Читать книгу A Cowboy at Heart - Roz Fox Denny - Страница 8

MIRANDA ADJUSTED her heavy backpack on already aching shoulders. Several miles back, she’d ceased having any feeling in her blistered heels. No matter what negative things people might say about street kids, somewhere around Fresno it became clear to her that they couldn’t be faulted for lack of stamina.

She, Jenny and her pals had been on the road for more than a week. Sometimes they hitched rides, but because they refused to split up, mostly they relied on shank’s mare, as her daddy used to call hoofing it.

Eric, Shawn and Greg had started complaining in earnest after the last town disappeared and they’d entered this desolate road. If not for the fact that the nights were pitch-black and cold, Miranda would’ve been content to let the others turn back. She felt most sympathetic toward Jenny, whose thin jacket was no barrier against the weather. Midweek, long-haul truckers they encountered at a rest stop said it was spitting snow atop the Siskiyou mountain pass. Practically overnight, Mount Lassen, visible in the distance, looked like a vanilla ice-cream cone sparkling in weak sunlight.

“Hey, look over there!” Miranda’s excited voice rose above Shawn’s griping about the driver who’d just passed. “Shh!” Again she tried to compete with Shawn’s swearing and the barking dog. They’d voted to name him Scraps to depict his throwaway status.

Making little headway, Miranda placed two fingers between her teeth. Her whistle garnered the attention of all but the dog. Sparing the dog a last exasperated glance, Miranda pulled out the battered flyer she’d kept as a guide-post. “I think we’ve found it. The ranch. Doesn’t that house at the end of this lane look like the one pictured here?”

Scraps scampered on ahead while the road-weary teens circled around Miranda to peer at the badly crumpled paper.

“It’s about time,” Eric grumbled. “Jenny’s got one sneaker worn all the way through.”

Shawn, the heftiest of the three boys, rubbed his belly. “I hope they haven’t already eaten. I’m starved.”

Greg punched his arm. “You’re always starved. You think we didn’t see Randi slip you half a pack of the hot dogs we bummed off those hikers yesterday?”

The always-hungry boy glanced guiltily at his companions. “I can’t help it that my bones weigh more than your whole body, Greg. We didn’t all have itty-bitty Korean moms. And for all we know, your dad could’ve been a squirt. Not all sailors are bruisers, you know.”

Miranda uttered a cranky sigh. A guaranteed way to create dissension was for anyone to bring up the shortfalls of a parent. Before starting out, they’d made a pact, agreeing that attacks of this nature were taboo, which had suited Miranda. Eric, who obviously had mixed-race parents, and Greg, who admittedly did, were touchiest. Before Miranda joined their ranks, Greg had confided to the others that his mom had made him learn English and had sent him to California, hoping her great-uncle would help Greg find the sailor who’d left her pregnant and alone in Seoul. But the relative, an elderly man, had passed away. And Greg soon ran out of cash. Alone, he’d had no luck locating the sailor in a grainy snapshot. His only clue other than the photo was the name Gregory Jones, which might or might not have been valid. The navy had a plethora of Gregory and G. Joneses, none of whom claimed to have fathered a child out of wedlock. But thanks to his early experience in Seoul, Greg was adept at street living. Even so, he was defensive as hell about almost everything.

Shawn, by contrast, was apparently the product of a wealthy but abusive dad and an actress who’d flown the coop. Miranda would have thought he’d be more sympathetic toward poor Greg. Instead, the boys bickered constantly, and she was getting fed up.

“Guys,” she cautioned, “let’s try and be on our best behavior when we meet the ranch owner. I, for one, am too beat to want him kicking us out of his program.”

“What do you mean, program?” Eric narrowed perpetually angry dark eyes. “The flyer didn’t say we had to join any program to stay here.”

Jenny curled a hand around Eric’s suddenly rigid forearm. “I’m cold, Eric. And Shawn’s starved. Can we quit arguing long enough to check out this guy’s gig? Back in L.A., we agreed Benny Garcia was right when he said we’d be happier bunking here than hustling cots at fleabag shelters.”

“Who agreed?” Eric, his thin face framed by shoulder-length dreadlocks that tended to make people view him as a hoodlum, grimaced. “I let you talk me into it.”

