Never Too Late (28 page)

For a moment
more Ruth studied his face as he sat absorbed in his book, brows gathered in
concentration. Photographs could not begin to do justice to the flesh-and-blood
man. Light from the lamp beside him emphasized his deep-set eyes, his angular
jaw,
the
little splinters of day-old beard pressing up
through his sun-darkened skin. And as she stared at him, she had the eerie
feeling that somehow her life would be altered irrevocably by this man, though
she feared it may not be for the better.

***

Morning came
quickly. So quickly, Ruth realized that for the first time since Beth had been
kidnapped, she'd slept through the night instead of waking with a start to
twist and turn between guilt and hope and despair. And for the first time she
could remember, she had not prayed,
Please
God, please, me some sign she's dead
, knowing it would be easier to accept.
A tremor of hope rippled through her. Maybe God had at last spoken. Maybe the
sense of calm enveloping her was His way of telling her the search was over.

Anxious to call
her parents and let them know she'd arrived safely, she flipped open her cell
phone and started to punch in the numbers, only to read,
out of service area
, on the screen. The sense of calm she'd felt
moments before was replaced by a frisson of fear. She was trapped at a ranch in
an isolated valley, twenty miles from the nearest town, with no way of calling
for help if there was trouble. But then, maybe she was overreacting. Matt had
given her no reason to feel threatened. But she had another concern. Without
cell service she'd have no way to communicate with Bill unless she could get to
town, because it would be too risky to call him on the ranch phone. But she'd
worry about that later.

Curious to see
the ranch by daylight, she went to the window and pushed the curtains aside and
gazed at the view beyond. Behind a vast panorama of buttes, plateaus and mesas
to the east, the morning sun painted the sky like polished copper. Bathed in
the pink-gold light of dawn, and distant enough to seem dreamlike through the
haze and mist of morn, flat rangeland and rolling hills dotted with sagebrush,
prairie grass and black cattle stretched into the distance. Closer in, peeled
pole fences crisscrossed the landscape, enclosing corrals and paddocks, some
connected to a rambling barn, part stone and part red board and batten, with a
row of half-doors. A large cupola crowned the top. Several saddled horses stood
tied to a long hitching pole. And just below her window, a shaggy black and
white mongrel chewed on a beef joint the size of a man's arm.

Turning from
the window, she made the bed,
then
she rummaged through
her canvas tote bag for her hairbrush. While twisting her hair into a knot, she
contemplated the various aspects of Matt Kincaid. With Annie, he was firm yet
gentle, and when he looked at her it was always with a twinkle of affection in
his eyes. With Seth he often joked, yet he maintained a position of authority
Seth seemed to respect. But, was he a man who’d stoop to illegal means to
acquire a child? If so, to what extent would he go to keep that child, if his
right to her was challenged?

…the only way she'd ever be separated from
me would be over my cold, dead body...

"Miss
Crawford?"

Ruth turned to
find a square-shaped woman with a round ruddy-face and graying-red hair
standing in the doorway. "Yes?"

"I’m Edith
Jenson, Mr. Kincaid’s housekeeper. I do the cooking and run the domestic end of
the place. I just want to welcome you here and let you know I’ll be watching
Annie after breakfast this morning since you’ll be learning how to ride a
horse."

Ruth stared at
the woman, wide-eyed. She was absolutely not ready to ride a horse. "Are
you sure I’m supposed to ride…today? I’ve barely just arrived."

"Mr.
Kincaid’s orders. He said he'd be working with you right after breakfast, so
you might want to get ready now since he doesn't like to be kept waiting,"
she said, her voice trailing off as she walked down the hallway.

Ruth tried to
convince herself that sitting on a horse, six feet off the ground, wasn’t any
more terrifying than being on a six-foot ladder. But a ladder didn't have
pawing hooves and the ability to run away with her...

Hearing noises,
Ruth knew Annie was awake. She slipped into her robe and went to Annie's room
and found her sitting in bed within a circle of Ken dolls, her hair a tangle of
ash-blond curls, imprints of the pillow on her cheek. She'd changed back into
her tie-dyed tee shirt and mini sweats, and the new pajamas lay in a heap on
the floor, a silent statement of what she thought of the new nanny's gift. Ruth
picked up the pajamas. "Good morning," she said. Annie ignored her.

