The boy grinned. “It’s been nice not having to rock her half the night. One time filling in ain’t gonna kill me, Randi.”
“You’re a good kid. But what have I told you about saying ain’t?” Miranda shook a finger at him. When he responded, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she didn’t press the point; instead, she reacted to Jenny’s urging her to “get the lead out!”
They arrived on time and their classes went well. “I learned so much in just one night of my poetry class,” Jenny said as they pulled out of the parking lot. School dominated their conversation all the way home. Since the rain had turned to sleet, it was after nine when they pulled in. The house was dark except for Linc’s room.
“I need to give Linc his keys,” Miranda said, stepping up onto the porch.
“If the light doesn’t wake the kids in the bunkhouse,” Jenny said, “I think I’ll do my homework. Will you be long?”
“No. I’m tired, and Cassie’s appointment in Sacramento is early tomorrow.” Miranda headed for the house.
Treading lightly down the hall, she tapped on Linc’s door. She assumed they’d discuss her class and grab the chance to neck a bit. But he was on the phone, involved in serious conversation. She heard him say “John” a couple of times, and knew he hadn’t reached his partner, Dennis.
Linc excused himself to the caller and covered the mouthpiece. “Just drop the keys on my dresser, Miranda. I’m talking to John Montoya.”
She nodded. Slipping from his room with a waggle of her fingers, she heard Linc curse in connection with Dennis Morrison’s name. Softly closing the door, it struck Miranda again that Linc could be having trouble with his partner. Money trouble. And yet, if Linc wanted to involve her, he would. Didn’t she have financial worries of her own? Those bank accounts she couldn’t access?
She simply had to clear her conscience—dredge up the nerve to come clean with Linc. Maybe tomorrow. He’d be her captive audience on the journey between the ranch and Sacramento.
“I CAN’T GO with you to see the surgeon,” Linc snapped the next morning as Miranda questioned the suit and tie he wore to breakfast. Not that he didn’t look fantastic dressed that way. He did. He looked…yummy.
But Miranda, who had dark circles under her eyes from staying awake half the night figuring out how to explain her past to Linc, gaped at his tone. “You’re Cassie’s temporary guardian, Linc. The surgeon’s staff won’t take my word for anything. Besides, I distinctly recall you telling me Mrs. Bishop expects you to go to their appointments.”
“I can’t help it. I have to fly down south. Down and back in one day.”
“What’s more important than Cassie’s health?”
“You’re asking me to compare apples and oranges.” He shoved a wallet and keys into his slacks pockets. Then he pulled Miranda into the hall and out onto the porch. “Don’t mention anything to the others. John Montoya says nobody in the office has seen Dennis in two weeks. It’s… He has total control over my investments as well as over my clients’ funds.”
Miranda gripped his arm. “Oh, Linc. Does that mean you’re—?”
“Broke?” he interrupted harshly. “That’s a worst-case scenario. I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”
“Should I cancel Cassie’s appointment?”
“No. I want her out of that damned chair.” Removing his wallet, he peeled off several hundred-dollar bills and handed them to Miranda. “Mrs. Phelps said you can use her car today.” Sliding his arms around Miranda, he held her close for a few moments.
She clung, her mind whirling at the frightening possibilities suggested by Linc’s admission. She’d followed him outside with the intention of blurting out the truth of her past. Now she didn’t want to add to his burden. Her situation paled in comparison to his. “No matter what, Linc,” she murmured, “we have each other.”
Her voice was so fierce he drew back and swept a finger down her nose. “The way you sound, I believe you’d single-handedly save me if need be, Miranda.”
“I would, Linc. If helping you or the kids lay within my power, I definitely would.”
“Drive carefully in the city. I’ll see you tonight. I’ll be back in time for supper.”
Fog had rolled in, replacing last night’s sleet. Miranda stood shivering on the porch, watching Linc’s departure until the SUV disappeared in the mist.
She dressed, careful to appear as professional as possible. For Cassie’s sake, she wanted the surgeon and his staff to take her seriously.