Miranda hadn’t witnessed more than a close friendship between Eric and Jenny—certainly not a romance. He was prone to fly off the handle, and the younger girl provided a calming influence for the boy. But she’d discovered that all small homeless pods had a leader, and Eric, despite his moods, was theirs. So she was doubly relieved when, by tacit agreement, they moved in the direction of the sprawling ranch.

The barn, which they passed first, looked sturdy, even though it needed paint. Two long outbuildings flanking the main house were equally weathered but appeared to have new roofs. One, if not both, could house teens and/or serve as sleeping quarters for ranch workers. Miranda doubted Jenny and the boys had taken notice of the amenities, and she wouldn’t bring it to their attention. Being older, and possessing a great deal more travel savvy that she needed to conceal, she took care during this trek not to preach—a trait that ranked low with street kids. Nor did she want them speculating that she wasn’t really one of them.

When they’d passed through the town of Chico, Miranda had managed a good look at a Sunday newspaper someone had left at a rest area. The story of her disappearance, while no longer front-page news, still rated a two-inch column in the entertainment section. She needed a place to lie low until there was no mention of her at all.

It shook her to see Wes Carlisle pretend to mourn her publicly, when she knew how fraudulent it was. The article mentioned a deal Wes had worked to reissue all volumes of Misty’s back albums—to keep her memory alive, he claimed. Ha! Nothing but pure greed and ambition lay behind Wes’s rerelease of her hits. He would exploit her absence for all it was worth. And once her name ceased being profitable, he’d cut his losses and find some other naive singer to “manage.” Then she could go back and, with a clearer head, finally confront him.

The group stopped within a hundred yards of the house, where they could see a man stalking back and forth in front of a wide, inviting porch.

Miranda fell instantly in love with the porch. Her dad’s house had boasted one roomy enough for a swing, and the band had often gathered to make music there. Instant warmth toward this ranch began to replace her weariness.

That wasn’t the case for Eric. He stopped to squint at a rusty wrought-iron arch. “Rascal Ranch? How hokey can he get? Does the dude expect us to be wannabe bronco busters, or what?”

“Maybe this is the wrong ranch.” Jenny pointed at the front porch. “Look at all those little kids.”

Miranda followed Jenny’s finger. Indeed, a young boy and a smaller girl hovered around a third child in a wheelchair. The hope that had begun to mount in Miranda suddenly plummeted.

“This obviously isn’t the teen retreat we’re looking for,” she murmured. “But…the architecture’s so similar, we must be near the place. Eric, take our flyer and go ask that man if he knows this ranch. It may take a minute, since he’s on his cell phone.”

“I’m surprised there’s cell reception out here in Nowhereville,” Eric responded. “Damn, look! Scraps is attacking the guy’s pant legs. Wow, is he ever pissed off.”

“Let Randi go,” Shawn said. “Scraps is her mutt.”

“Shawn’s right.” Eric nudged Randi forward. “I’ll stay and do what I can to plug Jenny’s shoes. Especially since we’ve probably gotta hike who knows how many more friggin’ miles. Just everybody remember—I voted to stay in L.A.”

The others groaned and plopped down on the ground, heedless of the damp. Miranda reluctantly took the flyer and set out, girding herself to be yelled at by the rancher.

The first thing that struck her as she drew near was that the man shouting at someone on the phone was younger than she’d judged him at first glance. Mid-thirties at most. But regardless of age, he was furious. The cords in his neck bulged as he stomped around, gesturing wildly. A lock of sun-streaked light-brown hair fell stubbornly across his forehead, in spite of the fact that he kept shoving it back. Mad or not, he was fine to look at, Miranda thought, slowing her approach. And if that was his Excursion with a vanity plate reading BAD SUV, it showed he had a sense of humor.

“Hold on a minute, Gunderson.” The man whirled and glared at Miranda. “If this barking beast belongs to you, shut him up. I’m trying to have a serious discussion, and I can’t hear a damned thing.”

Oops. So his disposition was nowhere nearly as fine as his looks. And forget what she’d said about his sense of humor. Miranda scooped up Scraps, who obviously felt that snapping at the man’s shiny boot heels was great sport.

The minute the dog stopped his incessant barking, Linc Parker felt the pounding in his head slowly begin to subside. He flashed a thank-you with his eyes toward the woman responsible for the pest’s capture. Linc intended to get immediately back to dickering with Gunderson, but words failed him momentarily as—both fascinated and horrified—he watched the newcomer let that damn dog lick her nose and lips. Yuck! Did she know her pet had just been sniffing a pile of cow pucky?