When Ruth hung
the pajamas in the closet, an elongated Giraffe Growth Chart taped to the
inside of the closet door caught her attention. Marks at intervals denoted
Annie's height, starting on her third birthday. Ruth stared at the chart, the
lack of marks before the age of three underscoring the years of Beth's absence.
Turning, she said to Annie, "Why don't we mark your chart. You're probably
a lot taller now."

Annie eyed Ruth
with annoyance. "Daddy does that."

"Well,
we'll make sure he keeps it up."

Annie glared at
Ruth. "Daddy never forgets."

"I
see." Ruth realized she'd overstepped her bounds. However, the thought of
Matt keeping up Annie's growth progress touched her in a way she hadn't
expected. Closing the closet door, she looked around at the disorderly array of
toys and books. On a shelf just above the bed was a collection of carved wooden
figures. She lifted a squirrel from the shelf and noted the fine workmanship on
its appealing little face, with its pointed nose and polished black eyes. Next
to where the squirrel had sat was a short squat cowboy, fancifully dressed in
boots, chaps, a vest and a cowboy hat. And beside the cowboy was what looked
like a princess wearing cowboy boots. "You have a nice set of
carvings," she said. "When we’re in town maybe we can find one to add
to your collection."

Without looking
up, Annie replied, annoyed, "There aren’t any ‘cause Daddy carves ‘em when
he’s on the trail and nobody gets any but me."

Ruth returned
the squirrel to the shelf. "Your daddy does nice work," she said,
surprised to learn this facet of the man and finding it hard to believe those
large calloused hands she'd seen could be capable of producing such sensitive
pieces.

She looked at
the collection of Ken dolls surrounding Annie. One had a string lasso taped to
his hand, another a paper-clip branding iron, and the rest wore
construction-paper riding chaps. The Barbie doll Annie held in her hand was
nude. Annie seemed to be contemplating Barbie's upper torso. Pressing Barbie's
breast to push it flat, she pursed her lips and announced, "When I grow up
I'm not gonna have boobs. They're gross and make you hot."

Ruth pulled
open a dresser drawer to select Annie's clothes. "What makes you think
they make you hot?"

"'Cause
they do. Lorinda has big boobs—" Annie popped off Barbie's head "—and
Daddy told Seth Lorinda's hot."

Ruth tried to
hide her uneasiness with their offbeat conversation. While pulling out a pair
of purple jeans, she said, "Who's Lorinda?"

"The lady
at the café Daddy takes out sometimes." Annie shoved Barbie's head back
onto its neck post. "She must like havin’ big boobs 'cause she's always
bending over so Daddy can see them. But I'm not gonna have any." She
tossed Barbie aside.

"When you
become a woman you won't have a choice," Ruth said, reaching for the tee
shirt she'd bought for Annie, a pink shirt with a kitten chasing a butterfly.
"Like it or not, you will have breasts."

Annie examined
Ken's chest. "Why do you call 'em that?"

"Because
that's what they are. All girls eventually have them."

"You don't.
Daddy said you're a flat chested old maid who probably sleeps with your legs
crossed."

Every muscle in
Ruth's body seemed to go slack. Tears of suppressed rage stung her eyes. She
tried to keep her voice steady as she said, "Your father told you
that?"

"No, he
said it to Seth last night when he thought I was sleeping. He also said that's
the kind of nanny he wants ‘
cause
they're not a
straction for him. What's a straction?"

Agitated, Ruth
replied, "He meant distraction, which is like bothering someone."

"I guess
old-maid nannies don't bother Daddy." Annie eyed Ruth's chest. "Do
you have boobs?"

Stay cool, she's just a child. Smile.

"Sure.
Like I said, all girls eventually have them."

"How come
they don't stick out like Lorinda's?"

"Because I
don't want to flaunt them."

"What's
flaunt?"

"Showing
off."

"Why would
anyone show off boobs? They're obtuse."

