A Cowboy at Heart

by Roz Denny Fox

“I like how she sounds when she talks.” Cassie spoke up for the first time. “And I think she’s real pretty. Don’t you, Hana?”

  The smallest child sucked her thumb and battled against falling asleep, tucked tight against her brother’s skinny side.

  Miranda noted that tough as the kid, Wolfie, tried to act, he frequently combed comforting fingers through his little sister’s curls. Washed, Miranda thought Hana’s hair would probably be strawberry blond. The girl and her brother were both freckled redheads. She flashed the kids a warm smile.

  Hana took her thumb out of her mouth and whispered to Cassie, “Yes, she’s pretty. She looks ’xactly like the Barbie doll Mrs. Tucker taked away from Cassie and frowed in the trash.”

  Then, because the older boys chortled and poked fun at Miranda—calling her Barbie—Hana shrank against Wolfie, as if fearing the noisy teens might attack her.

  “Stop,” Miranda ordered. “You guys are scaring Hana.”

  “Yeah, dickheads, tone it down.” Jenny batted at the boys nearest her, defending her newest friend.

  “Who’re you calling a dickhead, Jen?” Eric pouted. “The little kids had better toughen up. If name-calling is all they encounter in three outta five foster homes in this state, they’ll be lucky.”

  Linc couldn’t resist commenting. “You’re not being fair in your assessment of our foster-care system, Eric,” he said.

  The teen snorted. “That’s because there’s nothing fair about the system. Why do you think so many kids opt to go it alone on the streets?”

  “I honestly have no idea. Care to enlighten me?”

  “Man,” Shawn broke in, “it’s because most foster homes suck. Those people are in it strictly for the cash.”

  “It’s words like most I take exception to,” Linc responded. “Instead of rushing to hang out in street packs, maybe kids ought to complain to someone in a position to make their homes better and safer.”

  “Like, who would that be?” Jenny blazed, leaning forward.

  “In the case of foster homes, it’d be the social worker in charge.”

  The interior of the SUV filled with hoots. “Get real, dude. And don’t lecture us. You and Shawn’s dad are so like…twins,” Eric said. “You’re both so blind, you think tossing money at a kid or handing him over to somebody with a slew of letters after their name is an automatic cure. Felicity told us how you sent her to shrink after shrink. They’re about as far from the truth as this planet is from Mars.”

  “Our grandmother sent Felicity to counselors, not me.”

  Jenny sat forward in her seat. “She said you shelled out the bucks for everything, including her music lessons.”

  “I was the only one in the household who was employed. Not that I owe you any explanations. Felicity should have listened to what the counselors said. If she had, maybe she’d still be alive.”

  “Or maybe she would be if you’d listened to her, man,” Eric murmured just loud enough for everyone in the vehicle to hear.

  A red haze interfered with Linc’s ability to see for a fraction of a second. Then, remembering he was dealing with kids who had a skewed perspective on life, he kept his mouth shut and promised himself he wouldn’t be drawn into pointless discussions like this in the future.

  “Hey,” Greg called after they’d bounced and jounced in silence for a time, “can you turn on the radio or something?”

  Linc pushed the start button on the CD unit and shoved in the disc he’d been listening to on the last phase of his journey to the ranch. Soon the dramatic sounds of an orchestra filled the vehicle’s interior.

  Eric leaned as far forward as his seat belt would allow and shouted over the music, “What the hell kind of tune is that you’re playing, Parker?”

  “That, young man, is Wagner.” He pronounced it with the German V. “It’s the overture to Tristan und Isolde.”

  “Never heard of those dudes,” Eric muttered. “Are they on the charts?”

  Miranda waited a heartbeat for Linc to explain. When he said nothing, she rattled off a brief description of the opera. “The opera depicts a beautiful but tragic love story set in medieval Ireland. Isolde nurses Knight Tristan back to health, only to discover he killed her fiancé in battle. To make matters worse, Tristan is sworn to deliver Isolde as a bride for his uncle. She mixes a potion to kill him, and he offers her his sword, instead. That’s when they discover they really love each other. So they kiss…. A lot happens in the next scenes. The king brands them traitors. A battle takes place where Tristan is badly wounded. Isolde believes if she can get to him, her magical powers will heal him. When they’re reunited, Tristan declares that, as a knight, he cannot bear to live as an outcast. He falls dead at her feet. She drinks her potion just as a courier arrives from the king ready to pardon her and Tristan. The last scene of the opera is her collapsing across his body. It’s difficult to describe quickly, but if you listen to the entire score, you can feel the scenes unfold. ‘Liebestod’ is probably my favorite piece.”