“What? Yes, I’m still here, Ted.” But Linc, affected by the sultry laugh of the dog’s owner, had to tighten his grip on the phone. Eventually he shook himself back to the present. “Like I said, the situation you foisted on me is totally unacceptable. Why? You have the nerve to ask?” Linc flung an arm toward the three youngsters huddled in a knot on his porch. “I’ve explained twice. I don’t know squat about little kids. Plus…well, you leaving them here isn’t right.”

He swallowed what he might have added, noticing that the gray eyes of the woman darted sympathetically to the cringing children. He also noticed that she clutched one of his flyers.

Feeling guilty, Linc let his voice trail off and his arm drop. “Look, I’ve got other problems on top of this one. I agree, John Montoya missed a lot. Apparently he also passed out flyers in L.A. inviting street kids to my facility before I planned on opening, so why am I surprised he loused up with you?”

Linc paced several steps to the open door of his Ford Excursion and rummaged inside until he came up with a notebook and pen. Anchoring the phone between his chin and shoulder, he said, “If you insist there’s nothing you can do today, give me the name and number of that social worker again.” Listening intently, Linc scribbled on his pad. “I know you said the agency is in disarray. I understand she’s not available until after the Thanksgiving holiday. But surely someone in her office can deal with this problem. What? Yeah, I guessed it was a small agency. I also guaran-damn-tee I’ll start there and climb up the chain of command until I reach someone in Sacramento if I have to. For one thing, I intend to report those houseparents of yours. The Tuckers should be barred from ever working with kids again. George claimed the way to keep them in line was to slap them around. Come to think of it, where’s your organization’s responsibility?”

“Gunderson? Ted?” Linc made a disgusted sound and threw his cell into the front seat of his vehicle as he ripped the sheet off the pad and stuffed it in his pocket. The Oasis rep had flat-out hung up on him.

Lincoln didn’t like that the woman holding the dog was scowling at him as if he’d just crawled out from under a rock. Hell! Judging by the storm gathering in her eyes, she could well be another of his mounting problems. All he needed to cork his day was a spitfire street kid with a temper—if that was actually what she was. Oddly, she struck him as older.

He smoothed a hand down over a chin grown prickly with late-in-the-day stubble. “I’m sorry, uh…Miss, er Ms.? I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a disadvantage. I’m Lincoln Parker, new owner of this facility. I, uh, see you’re in possession of a flyer I’m assuming you picked up down south?”

Miranda nodded as she pushed Scraps’s nose out of her face. “L.A. My friends and I have been on the road awhile. We’re tired and hungry.” She extended the creased flyer. “So, are you open or not? I wasn’t purposely eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help overhearing part of your conversation.”

“Not!” Linc snapped. “Open,” he added with less force as he saw the defeated slump of her slim shoulders. Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze to the toes of her battered army boots. “I just got here myself. Not only did I expect to have time to fix things up before any teens arrived, but the previous owner threw me a curve by leaving behind three former tenants.”

Lincoln pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He didn’t know why he was confiding so much in this stranger who clearly expected a haven for herself and the friends she’d left at the side of the road.

“Look, what’s your name?”

“Randi,” she supplied. “And this is Scraps.” She jerked a thumb toward the road. “Out there are Jenny, Shawn, Greg and Eric.”

“Jenny? Eric?” Linc spun around and strained to see through the waning light. Even now, hearing the names of Felicity’s so-called friends, who’d dumped her at the hospital and then taken off, made his stomach churn.

“Do you know them?”

“Uh…those were the names of two of my kid sister’s friends. Police said they…” Linc broke off suddenly. “They’re common enough names. Merely coincidence, I’m sure. Look, I can offer a place to crash for tonight. I…think,” he added, frowning at the two units flanking the house. “To be truthful, I’ve got no idea how many beds are in those bunkhouses. Nor their condition. As you might have gathered from my phone conversation, I didn’t get a positive impression of the houseparents the Oasis Foundation had in charge here.”

“I don’t understand any of what you’re saying,” Miranda said. “But the gang and I can make do. Sleeping under a roof will be a bonus. But we’d sure like a hot meal. We last ate yesterday when some hikers gave us a leftover pack of hot dogs and a few buns.” Again she waved a hand toward the four hunkered some yards away.