Miffed as she
was, Ruth had to stifle a laugh. "Do you know what obtuse means?"

"No. But
when I do something Daddy doesn’t like he calls me obtuse, so it's something
bad, like boobs. I'm still not gonna have any when I grow up because cowboys
don't have boobs and I'm gonna be a cowboy. Do you sleep with your legs
crossed?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?"

"Because I
want to."

"Do all
old maid nannies sleep with their legs crossed?"

Count to ten. One, two, three, four, five...

"Come on,
it's time to get dressed," Ruth said, ignoring Annie's brazen question,
though she was fairly sure Annie had no idea what she was talking about. Still,
it was an inappropriate conversation to be having with a six-year-old.
"Breakfast will be served soon."

"Do all
old maid nannies sleep with their legs crossed?" Annie pressed.

"
Enough!
Get up this instant and get
dressed!" Ruth snapped.

Annie stuck out
her bottom lip. "You can't make me."

Be calm, be patient. Be creative...

"If you
don't do as I say this instant," Ruth clipped, "I'll pop all the
heads off your Ken dolls and replace them with Barbie heads, and all your
precious cowboys will grow boobs!"

Eyeing Ruth
dubiously, Annie edged her way off the bed and stood still while Ruth tugged
off the tie-dyed tee shirt and mini-sweats and replaced them with the kitten
tee shirt and purple jeans—the only jeans in the dresser that were not faded,
threadbare, tattered, or all three. But shortly after Ruth returned to her
room, Annie rushed past the open doorway wearing her tie-dyed tee shirt and
sweats, shrieking for her father at the top of her lungs.

Ruth shut
herself in her bedroom, determined to let Matt handle the intractable child. On
passing the wardrobe, however, she looked into the full-length mirror. What she
saw was a pathetically plain woman in a shapeless robe, a woman she barely
recognized. Slowly she approached the mirror and peered into it. When had the
corners of her mouth begun to droop? When had the lines of tension appeared
around her eyes? When had her face become haggard?

When had she
stopped caring?

In the early
days after Beth's kidnapping she'd been caught in a vicious circle, breaking
into desperate fits of crying, pulling herself together, patching up her makeup
because she had to keep busy, had to strive for some semblance of normalcy, had
to do something. But somewhere along the way she'd stopped looking in the
mirror because it didn't matter. She didn't matter. Life didn't matter. All
that mattered was finding Beth.

Now, as she
tried to absorb the image of the unfamiliar woman in the mirror, she saw what
Matt had seen.
A flat chested old maid
who probably slept with her legs crossed
. If she didn't look so pitiful,
with her unmade face and homely owl glasses, she might laugh because his
assessment was so accurate. Turning sideways she sucked in her breath,
expanding her chest. She wasn't stacked, but she definitely wasn't flat
chested. But who could tell. All she wore were shapeless, clothes. And her
hair. Who but an old maid would wear it pulled up in a knot on top of her head?
There had been a time when she'd brushed her hair till it shone with rich
highlights, and soft curls framed her face.

Reaching up,
she pulled out the slender wooden stick holding the knot, and the rope of hair
she'd twisted into submission unraveled and fell around shoulders. She didn't
know if it was Matt's crass assessment of her, or because she may have at last
found Beth, or maybe because it was time to put behind a tragic, unalterable
past, but for the first time in years she wanted to look pretty. But she'd
packed no makeup, not even a lipstick. But in the bathroom she'd noticed an
array of cosmetics, which she assumed belonged to the last nanny, along with a
pair of scissors. Maybe she'd cut her hair. And the ugly round glasses would
go. She'd brought along contacts, which she rarely wore because they were too
much bother.

Feeling a
long-forgotten sense of exhilaration, and a new determination to make Matt
Kincaid eat his words, she headed for the bathroom. Flat chested old maid
indeed!