  The other teens gaped at Miranda, as did Linc.

  “Wow,” Jenny said, continuing to bite her nails. “That sounds so cool, Randi. I wouldn’t have believed it, but you can feel grief in the music. Except…I thought you told me you didn’t know much about music.”

  Linc found himself straining to hear Randi’s reply. Something about her was out of step with her companions. And he doubted that opera was normal fare for street kids.

  Miranda couldn’t deny the knowledge that had obviously caused the others to regard her suspiciously. She shrugged. “Funny how things can slip your mind. I totally forgot about picking up that community-college class. The prof who taught basic music appreciation was an opera buff. He took us to see Puccini’s La Boheme and Verdi’s Rigoletto and Aida. Oh, and Bizet’s Carmen.”

  “You went to college, studied highbrow music and it slipped your mind?” Shawn roused himself from his slouched position in the far back seat.

  “Intro to Music sounded like an easy class.” Miranda felt herself being drawn deeper and deeper into revealing bits of her past. Maybe she should just admit her age. But then what? “Gee, guys, why the grilling?”

  “So you’re how old?” Linc asked offhandedly.

  Miranda’s heart thumped hard and fast. “Old enough. I, uh, graduated from high school at sixteen.” And that was the truth. Still, she didn’t like the way Parker kept staring at her in his rearview mirror. It seemed the more she said, the farther she put her foot down her throat. Please, someone change the subject.

  Eric did just that when the Excursion bounced off the last few feet of rutted lane and Parker swung onto the smoother highway. “Why turn east? Don’t you go west to get to town? That’s the direction we came in from.”

  “According to the friend who scoped out the ranch for me, Susanville is really the closest town to the property. Because there’s national parkland in between, it’s not the most well-traveled stretch of road. But, John, my friend, is an avid outdoorsman. He said the streams and lakes are stocked with several kinds of trout. Do any of you fish?”

  Wolfie perked up. “I ain’t never fished with anything but a skinned tree branch with a string and a safety pin. The houseparents before the Tuckers used to let me fish our creek. But Mrs. Tucker said she wouldn’t eat no fish from where us kids took baths. And Mr. Tucker, he said fishing was a waste of time. He only wanted me to chop wood for their fireplace.”

  The more Linc heard about George and Lydia Tucker, the angrier he became. What kind of man sent a boy Wolfgang’s age to tackle a dangerous job?

  He mustered a smile he didn’t feel. “Fishing season here runs from Memorial Day to December thirty-first. Since it’s early November, we might find time to fish, even with the work I want to accomplish. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try, but never had the opportunity. If you’re our resident expert, Wolfie, I’ll buy rods and you can teach the boys and me how to catch trout.”

  “What’s resident…whatever you said?” the
boy asked, puckering his brows.

  Jenny heaved a sigh. “Man, are you dense. Resident expert means you’re the best person to demonstrate a skill. Fishing, duh! What I want to know is why only the boys get to go. Why not Randi and me, too?”

  “If you girls want to slog through underbrush for hours on end, I’ve got no objection.”

  “But you’re gonna make ’em put their own worms or bugs on their hooks, ain’t you, Mr. Parker?” This gleeful addendum from Wolfie was the most animated he’d been. His smile showed two teeth in different stages of coming in.

  Jenny recoiled at the very mention of baiting a hook. Miranda said nothing at first. She’d learned her lesson about jumping in too fast. You could give away too much that way. From here on, she’d weigh everything she said. “My dad liked to fish.” It was true. “He took me a time or two when I was Cassie’s age.” Also true. “You’re about eight, aren’t you, Cassie?”

  “Seven, I think.”

  “You think?” Greg scoffed from behind the girl. “Don’t you know?”

