Miranda gazed at him through lashes clumped together by tears. She hoped he thought they were wet from the rain. She was awfully afraid she’d gone and fallen in love with Linc Parker. And no matter which way she sliced the pie that represented their mixed-up lives, he only considered her a friend and sometime lover.
There was a larger question looming in her mind: could she stay on after Mrs. Bishop dropped her bombshell? Since love didn’t seem to be a word in Linc Parker’s vocabulary, maybe it wasn’t an issue at all.
TWICE IN THE WEEK before Christmas, Dr. Wyeth phoned the ranch. He’d managed to arrange an appointment for Cassie to see a neurologist and an orthopedic surgeon in Sacramento. Both fell after Linc’s scheduled meeting with Mrs. Bishop.
“I’ll see that Cassie gets to her appointment, regardless,” he promised the doctor. “Even if Social Services finds Cassie’s file and places her in a foster home. Will either of these doctors operate pro bono or whatever you MDs call charity cases?”
Miranda cocked an ear to follow Linc’s half of the conversation on Christmas Eve. She was on her hands and knees, tucking the last gifts under the tree. Their rain had turned to snow again. Because Wolfie and Cassie were now out of school on holiday break, they’d all begun to feel housebound.
Hana ran through the living room screeching at the top of her lungs. Cassie wheeled full tilt after her. Their shouting caused Miranda to miss Linc’s final exchange with the doctor, but it sounded as if he was worried about possible costs. If only she could access her money, she’d pay Cassie’s bill. It just wasn’t fair that a sweet child remained immobile because the welfare department refused to pay for her surgery.
“Girls, what’s the problem?”
“Hana has my gingerbread man.” Tears streamed from Cassie’s pretty eyes. “She already ate hers, even though Wolfie said she was s’posed to wait till after supper. Hana knows I wanted to leave mine on a plate for Santa Claus.”
Miranda crawled over to the girl and rose to dry her face. “Honey, I have plenty more gingerbread men. I made two whole batches after you girls went to bed last night. After supper I thought we could decorate a few and hang them on the tree. But we’ll save enough for Santa. Cross my heart.”
“Okay.” Cassie sniffed a few more times and flung her arms around Miranda’s neck. “I love you, M’randa. Hana and I pray every night that you’ll get to be our new mommy.”
“Oh, hon.” Miranda swallowed the lump in her throat. “Just you saying that is the nicest Christmas present anybody could ever give me.” Smiling sadly, Miranda climbed to her feet. “Girls, go see if Wolfie will run the train Linc set up in the bunkhouse last week.” He’d bought it as an early Christmas gift—and Miranda suspected it was also something he’d always wanted himself. “I have to go make our Christmas Eve lasagna,” she explained.
The girls scampered off to find their jackets, and Miranda discovered Linc had hung up the phone. He watched her, an odd expression in his eyes. “You’re so good with the kids. I wish Felicity had had someone like you in her life when she was growing up.”
Miranda crossed to him and rose on tiptoe to brush a kiss over his lips. “I’m sorry she’s not with you this Christmas, Linc. I overheard you asking your friend John Montoya to put a wreath on her grave. If it wasn’t snowing so hard, I’d suggest you fly to Hollywood and deliver the wreath yourself. I could’ve handled a few days alone with the kids.”
“I know. I did mention it to Evelyn Bishop and she had a conniption. Like it or not, rules for running a facility like mine are spelled out in a licensing handbook. She sent me a copy. So far I’ve only read the first half.” He made an exasperated face. “She put a rush order on a new license agreement for me, but if I’d known then what I know now, I probably wouldn’t have opened a teen refuge.”
“Why? We all think you’re doing a wonderful job.”
“According to the manual, I can’t let kids come and go at will. When they arrive, I send a report to the county. It’s my duty to keep monthly logs on anyone under nineteen until they’re formally signed out of my care by Bishop or another caseworker. If I let anyone leave without going through the proper process, it’s a black mark against me and my facility. If a kid dislikes it enough to want to leave, they do something like an exit interview. Too many of those aren’t good, either.”
Miranda patted his arm. “Everyone here seems happy, don’t you think?”
