Roz Fox - A Cowboy at Heart

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.