“You call that mortuary stuff music? No way!”
Miranda grinned. “Lucky for him there’s music for all tastes.”
“You like rock and hip hop, don’t you, Randi? I hope so. Otherwise, when you and I earn enough to buy a compact disc player, it won’t be cool if we’re always fighting over what to play.”
“Actually I’m good with silence,” Miranda drawled, hoping Jenny would take the hint to stop talking and start working.
“Wolfie’s got a radio,” Cassie announced. “He hid it in the woods after Mr. Tucker switched him hard for having it on at night when we were s’posed to be sleeping. Wolfie only played it so Hana wouldn’t be scared in the dark.”
Jenny brightened. “I’m gonna go find the kid and ask to borrow his radio. Will you ask Mr. Parker to let us have it on while we’re scrubbing his dumb old kitchen?”
“You want the radio, you ask him,” Miranda said, pausing to wipe a lock of hair out of her eyes with a soapy hand.
“Like Eric said earlier, Parker’s got the hots for you, Randi. He looks at me and sees somebody he thinks was involved with his sister’s overdose. I swear I wasn’t even with Felicity that night. I only went to find her after another friend said she was acting crazy. Eric and me were there when she passed out. We took her to the hospital.”
Miranda almost didn’t hear all of what Jenny said. Shock had paralyzed her brain at the girl’s first sentence. “When did Eric say…that first thing? And why would he?” she demanded.
“Jeez, don’t get your panties in a wad. When you’d left the ice-cream shop. The subject came up, is all. I don’t remember why. Even if Eric’s all wrong, it’s definitely true what I said about Parker connecting me to Felicity’s overdose.”
Miranda tried to brush off Jenny’s comment, while at the same time vehemently denying the validity of Eric’s remark. But the only way Eric would suspect Linc might be interested in her would be if Eric saw through her. Saw through her attempt to pass herself off as one of them. It was bad enough that she’d told Linc Parker the truth. The more people who knew her real age, the greater the chance of someone linking her face to the image Wes had splashed all over the news.
Only now did she realize how desperately she’d counted on this ranch to provide her with a refuge until she figured out how to get her life back. Somehow she had to find a way to get out from under Wes Carlisle’s thumb. But he was so huge in the country-music industry, it seemed impossible.
Miranda didn’t like deceiving anyone. Maybe kids like Eric and Jenny didn’t see the drawbacks of going through months and years using only a first name. Miranda, however, understood that a person had to be able to produce proof of name, address and birth date if he or she hoped to ever live normally. And living normally was Miranda’s goal. Hiding as though she was a thief or worse had become even more distasteful than she’d imagined. Yet the alternative—going back to a life in which Wes controlled her every breath, movement and thought—was more abhorrent. One time she’d been speaking to another of Carlisle’s clients and had casually mentioned the possibility of breaking her contract. The male vocalist had told her she was crazy. He said Wes would sue her for breach of contract and wipe her out financially. He also warned that Wes would blackball her in Nashville and see she never sang another note or sold another song. Miranda used to daydream about not performing; she’d liked the idea of making her living writing songs for other country stars. The dream had seemed so hopeless.
Bending over the sink, she threw herself into the task of scrubbing pots and pans. Scraps licked the last morsel of food from his new bowl and found a spot to flop down and sleep.
Jenny soon returned with Wolfie’s radio in hand.
Miranda blocked out the sound, retreating within herself. Draining the dirty water and refilling her pail with clean soapy water became rote. The repetitiveness of the chore gave her ample opportunity to dwell on her past.
Next thing she knew, she had her head completely inside a bottom cabinet and the screeching background noise had disappeared. Glad that Jenny had apparently departed to another part of the house with the radio, Miranda smoothed out the back corners of the adhesive shelf paper.
