Fifteen minutes before her last-ever concert was set to begin, Miranda unfolded and reread a letter sent to her law firm by Cassie’s surgeon. It’d caught up to her in Chicago. The operation arranged by Mrs. Bishop had gone flawlessly, the document said. Cassie was already recovering. She was still at Felicity’s Refuge. Folding the letter, Miranda clutched it to her breast for a moment before tucking it back in the bottom of her makeup case.
Staring in the mirror, she repeated a prayer she always said before going on—at least during every performance during this particular tour. That once this final show ended, the next good news would be that the state of California was authorizing her adoption of Cassie Rhodes and Wolfgang and Hana Schmitt. And oh, in addition, a silly terrier named Scraps.
“Five minutes, Ms. Kimbrough.”
Miranda picked up her guitar, the one her father had bought her when she first began to sing. When occasionally performing with his band had given her such joy.
She fluffed blond hair that had grown several inches. Taking a deep breath, she fell in step behind her escort, hired to guide her to a stool set in the center of a darkened stage. Another of her requirements for this tour: banning the use of the mist canisters. She was Miranda now, not Misty.
As the curtain lifted and the lights came slowly up, she began to softly play and sing. She started with a medley of old hits. After each song, the ripple of clapping grew to a crescendo.
She thought, oddly enough, that tonight she’d come full circle from the moment she’d left the stage in Nashville and put in motion a chain of events that changed her life forever.
Heat from a single overhead spotlight warmed her bare shoulders. For this show she’d chosen to wear a simple brown tank top, teamed with a long, cream-colored skirt. A wide leather belt banded her narrow hips and matched hand-tooled cowboy boots—the pair Linc had bought her one snowy afternoon that now seemed almost a lifetime ago.
A hush fell over the crowd as the space lengthened between the last medley and this, Miranda’s final number. She turned the microphone down, telling the audience, “This number isn’t on your program. It’s a special song I’m only singing on my farewell tour. It will never be recorded. I wrote it for a…good friend. And it’s about love everlasting.”
She cleared her throat, lifted her chin and launched into the soulful ballad, knowing this was the absolute last time she’d ever publicly sing “For the Love of Felicity.”
She poured out the words about a young boy forced to grow up too fast. Of responsibility thrown heavily onto youthful shoulders. Of the man he’d become, who thought the best he could do for his kid sister was to earn a lot of money and give her the best of everything. Opportunities of a lifetime.
As always, Miranda felt the tears begin to slide down her cheeks, and she quavered a bit before digging deep to manage the last stanza—about a teenage girl’s inability to cope with rejection outside the realm of a loving brother’s protection. And of his love, a love so great that at her unthinkable death, his monument was to build a refuge for her lost and lonely contemporaries. A memory that would live on in Felicity’s name and always in the brother’s heart.
The stage went suddenly black and the velvet curtain fell, making a soft swish in the silent auditorium. As had happened in every other city on the tour, the audience drew in a collective breath. When they released it, there was no whistling or stamping, but a reverent standing ovation that followed the singer into the wings.
Miranda felt limp. Utterly drained. With one hand, she staved off anyone in the troupe who might trail her to her dressing quarters.
She dropped heavily onto the stool in front of her makeup mirror. She covered her face and wept for all that Linc had lost and all that she had lost. She’d offered up this song, this final declaration of her love, but she knew that as soon as she got home, she’d hold a match to the music and lyrics of Felicity’s tribute and never sing it again.
Someone tapped on her door. She wasn’t ready to greet anyone who might’ve been given a backstage pass. But then again, she was, after all, a performer. A Kimbrough. Straightening, she smudged away the trail of tears and called, “Come in. It’s unlocked.”
The door swung inward by inches until, when fully open, it revealed her visitor. Miranda’s instinct was to hide. Or to run and throw herself into his arms and beg for his mercy.
Linc Parker stood there, hesitantly rolling his hat around and around in his broad hands. The hands she loved to feel on her skin.
“Hello, Miranda. The, uh, kids are waiting down the hall. They’re champing at the bit to come see you. Wolfie, Hana, Cassie and Shawn.”