Miranda had always been a good driver, but the trip into the city in dense fog was precarious. It didn’t help that silent tears rolled down Cassie’s cheeks the entire journey. “Honey, what’s wrong? Don’t be afraid. They won’t do any surgery today.”
“I’m afraid the doctor will say he can’t make me walk again.” Cassie sniffled.
And since she couldn’t promise one way or the other, Miranda swallowed any response.
The exam went better than she’d hoped. The surgeon walked Miranda back to his lab and showed her Cassie’s X-rays. “It’s beyond me why this child’s hip amphithrosis hasn’t been corrected before now. Her GP indicated the spine was involved. It’s not. We’re in luck—it’s all ball-and-socket displacement. At most we’re looking at three days in the hospital and four to six weeks’ recovery, followed up by physical therapy. I can provide you and her guardian with therapy exercises to do at home.”
Miranda couldn’t contain her joy or the tears streaming from her eyes. “Then all Linc, er, Mr. Parker has to do is schedule Cassie at the hospital?”
“My staff will set a date. Stop and see my nurse. She’s preparing a sheet of instructions and a cost estimate. I predict we’ll have Cassandra out of that chair by the end of March, depending on when we get her on the surgery schedule.”
Miranda supposed that meant it depended on Linc’s ability to pay half the charge up front and the other half on dismissal. For that reason, Miranda was reluctant to get Cassie worked up over the exciting news. She was sure she hadn’t imagined Linc’s worry this morning about his finances.
Nevertheless, she planned to tell him about the surgeon’s verdict as soon as they got back to the ranch. The very last thing she pictured was that she’d beat Linc home—or that she’d find Mrs. Phelps wringing her hands. “Eric, Greg and Jenny are gone,” the woman cried. “Oh, mercy me! They’ve run away.”
Miranda did her best to calm the woman and the other kids.
“Tell me again, Mrs. Phelps. What happened?” she asked once they were all inside.
“The phone rang. I had my hands full dishing up stew for lunch, so Jenny answered. She started sobbing. I heard her say that Linc had assured her some judge wasn’t going to take cases for two weeks. I deduced the caller was Mrs. Bishop. Apparently, she told Jenny the judge wasn’t coming back at all and his replacement has ruled that Jenny should be returned to her mother as soon as possible. Next thing I know, my lunch goes begging. And except for Shawn, the teens pack up and clear out.”
“They must have said something more to you. Or to Shawn. Given you some indication of where they planned to go.”
“Not to me. Shawn’s a nice boy, and he’s very upset. If they confided in him, I believe he’d tell us.”
A weary Linc banged into the house, stripping off his tie. He, too, was taken aback by news of the exodus. “Did you call Mrs. Bishop afterward? No? Good! This could put three black marks against my license. As if my life hasn’t gone to hell enough today. Mrs. Phelps, you’re the adult I left in charge. Why didn’t you tell them they couldn’t leave until Miranda or I got back?”
The housekeeper burst into tears. “I tried, Mr. Parker. Kids today, they’re not like they were in my day. That girl called me an interfering old b-bitch.”
Miranda shielded the housekeeper. “Linc, you’re not being fair.”
He turned to Shawn. “Did they have money?”
“Eric and Greg had saved some wages. I’m not sure how much, Mr. P. Greg did try
talking Eric and Jenny out of this. But they’ve got it in their heads that the new songs Miranda helped them write will open doors that were closed before.”
Linc swung around and glared at Miranda. “What’s this about songs? You helped them in this idiotic quest?”
She didn’t quail under his obvious fury. “They have talent, Linc. And they’re determined to be in the business with or without anyone’s approval. So, yes, I provided some positive direction.”
Snorting in disgust, Linc wrenched his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “How far can three kids get on foot? Was no one aware that they’re my responsibility? I’ll phone the state police. Surely they’ll pick them up before they can get far.”
Miranda settled Hana and Cassie in the living room with a children’s video while the rest of them sat at the kitchen table in virtual silence, waiting for a call from the cops. At one point, Miranda haltingly told Linc how Cassie’s appointment had gone. He made no comment until she mentioned the bottom-line cost.
