Man on a Mission by Carla Cassidy Page A

April had her difficult talk with Mark.
    She had to make him understand that they could be friends. But friends didn’t kiss with such depth and longing, and friends didn’t look at each other as if they wanted to devour the other.
    As the heat of his touch slowly ebbed, she reiterated in her mind that, definitely, it was time to have a talk with Mark.
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    As Mark sat at the table with mother and son, he studied April. She looked particularly fetching in a feminine pink blouse that brought a blush of color to her cheeks.
    A surge of desire welled up inside him, and his fingers tingled with the tactile memory of the feel of her skin as he’d removed the lasso from around her.
    â€œSo…what do you think?” Brian asked, interrupting Mark’s thoughts. He pointed to the hamburger Mark was eating.
    â€œIt’s really good, Brian.” Mark smiled at the boy, who eyed him eagerly. “You’re a real good cook.”
    Brian beamed beneath the praise. “I couldn’t make them like I usually do ’cause we didn’t have all the spices I needed, but I did the best I could.”
    â€œThey’re terrific, Brian,” April said, her gaze soft and loving as it rested on her son.
    A flash of memory swept through Mark…a memory of his own mother gazing at him in that very same way. The memory surprised him with its vividness.
    He’d been five years old when his mother had died giving birth to Johnna and he hadn’t realized the depth of his deprivation until this moment, seeing April gaze at Brian.
    He wondered how different his relationship with his siblings and his father would have been had his mother lived. Would she have provided the warmth, the commitment to family, the unconditional love that had been lacking under his father’s care?
    He shoved these thoughts aside, knowing nothingcould be gained by wondering what if. What seemed more important at the moment was trying to decide if he could trust April Cartwright with his secret.
    â€œI met your sister today,” April said.
    Mark raised an eyebrow. “You did?”
    She nodded. “She brought by a detailed list of the first guests who’ll be here. She seemed very nice.”
    Mark almost laughed aloud. Few people found Johnna nice. She was usually abrasive, hardheaded and driven. If she had been nice to April, then there was probably an ulterior motive.
    â€œJohnna’s a lawyer,” Mark said. “A defense lawyer, but now she has to spend part of her time working the ranch because that’s what my father’s will says.”
    â€œWere you sad when your dad died?” Brian asked.
    Mark hesitated before replying. It would be easy to say no, to tell the boy that Adam had been a heartless bastard and the world was better off without him.
    That was what Mark wanted to believe, because it made his father’s death easier to accept. It made the poor connection between them his father’s fault and not Mark’s.
    â€œYeah, I was sad,” he finally answered, and in his simple statement, he recognized the truth. He was sad, sad for all the lost years, sad for what he and Adam would never have.
    â€œMy dad isn’t dead, but he makes me sad,” Brian said softly.
    Mark saw the pain that darkened April’s lovely eyes at her son’s words. He wondered what had happened to her marriage.
    For some reason the sadness in her eyes and thegentle touch of her hand to her son’s touched him deeply. Through the rest of the meal the talk remained pleasant. Both Brian and April asked him questions about the daily running of the ranch when guests were present, and he answered them as well as he could if he were truly suffering some sort of brain damage.
    It was frustrating as hell to pretend he didn’t have the mental faculties of an intelligent man. He found himself watching every word, carefully weighing each response.
    He wished he could just throw caution to the