Roz Fox - A Cowboy at Heart

“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.”