the cooler when Brian had nearly upended it when he’d grabbed it from the back seat of their car. It had been a scant amount of fruit, several hunks of cheese and a couple cans of soda.
As he’d eaten his dinner of roast and potatoes, fresh corn and homemade bread, he’d thought of them dining on their pitiful fare and had decided a care basket was in order.
Matthew walked the others to the front door, and Mark made his escape into the kitchen. Lucinda, the woman who’d been cooking for the Delaney family for as long as Mark could remember, had already left for the night. The enormous kitchen was spotless, but Mark knew there were always plenty of leftovers in the refrigerator.
He grabbed a basket from the pantry, then checked out the contents of the large, stainless steel refrigerator. Spying several pieces of fried chicken from the night before, he wrapped them in foil and put them into a basket. He added a container of potato salad, a small tub of baked beans and bread and butter.
Then, thinking of the boy, he wrapped up half of the chocolate cake Lucinda had baked that day and added it to the basket.
He left by the back door, catching his breath as he stepped from the cool of the house into the heat of the evening. It was mid-May, but already the temperatures were consistently hitting the century mark.
As he walked toward the cottages, once again his thoughts went to the role he’d chosen to play. Initially he’d just wanted to buy himself some time, to gain enough distance from that night with Marietta in order to make sense of it all.
As soon as he’d started the pretense, he’d noticed something interesting. People talked in front of him as if he wasn’t present. It was an odd phenomenon, one he had recognized years before when they’d had a Down’s syndrome man working for them. Mark had noticed how people spoke in front of the man about things they would never confide to anyone else, as if confident he would never repeat, or understand, what they were saying.
And that was exactly what Mark was counting on now. Already he’d noticed the ranch hands spoke more freely in front of him than they ever had in the past. And in that freedom, Mark hoped to glean clues about Marietta’s murder and whatever it was she had believed threatened the very existence of the ranch.
He shoved these thoughts aside as he reached cottage number three. He was surprised as an eager anticipation surged through him.
Now that they had decided to keep the ranch running for at least three months, April and Brian would be able to stay. Somehow, he’d make sure of it. He didn’t stop to analyze why it was important to him that they remain at the ranch. It was enough that she reminded him of spring.
He shifted the basket from one hand to the other, then knocked on the door.
She answered almost immediately, and it was obvious she had recently stepped out of a shower. Her hair was curly and damp and she smelled of soap and shampoo. She was clad in a mint-colored, sleeveless shift that skimmed her slenderness and stopped just above her knees.
“Mark.” Her eyes widened as she saw him.
“I brought a surprise,” he said, and held up the basket.
“A surprise?” A tiny wrinkle furrowed her brow as she gazed first at him, then at the basket. “Please come in.” She stepped aside to allow him entry, then closed the door behind her to stop the flow of heat into the air-conditioned room.
A small suitcase was open on the sofa, revealing pastel-colored lacy things, and the sight of those feminine items caused a flutter of heat to sweep through Mark.
He set the basket on the table, wondering what it was about this particular woman that affected him on a level that nobody else had for a very long time.
He’d been invulnerable, untouchable both physically and mentally when it came to women since Rachel’s defection three years ago.
“What’s all this?” she asked, peering into the basket.
“Dinner.”
Her eyes appeared to grow impossibly luminous. “Oh,” she said softly. “Mark, you shouldn’t have done this.”
“Why not? It’s good food.” He rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets.
She laughed, a musical sound that was at once arresting. “I’m sure it’s good food.”
“Then eat,” Mark replied. He pulled his hands from his pocket and began to unload the items from the basket. “Where’s your boy?” he asked when he’d finished.
She pointed toward the closed bedroom door. “He’s angry.”
“Why?” Mark went to the cabinet and pulled out two plates and set them on the table.
Again her brow crinkled with a frown, and he could tell she was trying to determine whether to tell him. “I had promised Brian we were going to stay here, that I was going to have a job here. Now he’s angry because there’s no job and we’ll be leaving in the morning.”
“You’re going to stay,” Mark replied confidently. He walked over to the bedroom door and rapped on it, then smiled at April. “We had a family meeting. The ranch is going to stay open and you will have a job.”
“But your father hired me, and now he’s gone. Perhaps your brother will want to interview—”
“You have the job,” Mark interrupted her, then knocked once again on the door. “Brian, come out.”
The door opened and Brian stepped out, a mulish expression on his face. “What?” he said with more than a touch of belligerence.
“Come and eat,” Mark said.
“I’m not hungry,” Brian said, but he moved closer to the table, and his eyes widened at the sight of the chocolate cake. “Well, maybe I could eat just a little,” he said and slid into one of the chairs at the table.
“Go on,” Mark urged April into the other chair, then he shoved the suitcase over and sank onto the sofa.
“This was so incredibly kind of you,” April said, her gaze so warm on him, he could feel the heat clear down to his toes.
He nodded and fell silent, afraid of saying too much, not wanting to expose himself, yet wishing to hell he could reveal himself to her.
He wanted to know where she and Brian were from, how Adam had come to hire her, what forces had driven her here. He wanted to know if her skin was as soft as it looked, if it would be warm and inviting beneath his touch.
And he wanted to know why her beautiful, thick-lashed eyes emitted such fragility. He had a feeling keeping up his act with her was going to be the most difficult thing he’d ever done.
April ate self-consciously, unsure what to make of the man who sat on the sofa. His kindness in bringing them dinner had nearly undone her, and it was only with enormous effort that she hadn’t cried.
She only picked at the food on her plate, finding Mark Delaney far more interesting than chicken and beans. He was a fascinating dichotomy, his face an arresting contrast of darkness and light.
With his strong, bold features, short black
