she thought Brian couldn’t hear her.

When Rachel had left Mark three years ago and married Samuel Rogers from the ranch nearest the Delaney place, Mark had sworn that he’d never get involved with any woman again.

Rachel had taken his heart, then twisted and mashed it when she’d told him she’d never believed any of the Delaney men would make good husbands or fathers. A month before their wedding date, she’d broken off the relationship and had left Mark bloody and defeated in the arena of romance.

Deep down he knew Rachel had been right in her assessment of him. None of the Delaney men was a good husband or father prospect. Even Johnna hadn’t managed to find a relationship that worked for her.

When she’d been eighteen, she’d dated the bad boy of town, Jerrod McCain, but Jerrod had disappeared from her life before her miscarriage, and as far as Mark knew, Johnna had never allowed anyone close to her again.

Matthew had always been too obsessed with the ranch to sustain any relationships, and Luke played at love, enjoying his image as a wild, untamed rake.

The Delaneys were definitely stunted in their ability to maintain any kind of relationship with the opposite sex. Unsurprising, considering they didn’t even have good relationships with each other.

No, Mark didn’t want a romance with April. He recognized his own inability, the inadequacies in himself that made him a bad candidate for romance. But that didn’t mean his fingers didn’t itch to touch the gold of April’s hair, and he had to confess the scent of her stirred him like no woman had in a very long time.

He walked into the Western clothing store, the small cowbell over the door announcing to the owner that somebody had entered the premises.

“Mark,” John Shaffer, the owner of Western Wear, greeted him with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. His grizzled brow wrinkled in concern as he pumped Mark’s hand. “How you feeling? I haven’t seen you since your accident.”

“I’m okay.”

John’s hand was warm around Mark’s. “I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man, Mark.”

Mark nodded, surprised that the kind words about his father brought a lump to his throat. “Matthew says I need some new jeans.” Mark forced himself to smile the empty expression that he’d perfected over the past several weeks.

John released his hand. “Oh, sure. We can get you set up with a new pair of jeans.”

Mark didn’t miss the look of pity that flashed momentarily across John’s features. Pity. That was the worst part of his subterfuge. The pity he saw on good people’s faces, and the smirking derision he saw on not-so-good people’s faces.

At least he had yet to see pity on April’s face. He’d seen curiosity, bewilderment and interest, but thankfully not pity.

It took only minutes for Mark to get the jeans and charge them to the Delaney account. As he was leaving the store, his attention was captured by the hat display. The wall section held hats of various sizes and styles, including one just like Mark’s, only sized to fit a boy’s head.

It’s not my job to buy that boy a hat, Mark told himself as he moved closer to the display. That kid is nothing to me but a part-time helper in the stables.

He already regretted the impulse that had prompted him to be friendly to April and Brian. He had no time for any kind of relationships, and Rachel had made it quite clear he wasn’t very good at them. He needed to back away from April and her son. He was pretending to be something he was not, and there was no guarantee they were going to manage to keep the ranch, no guarantee that April would be around for long.

Despite his internal protests to the contrary, he walked out of the store with both the jeans and the hat. In the distance he saw April and Brian exiting the grocery store, a cart laden with bags in front of them.

Perfect timing, he thought as he hurried toward them. When he reached them, April had opened the trunk and was beginning to unload the bags.

“Here, I’ll do that.” He threw his packages into one corner of the trunk, then began to unload the shopping cart.

“You should see all the good stuff Mom bought,” Brian said, dancing around Mark like a young colt with too much energy. “She bought frozen pizzas and cookies and chips.”

“Hmm, sounds good,” Mark said.

“And she bought chopped meat and said I could make hamburgers one night. Maybe you could eat dinner with us and taste my specialty burgers.” The boy’s need was in his eyes, the need to connect, and it was fierce in its hunger.

“Maybe,” Mark replied without commitment, realizing he definitely needed to put some distance between him and them. Brian’s hunger was too great, and Mark definitely wasn’t the man to fulfill the young boy’s needs. Whatever Brian was looking for in his life, whatever April might be seeking, Mark wasn’t the answer and never would be.

“Mark Delaney!”

The familiar feminine voice worked like cat claws on a blackboard, shooting irritation straight up his spine. He straightened from the trunk and eyed the attractive red-haired woman bearing down on them.

Molly Weiser. Mark stifled a groan. Of all the people in this world, there were two Mark hated coming face-to-face with—the first was Molly, followed closely by the devil himself.

“Mark, darling.”

Before he could successfully weave and dodge, he found himself embraced in a cloud of honeysuckle perfume, large silicon breasts pressed firmly against his chest.

“Molly…” He pulled her away from him and pointed to April. “This is my friend April and her son, Brian.”

“Hi, I’m April Cartwright. I’m working for the Delaneys,” April said.

“Indeed.” Molly’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. She looked to Mark and back to April. “And from all appearances, you’re a fast worker.”

April’s friendly smile faltered, and Mark wanted to throttle Molly, who turned back to Mark and grabbed his hand. “Darling, I’ve been wanting to see you since all the trouble, but that dreadful older brother of yours is quite off-putting. I’ve heard some stories that have had me worried sick about you.”

“I’m fine.” Mark pulled his hand from hers and grinned like a loony fool. “How are you?”

Molly’s brow wrinkled with concern, and he could see the wheels turning in her head. He knew what stories she’d probably heard—that he was addle brained—and he also knew she was weighing her options.

Molly was determined to marry a Delaney. She’d initially set her sights on Matthew, but when he refused to respond to her advances, she’d honed in on Mark. She’d been pursuing him for months. Now Mark was certain she was trying to decide if half a Delaney might not be just as good as a whole Delaney.