A Cowboy at Heart

by Roz Denny Fox

  For the rest of the afternoon and evening, she agonized over having broken her silence.

  After supper, she hung around the house until ten or so, waiting for Mrs. Phelps to go to bed.

  Linc realized that Miranda wanted to speak privately with him. The night he’d given her the ring, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t take her to bed again until she was legally his wife. But as sure as God made little fishes, tonight he planned to break that promise.

  Half an hour after Mrs. Phelps closed her bedroom door, Linc folded his newspaper, touched a finger to his lips and held out a hand to Miranda, who fidgeted, pretending to do homework.

  “Linc,” she whispered as he coaxed her down the hall. “We need to talk. Seriously,” she added. Yet from the moment he shut them inside his room and wrapped her in their first real romantic embrace in at least a week, Miranda’s resolve to confess her sins flew straight out of her head.

  Need and greed drove Linc as he practically ripped the buttons off his shirt. He certainly lacked his usual finesse in getting Miranda undressed.

  She didn’t mind. It was as if she hoped that touching him, feeling him deep inside her, would drive out the fear that haunted her. A fear that once she’d revealed her secret, she’d lose Linc’s love.

  “I love you,” she whispered over and over.

  “I’ve neglected you,” he murmured into her hair when they were too spent to do anything but hold each other. “Unlike the kids, Dennis, the big dummy, left a paper trail any first-year detective could follow. If he hasn’t lost everything in the Grand Caymans, it looks like I may be able to recover part of my clients’ money—and my own.”

  “That’s wonderful, Linc.” Miranda wedged a small space between them and stared into his beautiful face. “About the kids…Eric, Jenny and Greg.” She licked her lips, and Linc cut off her flow of words with a series of kisses that made her eyes roll back in her head.

  For the next twenty minutes, Miranda forgot she’d been planning to tell him what she knew of the kids’ whereabouts. By the time she remembered, Linc had flung one arm over his head and fallen fast asleep.

  She toyed with the idea of waking him, if for no other reason than to unburden her soul. At the last second, she slipped from his bed to dress, swearing that she’d spill out every last detail in the morning.

  Unfortunately, her alarm failed to go off. Or else she’d failed to set it when she tiptoed to her own bed in the bunkhouse. The morning began in a panic, with Wolfie pounding on the bunkhouse door, shouting, “Cassie, are you dressed for school? The bus’ll be at the end of the road in ten minutes.”

  Miranda sat up and grabbed her clock. “Wolfgang,” she yelped, “tell Mrs. Phelps we overslept. You can either take the bus, or I’ll run you and Cassie to school as soon as we get her dressed and she has a bite to eat.”

  “I’ll wait,” he said, his voice fading as he trudged away.

  Miranda scurried. She was flustered and out of breath by the time she ran into Linc leaving the kitchen just as she and the girls entered it. “Where are you going?” She grabbed his arm.

  “Seems we both missed setting our alarms last night.” His slow, sexy smile caused her face to flame.

  “I…uh…desperately need a word with you, Linc. Can you ride along when I drive the kids to school? We’d have time to talk on the trip home.”

  “Can’t. Today’s the day Shawn and I have to fertilize the olives. The weather’s finally passable. And tomorrow, remember, I’m going to L.A. again.”

  “I forgot. It’ll only take five minutes, I swear. So when I get back, will you give me that long at least?”

  “Sure. If it’s that important, Miranda, you know I’ll make time.”

  She left, feeling an impending sense of doom that went beyond what she imagined Linc might say about the latest in her long line of deceptions. He was aware she’d withheld part of her past. And after their closeness last night, in her heart, she sensed their love had risen to a new level. Then why was she so jittery? Like her, Linc would be relieved to have all her secrets out in the open.

  Lingering in the circular drive where she’d let the children out of the car, Miranda snapped on the radio and spun the dial to her favorite country-music station. They happened to be playing a number from the last album she’d cut. Shock paralysed her. If the cars waiting in line behind her hadn’t honked in irritation, Miranda doubted she would’ve been able to put the SUV in gear. She’d gotten out of the habit of hearing herself singing on the radio.