CHAPTER
2

Matt looked
with disgust at the tabloid Edith brought from town the day before, his eyes
focusing on the front page spread with its color photograph of Jody leaning
into her husband, her huge breasts brimming over her star-studded,
western-style gown. The word that came to mind as he eyed the woman he'd been
married to for twelve years was slut. Her body was designed to catch a man's
eye. It sure as hell caught his a half-a-lifetime ago. He'd been a
sixteen-year-old at the time with one thought on his mind. Jody was a master at
making that thought a reality, smothering him with her breasts, awakening his
body with a range of sexual practices she'd been hitting on the boys of Pine
Grove with since puberty. And three years later, when she agreed to marry him,
he felt like the town stud to be the one to finally catch her.

Shifting his
attention to the article, he reread the parts he'd circled in red:
"My ex-husband has custody of our
daughter, but Wayne and I will be filing for joint custody..."
and
further down
"...now that Wayne and
I are married, my daughter will be living with us half the time. We have a
bedroom suite prepared for her..."
and on down...
"I've missed my daughter terribly over the past three years, but
that's about to change. It will be a blessing having her with us..."

The article
went on to talk about their mansion on the outskirts of Nashville, and the
half-million dollar motor home they toured the country in. Matt clenched his
jaws. There was no way in hell he'd let Jody take Annie to that cesspool of
drugs and sex and extramarital affairs and everything that made up Jody's
world, not even for a day.

Although lately
he'd made an effort to mend some of the bridges he'd burned years ago, when he
stormed out of his parent's house against his father's will to strike out on
his own, he hadn't asked his family for anything since. But it was time to put
pride aside and do whatever it took to keep Jody out of Annie's life. During
his recent visit to Salem, his brother, Bret, gloated that he'd never lost a
custody case. His gloating seemed irrelevant at the time because Jody had made
no effort to have contact with Annie, but now it was time to roll out the big
gun.

Bret Kincaid.

Tossing the
paper aside, he poured a mug of coffee and glanced out the window. Annie sat
just outside with Digger, one of the ranch dogs, stroking the dozing mutt.
After her outburst earlier she seemed remarkably content, unlike Ruth, he
suspected. He was curious to hear Ruth's side of the story. What Annie related
about her Ken dolls had been highly inventive, but didn't measure up with
Ruth's straight-laced demeanor.

Hearing
footsteps coming from the direction of the hallway, he turned...

And stared in
stunned silence.

Ruth stood in
the doorway, her western-cut shirt emphasizing full breasts and a tiny waist,
and the new jeans molded to her slim frame, delineating gently tapering hips
and long coltish legs. Her hair, released from its knot, framed her face in a
casual disarray of brown waves. And the owl glasses were gone, her wide-eyed
stare seeming to say to him,
look at my
eyes,
see
how beautiful they are...

His gaze swept
over her, taking in the rosy blush of her cheeks, the pink gloss of her parted
lips, the new light that flared in her eyes. In fact, her whole face glowed. He
stared openly and with increasing fascination at the transformation, which
seemed more a change in attitude than appearance. What little makeup she wore
couldn't account for the change.

Ruth ran the
tip of her tongue over her lips, leaving them moist, and said, "Where's
Annie?"

"Outside."
Matt arched a brow. "I take it you had to whip her into submission
earlier."

Ruth's face
flushed. "Is that what she told you?"

"No,"
Matt said, "but why else would she come hollering down the stairs like a
wounded coyote?"

"I swear,
I didn't lay a hand on her," Ruth said, in an anxious voice.

Seeing the
worry on her face, Matt said, "Relax, sweetheart, I know you didn't. I'm
familiar with the shriek of an intractable child. Coffee?"

"Oh...
yes, please." She sat at the table, opposite him.

Matt poured a
cup of steaming coffee then nudged the platter of eggs, hash browns and
sausages in front of Ruth, followed by a basket of warm biscuits, a crock of
fresh butter, and a jar of homemade peach jam. She stared at the coffee, brows
gathered in deliberation, then looked at him, and said, "Do you have
cream?" Her eyes captured his attention. Ranges of browns, flashing with
golden highlights as she waited for his response...

Get a grip, Kincaid. She’s just the new
nanny…

"Cream.
Right." He set a pitcher of fresh cream in front of her and watched as she
poured half the contents into her coffee. Next she'd probably want to
adulterate it with—

"Sugar?"
She pinned him with those large luminous eyes and waited.

