“Sort of. It’s Miranda.” She said it hesitantly to test the waters. When Jenny’s expression didn’t change, she went for broke. “My name is Miranda Kimbrough.” She expelled a breath, feeling lighter for her admission. What she didn’t realize was that Linc had emerged from his room and lurked in the shadows behind them.
“Miranda,” he said in a gravelly voice that made both women jump. “That’s nice. Very nice. It fits you,” he said, looking rumpled from sleep as he walked toward them, buttoning the cuffs of a long-sleeved flannel shirt.
Unprepared to see him yet, after the wondrous hours they’d spent making love, Miranda reeled at the sight of him. In worn jeans, Western-style shirt and scuffed square-toed boots, he really was the image of a cowboy. She didn’t dare meet his eyes.
“Ugh, Linc, your face could pass for modern art,” Jenny gasped.
Miranda did glance at him then. Sympathy rushed through her until Linc brushed off Jenny’s comment with one of his own. “Looks worse than it feels. And my headache’s gone. To tell the truth, I feel on top of the world.” His good eye settled on Miranda as his declaration brought splashes of heat to her cheeks.
“Well, uh…the turkey awaits me in the kitchen. Jenny, weren’t you heading out to feed the stock? Will you gather the eggs while you’re at it?”
“Okay. What time are we having Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Around two o’clock, if that’s okay with everyone,” Miranda said. “No one mentioned a preference, and that’s when we always ate at home. Linc, will you carve the turkey?”
“I’ve never done it,” he said, “but sure. There’s probably directions in that cookbook I saw you looking at yesterday. Come on, Miranda, I’ll follow you to the kitchen. One of us needs to make a pot of coffee. I don’t think well without caffeine.”
Miranda marveled at how easily her real name rolled off his lips. But she’d rather he didn’t use it all the time. She still had the hurdle of Eric—the real authority on musicians.
“If you see the boys, tell them I made cinnamon rolls for breakfast, along with fresh fruit. Makes for an easy meal when the rest of the kitchen is messed up with holiday fixin’s.”
“Fixin’s?” Linc teased as he turned her toward the kitchen and spanned her waist with familiar hands. “I’ll bet you don’t realize how many times you say you’re fixin’ to do something.”
“Are you implying I talk funny?”
“Not at all.” He grinned. And the minute they rounded the corner that hid both of them from Jenny, he moved his hand to the back of her neck and tugged her up on tiptoe to receive a kiss that was almost a sigh of relief.
Jenny’s loudly spoken goodbye had him awkwardly releasing Miranda. She sank onto her heels, her brain too scrambled to return Jenny’s farewell. Linc called out for both of them.
“How are you this morning?” he asked Miranda with a thoroughly male smile. “Why did you leave without waking me? Moreover, why didn’t you stay?”
“You know why. I share a room with Jenny and the kids. How would it look? They all believe I’m Jenny’s age, for pity’s sake.”
“Right! That always slips my mind.” He drew back and stumbled over his words. “You are twenty-six? I mean, with that haircut you look about sixteen.” He blew out a breath. “Hell, of course you’re a woman,” he said expansively before she scorched him with a frown. “After last night, that much is plain.”
“I’d think, after last night, you’d trust me at least to tell the truth about my age,” she snapped, flicking on the kitchen lights.
He began to respond, then clamped his lips together and strode straight to the coffeepot. Her name, as well as her face, now capped by blondish hair, kept niggling at the back of his mind. Like he was missing an important piece of a puzzle.
“Given our start, there’s no hope for us, is there?” she said in a strained voice. “There’ll always be a part of you that wonders about me, Linc. I might as well chalk last night up to a nice interlude.”
“It felt like more,” he said, drawing water for the coffeepot. “But—” he shrugged “—I’ve been burned by women I knew a whole lot better. Considering what’s at stake with my project and all, I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did. It’s just the attraction between us that had been heating up for weeks. Last night was…great,” he said softly. “Damn, I’m not saying another word. I don’t like that fiery look in your eye.”
Miranda put her hands to work preparing the turkey. It was awhile before she was able to ask anything calmly. “Linc, I’d like to take the driver’s test. Jenny and I want to register for some college classes. Shawn’s expressed an interest in getting his GED, too.”
