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Wolfie perked up. “I ain’t never fished with anything but a skinned tree branch with a string and a safety pin. The houseparents before the Tuckers used to let me fish our creek. But Mrs. Tucker said she wouldn’t eat no fish from where us kids took baths. And Mr. Tucker, he said fishing was a waste of time. He only wanted me to chop wood for their fireplace.”
The more Linc heard about George and Lydia Tucker, the angrier he became. What kind of man sent a boy Wolfgang’s age to tackle a dangerous job?
He mustered a smile he didn’t feel. “Fishing season here runs from Memorial Day to December thirty-first. Since it’s early November, we might find time to fish, even with the work I want to accomplish. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try, but never had the opportunity. If you’re our resident expert, Wolfie, I’ll buy rods and you can teach the boys and me how to catch trout.”
“What’s resident…whatever you said?” the boy asked, puckering his brows.
Jenny heaved a sigh. “Man, are you dense. Resident expert means you’re the best person to demonstrate a skill. Fishing, duh! What I want to know is why only the boys get to go. Why not Randi and me, too?”
“If you girls want to slog through underbrush for hours on end, I’ve got no objection.”
“But you’re gonna make ’em put their own worms or bugs on their hooks, ain’t you, Mr. Parker?” This gleeful addendum from Wolfie was the most animated he’d been. His smile showed two teeth in different stages of coming in.
Jenny recoiled at the very mention of baiting a hook. Miranda said nothing at first. She’d learned her lesson about jumping in too fast. You could give away too much that way. From here on, she’d weigh everything she said. “My dad liked to fish.” It was true. “He took me a time or two when I was Cassie’s age.” Also true. “You’re about eight, aren’t you, Cassie?”
“Seven, I think.”
“You think?” Greg scoffed from behind the girl. “Don’t you know?”
The child blinked owlishly, and large tears welled up behind her smudged lenses. Miranda reached out and clasped the child’s hand. “It’s okay, Cassie. Mr. Parker can find out. There must be school and health records on each of you back at the house. Do you know why you can’t walk?” Miranda asked softly.
The girl nodded. “Because my spine’s twisted at the bottom.”
Wolfie cleared his throat. “We heard Mrs. Rankin, one of the house moms, say Cassie’s mama had a boyfriend who threw Cassie down the basement steps.”
Jenny sucked in her breath. And Scraps emitted what could pass for a sympathetic growl. Miranda merely tightened her grip on the child’s fingers. “But, honey, you probably don’t remember the details of the accident.”
“I do sorta,” Cassie said solemnly. “I remember being cold for a long time. And I remember some policemen took Joey and Mama away. Then I was in the hospital for a lot of days and nights. I’ve lived a lotta places since. Nobody ever wants me to stay, ’cause it’s hard having a kid around who can’t walk.”
A heavy silence descended on the vehicle. Miranda stroked the girl’s small hand as her gaze met Linc’s in the mirror. She could only guess that her horror matched the sick expression she saw in his eyes.
“Look,” Eric announced, a catch evident in his voice, as well. “We’re coming to some lights. That must be the town up ahead.”
Gladly latching on to a chance to avoid what he read as censure in Randi’s cool gaze, Linc switched his attention to the glow Eric pointed out.
“Get outta here,” Shawn said. “If that’s the town, I’d say we’re in deep shit when it comes to finding a motel. Looks like nothin’s goin’ on here.”
“Please watch your language, Shawn.” Miranda cast her eyes toward the younger members of their group.
“Come on, kids.” Linc injected a cheery note in his voice. “Susanville is the county seat. Montoya said it’s a hub for serious hikers, sport fishermen and mountain bikers. There have to be motels to accommodate those groups. And it’s not so late that there won’t be a choice of restaurants still open.” Even as he spoke, they passed a well-lit café.
The kids all clamored for him to stop, but Linc drove on. “I think we should book a motel before we eat. Let’s get our sleeping arrangements nailed down, and then we’ll worry about filling our bellies.”
There was a lot of grumbling, but in the end the kids capitulated.
At the first motel with a vacancy sign, Linc swung in. He told everyone to stay put, but no one listened and they all got out and trooped into the office behind him.
The clerk took one look at the kids and immediately informed Linc she couldn’t accommodate his party.
“That’s odd. I only saw three cars in your parking lot. And you have two floors of rooms,” he said, smiling as he leaned an elbow on the counter.
“Uh…it’s the dog. We don’t allow pets,” the woman said, almost happily trumping Linc’s ace.
He recognized her shallow ploy for what it was, and while he wouldn’t stay here now if it was the last motel in town, he didn’t intend to go without leaving her something to think about. “That’s too bad for your establishment. This dog is a movie star. We’ve had a long drive today—up from Hollywood, haven’t we, kids? I told my cast this looked like a perfect spot to film.” Turning, he motioned them out. “That’s okay. We’ll take our money down the road.”