  The song ended, and a discussion by two disc jockeys ensued. One said, “Listen to this. Rumors out of Nashville last night suggest that Misty’s manager might soon have her back in circulation.”

  Miranda gripped the steering wheel so tightly, her knuckles blazed white. What did they mean? Obviously Colby had talked. Damn him!

  She clenched her teeth all the way to the ranch. A terrible fear gripped her. Until she turned down the lane and saw a big dark-blue car angled parallel with the porch. Both front doors to the car stood open. Once she drew nearer, Miranda saw Linc standing on a lower step. Above him on the porch were Wes Carlisle and Rick Holden, his right-hand flunky.

  Her heart tumbled end over end. What little breakfast she’d swallowed that morning now threatened to come back up. For a brief panicked moment, she considered slamming the SUV in reverse and fleeing again. Then Colby’s accusations reverberated in her head. He’d said her dad would be ashamed of her for taking the coward’s way out. Gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering, Miranda pulled into Linc’s usual parking space. She hesitated only a moment before throwing open her door and stumbling out.

  Linc saw her first. He charged down the path and grabbed her shoulder in a painful squeeze. “When were you going to tell me that you’re a goddamned country-western singing sensation? Hell, I should’ve made the connection. You looked familiar. And why not? Your picture was on the front page of every paper. If I hadn’t been ass-deep getting things in order so I could come here, I would’ve remembered.”

  Miranda licked her dust-dry lips. “Last night, I…uh…got distracted, Linc. I was going to tell you.”

  Linc flinched as if he’d been slapped. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? All you starlets are the same. You sleep your way to whatever you want.”

  She did slap him then, and though her fingers stung, she felt better for having wiped the sneer from his face before she paused to rub the spot where he’d gripped her arm.

  Linc raised a hand to his cheek, but let it drop. “You know how torn up I was over Felicity’s decision to get involved in that rotten business. I would’ve forgiven you anything else, Miranda. A string of husbands, a police record, whatever. But I can’t forgive that you hid the fact you’re part of a world that killed my sister.”

  She knew that. It was what had kept her from telling him the truth before. “I understand,” she said in a voice thick with pain. Even though her hands shook and her fingers were damp with perspiration, she pulled off his ring and pressed it into his palm. “Eric, Jenny and Greg are in Nashville. I’ll do everything in my power to send them back to you, Linc.”

  Sidestepping him, she walked up to the two men who hovered in the background. “As you know, I got out of Nashville with next to nothing. It won’t take me long to pack.” She was relieved that everyone left her alone to pull together her meager belongings. Saying goodbye to the sobbing distraught Hana almost proved to be Miranda’s undoing. “Hana, I’ll leave you Scraps. Please…take good care of him.”

  Shawn stepped in for the suddenly absent Linc and pried the weeping child from Miranda’s arms. He scooped up the whining dog, who knew something was wrong.

  “We’ll m-miss you,” he stammered. “Take care of Eric and company. I plan to tell Linc he oughta give them their chance.”

  Miranda ripped a page from the notebook in which she’d written the songs that were now in Jenny’s hands, and scribbled. “Here’s my Nashville address, Shawn. Be good to Linc and take
care of the little kids. Tell the dragon lady if it’s the last thing I do, I intend to see that Cassie gets her operation.” Shoving the address in his shirt pocket, she turned and slid into the back seat of the oversize luxury car.

  Whatever they might have planned, the two men already seated inside apparently thought better of lambasting her. They drove to the airport in Sacramento with no one saying a word. Miranda didn’t let on that she was no longer the grieving girl Wes Carlisle had strong-armed into a one-sided contract. Thanks to Linc Parker, she was now a woman. A woman who knew what she wanted out of life.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MOST OF WES CARLISLE’S employees recognized the difference in their star performer from the moment she set foot in the recording studio. Wes wouldn’t admit that it was any more than her shorter hair, which he professed to hate. Not until they’d been home a week and he was paid a visit by Miranda’s newly hired team of attorneys.