“Hey, that’s good news. Shawn said something about it in passing. I thought it was probably one of those fleeting wishes all kids make. What about Eric? That kid is sharp. He’s a whiz with machinery. He could do so much more with his life.”
“Eric’s a holdout. So you’re okay with us going ahead with these plans? We’d need your SUV probably two nights a week. Classes start at six. On those evenings, I can fix a casserole. Someone will have to get Cassie and Hana ready for bed, though.”
A look of concern crossed Linc’s face. “I haven’t given up hope of hiring a housekeeper. Perhaps Mrs. Bishop can help me find someone. I don’t think she’ll let me expand my operation without household assistance. Of course, baby-sitting the younger ones won’t be an issue by January. She’ll remove them from here right away, I’m sure.”
Miranda straightened from shoving the huge turkey into the preheated oven. “Before Christmas? You think she’ll take them before then? Oh, no, Linc!”
Linc’s steady regard unnerved her.
“That’d be perfectly awful,” she rushed to say. “This is the only home they know. We’re their family, Linc. They’ve responded so well to us. I guarantee that holidays without family are absolutely awful.” Tears glossed her eyes as she watched his shoulders stiffen. He poured a cup of coffee and walked out of the room.
She didn’t see him again all morning. At about nine, the boys and Jenny came in for breakfast. “Hey, Randi,” Shawn called. “Will you fix a couple of cinnamon rolls and a thermos for Linc?”
She looked startled. “Is he going somewhere?”
“Nope. We’re gonna start cleaning out the second bunkhouse. He knows the plumber can’t get down the road with his equipment while it’s snowing, but he says if it’s clean, the woman who’s evaluating him can at least see its potential.” Greg issued his last statement around a mouthful of gooey roll.
Miranda figured she knew what was behind Linc’s sudden need to ready the second bunkhouse. He didn’t want her near his bedroom. Why that depressed her, she couldn’t say. Deep in her heart she knew her time here at the ranch was limited. One day she’d have to go back to Nashville and face Wes Carlisle. She’d been thinking about an offhand comment Linc had made a few weeks back. He’d said there wasn’t a contract that couldn’t be broken. She wished she could ask him more about that without spilling her guts.
While exhaustion had allowed her to walk away from her life without a thought for her future, now that she’d recovered somewhat, she saw how much she’d given up. A house, a hefty bank balance and friends who must be worried sick. But she wasn’t ready to see any of them yet. Maybe six months down the road. If Linc let her stay and go to school, the college would uncover another of her falsehoods. They’d discover she already had a liberal arts degree. But a semester of specialized classes would help her counsel kids like Jenny and the others. If she wanted to do anything more involved, she’d have to do a master’s program in social work.
Jenny pulled out Hana’s green stool and sat at the counter. “Shawn came out to the barn and said Parker agreed to us taking classes. You must’ve been persuasive, Randi, er, Miranda. I told the others your name,” she said shyly. “I hope that’s okay.”
Miranda glanced at the ring of faces. Not seeing any recognition that could unmask her,
she shrugged. “Like I said before, what’s in a name? I answer to most anything.”
Eric tossed her the first curve as she poured juice. “When you take your driver’s test, Randi, can I tag along?” He puffed out his chest, warding off curious stares. “You heard Parker say he might buy a truck so there’ll always be a vehicle here. If I had a current license, maybe he’d let me drive to town sometime.”
“Hey, great, Eric. Why can’t we all get licenses?” Miranda asked.
“If there’s a second car,” Wolfie said, picking at his fruit, “can I sign up for soccer? Coach asked me the other day. He saw us kicking the ball at recess.”
Shawn, who’d started out the door with Linc’s food, turned back. “Soccer’s not till spring, right?” At Wolfie’s nod, Shawn said, “It won’t be Linc’s worry then, kid. You’ll be living somewhere else.”
The older boy caught Miranda’s glare. “Well, it’s not nice to string kids along,” he muttered. “I hated when my old man dangled a carrot under my nose. We all know the old broad from the county won’t let ’em stay with Parker, especially if he’s the only adult taking care of us.”