“How did you know I was here in San Francisco?” She clenched her fingers tightly in her skirt. Did he have no idea what it cost her to see him?
“Eric sent tickets, said it was their concert. He didn’t say a word about opening for your show. So none of us knew until I bought a program for Cassie.”
“How is she?”
“Great. She’s on crutches, but she’s coming along fine. I’ll, ah, let you see them soon. I needed a minute alone with you, Miranda. To say how thoughtful you were to write that song for Felicity and…for me.”
“As of tonight I’m retiring the song. Well, I’m retiring, too. From the stage.”
“I figured that was the case. Mrs. Bishop phoned last night. She said you’re adopting the kids.” He crushed his hat and swallowed hard. He was forced to blink rapidly and glance away. “It almost kills me to think of losing their laughter. Of course, I thought I was prepared. But after you left…”
“I didn’t file for adoption to hurt you further, Linc. I can give them a good home.”
“Can you?” He walked toward her, his eyes like burning embers in the low light.
“Y-yes. I love them.”
“I thought if you and I agreed on anything, Miranda, it’s that kids who’ve been kicked around the way they’ve been need both a mom and a dad.”
She shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “I can’t give them that, Linc.”
“Yes, you can.”
Opening one eye warily, she realized Linc had tossed aside his hat. From the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he removed the ring she’d returned to him the day she left the ranch.
For what seemed like an eternity, they stared at each other. “I’m sorry for hitting you, Linc.”
“I deserved that. I’m sorry I let you go. I’ve missed you so damned much. And I want you back. Back in my home. Back in my bed. Full nights. Every night.”
With a guttural cry and a smile through a fall of tears, Miranda slowly extended her left hand.
Linc’s breath mingled with an eruption of happy shouts at the open door. Wolfie’s voice rose above the rest. “Linc, did you tell her the cops got your partner back and we ain’t broke anymore?”
Miranda helped him work the cool band onto her finger, even though neither of their hands was steady. When the ring sat in its rightful place, she curled her other hand possessively over it. Only then did she peer around Linc to look at the invaders.
Soon, all eyes were wet with tears of joy. Cassie led the band of well-wishers into the room. Her small crutches made dimples in the commercial carpet, but she took every step on her own. Hana, Wolfie and Shawn gave Cassie her space. They were followed closely by Jenny, Eric and Greg, who lit up the dim dressing room with their beaming smiles.
A host of white-jacketed caterers surged into the room and began filling two tables with food. “Hey!” Miranda protested. “You’ve got the wrong room.”
“No, they don’t,” Jenny said. “This is how we hoped tonight would end. Eric, Greg and I owe you guys so much. This is the least we can do, ’cause we’re hoping there’ll be rooms for us at the ranch whenever we’re not on tour or recording in Nashville.”
Linc stripped off his tie and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. Bringing out his hand, he wore a strange look on his face. He opened his fingers, and on his palm sat the silver-crowned frog M
iranda had given him for Christmas. “How did this get in my pocket?”
“I put him there,” Hana admitted, shocking them all by her bold revelation. “M’randa read Cassie and me a book about a frog prince who turned into a man and married a princess. She said they lived happily ever after. Nobody’s been happy since M’randa went away. Not even Scraps. Wolfie said I shouldn’t tell that we were gonna see her tonight. But…I thought if Mr. Linc had the frog prince, maybe he’d kiss M’randa and then we could all live happily ever after, too.”
Linc swung the child up into his arms, then leaned close to Miranda and bestowed on her a kiss that held all the promise one kiss could express. “Yep,” he said, giving Hana a wink when he’d straightened. “I feel your magic working, all right.”
Holding out her left hand, Miranda waggled it a bit so everyone could see the flash of her diamond. “Voilà! Magic.”
“All right!” Jenny flung her arms out and did a gyrating dance across the room. “We’ve got success, a lotta love and a family in the making. I’d say that’s something to celebrate!”
“Good deal. Now can we eat?” Shawn said loudly. “I’m starved.”
Linc hooked an arm around Miranda’s waist and they laughed.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3195-5
A COWBOY AT HEART
Copyright © 2004 by Rosaline Fox.
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A Cowboy at Heart Page 27