Even though the woman sputtered behind him, Linc steadily moved everyone outside. As they reloaded the SUV, silence reigned. Then Eric crowed, “That was sweet, man, how you made her look at us with respect.”
“Let that be a lesson, Eric. All people are worthy of respect. Note that I wasn’t disrespectful to the clerk. The choice was hers. And she’s entitled to her beliefs no matter how much I disagree with her.”
“But you flat-out lied,” Miranda said. “Scraps isn’t a movie star. And we don’t even know that he won’t mess in a room. I mean, we’ll have to leave him in there with a bowl of water while we go eat.”
“I bent the truth. Jenny said you found him near Burbank. You don’t know that he hasn’t been in films. And he won’t mess up the room if you walk him before we go eat and again before you turn in.”
The kids mulled over Linc’s words as he drove down the main street to another motel. This time when he asked them to stay put while he booked rooms, no one objected. They gave high fives all around, however, when he came back a few minutes later wagging three keys. “And Scraps is legally in.”
“I thought you said two rooms earlier,” Miranda said.
“Yes, but I have to make some phone calls. I booked a single for me and two doubles. Splitting up the boys and girls means everybody has more space.”
“Uh, that’ll be great.” Miranda capitulated fast enough. “It means an extra shower. I could almost skip eating to enjoy a hot shower. How about you, Jenny?”
Before she could answer, Linc interrupted, “Do you girls mind bathing Cassie and Hana tonight?”
“They’ll be glad to.” Shawn readily volunteered them. “Now can we please go find a burger joint? I’m starved.”
With moods greatly improved, they all laughed.
“I’m three steps ahead of you, Shawn.” Linc handed out the room keys and then went to unload the packs. “I told the clerk I had eight hungry mouths to feed. Taking pity on me, she drew a map to the closest steak house.”
“Steak?” The older boys chattered excitedly among themselves as they dropped stuff in their rooms and Miranda prepared to leave the dog.
Linc had never gone hungry in his life. And this one night, steak was the least he could offer pathetic kids whose stories had shaken him more than he cared to admit.
CHAPTER FOUR
LINC RESENTED the surreptitious looks they got from other patrons as they ambled in. They were seated at a large oval table near the back of the restaurant, shown to their seats by a hostess wearing a red-checkered dress that matched the décor. He dismissed her look of pity as he took the stack of menus she thrust into his hands.
Miranda waited for Parker to request booster seats for Cassie and Hana. Not that Cassie wasn’t old enough to sit in a regular chair. But these were wooden ones, built low, probably for big men—the sportsmen Linc had mentioned earlier.
In gentlemanly fashion, Linc pulled out Jenny’s chair, then Randi’s. “We got enough chairs?” He glanced around the table and counted.
“Don’t you think we need boosters for the little girls?”
“High chairs, you mean?” He frowned, letting his mind drift back to when his kid sister had needed a chair that had its own tray.
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Boosters are molded plastic seats that go on regular chairs.”
She didn’t tack stupid onto the end of her sentence, but she might as well have, Linc thought. “Does this restaurant have such an item?” He squinted to see into the dimly lit corners.
“We do have boosters, sir,” the hostess assured him with a broad smile. “How many do you need for your family?”
“Oh, they’re not mine,” he said, refocusing on the woman who looked as if she belonged at a square dance.
“Two, please,” Miranda rushed to say. Turning, she followed the hostess to where the multicolored seats were stacked. Miranda selected a blue one and a red one. The red had a cushion made of fabric like the woman’s dress. It turned out to be oilcloth, more like the tablecloths. Regardless, she judged the cushion better for Cassie and had barely started back to the table when the seats were whisked from her hands. Glancing up in surprise, she discovered Parker had relieved her of them.
“Give Cassie the red one,” she said quickly. “It was the only one with a cushion. I think it’ll be softer on her poor back.”
“I’m not dense, Ms—what in hell is your last name?” Linc demanded, suddenly perplexed.
“Ah…uh…according to Jenny, street people never give their surnames to anyone. It’s for protection,” she said when Linc stopped to stare at her.
“So does that mean you weren’t a street person before you hit California?”
“No. I mean, I was…for a while. In Kansas City,” she blurted, trying to stick as close to the truth as possible.
“Kansas City.” Narrowing his eyes, Linc turned that tidbit of information over in his mind. “You didn’t get that thick drawl there. Where did you live before K.C.? And why did you leave?”
Miranda drew herself up to her full height, yet she was still woefully shorter than the man studying her like a specimen under a microscope. “My past is my own business. And your silly interrogation is holding up the waitress who wants to take our drink orders.”
Feeling smartly put in his place, Linc set the booster seats into the chairs. He gently lifted the little girls into them. The only two empty chairs at the table were quite far from each other.
