A Cowboy at Heart

by Roz Denny Fox

  Miranda wrapped her arms around him and fought heavy eyes for as long as possible. She was afraid of falling asleep and spending the night with him, even though she’d love nothing better.

  With a sigh, she slid out of the warm bed and dressed quickly, making every effort not to gaze down at him. In the greenish glow of the light spilling across the bed, his face looked different tonight. Harder. Less relaxed. These secret sessions were taking a toll on both of them.

  Stealing from his room, softly closing the door, it struck Miranda that tonight they’d both been pretending. Pretending their exchange in the kitchen hadn’t altered their feelings. Pretending the changes the new year was going to bring wouldn’t affect their relationship—when, in fact, nothing could or would remain the same.

  Her mind and heart were so preoccupied with Linc that at first Miranda didn’t notice anything amiss when she opened the door and tiptoed into her room. She was digging her nightshirt out from under her pillow when she suddenly whirled on Jenny’s bed.

  It was empty. Not only empty, but clearly never slept in. The spread hadn’t been turned back and there was no indentation in the pillow.

  She ran to the window and checked on Linc’s SUV. She practically groaned with relief to see it parked in its usual spot. What had she expected—that Jenny and Eric had run away?

  She wasted several minutes debating waking Linc. But perhaps Jenny was at the boys’ bunkhouse, rehearsing. Eric had talked about them all singing Christmas carols before opening gifts.

  Confident that must be the case, Miranda shrugged into a jacket and tiptoed through the kitchen to collect a flashlight. She left the house via the back, as the front door tended to squeak and she didn’t want to worry Linc needlessly.

  The bunkhouse was dark and she held her breath. Aware that they never locked the door, she went in and shined the flashlight around.

  Shawn stirred in one of the lower bunks. “Eric?” he called. “Izzat you?”

  “It’s Miranda,” she whispered. “Jenny’s not in her bed.”

  Shawn sat up and yawned. “Her, Eric and Greg are at the cave. Eric’s getting antsy about staying here. He doesn’t trust the Bishop broad.”

  “What’s Mrs. Bishop got to do with them going to the cave?”

  “They’re trying to put together new tunes. Hoping it’ll get them noticed by a recording company in San Francisco, since they didn’t get anywhere in L.A.”

  “But…I thought you were part of their band.”

  “Nah, I discovered I like ranching better. Linc’s been square. I’m banking he won’t let the old crow ship me home. The others think he’ll give us up as fast as bad vomit. But I was sick and tired of the way we were living. I want to stay here and see what the olives look like hanging off the trees we planted.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Greg’s a natural musician. I’m not.”

  Miranda chewed her lower lip. She wished she had some insight into what Linc would do if Mrs. Bishop pushed him. “Their band is far from ready to interest a talent scout.”

  “Maybe,” mumbled Shawn. “But they’ve got cash now to cut a demo. Felicity paid for a couple last year—they turned out really bad, though.”

  Miranda decided to find the cave and make her own judgment. “Shawn, will you take me to the cave? Right now, I mean,” she added when he fell back on his pillow.

  “Hell, Randi, I can’t find my way at night. The path’s as dark as a witch’s—”

  “Shush,” she warned, realizing Wolfie was awake and that he lay listening to their exchange.

  “I’ll take you,” Wolfie croaked. Sitting up, he reached for his boots.

  “No. Goodness, I can’t ask you to do that. You have school tomorrow.”

  “My alarm’s set for two so I can go get ’em, anyway. It’s one o’clock now, but what the heck. I’m awake.” He yawned.

  Seeing he’d been sleeping in his shirt and jeans, Miranda accepted his offer. If nothing else, she’d chew out Eric and Jenny for involving Wolfie in their deception. Had they no sense? she fumed, practically running to keep up with the boy, who’d set off along a faint trail leading into the hills.

  “How often have they interrupted your sleep for this?” she demanded, puffing like a steam engine as the grade grew steeper.

  “Mostly they go right after I get home from school, while you’re helping Cassie with homework. I go get ’em when you’re done helping me with mine. We’re always back by supper.”