He glanced up at her, misery overflowing his dark eyes. “Tomorrow you’ll have to call the surgeon’s office and halt proceedings. My good buddy Dennis seems to have skipped the country with all his assets and mine. According to my lawyer, the only thing that’ll save me from being held accountable is a document the law firm drew up giving me a two-year interval from all business activities.”
“Oh, Linc, that’s awful! He cleaned you out?” Miranda got up and knelt at his side. She cradled his hand against her face until he pulled away.
Propping his elbows on his knees, Linc vigorously rubbed the heels of his hands over his cheeks and eyes. “John Montoya warned me. I should’ve listened. Thank God I paid cash on the line for all the improvements I made to the ranch. The truth is, Miranda, including what’s left in my private account, I’ll need every cent the state will pay me to look after Eric, Greg and Jenny if I’m to have a prayer of hanging on to the ranch until we market our first crops.”
Miranda slipped the big diamond ring off her finger. “Here, Linc. Sell this. Add it to what you need to pay bills.” She still had those earrings sewn into the lining of her jacket, and now she mulled over how to offer him those, as well.
“Absolutely not!” he exclaimed, sitting up straight and squaring his jaw. “This is my problem to handle.” He worked the ring back onto her finger.
She’d have argued further, but Linc’s cell phone rang and they all hovered, waiting for him to relay what the police said.
“No firm leads yet,” he murmured after clicking off. “But the sergeant seems confident that three kids sticking together will be fairly easy to spot. Miranda, we can’t let this upset Cassie and Hana. Will you take them to the bunkhouse and act as if nothing’s wrong?” He turned to Shawn and Wolfie. “Guys, we’ll split the daily chores. I’ll go change out of my suit and meet you in the barn. This was Eric’s day to feed livestock and refurbish stalls with the fresh hay.”
“You’re asking us to carry on as usual?” Mrs. Phelps ventured.
“The sergeant said that’s best. He or someone from the department will update us twice a day. Those kids are street savvy. According to police, digging them out if they’ve gone to ground is a matter of receiving tips. Technically, they can’t put out an APB until after twenty-four hours.”
At the end of five days, however, the word from the police was that there was still no word.
That very afternoon, Mrs. Bishop showed up unannounced. “I’m here to take Jenny Russo to the bus. The county of her residence has finally paid for her ticket home. Please have her pack her things,” she told Mrs. Phelps.
“Oh, my.” Mrs. Phelps appealed to Miranda, who sat at the table reading her child psychology textbook.
“Didn’t Linc let you know that Jenny, Eric and Greg took off the day you broke the news to Jenny on the phone?” Miranda dropped her book.
Linc and Shawn had the misfortune of entering the kitchen via the back door just then, trailed by Hana. They were just in time to take the brunt of Mrs. Bishop’s wrath.
“I’m not attempting to defraud the county,” Linc tried to say. “We’re doing everything possible to locate the kids and bring them back. Just give me another week before you file a negative report that will affect my license.”
“Can you tell me why I should do that, Mr. Parker?”
Linc removed his hat and shrugged out of his heavy jacket. “Shawn was the last to speak with the kids. He’s quite certain our budding musical trio plans to cut a demo CD and shop it around among the music producers. I have extensive contacts among that crowd. I’ve put out the word in L.A. The minute they show up, we’ve got ’em.”
Mrs. Bishop plunked down her briefcase, knocking Miranda’s book to the floor. “I suppose I can give you another week, as they’ve obviously been gone one week already without my being any the wiser. But I’m warning you, if they don’t put in an appearance by then, I want your word that you’ll go to L.A. and see those music people yourself. I don’t like lost children on my watch.”
“Nor do I,” Linc said, gazing uneasily at the little kids crowding around the table. “With Mrs. Phelps and Miranda here to look after Shawn, Wolfie, Hana and Cassie, I can go earlier. How’s the day after tomorrow?”
Miranda sat chewing on her pencil eraser, listening intently to Mrs. Bishop. She felt she had to interrupt. “Linc, what if they’re not in L.A.? What if they’ve gone to Nashville, instead?”
