Carla Cassidy - Man on a Mission

“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?