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