  “I’ve got a binding contract she signed a decade ago,” he bragged, tossing the document across the desk at the men.

  “She was underage and reeling from her father’s death. This won’t stand up in court and I think you know it. No contract is lifetime, Carlisle.”

  “She owes me. She walked out and left me holding the bag on a string of sold-out concerts. Here’s my lawyer’s card. You talk to him about restitution for that.”

  “Our client’s aware that you released a full CD of new hits and rereleased her old songs after she left. In other words, you capitalized on her disappearance.”

  “So what the hell does she want?” Wes slammed a fist on his desk. “All she ever told me she wanted that I didn’t let her have was a damned vacation. She’s been gone three months. Isn’t that vacation enough?”

  “She wants out of the business. But she’s prepared to give a final tour that will include several brand-new songs she’s written. These are her conditions.” One of the lawyers tossed a single sheet of paper onto Carlisle’s copy of Miranda’s contract.

  The man drew the paper slowly toward him. “Who the hell are these West Coasters she wants to open for her?” He listened as Rick Holden said the trio were the kids Miranda sent to get in touch with Colby Donovan. “Hell, you know what it’ll take to book these specific ten cities before the end of April? Are you kiddin’ me? And she wants her percentage of the take to go to that ranch she was livin’ on? I already heard from our banker that she shelled out eighty grand on surgery for a seven-year-old kid by the name of Cassandra Rhodes.” Wes clamped his mouth around an unlit cigar, and let the air slide from his lungs. “She’s insane. Maybe I’ll have her committed.”

  Several long moments went by. Finally he growled, “I’ll consider this offer on one condition. I wanna hear this warm-up trio and also have a listen to Misty’s new so-called hit tunes. I don’t hafta do any of this, you know.”

  “Yes, you do,” the older lawyer in Miranda’s team said. “If you want the last profits you’ll ever get out of her.”

  The youngest of Miranda’s three lawyers lifted his briefcase and set it down hard on Wes’s desk. “Here’s a demo she and the trio have put together. The original is being held by Colby Donovan, in case you have some bright idea about releasing it without Ms. Kimbrough’s authorization.”

  That last comment deflated the manager’s final bit of bluster. He snatched up the disc and the business card the lawyer set atop it. Rising, Wes curtly opened his office door and motioned them out. “I’ll be in touch. The kid knows damned well a tour like this isn’t booked at a moment’s notice.”

  The last attorney through the door paused. “It’d serve you well, Wes, to remember our client isn’t a kid but a woman raised in the industry. She’s very aware that her name is on the tongue of every disk jockey in the country right now. My firm tried to talk her out of letting you promote this tour. She could go to anyone in town and achieve the same—or better—results. But she feels guilty for running out on you the way she did. Her words, I believe, are that she’s her father’s daughter. And Kimbroughs don’t back out on a deal.”

  Wes’s response was to slam the door in the smiling lawyer’s face.

  A MONTH LATER, a thinner, sadder-eyed woman than the old Misty sat across from one of her lawyers in a dark pub. “This calendar seems to be in order.” She read over a set of documents the man had produced after she gave the dates her approval, and glanced up. “You’re absolutely sure there’s no way the owner of Felicity’s Refuge will ever find out this donation’s from me?”

  “Your anonymity is assured. I assume you know Mr. Parker is in a considerable bind, both personally and financially, at the moment?”

  “Personally?” Miranda’s head shot up.

  “Yes, our sources tell us the loss of three kids in his caseload reflects directly on his ability to administer his teen refuge. I understand he’s also involved in litigation trying to extradite his business partner from the Cayman Islands. So far, it looks promising. What I can’t figure out is why you’re bent on helping the guy out with an influx of cash on the one hand, and yet on the other you’re petitioning to adopt three other children who at present serve as Parker’s only source of revenue.”