“Food? Damn! Wait—Mrs. Tucker mentioned meat in a freezer.”

“That sounds encouraging. If there’s a microwave, we can thaw it out. So, if you don’t mind my asking, why are you conducting business out here in the wind and cold? Why aren’t you inside fixing supper for those poor kids?”

“Well, I…” Linc stopped, panic swamping him. “For one, I can’t cook. I’ve lived and worked in the city all my life. I either order in or eat out.”

Miranda waved the flyer in his face. “Did you think street kids don’t eat?”

“For your information, I intended to hire a cook and a housekeeper before any kids showed up.” Linc glared. “Not that I owe you any explanation. And let me guess, your smart mouth has landed you in trouble before.”

Miranda ground her teeth to keep from lashing back. Here she was again, responding like a twenty-six-year-old, instead of the way someone like Jenny would. “Sorry,” she mumbled, biting her lip.

“Forget it.” Linc shook back a lock of dark hair and offered a tentative smile as he glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s too late to rectify the cook-housekeeper issue today. Whistle up your friends. For now, we’ll all have to make the best of a situation none of us invited.”

The smile altered his stern features, and Miranda responded accordingly. “Hey, great! Jenny’s worn a hole in her shoe, and the guys stayed behind to try and fix it, in case we had more walking to do.”

“Do any of you have injuries?”

“No, we’re just tired. I’ll go fetch them. Then maybe Jenny and I can check what’s in your freezer. I’ll bet we can toss together a meal of some sort.”

“Really?” Linc felt more grateful for that one simple statement than she could know. His life lately had been hectic. He’d been involved in selling his house and storing the furnishings, as well as studying ranching techniques. He probably should’ve asked John to make a cursory inventory of what was needed here. Under no circumstances, however, would it have occurred to him to take a crash course in cooking. “Damn John—and Gunderson,” he muttered, swinging his fierce gaze back to the three young children he had yet to deal with.

“Don’t swear at them,” Miranda said testily, again forgetting herself. “Can’t you see they’re scared?” She didn’t care if this jerk took his anger out on her, as long as he left those poor kids alone.

“I’m not swearing at them. My anger’s directed at the guy who got me into this mess, and at the Oasis rep who sold me a pig in a poke. What makes you even imagine I’d swear at children?”

“Oh, I don’t know, probably the way you’re glowering.” Miranda stopped and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Excuse me. I’ll just go get my friends.” She hugged Scraps to her chest and sidled around Linc. Once past him, she broke into a run.

Staring after the young woman, he noticed her shapely backside and quickly controlled a punch to his gut that he shouldn’t be feeling. He turned his attention to the problems on the porch.

John Montoya thought he was crazy to leave his old job. But in the past few years, Linc found himself growing more short-tempered and less tolerant of people. No doubt the dog’s owner had glimpsed and had wrongly assumed he’d swear at little kids. Well, the red-haired boy wasn’t so little. He must be the one George Tucker had said was the biter.

Linc approached the trio slowly. “Hi. My name is Lincoln Parker. Call me Linc.” He mustered a smile. “Sorry about the phone call and the time I spent talking to the lady with the dog,” he added for good measure, as he’d seen the kids’ interest in the dog. “Let’s go inside and you can give me your names. Hey, hey, relax. I don’t know when I’ll be able to reach your social worker—this…Mrs. Bishop.” Lincoln unfolded the paper and read the woman’s name. “What I’m saying—” he spoke through a thinning smile “—is that we may as well be on a first-name basis because it looks as if we’re stuck with each other for a while.”

“Screw you,” sneered the boy. Linc stiffened when the kid barreled off the porch straight at him. He didn’t relish getting bitten; Tucker hadn’t warned about kicking, though. The little monster landed a bone-breaking blow to Linc’s left shin. “Damn, damn, damn!” He swore and hopped around holding his ankle as the kid disappeared in the thickening dusk.

“Wolfie!” The girl not confined to the wheelchair cried out and stumbled on one of the wheelchair foot plates. She fell flat at Linc’s feet, sobbing too hard to get up right away and follow the boy.

“Easy, easy.” Linc reached for her gingerly.

“Wolfie is Hana’s brother,” said the round-eyed girl in the chair. “His real name’s Wolfgang, but he hates it, so everybody calls him Wolfie.”