“Maybe—but you’re the one who brought up the possibility of Eric and Jenny going back to L.A.”
“I did? When?”
“The night you tried to convince me I’m good daddy material.”
“Ah, now I remember. That was the night Mrs. Bishop called. Don’t worry. I think the kids have figured out that they’ve still got a lot to learn before they cut a demo record.”
His brows drew together. “They should forget the hell about that and concentrate on learning a worthwhile occupation. Now, what were you telling Cassie about lasagna?” He rubbed his stomach. “I finished painting the new bunkhouse bathroom today, and it’s made me hungry as a bear. Wolfie said we’d better be prepared for the little girls to not sleep well tonight. He said they’re keyed up about Santa.”
“They are. And not just the little kids, either. None of them have had a holiday to remember for a long time, if ever. Christmas meant so little in their homes, Linc. No matter what happens with the children after the appointment with Mrs. Bishop, I hope they’ll look back on these last few weeks and remember the spirit of giving.”
“If so, they’ll have you to thank. Speaking of spirit, will you be moved to visit me tonight? You’ve been so busy lately,” he said, toying with her earring. “I know you’ve been working with the kids to make gifts, but where do you disappear after they go to bed? Some nights the house has felt…well, downright empty.”
Miranda choked and made a show of coughing into her hand. If Linc had any idea she was at the cave helping Jenny, Eric and Greg with their music, he’d come unglued. “Tonight’s not a good night, Linc. As you said, Cassie and Hana are sure to be extra restless.”
He looked disappointed. She felt the same, but had decided she wasn’t cut out for a life of deceit. Now she just had to find a way to break the full truth to Linc. If he didn’t explode, she intended to ask his advice on getting out of her contract with Wesley.
Supper that evening was a huge hit. The dining room rang with laughter. Everyone, including Linc, helped decorate and string the gingerbread men. It was after midnight when the kids finally settled down.
Miranda had made cranberry coffee cake to serve for breakfast. Even though the house was as ready for Christmas as anyone could possibly make it, she worried that they’d all feel let down after opening the meager, mostly handmade gifts.
Sometimes that happened when people built things up in their minds.
EVEN THOUGH HANA had gotten little sleep, Miranda wasn’t surprised when at the crack of dawn, the little girl shook her awake, shouting, “Santa came. Cassie and me went to look, and the gingerbread men on the plate are all gone.” Her eyes rounded. “And Santa left snowy footprints all over the carpet.”
Miranda bolted out of bed and dove into a sweatsuit she’d laid out. Dang, she’d forgotten to hide the gingerbread men. “They’re gone?” she demanded stupidly, letting herself be tugged into the living room.
Linc! He had to be responsible for the piles of new presents and for the empty plate and the floury bootprints that led from the door to the tree. Outside, the snow had stopped falling. A pale sun rose and diamond sparkles rimmed the tracks the older boys were making as they ran from the bunkhouse to the back door. The little girls weren’t the only anxious members of the household.
“You play Santa,” Miranda urged Linc after everyone had found a comfortable place around the tree. Although he shook his head and hung back, they forced him to take part.
There were dolls and doll clothes for the little girls. Sweaters and necklace-and-earring sets for Jenn
y and Miranda. Leather jackets for the boys, who were totally flabbergasted. All they could do was stroke the supple leather.
Miranda had given the boys cowboy hats, and the little girls pink fuzzy slippers. She gave Jenny a poem and a small vial of real perfume.
When Linc went to open Miranda’s gift to him, she held her breath. The plaid wool shirt was nothing to write home about, but how long, she wondered, would it take him to discover the special gift she’d tucked into one of the pockets?
Not long, as it turned out. He removed the tiny square package, and in typical male fashion, ripped off the foil wrap. The others cracked up laughing when Linc removed a small, sterling-silver frog with a gold crown on its head.
He didn’t laugh as he nervously turned the frog over and over in his big hands. Until their eyes met across Hana’s bright curls and Miranda knew he was recalling the night she first called him her princely frog, she worried that her gift had been a failure.
