A Cowboy at Heart

by Roz Denny Fox

  As she spoke, her huge dark eyes lifted to Linc’s, and he melted like butter in a skillet. “Darlin’, I’ll be glad to help you sound out the hard words.” He cleared his throat, then sat up straighter when two warm little bodies slipped under his arms and snuggled down, one on either side of him.

  For some time after he’d tucked them in for the night and crossed the house to his own room, their predicament preyed on his mind. Allowing them to stay on at the ranch indefinitely was out of the question. But he had the funds to see that Cassie received surgery, if surgery would let her walk again. As he flopped onto his bed, his thoughts jumped backward. Doling out money hadn’t helped Felicity. However, his sister had never needed anything as straightforward as surgery. She’d needed love he’d failed to give. Love he didn’t know how to give, dammit!

  The next day, after Linc and the others collected Cassie and Wolfie outside their school and all headed for the meeting with Evelyn Bishop, he noticed the nervousness permeating the SUV’s interior.

  “Kids, relax. We’re going to an office to talk, not face a firing squad.” He wasn’t able to tell if his joking had alleviated their concern or not.

  The meeting started off badly and went downhill from there, largely because the director cut right to the chase. “Jennifer, you are only sixteen. Your mother petitioned the Los Angeles court and has regained custody of your next-younger brother and sister. You were also named in the order. I’ve called to confirm, but unless the judge gives permission for you to remain at Mr. Parker’s facility, the state will return you to your rightful residence in the next couple of weeks. Eric, Greg, I’ve made new files on you. Shawn’s not eligible as I explained to Mr. Parker. Neither is Miranda, of course. Really, at twenty-six, you should get a job,” she said, favoring the younger woman with an unblinking stare. “On the brighter side—Lincoln, I’ve found you a housekeeper.”

  Getting up, she skirted her desk and went to the door. “Dolores, will you send in Mrs. Phelps?”

  Everyone in the room tensed. The wait was short. A jolly-looking woman with short gray hair entered the room. After introductions, the potential employee said to Linc, “I’ve raised five children of my own, but I’m too proud to go live with any of them. My husband died after a lengthy illness. He needed me to care for him, so I lost my job as a grocery clerk. Now, it seems, everyone thinks I’m too old to do that job anymore. Oh—” she waved a hand “—they don’t come right out and say so because it’d violate antidiscrimination laws. All the same, they hire someone younger. I’m healthy and I love kids. A position that provides room and board plus a small salary is exactly what I need to get back on my feet.”

  “I’ve checked her references,” Mrs. Bishop said. “They’re impeccable.” She folded her hands atop the files that lay on her desk.

  Linc felt manipulated by the director, who hadn’t forewarned him about this latest development. He realized with sinking heart that hiring the Phelps woman meant his cozy evenings with Miranda would end. If Miranda stayed, she, Jenny and the little girls would have to move to the second bunkhouse. He was well aware he’d put off suggesting the move, but had been unwilling to admit precisely why until now.

  He fiddled with the Stetson he’d removed and set on his knee. This was in the best interests of the refuge. He’d been concerned about Miranda’s ability to manage college and her household tasks. Climbing to his feet, he extended a hand. “Mrs. Phelps, you’re hired. Do you have a car, or shall I provide you with transportation?”

  “I have a car. When should I report for duty, sir?”

  “We’re informal. Call me Linc,” he said, mulling over her question. “Is Monday all right? That gives the kids and me this week to make a few adjustments at home.” Releasing her hand, he stood watching as she smiled at Mrs. Bishop and the children, then left the room.

  Mrs. Bishop, clearly pleased with herself, picked up a pen and shoved a sheaf of forms across the desk at Linc. “You kids and Miranda may go into the foyer. There’s juice in our vending machine. Mr. Parker and I need to discuss his license and how our benefits relate to each of you. We won’t be long.”

  Linc dug out his wallet and handed around dollar bills. The troops promptly filed out the door, except for Wolfie. He walked straight up to the director’s desk. “You never said nothin’ ’bout Hana, Cassie and me.”

  The woman reddened. “Well, I…that’s one of the things I have to discuss with Mr. Parker. Run along now, Wolfgang. Go wait with the others.” She busied herself straightening files until the boy had closed the door fully.