Linc Parker’s raspy, “What in God’s name are you doing?” caused Miranda to lift her head suddenly and crack it loudly against the top of the cabinet. Rubbing the tender spot on her head, she backed out and found herself on hands and knees staring at Lincoln Parker’s dusty cowboy boots. Instantly, all the old feelings she’d poured into her song, “A Cowboy at Heart,” overwhelmed her. The man she’d written it for, her father, hadn’t been a real cowboy, either. But he’d possessed the qualities. A good heart, courtly manners, honesty and gentleness. He had comforting hands. Growing up without a mom, there were so many times Miranda had relied on a soothing touch from her father’s broad steady hand.
Linc extended his now to assist her in standing.
Ignoring it, she grasped the cupboard door, instead, and climbed to her feet unaided. “Did you need something?” she asked. “I have one cabinet left to do. Then they’ll all be lined and we can start putting dishes and groceries away.”
“Who? You and the mouse in your pocket? It’s midnight, Cinderella. Everyone else has turned in. I thought you had, too. I came in to see if there was any coffee left.” They’d taken a break for sandwiches at six-thirty and she’d made a small pot of coffee for Linc.
Miranda blinked at the wall clock she’d washed—three hours ago, she saw. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Jenny never said she was going to bed.” Still rubbing the lump on her head, Miranda moved slowly down the counter. Someone had shut off the coffeemaker and cleaned it. “The coffee’s been dumped. I’ll make a new pot. Frankly, something hot and steamy sounds great about now.”
Linc studied her backside. The same one he’d viewed moments ago wriggling so attractively out from under a lower cabinet. Forcefully jerking his steamy thoughts away from her curves, he focused on her last statement.
“Better not let the kids see you drinking coffee,” he said gruffly. “That’ll tip them off that you’re not one of them.”
“You’re mistaken, Parker. Street kids beg coffee just to warm up.”
“Huh. No teen I’ve ever met liked the taste.”
“Those who live at home have moms who probably nix it. I guess they don’t realize there’s more caffeine in some soft drinks.”
Linc recalled buying cases of cola for Felicity and her elusive friends. Only now did he question the speed with which the drinks and snacks had disappeared. How many street kids had his sister supplied with food? he wondered.
The coffee began to drip, and Miranda knew she couldn’t just stand there and watch it. She had to face Parker and make inconsequential conversation. “If you’re not too tired, I could use a hand filling the top shelves. Since you’re taller than me, it’s easy for you to reach the high places.”
For maybe the first time since entering the room, Linc glanced around. “Big difference now from the mess it was. You and Jenny worked miracles. I’ve gotta admit I didn’t expect this much. Especially after Wolfie admitted giving Jenny the radio responsible for the racket I heard blaring from here. The door doesn’t close tight, you know.”
Miranda laughed as she loaded his hands with items she didn’t think they’d use frequently and pointed him toward the shelf above the fridge. “Believe it or not, Jenny’s work level improved after she got the radio—when she wasn’t stopping to play air guitar, that is. I ought to be used to that by now. Eric plays air guitar so often, strangers think he’s spastic. Shawn, too. Not Greg, although he’s getting into the music more. Greg fell in with them for the same reason I did.”
“Why that group?” Linc closed the door on a full cupboard and moved on to the next.
“What?” Miranda turned from lining up cereal boxes.
“I just wondered why you hooked up with Eric, Jenny and Shawn. It doesn’t take a genius to see you have much more on the ball.”<
br />
“They’re decent, kind and generous.”
He grunted, a skeptical sound.
She smacked canned goods into the pantry. “I’ll bet if you dumped them in with kids who have the advantage of daily showers, three square meals a day and access to Daddy’s credit cards, you wouldn’t see any difference. Or in your case, it’d be big brother’s credit cards.”
Her observation stung and Linc didn’t like it.
“Don’t presume you know all there is to know about me based on Jenny’s version of my sister’s life.”
Miranda finished storing the clean dishes, except for two cups, which she filled with coffee. It was probably a dangerous preoccupation, but she was curious about Lincoln Parker. She sensed that his life hadn’t been all rosy. “I picked up packets of sugar substitute and nondairy creamer from the motel. Here, use them if you’d like.” She dug some smashed packages out of her jeans pocket rather than push past him to get to the fridge. Besides, she wanted to prove she and the kids could be frugal.