Bending, Linc gently lifted the hysterical child. He was amazed by how fragile her bones felt under his hands and was reminded of a frightened bird he’d rescued from a cat once when he couldn’t have been much older than Wolfie. “It’s okay,” he murmured softly. “You girls go in out of this wind. I’ll find your brother, I promise,” he told the child who shook violently and watched him in abject fear.

Linc set her down and at once limped off. He could no longer see the boy, but he’d heard a door slam in the distance, in the direction of an outbuilding. Linc supposed he’d find Wolfgang in the bunkhouse. At least, he assumed the low structure was one of the two bunkhouses John said came with the ranch.

Afraid the little hellion might have time to rig some kind of trap at the door, Linc stood well to one side of what appeared to be the only way in. Cautiously, he shoved the door open with a toe. The interior, dark as a cave, smelled of urine and decay. Wrinkling his nose, Linc called, “Wolfie, either turn on a light or come outside so we can talk.”

The silence stretched, but Linc felt the boy’s presence.

“God, this place stinks like a sewer. Please tell me this isn’t where you kids sleep.” He reached inside and felt the wall for a light switch. Finding one, he flipped it on. A single bulb in the center of the room sprang to life, barely illuminating the area directly beneath the fixture. Not so much as a glimmer reached into any of the room’s four corners, but the bulb gave off enough power for Linc to see two sets of bunk beds. A cracked mirror hung over a single dresser with a broken leg. The mirror reflected the filament inside the bare bulb. As his eyes adjusted, Linc made out the boy crouched against the wall between the two sets of beds.

His heart lodged in his chest. “Look, son,” he said, attempting to calm his voice in spite of the fact that it remained rough with emotion. “I can only guess what you’ve put up with in the past. I promise you here and now, for however long you’re in my care, you won’t be hit—and your sleeping conditions will darned well improve.”

Freckles stood out on the boy’s pale cheeks. Wide blue eyes under a shock of sandy red hair warily assessed the man who barred the room’s only door.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Linc tried again to reassure the boy. “I only took over ownership of the ranch today. I can’t make instant changes. But I wouldn’t let a dog sleep in this rat hole. I hope the house is in better shape. If so, we’ll all bunk there tonight.” He shivered and stopped speaking to rub his arms. “What’s the heat in this building set at?”

“Ain’t no heat,” the boy growled. “But even if I gotta take the girls and run away in the dark, ain’t none of us sleeping with you, creep. So get that in your head.”

“God! That’s not what I meant by all of us sleeping in the house.” Shaken, Linc withdrew fractionally. “Did you see the older kids by the road? I simply meant it’s unacceptable to think anyone would have to sleep here with no heat. I trust the main house has a furnace. It’s probably big enough for everyone to stake out a sleeping spot for one night. Tomorrow, we’ll clean this place and locate a hardware store where I can buy baseboard heaters. To say nothing of mattresses that don’t sag or smell.” Linc eyed the definite bow in the beds.

“Why would you go to all that trouble before you get hold of Mrs. Jacobs?”

“Who?” Linc’s ears perked up at a new name tossed in the mix.

“Our social worker. I heard you talkin’ on the phone about her.”

“Jacobs isn’t the name I was given. But I gather Mrs. Bishop is new at the agency. I have no idea when we’ll be able to connect. So while you’re in my care, I want you kids sleeping on clean sheets and mattresses.”

“Hana wets. She don’t do it on purpose. The house mom said she wasn’t washin’ sheets for no brat big ’nuff to get up and go to the outhouse. I used to have a flashlight, but it broke. Hana’s scared to walk the trail by herself. I told her to wake me up, but she says I sleep too hard.”

“You mean…this bunkhouse has no bathroom, either?”

The boy’s stringy red hair slapped his ears as he shook his head.

“Where do you kids shower? Or bathe?” Linc amended his statement when the word shower drew a blank look from the boy.

“Fridays, Lydia used to toss me and Hana in the creek with a bar of soap. Before she took over from Judy Rankin, we got to wash in a dishpan Miz Judy set on the back porch. After the Tuckers came, they only let Cassie use the pan. On account of her not being able to get in the water ’cause of her twisted hip.”

A rough expulsion of breath left Lincoln’s lungs. “The news gets worse by the second. I can’t listen to any more. Except… Wolfie, how often did Mrs. Jacobs come to inspect the place? What agency worker would approve of kids living in such squalor?”