  Linc read and signed the license agreement, then glanced up. “What about them? I take it you’ve found foster homes?”

  “Uh…no, I’m afraid not.” She steepled her fingers, worry lining her face. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of my finding time to unearth their old records and then make home visits to all the families currently utilized by the department. I know you’re anxious to unload the children as fast as possible. Unfortunately, at the moment my hands are tied.”

  Linc scowled. “‘Anxious to unload them’ isn’t how I’d put it. That sounds so cold. Poor kids—it’s their futures I’m concerned about.” He took a breath. “So essentially they’re still in limbo.”

  “Yes. Of course, their greater welfare is at stake. I heard from Dr. Wyeth, who examined Cassandra. He indicated you’ve requested orthopedic and neurological evaluations of her leg and spine. I’m afraid I can’t authorize such an expense yet.”

  “I didn’t ask the state to pay. I told Wyeth I’d take care of the bills.”

  “Yes, but…he and I think you’re not aware of future liability. Out-of-pocket expenses could amount to hundreds of thousands of dollars, Lincoln.”

  “How can you weigh mere money against the possibility of a kid maybe walking again? The bastard who ought to pay is the guy who threw her down those stairs.”

  Mrs. Bishop paled slightly and raised one hand to her mouth. “I hadn’t heard how she came to be incapacitated. I’m sorry. She told you what happened, then?”

  “Wolfie did. Cassie’s mom’s boyfriend is doing time. So is her mother, I gather. Dammit, she’s such a tiny little thing. She deserves to have a family who gives a shit about her, if you’ll pardon my French. Can’t you expedite this process, Mrs. Bishop?”

  “I’ll do what I can. But I make no promises. I’ve put a provisional addendum on your license relative to housing the three children until adequate placement is procured. I think you’re a good man, Mr. Parker. I hope you’ll be able to control the older boys after I arrange to remove Jenny and return her to L.A. I read body language fairly well. Eric and Jenny especially are not happy about my adjudication.”

  “Do you know if Jenny’s mother has cleaned up her act? She’s obviously no saint.”

  “Our L.A. office will conduct a home visit before she’s sent back, of course.”

  “Good. Otherwise, I’d want to intervene. Is that it for now?” Linc lifted his hat.

  “Uh…we, uh, have both avoided mentioning Miranda Kimbrough. I shouldn’t have to tell you it doesn’t look good for you to allow her to continue living at Rascal Ranch.”

  Linc digested Miranda’s full name for a lengthy second. “For the record,” he said, “I’ve applied to the county asking to change the name of the ranch to Felicity’s Refuge. I’ve ordered a new arch, as well as a sign to post at the highway.”

  “Is Felicity the ranch’s benefactor?”

  “Catalyst. Not benefactor. The investment is solely mine.”

  The director raised a dark eyebrow. “Since I have another appointment, I’ll end our discussion now. I’ll give you approximately a week after Mrs. Phelps comes on board before I make my first unscheduled visit to your facility. I expect by then to have an answer on Jenny Russo. And you, I trust, will have resolved the situation with Melinda, er, Miranda.”

  Linc jammed on his hat and gave a curt nod. Mrs. Bishop had made abundantly clear that, to pass inspection, it’d be ad
visable if Miranda left.

  The kids and Miranda all leapt from their chairs as Linc emerged from the office. Miranda wasn’t able to decipher his poker face, but his long stride and squared shoulders didn’t bode well.

  Hurrying to catch up, she took Hana by one hand and, with the other, helped Cassie maneuver her wheelchair out the door and down the ramp.

  “What’s goin’ down, man?” Eric asked, running to stay in step with Linc.

  “Nothing. For the time being, everything stays as is.”

  “Jenny stays?”

  “For now, yes.”

  Eric gave a cautious thumbs-up to his friends. “Are you bullshittin’? You talked the witch out of shipping Jenny home?”

  Linc flung open the doors to the SUV and turned to lift Cassie out of her chair. “Eric, I never bullshit. I didn’t talk Mrs. Bishop out of anything. In agencies like hers, all decisions hinge on rules. She simply doesn’t have the paperwork at present to shift Jenny or to place Wolfie, Hana and Cassie. Now you know everything I know.”

