Roz Fox - A Cowboy at Heart

Eric leaned as far forward as his seat belt would allow and shouted over the music, “What the hell kind of tune is that you’re playing, Parker?”

“That, young man, is Wagner.” He pronounced it with the German V. “It’s the overture to Tristan und Isolde.”

“Never heard of those dudes,” Eric muttered. “Are they on the charts?”

Miranda waited a heartbeat for Linc to explain. When he said nothing, she rattled off a brief description of the opera. “The opera depicts a beautiful but tragic love story set in medieval Ireland. Isolde nurses Knight Tristan back to health, only to discover he killed her fiancé in battle. To make matters worse, Tristan is sworn to deliver Isolde as a bride for his uncle. She mixes a potion to kill him, and he offers her his sword, instead. That’s when they discover they really love each other. So they kiss…. A lot happens in the next scenes. The king brands them traitors. A battle takes place where Tristan is badly wounded. Isolde believes if she can get to him, her magical powers will heal him. When they’re reunited, Tristan declares that, as a knight, he cannot bear to live as an outcast. He falls dead at her feet. She drinks her potion just as a courier arrives from the king ready to pardon her and Tristan. The last scene of the opera is her collapsing across his body. It’s difficult to describe quickly, but if you listen to the entire score, you can feel the scenes unfold. ‘Liebestod’ is probably my favorite piece.”

The other teens gaped at Miranda, as did Linc.

“Wow,” Jenny said, continuing to bite her nails. “That sounds so cool, Randi. I wouldn’t have believed it, but you can feel grief in the music. Except…I thought you told me you didn’t know much about music.”

Linc found himself straining to hear Randi’s reply. Something about her was out of step with her companions. And he doubted that opera was normal fare for street kids.

Miranda couldn’t deny the knowledge that had obviously caused the others to regard her suspiciously. She shrugged. “Funny how things can slip your mind. I totally forgot about picking up that community-college class. The prof who taught basic music appreciation was an opera buff. He took us to see Puccini’s La Boheme and Verdi’s Rigoletto and Aida. Oh, and Bizet’s Carmen.”

“You went to college, studied highbrow music and it slipped your mind?” Shawn roused himself from his slouched position in the far back seat.

“Intro to Music sounded like an easy class.” Miranda felt herself being drawn deeper and deeper into revealing bits of her past. Maybe she should just admit her age. But then what? “Gee, guys, why the grilling?”

“So you’re how old?” Linc asked offhandedly.

Miranda’s heart thumped hard and fast. “Old enough. I, uh, graduated from high school at sixteen.” And that was the truth. Still, she didn’t like the way Parker kept staring at her in his rearview mirror. It seemed the more she said, the farther she put her foot down her throat. Please, someone change the subject.

Eric did just that when the Excursion bounced off the last few feet of rutted lane and Parker swung onto the smoother highway. “Why turn east? Don’t you go west to get to town? That’s the direction we came in from.”

“According to the friend who scoped out the ranch for me, Susanville is really the closest town to the property. Because there’s national parkland in between, it’s not the most well-traveled stretch of road. But, John, my friend, is an avid outdoorsman. He said the streams and lakes are stocked with several kinds of trout. Do any of you fish?”

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.