  The child blinked owlishly, and large tears welled up behind her smudged lenses. Miranda reached out and clasped the child’s hand. “It’s okay, Cassie. Mr. Parker can find out. There must be school and health records on each of you back at the house. Do you know why you can’t walk?” Miranda asked softly.

  The girl nodded. “Because my spine’s twisted at the bottom.”

  Wolfie cleared his throat. “We heard Mrs. Rankin, one of the house moms, say Cassie’s mama had a boyfriend who threw Cassie down the basement steps.”

  Jenny sucked in her breath. And Scraps emitted what could pass for a sympathetic growl. Miranda merely tightened her grip on the child’s fingers. “But, honey, you probably don’t remember the details of the accident.”

  “I do sorta,” Cassie said solemnly. “I remember being cold for a long time. And I remember some policemen took Joey and Mama away. Then I was in the hospital for a lot of days and nights. I’ve lived a lotta places since. Nobody ever wants me to stay, ’cause it’s hard having a kid around who can’t walk.”

  A heavy silence descended on the vehicle. Miranda stroked the girl’s small hand as her gaze met Linc’s in the mirror. She could only guess that her horror matched the sick expression she saw in his eyes.

  “Look,” Eric announced, a catch evident in his voice, as well. “We’re coming to some lights. That must be the town up ahead.”

  Gladly latching on to a chance to avoid what he read as censure in Randi’s cool gaze, Linc switched his attention to the glow Eric pointed out.

  “Get outta here,” Shawn said. “If that’s the town, I’d say we’re in deep shit when it comes to finding a motel. Looks like nothin’s goin’ on here.”

  “Please watch your language, Shawn.” Miranda cast her eyes toward the younger members of their group.

  “Come on, kids.” Linc injected a cheery note in his voice. “Susanville is the county seat. Montoya said it’s a hub for serious hikers, sport fishermen and mountain bikers. There have to be motels to accommodate those groups. And it’s not so late that there won’t be a choice of restaurants still open.” Even as he spoke, they passed a well-lit café.

  The kids all clamored for him to stop, but Linc drove on. “I think we should book a motel before we eat. Let’s get our sleeping arrangements nailed down, and then we’ll worry about filling our bellies.”

  There was a lot of grumbling, but in the end the kids capitulated.

  At the first motel with a vacancy sign, Linc swung in. He told everyone to stay put, but no one listened and they all got out and trooped into the office behind him.

  The clerk took one look at the kids and immediately informed Linc she couldn’t accommodate his party.

  “That’s odd. I only saw three cars in your parking lot. And you have two floors of rooms,” he said, smiling as he leaned an elbow on the counter.

  “Uh…it’s the dog. We don’t allow pets,” the woman said, almost happily trumping Linc’s ace.

  He recognized her shallow ploy for what it was, and while he wouldn’t stay here now if it was the last motel in town, he didn’t intend to go without leaving her something to think about. “That’s too bad for your establishment. This dog is a movie star. We’ve had a long drive today—up from Hollywood, haven’t we, kids? I told my cast this looked like a perfect spot to film.” Turning, he motioned them out. “That’s okay. We’ll take our money down the road.”

  Even though the woman sputtered behind him, Linc steadily moved everyone outside. As they reloaded the SUV, silence reigned. Then Eric crowed, “That was sweet, man, how you made her look at us with respect.”

  “Let that be a lesson, Eric. All people are worthy of respect. Note that I wasn’t disrespectful to the clerk. The choice was hers. And she’s entitled to her beliefs no matter how much I disagree with her.”

  “But you flat-out lied,” Miranda said. “Scraps isn’t a movie star. And we don’t even know that he won’t mess in a room. I mean, we’ll have to leave him in there with a bowl of water while we go eat.”

  “I bent the truth. Jenny said you found him near Burbank. You don’t know that he hasn’t been in films. And he won’t mess up the room if you walk him before we go eat and again before you turn in.”

  The kids mulled over Linc’s words as he drove down the main street to another motel. This time when he asked them to stay put while he booked rooms, no one objected. They gave high fives all around, however, when he came back a few minutes later wagging three keys. “And Scraps is legally in.”