  “Well, yes, or I’d have noticed. Or Linc would’ve. Where does he think you all disappear to?”

  “He thinks we’re studying.”

  In the distance, a dog began to bark. Or maybe it wasn’t a dog. Miranda sped up, falling into step with the boy. “Is that a coyote?”

  “It’s Scraps,” he told her. “Jenny said he wouldn’t stay on Cassie’s bed tonight. She said you and Linc were in the kitchen talking about those college classes. Jenny didn’t dare turn him loose, ’cause she said you’d notice she was gone.”

  “Which I did, anyhow. Did she think I’d stay up all night, for heaven’s sake?”

  “She said you and Linc sit in the kitchen and talk for hours every night.”

  Miranda flushed. She didn’t know anyone had seen. She might have probed more intensely had Wolfie not stopped, pulled aside a wet shrub and pointed to a dark hole in the side of a hill. Somewhere in the muffled interior, Scraps had begun to really set up a frenzied barking.

  Wolfie stuck his head in the opening and gave a shrill whistle. Once Miranda’s heart stopped pounding and her breath quit coming in short spurts, she could hear music drifting out. It vanished suddenly.

  “Come on. Follow me,” Wolfie said.

  She placed a hand on his shoulder, since stepping into the interior left them in total blackness. Little by little as they walked, she saw light filtering from somewhere ahead. They passed through two caverns before Wolfie made a sharp left turn and, like magic, a large area opened up. Five lanterns threw flickering shadows up granite walls, revealing the teens and the dog seated on a colorful array of blankets. All glanced up and glared at the intruders.

  “You’re early,” Jenny accused.

  But Eric caught sight of Miranda. He yelled at Wolfie, “What in hell are you doing bringing Randi here?”

  “I insisted,” she said, shielding the boy. “I discovered Jenny’s bed hadn’t been slept in. I might not have worried if you’d left me a note saying where you were.”

  “I wanted to,” Jenny said sullenly. “Eric thought you’d blab it to Linc. We knew he’d freak out.”

  “What makes you think I’d tell Linc?”

  Jenny and Eric laughed as if on cue. “You two are joined at the hip. Beats me what-all you got to talk about with a dude his age,” Jenny said. “Eric thinks there’s probably more than talk going on. You’d better watch yourself, Randi. Felicity told me her brother only dated the hottest chicks from the movies. There’s only one reason a guy like him would take an interest in somebody your age.”

  Miranda opened her mouth to tell them her real age. But they’d never trust her again if she did. Crouching down, she scratched Scraps behind the ears. “Thanks for your concern, but I can take care of myself. Shawn told me you’d put together a possible new act. Since I’ve come all this way, why not let me be your first audience.”

  Clearly uncomfortable, they hemmed, hawed and shuffled their instruments. Miranda thought they were going to refuse. After a long-drawn-out silence, Eric motioned for Jenny to make room for Miranda and Wolfie on one of the quilts.

  Then Eric strummed a few chords on his guitar to indicate the range for Greg, who’d settled a battery-operated keyboard on his lap. Jenny smiled and gazed down at her hands.

  Miranda was pleasantly surprised by Greg’s ability to play the keyboard. Eric, she knew, could do wonderful things with a guitar. Jenny’s voice and range had improved with practice. Together the three of them sounded quite professional, and that impressed Miranda. They were better than good, c
onsidering their primitive surroundings.

  With regard to those surroundings, Miranda listened closely for echoes, the bane of songwriters who picked out tunes on pianos at home. What she heard was music as clear and pure as if they were playing in an acoustical room. At the end of the number, she was moved to clap.

  “Wow, you guys, that sounded great! Do another number.”

  Pathetically eager to show off, they plunged into a medley of current hard-rock hits.

  Miranda did more than listen for echoes. And she’d swear there wasn’t a single wrong note. Growing excited about music for probably the first time since walking offstage, she found herself gesturing animatedly after the last note died away.

  “You’re fantastic! But according to Colby Donovan—he’s Nashville’s leading sound man—performers need something fresh, something different, if they hope to cut a demo and get noticed by anyone in the business.”