"Yeah,
sure." He plunked a sugar bowl next to the cream pitcher. While she
shoveled several teaspoons into her coffee, he said, "I forgot to tell
you, Annie doesn't like being bossed." He took a slow sip of coffee.
"Can't figure how she got that way though."

"Yes, that
is kind of hard to figure," Ruth replied.

Matt looked up
to see her staring directly at him, a wry smile touching her lips, and he
realized, for the first time, that Miss Ruth Crawford might have a sense of
humor. "Yeah, well, I suppose it's because she's around so many men,"
he said, "which suits her fine. Annie doesn't relate too well to women.
They keep walking out of her life."

In a flash,
Matt saw a series of fleeting emotions race across Ruth's face. Remorse, as if
she held the weight of the world on her shoulders. Desperation, as if the
ground beneath her was about to crumble. Vulnerability, as if she were holding
back tears. Then the corners of her mouth lifted, erasing the forlorn droop,
and she smiled. But it was a wistful smile, and the earlier light that shone in
her eyes was gone. For whatever her reason, she'd crawled back into her
protective armor. He studied her face. Strange, how he hadn't noticed before
her nicely proportioned features—her straight slender nose, her delicate
cheekbones, her well-defined lips. It wasn't a beautiful face, but it was a
pleasing one, a face that could grow on a man.

"So, what
was the problem with Annie?" he asked. "She told me her side,
something about you threatening to decapitate the Kens." He cocked a brow.
"Sounds intriguing."

A scowl touched
Ruth's lips, as she replied, "I told her if she didn't do as I said I'd
replace her Kens' heads with Barbie heads and her Kens would—" she stopped
short.

"Grow
boobs?"

Ruth nodded,
her face turning a delicate shade of rose, its color heightened in her cheeks.

Matt smiled.
"An interesting thought."

Ruth's flush
deepened, and in the depths of her dark brown eyes he again saw the dancing
flecks of gold. He hadn't realized how long her lashes were, or how deep their
color, as if they'd been dipped in molasses. Maybe she'd hook a man yet, though
as long as she was stuck at the Kincaid, her chances of getting hitched would
be zilch. But then, she didn't seem to be a woman who’d be eager to warm a
man's bed, so maybe she was happy enough with her lot. Which pleased him. Annie
needed a woman to relate to, and he had a gut feeling Ruth could be that woman—

"Is
something wrong?" Ruth stared at him, unblinking.

Matt snapped
out of his musing. "Why do you ask?"

"The way
you're looking at me," Ruth said. "You seem puzzled."

"Just
trying to figure out what makes you tick," Matt replied. "I keep
getting mixed messages."

Ruth bristled.
"I'm not meaning to send you any messages at all. I'm here to look after
Annie, pure and simple."

"Yeah,
well, I wasn't meaning
you
were
sending me messages," Matt said. "You just seem to switch moods
midstream. It's damn baffling at times."

"Maybe
that's because I'm not used to being studied like I was something in a curio
shop," Ruth replied. "I know I'm out of my element here, but like I
said, I'm a fast learner, so maybe it's time you stopped trying to figure me
out and started showing me how to ride a horse."

"Right."
Matt scooted his chair back and jammed his hat on his head, feeling like a
school kid who'd just been put in his place by his teacher, and that didn't sit
well with him, made him want to take Miss Crawford down a notch or two. Or kiss
the hell out of her just to see her reaction. Now that was an idea worth
considering.

***

Ruth peered up
at her mount. Until now she'd had no idea how tall a horse actually was. Her
only experience had been with a pony at the fair when she was eight. The
thought of sitting atop this giant did nothing to calm her nerves. But she'd be
damned if she'd let the boisterous bunch straddling the corral fence, or their
little sidekick, know. She'd conquer the beast or die trying. "What's his
name?" she asked the cowboy holding the reins.

"Dynamite."

A tremor of
fear rushed through her. "Why is he named that?"

"Don't
know, ma'am. I'm new around here and don't know all the horses yet."