Damn, he’d wanted to probe deeper into the mystery that came packaged as a woman calling herself Randi with no last name. If Randi was even her name… Why he cared about her history, Linc didn’t know. After all, he’d been warned not to expect the truth out of street kids. Yet Randi managed to irritate him while simultaneously giving him pause. Linc vowed he’d unravel her story or know the reason why.
“Are you kids ready to order?” Linc asked as the waitress stood patiently by his chair.
“We don’t know how much you are letting us spend,” Greg said, his English showing traces of his Asian background. “Have you looked at the cost?”
Linc opened the menu, expecting to see something outrageous. In actuality, the steaks were cheap. “Order whatever suits your fancy. Let me worry about the bill.”
There wasn’t one person at the table who didn’t show shock at that news. Miranda alone noticed how Parker had softened his tone so that his statement, which might have sounded as if he lorded it over them, held no patronizing inflection.
She imagined her former manager in a situation like this. Wes Carlisle would have found a way to put everyone at the table in his debt. Which was how Wes had operated from the minute he’d stepped into a job previously handled by her father. Throughout the years that Doug Kimbrough had made decisions for her, she’d remained blissfully ignorant about the working end of her singing career. The rude awakening came the moment Carlisle stepped in. It hadn’t taken Miranda long to figure out that she’d made a horrible mistake in signing an open-ended contract with Carlisle’s agency.
As they awaited their food, Miranda recalled something Jenny said the day they met. She’d said her good friend Felicity’s brother was some guru who worked with movie and singing stars. Miranda couldn’t help wondering if Parker managed his stars in a manner similar to Carlisle’s handling of country singers. Try as she might, she couldn’t picture Wes giving up his rich lifestyle to go to some remote locale and set up a safe house for street kids. The two types of personalities—manager to the stars and socially conscious benefactor—weren’t mutually compatible. So maybe Jenny was wrong about Parker’s occupation.
After everyone had their drinks, Miranda lent a hand to Hana so the girl didn’t spill her milk all over the place. Catching Parker’s eye, she asked casually, “What did you do before you bought the ranch? I know you worked in Hollywood. Did it involve teens? You’re not the type to have been a cop.” Miranda pretended she knew nothing about his background.
Jenny frowned. “I thought I told you about Felicity’s brother.”
“Unlike some people,” Linc said, aiming a pointed stare at Miranda, “I’m not secretive about my past. I graduated from a California college with a master’s in finance. I became a CPA and then set up a partnership with a guy I met in grad school. We invest our clients’ excess capital and do their quarterly taxes.”
“Felicity said his clients are top movie and rock stars,” Jenny said in a tone filled with awe.
“No kidding?” Greg’s face was a mask of envy. “I guess I joined the group after Felicity mentioned that,” he whispered to Jenny. “Anyway, I didn’t know her as well as you guys did. But the house…wow! Megabucks.”
Linc sliced an impatient hand through the air. “A firm doesn’t start off working for big names. It takes time to earn respect in any field.”
“There’s that word again,” Eric pointed out. “Respect’s a big word in your vocabulary, isn’t it, Mr. P.?”
“No more than honesty, reliability and diligence.”
Wolfie, who now had a white mustache after draining his glass of milk, asked in a small voice what diligence meant.
“Sorry,” Linc said. “I know you aren’t a walking dictionary. Diligence is a high-priced word for hard work.”
“Well, why didn’t you just say hard work?” Wolfie sighed, then launched another question. “I guess you gotta go to school to learn big words, huh?”
Linc flashed him a grin. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Learning anything takes time. You’re only in what—fourth grade?”
“No grade. Well, I used to go to school before the Tuckers came to Rascal Ranch. They didn’t like to drive me and Cassie out to the highway to catch the bus. And Miz Lydia never liked taking care of Hana by herself.”
Miranda exhaled loudly. “You mean they arbitrarily stopped sending you to school?”
When all three kids gaped at her without comprehension, she hastily rephrased her question. “Arbitrarily means the Tuckers took it upon themselves to take you out of school. Is that what they did?”
Wolfie thought a minute, then nodded.
“Nothing about that couple would surprise me,” Linc exclaimed when Miranda telegraphed him a look of outrage.
“Before we head back to the ranch, shouldn’t we, uh, you find out how long this has gone on? Surely you can reinstate them in school.”
“Yes, if they are going to remain with me. Tomorrow, though, among other things, I hope to contact a living breathing soul who knows what agency ought to be taking responsibility for them.” Fortuitously, in Linc’s estimation, their meal arrived. Otherwise he was certain Randi would have given him hell. She’d made it plain in a glance what she thought of him for shucking off what she mistakenly considered his responsibility for the children’s welfare. But why in hell should he care what a woman, who had no apparent direction in her own life, thought about the way he chose to manage his contribution to charity?
The answer was, Linc didn’t care. Or rather, he shouldn’t care. It so happened he did. Because throughout the meal, she sent him darting looks that penetrated deeper and deeper into his fairly thick skin. Why couldn’t she attack her steak with the same fervor showing in those expressive gray eyes?
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