Cassie began to sob, which set Hana off. Wolfie’s lower lip trembled as he tried to soothe his sister.
“Good going, Shawn baby,” Eric sputtered. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
Shawn left, slamming the door, leaving the others to deal with the fallout.
Four hours later, Linc sat at the head of the table, having done a passable job of carving the bird while studying the cookbook. “Why all the long faces?” he asked, making a survey of the table. “The storm’s blown over. Snow’s melting. Our table is groaning with good food. Am I missing something?”
“Shawn shot off his mouth and stirred up the little kids by saying the social worker’s gonna move them.” Greg and the others glared sullenly at their friend, who’d already dug into his mashed potatoes and gravy.
He scowled back. “Why are you pissed off because I call a spade a spade?”
“Cut the swearing,” Linc warned. He was uncomfortable because the three smaller kids had turned to him with wide frightened eyes. “Can’t we just give thanks that we’re together today?”
“My sentiments exactly.” Miranda reached out to the kids on either side of her and clasped their hands. “If everybody will show some manners and stop stuffing your faces, we’ll say grace. My dad always said collective prayers have a better chance of being answered.”
With that none-too-gentle nudge, they all dropped their forks and joined hands.
Miranda waited for Linc to speak. But he stared back at her with a panicked expression. You do it, he mouthed. She lowered her eyes and began in her soft sweet drawl, “Our heavenly Father…” She made up her prayer, mentioning each person by name, giving thanks for what they had and what they’d been given. She talked about the beauty and bounty of the land and the importance of family, whether the family you were born to or one you created. She finished by thanking Linc for his generosity.
Only Cassie whispered, “Amen,” when Miranda ended her prayer. The others took longer to release hands.
Jenny broke the silence. “That sounded cool, Randi—should we be calling you Miranda all the time now?”
“Either is fine. I even answer to ‘Hey you,’” she said with a feigned laugh.
Eric didn’t rush to eat. He studied Miranda, finally stating, “I think what Jenny meant is that your prayer sounded like a song. A hymn, maybe.”
“That’s what I did mean,” Jenny piped up. “Or like a poem.”
Miranda almost choked on her first bite. The last thing she wanted was to have them connect her to songwriting. She managed to gather her scattered wits fast enough to counter Eric. “Jenny said you spent the night concocting a tune. Must’ve fried your brain. A prayer is just a prayer, guys. Now eat. If you’d spent all morning hunched over a hot stove, you’d want everyone to enjoy the meal instead of talking.” She made a show of passing cranberry sauce one way and steamed vegetables the other.
It worked to keep them occupied. The meal got back on track and conversation meandered down other avenues.
When everyone was finished, Shawn stretched and yawned. “That was the best meal I’ve had in years. I’m so stuffed I’m sleepy. Mr. P, do we have to go work in the bunkhouse again?”
Linc leaned back and patted his stomach. “This is a holiday. Other than feeding the stock, there’s nothing we absolutely have to do. Anybody interested in football? I think there’s a game on TV.”
Except for the little girls, excited chatter rose as the boys argued about the teams. They all pushed back their chairs and stampeded for the living room.
“Hey,” Miranda called. “Are we forgetting house rules? The cook doesn’t have to do dishes, remember?”
Greg blocked Jenny’s exit. “What do you know about football?” he challenged.
“Nothing,” she admitted. “But I mucked stalls, fed animals and gathered eggs this morning so Eric could work on his tune. I deserve a holiday like anybody else.”
Miranda saw she’d created an opportunity for a typical sibling battle. Even though they weren’t siblings, the family setting encouraged that kind of relationship. “Look, I’m sorry I said anything. I really don’t like football. You go on. I need to arrange leftovers in the fridge, anyway.”
“I’ll help,” Linc volunteered. “Even if you don’t want to see the game, with two of us working, it’ll cut your time in half and give you some free hours to yourself.”
No one else wanted Linc to assign them to kitchen duty, so they lost no time in pulling a disappearing act. Miranda heard the bantering around the TV, yet the tension between her and Linc stretched almost to the breaking point. Surreptitious glances from his direction gave her the feeling he wanted to say something to her. She assumed it had to do with last night and dreaded facing what would surely be a stream of regrets.