“She ain’t never come that I know. Not since she brung me and Hana here to live. Cassie and some others were already here. One house mister griped to Oasis, and somebody came at night and took the other kids away. That was before Rob Rankin. He said Oasis put them in another group home.” Climbing to his feet, the boy hiked a thin shoulder. “They coulda kilt ’em. That’s what Hana thinks.”

“I doubt that.” Although… Linc swept the room with a scowl. “How any adult could visit this mess and close his or her eyes to conditions here is beyond me. Look, I’m sure you have few reasons to trust anyone, but I wish you’d give me a chance. At least come back to the house and let your sister see that you haven’t run off without her. She was crying her eyes out when I left to find you.”

“Hana bawls a lot, but she’s only four. Don’t hold it against her, okay?”

“No, I wouldn’t hold crying against a child. How old are you, Wolfie?”

“Ten. I had my birthday last month. Lydia Tucker said I was just lying so she’d bake a cake. She never did, so Hana and Cassie think I’m still nine.”

Linc couldn’t even bring himself to comment on the Tuckers’ callous treatment of the children they were supposed to care for. He met the guarded eyes of the shivering boy. “Will you walk with me to the house?”

“O…kay,” Wolfie agreed, a catch in his voice. “But if anybody lays a hand on me or Hana, they’ll wish they hadn’t. I have sharp teeth and I can bite hard.”

“So George Tucker told me.” Linc waited to smile until he turned his back on the ten-year-old. “Biting’s not the way men solve things, Wolfie. Not even if they’re bad things. So before you go biting any of the folks up at the house, I’d like you to promise you’ll talk to me first. Trust me to handle the problem. Will you do that?”

“I ain’t makin’ no promises till I see.”

“I guess that’s fair enough. I’ve never met the older kids. But I suspect life’s been no picnic for them, either. I’ll start by giving them my house rules.”

“Rules?”

“Dos and don’ts. They’re pretty simple.”

“Oh.” The boy tucked his chin against his thin chest and tried to match Linc’s longer stride while leaving plenty of space between them.

Entering the ranch house provided instant respite from the stinging wind. The room was well lit and warm. The little dog dashed up, barking its head off. But otherwise, if Linc expected to walk into a beehive of activity, he was doomed to disappointment. Each teen appeared to have staked out his or her wedge of real estate. The three boys sat on the floor, propped against their possessions, which included backpacks and guitar cases. Randi and the other girl sat on a raised hearth in front of an empty fireplace. Hana and Cassie did their best to melt into a dark corner as far away as possible from the teens. To the last kid, all tensed visibly when Linc walked in with Wolfie.

Linc homed in on Randi. “Was Mrs. Tucker wrong about there being meat in the freezer?”

“I, uh, we didn’t check. Eric said we shouldn’t rummage in the kitchen without you. That way you can’t claim something ought to be there that isn’t.” At Linc’s vacant expression, she added a qualifier. “You know, in case you try to tell the cops we stole from you.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Lincoln loosely bracketed his hips with his hands. He studied the room’s occupants. One older boy wore a long, ratty velvet coat over holey jeans. The baggy pants of the other two dragged on the ground. One wore leather wrist bands. All had numerous earrings in both ears, and the girl with the lighter brown hair— Jenny—had her lip, eyebrow and, Lord knew what else, pierced. Distrustful expressions, identical to Wolfie’s, were mirrored five times over.

He slowly released a pent-up breath. “It’s safe to say the ranch doesn’t meet any of our expectations. I counted on having time to spruce it up and lay in supplies. And you thought you’d walk into an operating shelter.” Linc’s gaze shifted to Wolfie, his sister, and Cassie in her pint-sized wheelchair. “On top of that, I never planned on hosting…small children. But they’re here and will be until I reach the new director of Social Services.”

“None of us formed any preconceived notions,” Miranda muttered. “Why don’t we start over? Introduce ourselves, and then food can be our next priority.”

“Right.” Linc rubbed the back of his neck, beginning to feel overwhelmed by everything facing him. It embarrassed him that the girl, Randi, was the first to voice a mature approach. He was, after all, the adult in charge. Although it struck him that, as John Montoya had said, he’d jumped into this venture without a shred of actual experience.

“I’m Lincoln Parker,” he said. “Linc, if you like. Until a few weeks ago I lived and worked in Hollywood. My aim in starting this retreat is to provide a safe, substance-free home for up to a dozen teens who’ve lived hand-to-mouth on city streets.”