His slow sexy grin declared his pleasure. And Miranda could tell by his eyes that no one had ever given him a more personal or meaningful gift. Her heart did a happy leap in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out well in the new year….
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NEW YEAR’S EVE and Day came and went quietly. Around midweek following the last college bowl football game, Jenny sat at one end of the kitchen table sorting out photographs she’d taken with a camera Shawn and Greg had gone in together to buy her for Christmas.
Miranda occupied the opposite end of the table, sewing flannel nightgowns for Cassie and Hana out of material she’d found to match the fuzzy slippers she’d given them. Scraps napped at her feet and she had to keep scooting him off the foot pedal.
“Why do you always throw up your hand or turn away when I go to take your picture?” Jenny complained.
“I hate seeing spots for an hour after a flash goes off.”
“If that’s not an exaggeration, I don’t know what is. The spots hang around for a minute at best.” Jenny opened a second photo packet. “Boy, this is a great shot of Linc and the guys, all in boots, leather jackets and Stetsons. They look like real cowboys. Come see the one you took of us in the cave, singing. We do look sorta like a country band.”
“I think so,” Miranda said with a small amount of pride. “You guys have softened your image and added a bluesy sound to your music.”
Jenny twisted a lock of her long hair. “Greg kind of resembles Neal McCoy. Randi, do you think country fans would accept Eric’s ethnic mix?”
Miranda thought of Charlie Pride. “Ethnicity is irrelevant, I think. Fans react to the music. Country fans are more loyal than fickle hard-rock listeners. The fact that you’re all nice-looking is a plus with younger fans in any market. Let me see those pictures.” Miranda stopped sewing, started to rise, when pow, a dazzling flash went off in her eyes.
“Gotcha!” Jenny cried triumphantly.
“Honestly, Jenny, grow up.” Irritated, Miranda stalked to the stove, poured a mug of cold coffee and set it in the microwave.
“Caffeine’s a drug, you know.” Jenny wagged a finger. “It’s probably what’s making you toss and turn half the night lately. You sit here with Linc and drink too much caffeine.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “I’ll grant you it’s not good to drink a pot a day like I used to when I practiced long hou…er, stayed up studying.” She caught her slip and set down her mug with a gigantic sigh. “Jenny, next week you’ll probably find this out from Mrs. Bishop, so I’d rather be the one to tell you. I’m not your age. I’m twenty-six. I’ve studied music and other subjects in college.”
Afraid to meet Jenny’s eyes, Miranda inspected her last seam. “In two months I’ll, uh, be twenty-seven.”
“I kinda thought you might be a bit older than us, but twenty-seven? Why— Oh, I get it. Did Shawn’s dad hire you to spy on him? He tried that once, but Eric and some others caught on and roughed the jerk up.”
“No, Jenny, my deception has nothing to do with you or the boys. I, uh, had to disappear. I can’t explain why. Please, will you take my word for it?”
Jenny stared at her so long that Miranda sewed a seam crookedly and had to rip it out. “Really,” she pleaded, flexing her fingers in the half-finished gown. “The day I met you and found Scraps, I so badly needed friends. You’ve all been that and more. Friendship’s not about age. It has to do with respect.”
“Does Linc know? He does, doesn’t he? That’s why he looks at you differently than he does me. Well, if you told him, I don’t see why you couldn’t have told us.”
“Linc guessed early on,” Miranda said with a wry twist of her mouth. “And Mrs. Bishop found out from a DMV check she did. Outside of a few added years, I’m the same me, Jenny. I’ve asked Linc to let me stay at least a while longer. He needs me to cook until he finds someone else. And I need more time…to…to… I just do. Can you accept that I just have to figure out some stuff about my life?”
“I suppose,” Jenny said with a shrug. “I never understood why someone with your looks and brains hung out with us, but now I see. It’s cool, I guess.”
Miranda watched Jenny gather her pictures and leave the table. A wariness had come over her. In her heart Miranda didn’t believe Jenny felt “cool” about the news. That concerned her, but she didn’t know what she could do to alter the course of events now. She felt glad to have the truth out in the open. Sitting down again, she returned to ripping out the botched seam.