  “So we’re going home to wait?” Jenny looked ready to bolt.

  Linc handed her up so she could take her usual seat in the center back. “We’re going home to prepare for the arrival of our housekeeper.”

  “Can we go to Nico’s for pasketti first?” Hana asked sweetly.

  They all blinked. Hana rarely made personal requests. Her asking for spaghetti, which she’d never been able to pronounce, broke the tension.

  Linc smiled as he buckled her into a seat. “If you’re not careful, kid, you’re going to turn into pasketti. But, okay. We’ll stop at Nico’s and celebrate hiring Mrs. Phelps, shall we?”

  “Don’t wanna,” Cassie announced, crossing her arms and poking out her lower lip. “I like Randi best.” And with that, she burst into tears.

  Linc’s heart skidded south. Damn, he’d dreaded this discussion, especially in Miranda’s presence. Yet Cassie had given him an opening. “Kids, hiring Mrs. Phelps shouldn’t come as any big surprise. You knew from day one that I’d posted an ad for a cook-housekeeper. Miranda and Jenny have kindly filled in. But their college classes start on Monday, so Mrs. Phelps’s timing is really good.”

  “That means we won’t earn any more spending money,” Jenny wailed.

  As Linc backed from the parking space, he glanced over his shoulder at the white-faced girl. “Not true, Jenny. Mrs. Phelps won’t be feeding the livestock or collecting eggs. And with opening up the second bunkhouse, she’ll need assistance tidying up.”

  “We’re moving into the other bunkhouse?” Jenny didn’t sound as if that was welcome news.

  Informing Miranda had been what Linc dreaded, and now it was out in the open. He peered at her in the rearview mirror. Faint lines pinched her forehead. Linc sucked in a breath and held it, half expecting her to…to what? Object to the loss of their nightly chats, some of which led to stolen hours in his bed? She’d hardly mention that in front of the kids. And Linc felt awful for dumping the truth on her in such an awkward manner. “Here’s Nico’s,” he announced unnecessarily. “Looks like there’s a wait. The parking lot’s full. What do you suppose is the occasion?”

  “Maybe lots of people hired housekeepers,” Wolfie muttered.

  “More like half the households in town are tired of holiday leftovers,” Shawn suggested. “I’m ordering a big plate of cannelloni with meat sauce.”

  Miranda laughed. “I’ve been getting creative with ways to camouflage turkey. Would you believe I considered making turkey spaghetti tonight?”

  Everyone but Hana made gagging noises. “I like pasketti with anything.” Her generous acceptance caused Miranda to lean over and hug her.

  Having located a parking place, Linc pocketed his keys. He glanced back in time to see Miranda and Hana’s curly heads and big smiles, their faces pressed cheek to cheek. The sight rocked him and made him question his earlier acceptance of Mrs. Bishop’s edict. The director had let him know that he should say goodbye to Miranda, and he thought he could do it, however reluctantly. Now his resolve to comply with his license requirements seemed to spin upside down. He no longer had a clear perspective on that or anything else.

  Above all, he needed space—and time—to figure out what to do about his growing feelings for Miranda.

  THE REMAINDER of the week and over the weekend, Jenny moped. She let the others move her most cherished belongings into the bunkhouse, which wasn’t like her.

  Miranda did her own chores and Jenny’s without a murmur. She understood that her friend was hurting over the likelihood of being returned to a home that represented only hopelessness.

  “You can’t tell me she’ll ever change,” Jenny said bitterly on Sunday afternoon, when she finally consented to discuss her mother. Jenny, Miranda and the boys had slipped off to the cave to try to cheer Jenny up with practice. But it was Miranda who kept attempting to draw Jenny out of her gloom by suggesting they write a new song for the group. One that might help alleviate her anxiety.

  “‘She’ll Never Change.’ That’s a fantastic title.” Miranda flipped to a clean sheet in the notebook she always carried. She wrote a few lines and asked Eric to strike a chord on his guitar. He set aside his tape player. He’d turned the tape over after the group’s last song. Their habit was to tape two or three numbers, then play them back and come up with changes to make them better.