  “I thought you said two rooms earlier,” Miranda said.

  “Yes, but I have to make some phone calls. I booked a single for me and two doubles. Splitting up the boys and girls means everybody has more space.”

  “Uh, that’ll be great.” Miranda capitulated fast enough. “It means an extra shower. I could almost skip eating to enjoy a hot shower. How about you, Jenny?”

  Before she could answer, Linc interrupted, “Do you girls mind bathing Cassie and Hana tonight?”

  “They’ll be glad to.” Shawn readily volunteered them. “Now can we please go find a burger joint? I’m starved.”

  With moods greatly improved, they all laughed.

  “I’m three steps ahead of you, Shawn.” Linc handed out the room keys and then went to unload the packs. “I told the clerk I had eight hungry mouths to feed. Taking pity on me, she drew a map to the closest steak house.”

  “Steak?” The older boys chattered excitedly among themselves as they dropped stuff in their rooms and Miranda prepared to leave the dog.

  Linc had never gone hungry in his life. And this one night, steak was the least he could offer pathetic kids whose stories had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LINC RESENTED the surreptitious looks they got from other patrons as they ambled in. They were seated at a large oval table near the back of the restaurant, shown to their seats by a hostess wearing a red-checkered dress that matched the décor. He dismissed her look of pity as he took the stack of menus she thrust into his hands.

  Miranda waited for Parker to request booster seats for Cassie and Hana. Not that Cassie wasn’t old enough to sit in a regular chair. But these were wooden ones, built low, probably for big men—the sportsmen Linc had mentioned earlier.

  In gentlemanly fashion, Linc pulled out Jenny’s chair, then Randi’s. “We got enough chairs?” He glanced around the table and counted.

  “Don’t you think we need boosters for the little girls?”

  “High chairs, you mean?” He frowned, letting his mind drift back to when his kid sister had needed a chair that had its own tray.

  Miranda rolled her eyes. “Boosters are molded plastic seats that go on regular chairs.”

  She didn’t tack stupid onto the end of her sentence, but she might as well have, Linc thought. “Does this restaurant have such an item?” He squinted to see into the dimly lit corners.

  “We do ha
ve boosters, sir,” the hostess assured him with a broad smile. “How many do you need for your family?”

  “Oh, they’re not mine,” he said, refocusing on the woman who looked as if she belonged at a square dance.

  “Two, please,” Miranda rushed to say. Turning, she followed the hostess to where the multicolored seats were stacked. Miranda selected a blue one and a red one. The red had a cushion made of fabric like the woman’s dress. It turned out to be oilcloth, more like the tablecloths. Regardless, she judged the cushion better for Cassie and had barely started back to the table when the seats were whisked from her hands. Glancing up in surprise, she discovered Parker had relieved her of them.

  “Give Cassie the red one,” she said quickly. “It was the only one with a cushion. I think it’ll be softer on her poor back.”

  “I’m not dense, Ms—what in hell is your last name?” Linc demanded, suddenly perplexed.

  “Ah…uh…according to Jenny, street people never give their surnames to anyone. It’s for protection,” she said when Linc stopped to stare at her.

  “So does that mean you weren’t a street person before you hit California?”

  “No. I mean, I was…for a while. In Kansas City,” she blurted, trying to stick as close to the truth as possible.

  “Kansas City.” Narrowing his eyes, Linc turned that tidbit of information over in his mind. “You didn’t get that thick drawl there. Where did you live before K.C.? And why did you leave?”

  Miranda drew herself up to her full height, yet she was still woefully shorter than the man studying her like a specimen under a microscope. “My past is my own business. And your silly interrogation is holding up the waitress who wants to take our drink orders.”

  Feeling smartly put in his place, Linc set the booster seats into the chairs. He gently lifted the little girls into them. The only two empty chairs at the table were quite far from each other.

  Damn, he’d wanted to probe deeper into the mystery that came packaged as a woman calling herself Randi with no last name. If Randi was even her name… Why he cared about her history, Linc didn’t know. After all, he’d been warned not to expect the truth out of street kids. Yet Randi managed to irritate him while simultaneously giving him pause. Linc vowed he’d unravel her story or know the reason why.