But after supper, it was really noticeable that the teens excluded her from their jam session at the cave. That hurt, but in time, perhaps they’d come around. Miranda understood that they felt betrayed. And she had duped them. But even if she could do things over, she’d travel the same path. She didn’t see any alternative.
“The kids were quiet as mice during supper,” Linc remarked after everyone had gone, and only he and Miranda remained in the kitchen. “Do you think they’re anxious about our meeting with Bishop tomorrow?”
“Aren’t we all? Actually, they’re mad at me, Linc. Well, maybe mad’s too strong a word. I told Jenny how old I really am this morning. I’m sure she went straight to the boys. I think they’re all feeling a bit betrayed.”
He rocked back in his chair and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “I suppose they’re in the bunkhouse sulking. I’m sorry, Miranda. Is there anything I can say to them to help your cause? Hell, can you add anything to what you’ve told me?”
Miranda didn’t think the kids were in the bunkhouse but had gone to the cave. She definitely didn’t want Linc stumbling in on their makeshift soundstage. Then her reputation would be shot in all quarters, except maybe with the little kids.
“No, and no again. They need time to adjust to the fact that I’m more a gen X-er than a gen Y-er.”
He grinned devilishly. “I’m glad you’re gen X.”
She would have delivered a smart retort but Hana came running into the kitchen with Cassie wheeling after her. Both girls were dressed in their new pink nighties and wore their matching pink slippers. They looked angelic.
Hana threw her arms around Linc’s waist. Cassie hung back, as the younger girl exclaimed, “Look, Mr. Linc, Randi turned us into princesses. But she said we hadda thank you, ’cause you paid for the ’terial.”
“Material,” Cassie corrected primly, smoothing her delicate fingers over the satin bows Miranda had sewn down the front of each nightie.
Linc snapped forward so fast his chair legs hit the floor, scaring Scraps. Over Hana’s fierce hug, Linc gazed helplessly at Miranda. He didn’t seem to know what to do with the clinging child.
Miranda mimed that he should squeeze Hana back. So he did, if clumsily. Then Miranda jerked a thumb toward Cassie enough times that Linc caught her drift and hauled Cassie’s wheelchair closer. “You girls are definitely the princesses of this ranch. I’m happy to have been of assistance, but Miranda made you beautiful. Don’t you think she deserves the biggest hug?”
&nbs
p; They easily transferred their affection, nearly bowling Miranda over in their enthusiasm. “M’randa, come read us a good-night story,” Hana begged.
“Tonight’s my turn to feed and water livestock. Maybe Linc will read to you.” Snatching her jacket off the peg by the door, Miranda called Scraps and they bounded out on a whoosh of cold air.
Linc turned wary eyes to the two little girls, recalling Felicity at the same age. She’d been such a happy kid, always badgering him to play with her or read a book. When had she changed into an unhappy young adult? If he hadn’t been so absorbed in his career, could he have saved her? He had been well connected in the L.A. music scene. So she didn’t have talent; in his estimation, not all of his clients did, either. No, he thought harshly, he wouldn’t feel bad about wanting something better for her.
That was all in the past. Now he couldn’t help wondering what the future held for these two little girls. Anybody who read the Sunday papers had to be aware of the deplorable record of welfare systems all over the country. One article had stated that too many kids in foster homes were abused. Chances for Cassie, Hana and Wolfie weren’t good. Even as he mustered a smile and stood to follow them, a fist of doubt plowed into his gut. But what could he do, dammit? His mission wasn’t to take on the world, but rather to try to save a few misguided teens who might be headed toward his sister’s fate.
He sat awkwardly between the girls on one of the cots, after having lifted the birdlike Cassie out of her confining chair. Linc saw the size of the book she grabbed and fought panic and dismay. “Somebody bought you a set of the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder, I see,” he muttered, opening the one titled On the Banks of Plum Creek.
“Miranda did. She or Jenny reads us one chapter a night,” Cassie informed him. “Miranda lets me read one, too. But she has to help with the big words, ’cause I don’t know ’em all. Tonight, you don’t hafta let me read.”
A Cowboy at Heart Page 22