“Are you kids ready to order?” Linc asked as the waitress stood patiently by his chair.
“We don’t know how much you are letting us spend,” Greg said, his English showing traces of his Asian background. “Have you looked at the cost?”
Linc opened the menu, expecting to see something outrageous. In actuality, the steaks were cheap. “Order whatever suits your fancy. Let me worry about the bill.”
There wasn’t one person at the table who didn’t show shock at that news. Miranda alone noticed how Parker had softened his tone so that his statement, which might have sounded as if he lorded it over them, held no patronizing inflection.
She imagined her former manager in a situation like this. Wes Carlisle would have found a way to put everyone at the table in his debt. Which was how Wes had operated from the minute he’d stepped into a job previously handled by her father. Throughout the years that Doug Kimbrough had made decisions for her, she’d remained blissfully ignorant about the working end of her singing career. The rude awakening came the moment Carlisle stepped in. It hadn’t taken Miranda long to figure out that she’d made a horrible mistake in signing an open-ended contract with Carlisle’s agency.
As they awaited their food, Miranda recalled something Jenny said the day they met. She’d said her good friend Felicity’s brother was some guru who worked with movie and singing stars. Miranda couldn’t help wondering if Parker managed his stars in a manner similar to Carlisle’s handling of country singers. Try as she might, she couldn’t picture Wes giving up his rich lifestyle to go to some remote locale and set up a safe house for street kids. The two types of personalities—manager to the stars and socially conscious benefactor—weren’t mutually compatible. So maybe Jenny was wrong about Parker’s occupation.
After everyone had their drinks, Miranda lent a hand to Hana so the girl didn’t spill her milk all over the place. Catching Parker’s eye, she asked casually, “What did you do before you bought the ranch? I know you worked in Hollywood. Did it involve teens? You’re not the type to have been a cop.” Miranda pretended she knew nothing about his background.
Jenny frowned. “I thought I told you about Felicity’s brother.”
“Unlike some people,” Linc said, aiming a pointed stare at Miranda, “I’m not secretive about my past. I graduated from a California college with a master’s in finance. I became a CPA and then set up a partnership with a guy I met in grad school. We invest our clients’ excess capital and do their quarterly taxes.”
“Felicity said his clients are top movie and rock stars,” Jenny said in a tone filled with awe.
“No kidding?” Greg’s face was a mask of envy. “I guess I joined the group after Felicity mentioned that,” he whispered to Jenny. “Anyway, I didn’t know her as well as you guys did. But the house…wow! Megabucks.”
Linc sliced an impatient hand through the air. “A firm doesn’t start off working for big names. It takes time to earn respect in any field.”
“There’s that word again,” Eric pointed out. “Respect’s a big word in your vocabulary, isn’t it, Mr. P.?”
“No more than honesty, reliability and diligence.”
Wolfie, who now had a white mustache after draining his glass of milk, asked in a small voice what diligence meant.
“Sorry,” Linc said. “I know you aren’t a walking dictionary. Diligence is a high-priced word for hard work.”
“Well, why didn’t you just say hard work?” Wolfie sighed, then launched another question. “I guess you gotta go to school to learn big words, huh?”
Linc flashed him a grin. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Learning anything takes time. You’re only in what—fourth grade?”
“No grade. Well, I used to go to school before the Tuckers came to Rascal Ranch. They didn’t like to drive me and Cassie out to the highway to catch the bus. And Miz Lydia never liked taking care of Hana by herself.”
Miranda exhaled loudly. “You mean they arbitrarily stopped sending you to school?”
When all three kids gaped at her without comprehension, she hastily rephrased her question. “Arbitrarily means the Tuckers took it upon themselves to take you out of school. Is that what they did?”
Wolfie thought a minute, then nodded.
“Nothing about that couple would surprise me,” Linc exclaimed when Miranda telegraphed him a look of outrage.
“Before we head back to the ranch, shouldn’t we, uh, you find out how long this has gone on? Surely you can reinstate them in school.”