"Are you
sure this is the horse I'm supposed to ride?" Ruth asked.

"Yes
ma'am."

"What
about that one?" Ruth pointed to a dozing, sway-back horse tied to the
hitching rail in front of the stables.

"You mean
old Judd? You wouldn't want to ride him, ma'am. He's ornerier than a mule with
a burr under his blanket."

Dynamite pawed
the ground and bobbed his head. "Why is he doing that?" Ruth asked,
growing increasingly apprehensive.

"I guess
he's ready to go."

Snickers
rustled among the onlookers. Ruth eyed Dynamite with mounting trepidation.
Surely Matt wouldn't deliberately put her up on an unmanageable horse.

A muffled guffaw
from one of the fence sitters, followed by sniggers from the rest, brought her
head around. She pursed her lips. Maybe Matt wouldn't do it, but she didn't
doubt for a moment the cocky bunch on the fence would. In fact, she suspected
there was nothing they'd enjoy more than seeing the old maid nanny from the
city lying sprawled on the ground. She vowed she would
not
give them that pleasure.

"Hey! Why
are you boys hanging around here?" Matt yelled. "Get off your butts
and get to work. Seth, get the auger mounted on the tractor so we can set the
fence posts for the new corral.
Tanner,
there's
fencing that needs mending over in the south pasture. Deke and Slade, get done
cutting those young bulls or they’ll be mounting everything in sight." The
men scattered, leaving Annie sitting alone on the fence. "You too, bucko.
You've got a stall to muck out and hens to feed. And
Skeeter's
got more burrs in his coat than a dog's got fleas. Get on over there and brush
him down or he'll get saddle sores. JT's waiting for you." Matt took the
reins from the young cowboy. "I'll be taking over, Randy. Go help Slade
with the auger." The young man strode off.

Matt turned to
Ruth. "You ready?"

Ruth looked at
him with a start. "You mean, I really am supposed get on this horse?"

"Unless
you can think of another way to ride him."

Ruth glared at
Matt. "I told you I was willing to learn to ride and that I'm not afraid
of horses, but I'm not willing to risk breaking my neck just to prove a
point."

Tiny lines
gathered between Matt's brows. "You want to run that past me again?"

"Which
part do you find confusing?"

"The whole
damn thing. From what I make of it, you intend to master riding a horse without
getting on."

Ruth stabbed a
finger in the direction of Dynamite. "Without getting on that horse!"

Matt snatched
his hat off his head, mumbled a string of expletives under his breath and said,
"I've met illogical females in my time, but you beat everything. Mind
telling me what you have against this horse, or is it too complicated to explain."

Ruth felt blood
pumping through her veins. "For starters, his name!"

"Well
excuse me," Matt said, "but I don't match horse and rider by name. I
match them by disposition. Seems I might have misjudged things this time
though. Maybe I should put you up on old Judd instead."

Ruth planted
her hands on her hips and said in a low, impatient tone, "Is that what you
think of me, that I'm ornerier than a mule with a burr under its blanket?"

"You said
it, not I. But it fits."

Ruth refused to
take insults from an irritating, hotshot cowboy. "And maybe you should
look in the mirror!" Her statement seemed to amuse him, which only served
to infuriate her. Feeling her temper rise, she sucked in a deep, mind-clearing
breath to quell another outburst. She hadn't come this far only to get fired
the first day. "Look," she said, "I don't know how we got so far
off track, but there must be a logical reason why the horse is named Dynamite.
I assume it's not because of his gentle nature."

A gleam came
into Matt's eyes and the lines bracketing his mouth crinkled with his smile.
"So that's what's got you worried."

"Well?"

Matt shrugged.
"Because it takes about a keg of dynamite to get the lazy critter to move.
He's also the horse Annie learned to ride on."

Ruth felt heat
creep up her face. "I guess I jumped to conclusions," she admitted,
"but your hired hands seemed overly amused, and with the name
Dynamite..." She shrugged. "I figured they'd lined the fence to watch
the show."

Matt looked at
her soberly and said in a serious voice, "We don't play those kinds of
games here, not with greenhorns, and not with seasoned riders."