“Parker?” Jenny gasped. “You’re not Felicity’s brother, are you? I mean, you couldn’t be that Lincoln Parker.” She shot Eric a funny look and they both uttered uneasy choking sounds.

“As a matter of fact, I am that Parker.” Linc’s eyes clouded. He was getting a bad feeling about these kids again. “No. It’s too unbelievable to think you’d be… Not even the cops were able to find the kids who dumped my sister at an inner-city L.A. emergency room and then ran off.”

“We didn’t dump her,” Jenny sputtered. “Two cops at the ER told us to get lost.”

Eric scrambled to his feet. “Yeah, I went back the next day and nobody would tell me a thing. We heard later she’d OD’d. Felicity was our friend, you know.”

“I spent weeks combing backstreets, asking information of anyone who might have seen where you were.”

“Gosh, didn’t Felicity ever talk about us? When you were out of town, she let us crash at your place,” Jenny said edgily, beginning to chew her nails, which was something Miranda noticed the girl did in tense situations.

“You brought drugs into my home?”

“No!” Jenny seemed horrified.

“Don’t lie. I have an autopsy report that shows alcohol, marijuana and embalming fluid in my sister’s blood, for God’s sake. Oh, what’s the use of talking to you? The police were adamant that even if I found you, you wouldn’t rat out a dealer.” Linc’s dark eyes glittered as his anger centered on Jenny. “I won’t tolerate drugs here. Maybe you’d better move on.” His voice shook with anger.

Eric stepped protectively in front of Jenny. “You’ve got no right to yell at us, man. Me and Jenny tried to help Felicity.”

Jenny’s white face bobbed out in the open as she grabbed Eric’s arm. “It was wet, Eric. That’s what made Felicity act so crazy.”

Linc’s scowl returned to the girl. “What are you yammering about? The night you took Felicity to emergency, the city hadn’t seen rain in months.”

“Not rain, stupid,” Eric spat. “Wet’s a street name for weed—marijuana—laced with PCP, soaked in embalming fluid and dried. Felicity knew—we all know that’s evil shi—er, stuff,” he finished lamely, watering down his language when Miranda jabbed him in the ribs and rolled her eyes at the children still huddled in a corner. Wanting to defuse the situation, she hauled Jenny toward the kitchen.

“Today has turned out to be a shocker for everyone, Mr. Parker,” she said. “My dad used to say trouble’s better met and dealt with on a full stomach. Why don’t Jenny and I see what we can find to make for supper? Y’all can talk afterward.”

Linc leveled a frown at the girl with the too-dark hair, pale skin and smoke-gray eyes. “If you have a dad worthy of quoting, why are you hanging out with this riffraff?”

Miranda’s chin shot up. “My dad died. And we’re not riffraff. If that’s your attitude, and if you want kids with pedigrees, why advertise this place as a haven for homeless teens?”

Her barb struck Linc in an unprotected spot and triggered a load of guilt. Why had Felicity, who had access to a nice home and best of everything money could buy, chosen friends among druggies and derelicts? He obviously wouldn’t find out by attacking the very kids he hoped one day to wrest answers from.

Still gruff, he waved the two girls away. Wheeling abruptly in the direction of his youngest guests, Wolfgang in particular, Linc rattled off their names by way of introduction. “Wolfie, you go help Randi and Jenny. You know better than I do where cooking supplies are kept. Eric and company can help me inventory the rest of the house. Between now and suppertime, we’ll sort out equitable sleeping spots for the night.”

Wolfie, mulled over Linc’s words. “What’s equit…that word you said. What’s it mean?”

“It means fair. Elbow room for everyone, like we discussed earlier. I don’t want anyone encroaching on his or her neighbor’s sleeping space.”

“I guess that’s okay,” the boy muttered. “You sure use big words, mister. Me, Cassie and Hana ain’t no walking dictionaries, you know?”

The kid sounded so serious, Linc laughed. “Okay, I’ll watch the four-bit words.”

Even the older teens broke out in approving grins. For the moment, the strain that had permeated the room evaporated.

Greatly relieved, Miranda picked up Scraps and nudged Jenny into the kitchen.

“Remember to wash your hands before you touch any food,” Parker yelled after them. He didn’t really expect an answer and wasn’t surprised when none came. But he realized that John Montoya had been more right than wrong. He might be in over his head here.