Man on a Mission by Carla Cassidy

his hands from his pockets. “It’s old and dirty.”
    â€œYes, but it could be cleaned up,” she replied.
    Mark shrugged. “You’d have to ask Matthew.”
    She nodded. “What are you doing here?”
    He shrugged again. “I just like to come here sometimes.” He frowned, the gesture doing nothing to detract from his attractiveness. “I come here and try to remember how I was before…”
    â€œMr. Tilley told me what happened to you.”
    â€œI got hurt bad, but Marietta got killed.” His eyes were suddenly shadowed with the darkness of grief. “And then my daddy died.” He threaded a hand through his thick, dark hair and sighed.
    â€œWant something to drink?” he asked suddenly, and in the blink of his eyes the grief was gone.
    â€œNo, thanks. Could you point me in the right direction to get back to the ranch?”
    â€œYou can’t walk back in the dark. I’m ready to leave. I’ll take you back.” He dug into his pocket and retrieved a set of keys.
    April preceded him out of the house and watched as he carefully locked up the place, then put the keys back in his pocket. With the ease of plenty of experience, he gracefully mounted the large horse, then held out his hand to her.
    â€œI could just walk beside you,” she protested.
    He grinned that slow, sexy smile that sent her pulse racing. “You afraid of horses? Or are you afraid of me?”
    She felt the blush that stole over her features. “Neither,” she lied. Although the truth was she was a little afraid of both.
    â€œIt’s okay,” he said.
    Swallowing her misgivings, she reached for his hand.
    In one motion that spoke of the strength of his shoulders and arms, he easily lifted her up so she straddled the saddle in front of him.
    As Mark settled into the saddle behind her, she realized she had nothing to worry about where the horse was concerned. However, Mark’s intimate closeness was another thing altogether.
    His arms encircled her as he grabbed the reins. His masculine scent surrounded her, a heady scent that teased her senses and seemed to heat the blood flowing inside her.
    She held herself stiffly erect, trying to ignore the feel of his thighs against hers, his groin pressed tightly against her bottom. The movement of the horse as they headed back to the ranch only exacerbated the intimacy of their bodies.
    April was grateful he didn’t try to carry on a conversation. She wasn’t sure she could respond. Her entire concentration was completely used up in processing overwhelming physical sensations.
    The rough rub of Mark’s denim jeans against her bare legs felt erotic, the warmth of his arms surrounding her encouraged her to lean back and accept the full tactile pleasure of his body so close to hers. But she didn’t. She remained rigidly upright, trying to maintain what little distance she could from him.
    It wasn’t until the horse began to move faster, jostling her up and down uncomfortably in the saddlethat Mark pulled her back against him. “It’s more comfortable if you just relax,” he said, the words spoken achingly close to her ear.
    Leaning flush against him might have made the ride more comfortable where the horse was concerned, but it was also too intimate, too familiar for April to fully relax.
    His chest was hard and muscled against her back, and she thought she could detect his heartbeat pounding an uneven rhythm. She knew her own heart was beating faster than usual.
    She was grateful when the lights of the ranch came into view, letting her know the ride would only last another minute or two. Night had completely descended, wrapping them in a blanket of darkness penetrated only by the full moon overhead.
    Mark rode straight into the stable corral and drew the horse to a halt. With graceful agility, he dismounted, then reached up and grabbed her by the waist to help her down.
    She came off the