“Yes, if they are going to remain with me. Tomorrow, though, among other things, I hope to contact a living breathing soul who knows what agency ought to be taking responsibility for them.” Fortuitously, in Linc’s estimation, their meal arrived. Otherwise he was certain Randi would have given him hell. She’d made it plain in a glance what she thought of him for shucking off what she mistakenly considered his responsibility for the children’s welfare. But why in hell should he care what a woman, who had no apparent direction in her own life, thought about the way he chose to manage his contribution to charity?
The answer was, Linc didn’t care. Or rather, he shouldn’t care. It so happened he did. Because throughout the meal, she sent him darting looks that penetrated deeper and deeper into his fairly thick skin. Why couldn’t she attack her steak with the same fervor showing in those expressive gray eyes?
If she thought he’d embroil himself in a battle during mealtime, she was sadly mistaken. Linc intended to enjoy his steak.
He might have succeeded if he’d kept quiet. But no, he had to be the one to reopen the can of worms with a simple sentence. “Wolfie, Cassie and Hana, stop stuffing dinner rolls in your pockets.”
The girls froze immediately. The boy continued calmly filling his pockets.
“I said quit that, Wolfie. It’s unsanitary and unnecessary. Why are you taking more food than you can eat here and now?”
“Because tomorrow we might be hungry.”
Linc’s brows drew together. “Good grief. Tomorrow you’ll be fed.”
Randi stopped cutting her steak. “How can you guarantee them that? Doesn’t the history of the welfare system speak for itself? You as much as said you’re dumping them back—like…like too-small fish in a pond.”
Her verbal spear penetrated all the way to Linc’s heart and made it skip a beat. He cast a furtive glance around the table and saw that the bigger boys kept shoving food in their faces. Jenny, Randi and the little kids all impaled him with expressions of distrust. Well, if not outright distrust, something damned close to it.
“Look, I guarantee that tomorrow there’ll be plenty to eat. Beyond that, I’m not sticking my neck out. Yes, the system appears to be broken. Can I fix it? That I can’t promise. I will go to the authorities and try to make waves.”
Banking her hostility ever so slightly, Randi deliberately sliced up a few pieces of meat and wrapped them for her dog. “Kids, we’d better eat up before our meat gets cold. Meat has protein, and protein gives you strength and energy. Hard, stale rolls will only fill an empty hole in your bellies.”
Linc didn’t know why the statement made him feel like a jerk. He’d set out to help wayward teens maybe get back on track and find a new direction in life. He hadn’t promised to save the whole damned world. Or even this corner of California. At Felicity’s funeral, he’d pledged to put his life on hold for a couple of years. He’d devote personal resources toward derailing youth headed down the same path as his sister, and once the shelter ran well, he’d hire people to keep it going. “I’m not a miracle worker,” he muttered. “I’m just one man, after all.”
“You’re one of the power brokers,” Jenny pointed out. “Felicity said it’d only take a word from you in the right ear, and she, uh, we would’ve been on our way.”
“Way where?” Linc arched a brow.
“To the big time. Our band.” She swung her fork in an arc, gesturing at herself and the boys.
Linc looked pained. His steak h
ad turned to ashes in his mouth. “Do you have any idea how many truly talented artists are down and out in Hollywood? Hundreds. Thousands, even. They flock there because someone has filled their heads with unrealistic dreams of becoming rock stars. They’re caught in an insidious web and some end up selling their bodies—and their souls. The majority don’t come close to the pinnacle they’re seeking.” Linc balled his napkin. “I’m sorry, but Felicity had zero talent. I…I believed that by continuing to subsidize her lessons, I was giving her time to come to that realization herself. I was wrong.”
Randi understood his pain. Furthermore, she understood what he was saying. Nashville wasn’t Hollywood, and the people who flocked there didn’t dream of being rock stars, but of being hit country singers. She wanted to say that, even if a person reached that coveted pinnacle, stardom wasn’t what people thought. She sealed her lips, instead.