He and the director spun around. “Nonsense,” Linc declared, slicing a broad hand through the air. “Jenny and my sister only ever talked about rock and heavy metal. Neither would be caught dead listening to stuff coming out of Nashville.”
Miranda thought they might, especially since she’d seen fit to remold their style. But without spilling her story in front of that hateful woman, she was left alone with her suspicions. Just last night, Miranda had discovered that Jenny had torn a number of pages from her journal. Among them were several finished songs, including the one Miranda had titled, “For the Love of Felicity.”
Quietly closing her book and leaving Linc and the director to plot between themselves, Miranda retired to the bunkhouse. Tomorrow, she decided, she simply had to find a way to get in touch with old contacts in Nashville and make some discreet inquiries.
As luck would have it, the opportunity presented itself at midday. Shawn and Linc were exercising the horses. Mrs. Phelps had gone to pick up Cassie and Wolfie at school, after which she planned to go shopping in town. Hana, who’d come down with a head cold, had fallen asleep on the couch, Scraps curled in the crook of her arm.
Miranda went to the kitchen phone. She dialed Colby Donovan’s number from memory. Her hands shook, and she almost couldn’t speak when she heard her music arranger answer.
“Colby,” she finally croaked. “It’s Miranda. Uh… Misty,” she added.
“I’ll be damned.” The man whistled through his teeth. “So those three kids were telling the truth when they said you told them to look me up. I told Rick Holden I didn’t know whether to believe them or not, even though a couple of the songs they sang had the ring of your work. Girl, where in hell are you? Wes…well, we’d all given you up for dead.”
Miranda cleared her throat. “Colby, if you were ever my friend, don’t tell Wes you’ve heard from me. I’m phoning about those kids. Their leaving here has caused a guy I care a lot about a heap of trouble. Are they all right?”
“Yeah, they’re fine, I think. I liked their sound.” Miranda heard him flipping pages. Then he said, “I knew I’d set them up with a time to sing for Rick and a couple of other scouts. This Friday at one. Now that I know for sure those are your tunes, everybody will want to take a closer listen.”
“I don’t think they’re ready to launch, Colby. For old times’ sake, would you do me a favor and give me their address? My…friend can come get them, or he can have the local authorities do it.”
“They in trouble with the law?” Colby sounded hesitant.
&nbs
p; “Only insofar as they’re wards of the court and, as such, are under the guardianship of Lincoln Parker. He’s the owner of Felicity’s Refuge, where they live.”
“This refuge, it’s like a detention center or something?”
“More like a halfway house for homeless street kids. It’s a great place.”
“You work there? What in the hell happened to you, Miranda? Is this about a man?”
“Colby, I’m not telling you anything more. You of all people know how Wes pressured and pressured and pressured me. Suffice it to say, I’m not coming back. I’m deliriously happy here. In fact, I’m engaged to be married.”
“No kidding? That oughta break the hearts of what’s left of your band.”
“What do you mean, left of them?”
“Sullivan and Marker retired. Mickie and Dakota split. They grab backup gigs occasionally. You hurt a lot of people when you took off like that, babe.”
“That’s been my only regret, Colby. But I really had no other choice.”
“Your dad never woulda slunk off in the night, letting down his friends and fans like you did. He woulda duked it out with Wes.”
“You know Wes never would have released his goose that laid the golden egg.”
“I’ll grant you Wes is a major dickhead. I wasn’t happy when you signed with him. But he has you under a bona fide contract.”
“A lifetime contract, Colby?” was all Miranda said.
“Well, then you’ve gotta prove he’s a dickhead. Instead of running away, you coulda hired a lawyer to clean his clock. It ain’t right, what you done and how you done it.”
“You think it was an easy decision? I tried to talk to you, Colby. And frankly, you weren’t much help. Ultimately, Wes drove me to it. But what about Eric, Jenny and Greg. Will you let me know where they are?”
“I’ll think about it. Give me a number where I can reach you.”
“Goodbye, Colby. Since you won’t help, I hope you’ll at least steer my young friends to a manager other than Wes Carlisle.” Feeling her heart pounding and her head spinning, Miranda hung up on her father’s onetime best friend.
A Cowboy at Heart Page 25