Finally she turned and accosted him. “You’re dying to say something, Linc. So spit it out.”
“You read me too well.” He shook back a lock of hair that fell over his forehead. “I just want to explain again that I can’t keep the little kids, Miranda. I…can’t,” he said in a rough voice. “You have to stop believing in miracles.”
That was what Miranda had expected. But still, it tore a piece out of her heart, because they wanted so badly to stay, and she wanted them to. “I know Cassie needs expensive medical care,” she murmured. “And there aren’t any kids their age here to play with. But…but…” She felt the tears well up and looked away from the refusal she saw forming in his dark eyes.
“Believe me, they’ll be better off with someone who knows more about children, who can guide them past all the pitfalls and problems. If I was that person, Miranda, Felicity would still be alive.”
Miranda turned to object to his self-recriminations. But like smoke, he’d disappeared from the room. She wiped down the table and counters, her mind starting to build a song—an ode to Linc’s sister. The stanzas tumbled into place. Skirting the kids lounging on the floor around the TV, Miranda slipped into her room. She took a journal out of her drawer and set down the words swimming through her head. Sometimes would-be songs stalled before verse three. This one wrote itself.
When she’d finished, she shut the book and rubbed her aching shoulders. Too bad no one, least of all Linc, would ever hear “For the Love of Felicity.”
ON THURSDAY the week after the holiday, an aging Jeep Wagoneer slogged through a sheet of rain and pulled in next to Linc’s Excursion. The school bus had delivered Wolfie and Cassie at the road a scant ten minutes before.
Miranda, gearing up to take her driver’s test in spite of the less-than-pleasant weather, had driven out to collect them, since Linc was helping the contractor rough in a bathroom in the second bunkhouse.
“Hey, somebody just drove in. I don’t recognize the car.” Jenny spotted the Jeep from her perch on a ladder. They’d bought decorations yesterday, and the boys, under Mira
nda and Jenny’s expert tutelage, had cut down a Christmas tree they were about to trim.
Greg cupped his hands around his eyes to peer out a window blocked by the tree. “Could be the contractor’s assistant.”
“It’s almost dark,” Miranda said. “Why would someone come to assist him when he’s about ready to leave for the night?”
“Dunno.” Greg stepped back. “A delivery for Linc, maybe? We’re too far off the beaten track to get a door-to-door salesman.”
They all laughed and returned to stringing lights. “You have too many lights on the right side,” Shawn told Jenny as the doorbell chimed. It was the first time any of them had heard the bell, so it took a moment to realize what it was.
Once they settled that it was, indeed, the doorbell, Hana ran into the hall and flung open the door.
They heard a woman with a high voice speaking to Hana, and Miranda knew instantly who their visitor was— Mrs. Bishop, the dreaded director of Social Services. Her stomach tumbled end over end and bile rose in her throat. Grabbing Wolfie’s arm, she hissed into his ear, “Go out through the kitchen and get Linc. Tell him she’s here.”
“Who?” the older boys chorused.
Eric made the connection first. “The dragon lady from welfare. Great. Just great. Their timing always sucks.” He threw down the string of lights he’d been winding around the tree. “She’s here to wreck our Christmas. I told you guys we shouldn’t bother with this tree-trimming crap.”
They all looked stricken, none more than Cassie, who immediately began to wail.
Miranda hugged the chair-bound girl and handed her a tissue. “I know her timing stinks, hon. But please dry your tears. If she sees you crying, she’ll think the worst. Come on, y’all, put on a happy face.” Miranda smoothed back her short hair and took her own suggestion. She pasted on a smile before moving to the door. Hana clung to the knob, gaping at the stick of a woman dressed in undertaker black.
Brother!
The woman studied Miranda without smiling. She shifted a large briefcase to her left hand, stepped inside and extended a business card. Miranda wasn’t surprised to read the name Evelyn Bishop, followed by a string of letters denoting her degrees. Below her name it proclaimed she was indeed Director of Social Services in this part of Northern California.
A Cowboy at Heart Page 19