Jenny, however, wasn’t to be deterred. “All Felicity needed, all any of us need, Mr. Parker—” she included Eric, Shawn and Greg in the sweep of her defiant eyes “—is a break. We’re as talented as any of the groups who paid you to make them teen millionaires.”
“I didn’t make them teen idols. I help shelter some of the money they make. That’s all.” Lifting his head, Linc saw Randi staring at him. “You’re remarkably silent all of a sudden. What’s wrong?”
“I…I didn’t know Felicity. And I don’t know anything about what makes a rock star,” Miranda said, carefully crossing her fingers under the table.
“Well, that’s a relief.” Linc picked up his knife and cut another piece of steak. “I’m giving fair warning. The subject of star-building is permanently closed. If you came here hoping I could do for you what I never did for my sister, it’s not going to happen. The subject of rock music and rock stardom is going to be taboo. Understood?”
Eric laid his fork aside. “We came to get off the streets and out of shelters for the winter. But rock music is a big part of who we are. We ain’t gonna change that for you, man.”
“Yeah,” Shawn added stiffly. “Until you told us your name, we had no idea it was Felicity’s brother who’d opened this retreat.”
Linc realized belatedly that was correct. He’d seen Jenny’s shocked expression when he’d announced his name. “Okay, but another word to the wise. The program I have in mind won’t allow you time to bang away on your guitars. And when I come in dog-tired from tilling and planting fields, the last thing I want is to be assaulted with earsplitting rock music. I won’t have your radios or CD players shaking the bunkhouse walls. Are we all clear on that point?”
Randi nodded at once. The others turned to Eric and awaited his response. He scowled and grunted a couple of times. Eventually he shrugged. “What the hey. For food like this and a real bed, we can use earphones between now and spring, when we head back to Hollywood.”
Something about the kid’s half-assed truce bothered Linc. But since he was going on the advice of people long on theory but short on experience, he’d just have to play this by ear. As other teens heard about the ranch and joined this group, a change in the dynamic might test Eric’s leadership role. These kids could simply choose to move on.
In fact, Linc had been warned of that by a friend, a psychologist who worked with wards of the court. He’d told Linc repeatedly that working with teens was a roller coaster of wins and losses. And that Linc shouldn’t let the losses become personal.
Although Linc wasn’t totally comfortable with this first batch of teens, he didn’t like failing at anything. That was one reason his inability to provide Felicity with a happy, secure home had hit him so hard. He had to at least go into this with the intention of succeeding.
The waitress appeared and began collecting plates. “Anyone save room for dessert?”
Shawn raised his hand. “What have you got?”
The waitress answered. “Tonight we have apple pie or ice cream.”
“Not both?” Shawn looked crestfallen.
“Yes, both if you’d like.” She laughed heartily.
“Just coffee with cream for me,” Linc said as the waitress took out her pad and started with him.
Miranda debated ordering a coffee, too, but declined when the waitress reached her. Instead, she carefully collected all the leftover bits of steak, explaining it was for the dog.
Jenny poked her in the side. “Why would you turn down a chance to have pie à la mode? I don’t know about you, but it’s been ages since I’ve had a treat like that.”
“It sounds good, but I’m full. Dinner was great. Thanks, Par…Parker.”
The rest of the kids chimed in their thanks, too.
“You’re welcome. Keep your fingers crossed that I can hire a cook who’s able to keep us as well-fed.”
Whenever the topic under discussion was food, Shawn had things to say. “How long do you think it’ll be until you hire a cook? Will you have to advertise and interview and all that stuff?”
“I suppose. If what the Tuckers said about the ranch being so remote that no one stayed on for long is true, I may have to go farther afield and offer incentives. No matter, I’ll be checking references to avoid getting someone like the Tuckers.”
“Good,” Cassie said meekly. “They were the worst houseparents we ever had.”
Miranda gazed at her pinched features. “I can believe that from the shape of the kitchen. If you had to guess how long it’s been since you saw a social worker, Cassie, would you say days, weeks or months?”
The girl shook her head until two or three stringy blond curls fell into her eyes. Miranda couldn’t wait to get this girl into a tub of warm soapy water. Cassie’s long curls held the promise of being flaxen gold. “I don’t know how to read a clock,” she said.