  Three sets of eyes pinned her. Only Wolfie didn’t stare at her, and that was because he’d fallen asleep with Scraps in his arms and his head on Miranda’s lap.

  Fearing at once that she’d goofed, she tried to recover. “I, uh, read that in a country-music magazine once.”

  “We’re not aiming for the country market,” Jenny pointed out.

  “Maybe you should. Your voice is perfect for the new, crossover country songs. Look at the singers who’ve risen to the top of both charts,” Miranda said.

  “Probably this Donovan guy is right,” Eric agreed. “Only, we don’t know anybody in Nashville or L.A. or San Francisco. Did this Donovan say no one ever makes it with a demo of current hits?”

  Miranda was afraid to offer much more detail. She gave a half shrug. “The article did mention that written permission’s required to cut most songs already on a tape or CD. Your best bet is to use something you write yourselves. If a producer likes what he hears, he might toss in a backup trio. Maybe a banjo, a regular guitar and a few blended background voices.” Fearing she’d said too much, she added, “That’s what the article said, anyway.”

  Greg leaned on his keyboard. “How do you get permission for old songs?”

  “You have to pay, stupid,” Eric snarled. “Big bucks.”

  Jenny nervously rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. “Maybe we ought to call it quits for tonight. Eric, can you hitch a ride into town with Miranda next week when she takes the kids to the clinic? The library will have information on song rights.”

  “Good plan.” Miranda gently shook Wolfie awake. Scrambling up, she tucked Scraps inside her jacket. They all laughed at how widely the small dog yawned.

  When the girls were back in their room, Jenny pestered Miranda some more. “You write poems. Have you written one Eric could set to music?”

  On the other side of the room, Miranda froze. “Poems? Me? What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve seen you madly writing in a lined notebook you stuff in your dresser drawer at night. You left it out one day when you went to help Hana with her bath. I a-accidentally saw a piece you wrote about Felicity. I only read the last few lines, but it was so beautiful it made me cry. I figure you probably wrote about other emotional stuff. If not, I bet you could write a love song. Audiences go wild for love songs.”

  Miranda had written a few possibles, any one of which she could develop. But her songs were meant as country ballads. How would her words sound in a rock arrangement? “Jenny, I write what comes from my heart. It’s deeply personal. I’d feel…funny, hearing anybody sing what I’ve written.” Which was true. She’d always sung her own material. If she messed it up, she had only herself to blame.

  “Promise you’ll think about it, at least.”

  “Okay, I will. But my first obligation is to help Cassie, Hana and Wolfie finish making Christmas presents.” Miranda crawled under her covers.

  “I know. Listen, if you don’t want to share something you wrote, could you maybe teach me how to write? I’ve got a ton of ideas, I just don’t have the education to pull any of them into a song.”

  “That’s why you’re taking a poetry class. Nobody taught me, Jenny. I open my head and my heart. I write exactly what I feel.” She frowned, adding, “Oh, you know I took a couple of music intro classes. You could, too.”

  “Hmm. Well, what I read was gut-wrenching. If Parker heard it sung, he’d cry, I bet. G’night, Randi. It felt good knowing you thought we sounded okay.”

  They’d sounded better than okay. Ironically, they had what Colby liked to call the Nashville sound. Miranda lay awake for hours, fearing she’d opened a Pandora’s box.

  Beginning the next day, she divided her free time between helping the little kids paint T-shirts for everyone for Christmas and trekking out to the cave to oversee the musicians’ budding careers; she’d even written a song for them, hoping to move the group in a consciously country direction. Guilt dogged her footsteps. She was torn between Linc’s disdain of the industry and the fact that her friends had real talent. What weighed heaviest on Miranda was the knowledge that in today’s market, it took more than talent to break in. It took a brilliant demo, a good marketer to shop the demo around and contacts to get off the ground at all. She had contacts she dared not use, unless she wanted her idyllic life here to be over.

  Eric loped up to her as she entered the cave the next afternoon. “Hey, Randi. The lyrics you came up with after supper are so hot! I’m pretty sure I can set them to music. We’re so excited, but I’ve gotta tell ya, with stuff this good, you could probably sell it for a tidy sum.”