“Worried about my waistline, are you?”
“Your wallet,” she snapped. “Look, it’s a habit I’ve gotten into from traveling with the kids. Take anything that’s free.”
Linc ripped the tops off two packets. “Nothing is free. The motel owner figures these perks into the price of the rooms.”
“So it’s yours by right, then, because you paid for our room.”
Linc shrugged, but continued to study her over the rim of his cup. “I can’t figure you out. You’ve cleaned these cupboards and organized them with precision. While your pals resemble spooks left over from Halloween, you dress normally.” He stopped and looked her deliberately up and down. “Something doesn’t add up, Randi. You have a natural confidence. Frankly, I find it hard to picture you as a victim. Suppose you tell me the whole truth.”
Miranda’s heart galloped in double time. She stood, drained her cup, then went to rinse it out. “Don’t presume you know all about me on the basis of a few short days.”
“Touché.” He lifted his cup in salute. “I’ll back off for now. I know one thing—you’re a hard worker. I suspect you’re responsible for way more of this kitchen transformation than Jenny. And I’m sure Cassie and Hana were more hindrance than help.”
“Actually, they were little troupers. I sent them off to find Wolfie when they both started yawning. The truth is, neither admitted to being tired. They’re sweet, delightful children. I can’t fathom how anyone could have mistreated or discarded them.”
“I notice you’re good with them. If you were telling the truth earlier about having some college, maybe you ought to think about finishing. To, I don’t know, be a teacher or a nurse or something. A degree would give you more options. Certainly more earning power.”
She shrugged offhandedly. If only he knew how much she’d earned in a job that had nothing to do with her liberal arts degree.
“There are scholarships for adults with aptitude. For returning students who want to complete their education.”
Miranda nodded, thinking to herself that she wouldn’t mind going back to school. She loved reading. Studying in general. Of course, she’d been away from formal schooling for more years than Parker could guess. Although, after her dad died, Wes had provided a tutor because the laws governing young performers were strict.
“Going to college would necessitate staying in one place,” Linc said, after taking another swig of his coffee.
And therein lay the real problem. She’d have to not only settle in one spot, but a college would demand ID. Miranda hoped she successfully hid her shiver of concern from Linc. “What’s on tomorrow’s agenda?” she asked abruptly. The silence that had fallen between them was nerve-racking.
“The boys and I discussed cleaning out one bunkhouse. The salesman at the appliance store promised delivery of the baseboard heaters by noon tomorrow. Oh, and the dishwasher, as well. I ordered a freestanding one with a butcher-board top. That way it’ll serve as an extra chopping surface.”
“What time do you want breakfast, then?”
Linc frowned. “That’s right. You volunteered to cook.” He paused. “Can you? Cook, I mean.”
“Why would I volunteer for something I couldn’t do?”
“For money. It’s done all the time in the business world, sweetheart.”
Miranda’s heart kicked over at his casual use of the endearment. Wes called everyone sweetheart, too. The way Linc said it stirred up angry memories. “Then I guess you’ll have to reserve judgment until you see if I poison you,” she countered in a syrupy voice.
Linc laughed, stood and shut off the coffeepot. “Like I said, I have a hard time imagining that you let anyone run roughshod over you.”
“I think I’ll turn in,” she said, stretching and stifling a yawn before heading out.
His gaze followed her curves, where the light outlined her breasts. His last swallow of coffee stuck somewhere in his throat. “Damn!” he spat, not liking the wild flutters in his stomach.
Outside the kitchen, Miranda heard him swear, and she wondered what had happened. Had he spilled his coffee? Burned himself? Jeez, the man unnerved her. She couldn’t afford—wasn’t in any position—to investigate the interest he sparked in her. So tonight it was better to leave him alone to remedy whatever ailed him.
LIGHT PEEKING through the uncurtained windows woke Miranda the next morning. The others slept on, uncaring of the hour. Always a fairly early riser, she had rarely used an alarm clock unless her studio recording call had been before ten in the morning.