“Because you never got to attend school?” Miranda’s eyes snapped. “That’s okay, sweetie, it doesn’t really matter exactly how long it was since you saw someone from Social Services. I just thought knowing a definite time might be useful to Mr. Parker when he gets hold of your new caseworker.”
Jenny, who’d been served her dessert first, raked furrows in her ice cream with her fork tines. “We don’t—I mean, the rest of us kids don’t have to be assigned a caseworker, do we? I’ve never met one of those do-gooders who isn’t itching to send street kids straight back to their folks.”
“Yeah,” Eric agreed. “It’s like…don’t they get why we left home?”
“Why did you?” Linc inquired as he stirred cream in his coffee.
“Are you kidding, man?” Shawn spoke through a mouthful of pie and ice cream. “In my case, the word home is a farce. According to the dictionary, home means a place that’s the center of domestic pleasure. No pleasure in gettin’ the shit kicked outta ya.”
Linc winced, lifted his cup and covered his shock by taking a long drink. “So, uh, were you all abused?”
“Naw, not me.” Greg retold his story. “Even if I had the money to go back to Seoul, I can’t face my mom. So I’ll hang out with these guys until I figure out how to earn enough to start another search for my dad.”
Linc’s gaze skipped again to Eric.
“I had my reasons for leaving home,” the boy snarled. “Nobody’s business but mine. As for Jenny, her mom drank like a fish and still kept havin’ babies she expected Jenny to take care of. Caseworkers didn’t put a stop to that. What good are they?”
Linc honestly didn’t want to debate the issue with Eric, and he didn’t have to because Jenny took the boy’s hand. “Hush, Eric. I did what I did to help the younger kids. And after I took off, the authorities finally paid attention and took away my brothers and sisters.”
Waiting to see what could top that unsettling account, Linc cocked an eyebrow at Randi. “I assume you have a story, too.”
She was caught off guard, although Miranda didn’t know why she hadn’t expected Parker to get around to her, too. She turned her head, scrabbling for something to say. “My mom died when I was about…Hana’s age. Dad traveled a lot for his wor
k. He took me with him. After I reached school age, he home-schooled me. I didn’t like the travel, and one weekend when I didn’t go, his airplane crashed.” For an awful few seconds she relived the tragedy. With a catch in her voice, she eventually continued. “My life fell apart. I…realize I can’t just keep drifting. I hope time will, uh, let me eventually get my act together.”
“No aunts, uncles or cousins who’ll help you through this crisis?” Linc asked after draining his cup. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the girl’s story didn’t ring true. Maybe she was a consummate actress. But there was some fact, some detail she was holding back. Linc trusted his judgment. He’d developed a reliable sixth sense in dealing with the Hollywood crowd, many of whom couldn’t separate reality from fantasy.
Miranda sighed, wishing he’d move on to Wolfgang. “My parents were both only children,” she murmured. “My grandparents are gone, too.” Rather than let Parker dredge up more questions, she moved on for him. “Wolfie, how did you and Hana end up alone?”
The boy jerked spasmodically and clapped two hands over his little sister’s ears. “Pa kilt our ma,” he muttered, face drained of color. “I knew it was gonna happen, ’cause he hit her lots. But Hana didn’t see. I sneaked her into the closet and stayed with her till the cops showed up. Pa’s on death row. The relatives didn’t want no part of raising his kids, but a judge made him sign so Hana and me could be adopted.” The boy slowly removed his hands from Hana’s ears, then slid an arm around her small shoulders. “A family took Hana. But she wets the bed and cries lots. The woman brought her back to the group home.” He shrugged. “It was an okay place.”
Aghast, Miranda asked him how they’d ended up at Rascal Ranch.
“Oh, a neighbor pitched a fit. He said the group home was falling down, so Oasis moved us. The woman who brung us said somebody would adopt us together. I knew she was lying. Nobody wants a kid my age. And Hana still has problems at night.”
A Cowboy at Heart Page 7