  Miranda hummed a few bars. Standing, she paced and sang what she’d written, motioning with a finger for Eric to follow along on his guitar. Miranda was concentrating so hard, she failed to see that the others stopped in their tracks to gape at her.

  Even Shawn, who rarely joined them for these sessions anymore, moved closer and listened raptly.

  But the instant Miranda finished the stanza, she sat down again and scribbled another one. She continued the process until she had what would pass for an entire song. “Okay, let’s try this from the top, guys.”

  Her companions remained silent until Miranda grabbed Greg’s keyboard. “This is the sound I’m trying for, Greg. Pay attention. See, this is how I’m hearing the chorus in my head.”

  “So what are you now, a friggin’ music teacher?”

  Miranda stiffened and snatched her hand from the keys. Too late. Eric sprang up from his seat. “With that voice range, you should be on stage. We all know Jenny’s got natural ability. But you, Randi, you’ve had voice training or I’ll eat my guitar, strings and all.”

  “Get real, Eric. It’s these great acoustics in the cave. They’re phenomenal.”

  “How would you know ‘phenomenal’ acoustics unless you’ve hung out in a lot of sound studios?” Eric grabbed the book away from her and began to play the part she’d written for his guitar. He stopped abruptly, clapping a hand over the sound hole, stilling the vibration of the strings. “I’m savvy enough about music to know this is professional stuff you’ve written.”

  Miranda yanked back her book and stumbled to her feet again. “Quit making such a big deal out of nothing, or you can do without my help. This is about your trio sounding good. It has nothing to do with me.”

  All four of the others eyed her speculatively, but no one countered her or agreed with her assessment.

  She folded her arms over her notebook and ducked from the chamber into the main cave passageway. “One of us should head back to the house. I think Linc’s getting suspicious when we all disappear together. Finding time to practice will be even harder once Mrs. Phelps shows up tomorrow.”

  “Who cares if Linc’s suspicious?” Eric said. “We’re not hurting anyone or anything being out here. He’s pretty much said farm work won’t get under way again till spring.”

  Miranda poked her head back into the chamber. “True, but that doesn’t mean he wants us jamming. I’ve never met anybody so down on the entire music business as Linc. He blames his sister’s love of music for her death. I, for one, like it here at the ranch. I don’t intend to rock the boat, so I’m just telling y’all. After today, I’ll be too bu
sy with my class assignments to spend time with you out here.”

  “You mean you’ve got a bad crush on Linc,” Jenny accused her. “You don’t want him blaming you for encouraging us.”

  Miranda tossed her head. “So what if I like him? We’re both adults and we’re both single.”

  “How does anyone know what to believe about you?” Eric sneered. “You say you’re single, but how do we know? You let us think you were our age, for crying out loud.”

  “Believe whatever you want,” Miranda returned wearily. “I refuse to be drawn into one of these high-school bitch sessions. I’m going back to the house to finish hemming the curtains for Mrs. Phelps’s bedroom.”

  She heard their hushed conversation begin moments after she withdrew. But nothing was distinct. Miranda decided there would be more harm than gain in speculating about what they said after she left.

  Supper that night was an almost silent meal. Thank goodness Wolfie and Cassie felt like talking about upcoming school projects, or Miranda wouldn’t have known how to handle the long pauses.

  Linc, it seemed, was lost in his own thoughts. He had little to add to the erratic conversation. Nor did he appear to notice anything amiss with the boys and Jenny. As he pushed back his chair and excused himself from the table, he turned to Miranda. “What time do you and Jenny need to leave for class tomorrow night? I’m asking, because sometime between when Mrs. Phelps arrives and you take off, I need to run into town and overnight some papers to my business partner in Hollywood.”

  “Can’t you fax them?” Miranda asked, without thinking it wasn’t her place to question Linc’s activities.

  “No. I need to transfer joint funds. I, uh, realize I haven’t been paying attention to the falling stock market. I’ve been consumed by the ranch. I want to shift some personal stocks, as well. That requires my notarized signature. I’ll also go and see Mrs. Bishop, and she can update me on some of the other details she and I discussed last week.”