  She shrugged off his enthusiasm and turned to Wolfie. “I missed you at our craft session. Cassie said you’d decided not to make, uh, the same thing they’re making.” She lowered her voice, not wanting to give away the children’s secret.

  The boy leaned closer. “A friend at school, Ricky Padilla—his mom makes cool belts and wallets. She’ll charge three bucks apiece for the material. And she’ll show me how to put buckles on if I go home with Ricky a couple of nights. She said I can stay over, but could you pick me up after supper, Randi? Hana’s way better, but no telling how she’d act if I skipped coming home one whole night.”

  Miranda ruffled his hair. He’d filled out into a handsome kid. “Sure, sport. Any day but Wednesday. That’s our doctor-and-dental appointment day.”

  He screwed up his face. “Cassie’s scared. She said doctors hurt her when they straighten her legs to check her hips and knees.”

  “I’ll go in with her.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I reckon nobody’s ever done that before. Will you do that for Hana, too? I tell her it’s probably not right for me to stick around during her exam.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t understand why I get embarrassed.”

  “You’re a good brother, Wolfie. The best. But yes, I’ll stay with Hana.”

  WEDNESDAY ROLLED AROUND, and Miranda loaded the kids in the SUV. She waited for Eric. Instead, Linc came loping out of the house.

  Miranda slid out from under the steering wheel and passed him the keys. “Are you driving them to their appointments, instead of me?”

  “I told the other kids we’re both going. I promised Mrs. Bishop. She has it in her head that they’re my responsibility, however temporary.”

  “Then she’s found their files?”

  “No. And it frustrates the hell out of her. She hasn’t been able to raise anyone at Oasis, either. They missed their court date, apparently.”

  “But she’s authorizing the children’s medical care today?”

  “I’m paying for them, Miranda. I figure it’s the least I can do.”

  “Oh, okay. Is Eric coming? He wanted to go to the library.”

  “I thought he was, but Jenny said he changed his mind.”

  A couple of hours later, Miranda would have loved a picture of Linc’s face when the clinic nurse presented him with the bill. Or maybe he was only stunned by what she said, which was, “Dr. Wyeth thinks you and Mrs. Parker have worked wonders with these kids. Last time the school
nurse brought Wolfgang in, he was malnourished. And it’s commendable of you to tackle Cassie’s problem. The doctor hopes he can find a specialist to take her case, as he mentioned to your wife.” The beaming nurse wrote paid on the bill and handed the top copy to Linc.

  Miranda jostled his arm and whispered, “I explained to Dr. Wyeth that you’re only Cassie’s temporary guardian. And I’m not Mrs. Parker,” she added for the nurse to hear. “I’m Linc’s, uh, housekeeper.”

  Miranda snatched Hana up and balanced her on one hip a moment before turning away, her temper simmering. The nurse knew their situation; Miranda had made it clear to the doctor. But the woman had been eyeing Linc as they went from room to room. Now Miranda had handed her an opportunity to make a play for him.

  He didn’t linger, however. He sauntered into the waiting room after Miranda. “What was that all about?” he asked as they went down the block to the dental offices.

  “Flirting. Nurse Carstairs was flirting with you. Don’t tell me you missed her batting her baby blues in your face.”

  “Hmm, I must have. Anyway, I don’t see why you’re annoyed with me.”

  She eased out a long sigh, speaking so the kids wouldn’t hear. “I’m not annoyed with you, Linc. It’s more that I made my escape from my old life with a noose around my neck. Day by day, as I get more comfortable here, I feel it tightening. None of how I feel is your fault. But I’m sure Mrs. Bishop is going to expose me to the others for the fraud I am. I said I’d stay on, but the teens may vote me out. I can’t even say I’d blame them.”

  He slid a bracing arm around Miranda’s shoulders and pulled her against his side. A light rain had begun to fall. One of the many things Linc found appealing about Miranda was that she didn’t mind getting dirty or wet. “I stand by my offer to help you get out of the fix you’re in, sweetheart, whatever it is. All you have to do is point me in the right direction and say the word.”