  Miranda sighed. “He never wanted them to live at the ranch. If the area’s director of Social Services ever finishes her evaluation and finds their records, she’ll be removing Wolfgang, Hana and Cassie from Linc’s care, anyway. The accounting firm you recommended has gone over and over my investment portfolio. They assure me that if I never produce another CD but only write songs for other singers, I still ought to be free of money worries. Even if I raise three kids on my own.”

  “I doubt you’ll always be on your own, a beautiful talented woman like yourself.” The man snapped his pen shut and shoved it into his pocket.

  “Thank you, but my heart belongs to someone who can never love me back. Are we finished? I promised some friends I’d take them to dinner as a way of celebrating their first recording contract.”

  The man gathered his papers, drained his drink and dropped money on the table to cover the tab. “We at Dickson, Lawrence and Todd are pleased to serve you in any way we can now or in the future, Ms. Kimbrough. If you’d like to secure my services forever,” he added with a grin, “my kids would kill for tickets to your first and, I might add, sold-out return engagement in Nashville.”

  The corners of Miranda’s mouth quirked. She relaxed—something she hadn’t allowed herself to do until then. “Give me their names. I’ll have seats waiting for them, and for you and your wife.” She covered her eyes with dark glasses and sealed their bargain with a firm handshake.

  Not ten minutes later, Miranda entered a well-known Nashville restaurant. Stripping off the glasses, she perused the crowd. Eventually she found and waved at a trio of familiar faces. “What’s this I hear about you three signing a lucrative deal with the biggest label in the business?” she teased, hugging them one after the other, each fighting over the right to be first in line.

  “As if you don’t know we owe it all to you,” Eric said, reveling in his new image. “You gave us the confidence we needed.”

  “You and Colby Donovan,” Jenny added. “Until we met him and learned he was your dad’s oldest friend, I imagined he was your love interest. Before Linc, that is.”

  Looking shocked, Miranda sat and thumbed open the menu. “I used to think Colby kept an eye on me because he felt guilty about being sick and missing the gig that night the band’s plane crashed. I know now he’s a true friend of mine. You should’ve heard him rake me over the coals for the way I dropped out of life. He lectured me exactly the way my dad would have done.” She gave a trembling smile. “But like I said, we all made mistakes.”

  Jenny stilled Miranda’s nervous fingers. “We’re set to give you hell tonight for running out on Linc. Shawn says Linc misses you a lot.”

  “He could’ve stopped me from leaving with Wes and Rick anytime simply by asking me to stay. But hey, that’s all water under the bridge. We�
�re here to celebrate your good fortune. Please don’t ruin it by making me cry over Lincoln Parker.”

  Eric fiddled with his water glass. “We think you should tell him we’ll be performing in L.A. and San Francisco. That would open the door to let him back into your life. It’d be like the way you helped me find my brother Joe and let him back into my life. Everybody knows people can say stuff in the heat of the moment they don’t really mean. Linc knows it, too.”

  “He said he’d never forgive me. And I slapped him. Me, who abhors violence.” Miranda twisted her napkin around her fork, sounding bleak. “Today, my lawyer pointed out that I’m stealing food off Linc’s table by petitioning to adopt Wolfie, Cassie and Hana. How many times can a woman dump on a guy before he’s truly had enough?”

  Greg frowned. “You’re not dumping on him. Colby said everything you make on this tour goes to help Linc keep the refuge open. As well, he said you shelled out for Cassie’s surgery.”

  “Some anonymity!” Miranda exclaimed. “I made that arrangement in strictest confidence.”

  “Yeah, well, Carlisle is blabbing it all over Nashville. Colby thinks your old manager wants everyone in town to believe you’ve lost your marbles.”

  Eric touched his glass to Miranda’s. “It’s having the opposite effect. From what we hear, people applaud you for finally wising up and dumping the bastard.”

  “Be that as it may, I don’t want any of this to get back to Linc. I really doubt he wants any help from the likes of me.”

  The waiter came to take their order while Miranda was still trying to extract promises from the kids to remain absolutely silent on the subject.

  THEY PLAYED the first nine cities on the tour to packed audiences and rave reviews. Only San Francisco remained. Miranda found the circuit drained her energy, although it revved up her warm-up group.