She slipped into yesterday’s shirt and jeans. The lack of clean clothing was what bothered her the most in this disappearing act she’d pulled. Back home she had closets bulging with T-shirts in every color, and jeans in thirty different styles. Now the three sets she’d packed seemed woefully inadequate.
The ranch had two bathrooms, for which Miranda was thankful. This morning, she was happy to find the main one in the hallway unoccupied.
But when she exited after having scrubbed her face and brushed her hair, she ran smack into Parker. He’d obviously showered, shaved and, unlike her, had undergone a complete transformation of clothing. He smelled quietly of soap and a classic scent, like fine leather. She caught just a whiff and was tempted enough to step closer. The scent was subtle, not overwhelming as some men seemed to prefer.
“I thought I was the only one up,” he said in a sleepy rasp.
Miranda grinned. “A bear in the mornings, are we, Parker? Don’t worry, I’ll keep out of your way. I’ll slink into the kitchen like a good little cook. Wolfie wants biscuits. They take a while to make. Outside of that, I’d planned to fix oatmeal. Stick-to-your-ribs fare for cleaning bunkhouses. That’s hard work.”
His gaze raked her once, then twice. “Oatmeal must have been in short supply around your house, skinny as you are.”
Miranda realized his eyes weren’t on her ribs. There was invitation in his expression. In an involuntary reaction, she skimmed her fingers up the snaps running down the front of his Western-style shirt.
Linc grabbed her hand roughly, his eyes suddenly hard.
His knee-jerk reaction surprised her, and his grip hurt. Emitting a tiny cry, she wrenched loose and dashed into the kitchen.
Feeling like a heel for overreacting, Linc followed. When he caught up, she’d already pulled flour and shortening from the pantry and was reaching to turn the stove on to preheat. A stove she’d scrubbed clean last night.
“Look, Randi, I’m sorry for grabbing you. Did I hurt you?”
“Yes. But it’s my fault for touching you. I shouldn’t have. It’s just…you look good in that shirt, Parker. Really good. And I thought…I thought for a minute that, well, we had a mutual-admiration thing going there.”
“We did, dammit.” He paced and thrust a hand through his still-damp hair. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not attracted to you, Randi. I am.”
“So what’s the problem?” She hesitated momen
tarily before glancing up from kneading the biscuit mix. “You did believe me when I said I’m twenty-six, right?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt your age now. It’s this situation we’re in. I put my career aside to start this teen retreat. In fact, I put my life on hold. I’ve already had enough setbacks. What with the little kids being abandoned here, teens showing up early and then your not being a teen…” He wheeled and faced her with a scowl. “The refuge isn’t about me. It’s for my sister.”
“And I’m a problem for you?”
“Yes. No. It’s just…too important. I can’t mess this up. Maybe if you’d agree to tell the others…so I don’t have to lie to Social Services.”
Miranda battled a surge of panic. “I can’t. Please…I just need a little more time. A few months. If you can’t see your way clear to letting me stay, I’ll leave. Tonight. After all the others go to bed.”
Linc slashed a hand through the air. “And go where? Back to the streets? I can’t let you do that.” He watched her cut the biscuit dough and place the rounds in a baking pan. “At the risk of sounding totally selfish, I need you to help me here. At least until someone answers my ad. It’s obvious that you’re a capable woman, Randi.”
Miranda glanced up from the baking sheet. Boy, he did look good, so good her heart skipped a beat. “Thanks for that, at least, Parker. I knew from the minute I laid eyes on you that you were a cowboy at heart.” It was the greatest compliment she could give.
Pausing, Linc appeared disturbed by her comment. He shoved his hands sheepishly in his pockets. “Know a lot of cowboys, do you?”
“No. But I know from movies and novels what kind of men they are. Cowboys are men a woman can count on. They’re bighearted and chivalrous. And they have a…a certain walk.” She arched an eyebrow. “You’ve got the walk, Parker.” Miranda might have said more, but she broke off, seeing color rise to his cheeks.
“You’re talking fantasy. Too many people wreck their lives believing in fantasy. You’d better start dealing with real life.”
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