Never Too Late (26 page)

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Never Too Late
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Justified Deception
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STORY DESCRIPTION: Ruth
Crawford's on a quest to find her daughter, who was kidnapped four years
before. Ruth's private investigator is all but certain that ranch owner, Matt
Kincaid's, adopted daughter, Annie, is Ruth's own little Beth. But Matt's the
maverick in a powerful family of lawyers and politicians, so even though she
manages to land the job as nanny to Matt's willful, six-year-old daughter, Ruth
must tread carefully. She can't predict what Matt and his family might do if
the
adoption's
challenged. But while she's trying to
find positive proof, Matt begins to fill a void Ruth never knew existed, and
although she wants to hate the man who might have been party to an illegal
adoption, she's finding it increasingly more difficult to keep from falling in
love with him

CHAPTER 1: JUSTIFIED DECEPTION:

Annie Kincaid
stomped a small bare foot against the ground and said, "I don't want a
nanny, and I won't do what she says!"

Matt Kincaid
clenched his jaws to keep from letting out an expletive. "Look pal, don't
jerk my chain. You're going to have a nanny and you'll do what she says, and
that’s that." He knew his anger was aimed more at Annie's mother than at
Annie. Jody had been spoiled, self-centered and stubborn, and whenever Annie
showed those traits it made him mad as hell. He also didn't have the time or
patience to deal with a stubborn six-year-old this particular afternoon.
Snaring a nanny willing to live at the ranch was tough enough. Keeping her on
afterwards was damn near impossible. Annie could be a real pain in the butt
when she wanted to get rid of a nanny.

He also knew
Annie might get her way this time. The first woman he’d interviewed had
fingernails chewed to the quick, the second wrung her hands through the entire
interview, and the third was a mouse of a woman who stared at him, unblinking.
Granted, he'd been hard on the women, but if they couldn't stand up to his
interrogation, they wouldn't survive either Annie or the rugged, isolated
existence of living on the Kincaid.

Annie glared up
at him. "I hate nannies. They're bossy and stink like perfume. If you get
me another nanny I'll jump in the bull pen and get stomped to little
pieces."

Matt clenched
his jaws. He refused to let a pint-sized prima donna manipulate him. But, with
less than twenty minutes before the arrival of Annie's next potential victim
he'd have to change tactics. Softening his tone, he said, "I can't be all
things to you, honey. You're a little girl, and I'm a man. You need a woman to
see to your needs." He saw Annie's bottom lip quiver and knew he'd made
some headway.

"No one
has to look after me," Annie lamented. "I can look after
myself."

"Sorry,
that's not an option," Matt said. "When I’m out on the trail you need
a nanny." He glanced at his watch. "Meanwhile, Miss Crawford will be
here in twenty minutes for her interview and I promised I'd put together Aunt
June's glider while we’re here. But first, I want a smile and a hug." He
crouched and opened his arms. An impish glimmer came into Annie's big hazel
eyes and she slipped her hands around Matt's neck. "That's my girl."

Matt cranked up
the volume on his radio and grabbed the wrench he'd been using to assemble his
sister-in-law's lawn glider. And Annie scrambled up the ladder leading to a
tree fortress built over, around, and between the sturdy limbs of an ancient
oak...

Twenty minutes
later, Matt glanced up from his crouched position, startled to find a woman
staring at him. He hadn't heard her arrive and had no idea how long she'd been
there. Which he concluded was probably often the case with this particular
woman. If he were to describe her in one word, it would be: limpid. A plain
woman with not a trace of lipstick on her prim, tight lips, she peered down at
him through the lenses of wide, round glasses. She wore her mouse brown hair
caught in a knot on top of her head, and her shapeless frame was clad in a
loose-fitting brown suit coat that hung over a matching skirt that reached
mid-calf. Serviceable brown shoes with broad flat heels completed her garb. A
woman well into her thirties, she obviously had no desire to catch a man, which
suited him fine.

She offered her
hand. "Mr. Kincaid, I'm Ruth Crawford, and I'm sorry I'm—"

With a whoosh,
something dropped from the boughs of the oak and glanced off the woman's head,
drawing an audible gasp from her while dislodging the knot. She looked up, then
repositioned the knot and impaled it with a wooden pin.

Matt scooped up
a rubber chicken that lay at the woman's feet. Jaws clenched, he looked toward
Annie's perch. The little twit was really testing him.

Miss Crawford,
having recovered her composure, offered her hand again, this time somewhat
tentatively, and said, "I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. Kincaid. That rarely
happens."

Matt glanced at
his watch. Six minutes was hardly late. Still, he wouldn't let it pass. "I
hope you're right," he said, "because my daughter needs
structure." He wiped his palm on his jeans and shook the woman's hand,
finding it moist and cold, which didn't surprise him. In fact it would have
shocked the hell out of him to find the woman's hand anything but cold. A hot
little number she was not. "Please have a seat."

She sat on the
edge of a lawn chair, feet together, hands folded across her brown leather
shoulder bag, a sedate pose that whispered distinctly,
don't touch
. But she also looked practical, sensible and pragmatic,
qualities that did nothing for him, but would help keep Annie in check. She
seemed to be studying him though, as if
she
were here to interview
him
. He
dragged a lawn chair over and sat opposite her. Now he'd see the kind of stuff
Miss Ruth Crawford was made of. He had no intention of painting a rosy picture.
He'd had his fill of nannies packing up and leaving with little more than a
moment's notice.

Looking
directly at her, he said, "I'm going to lay it out for you, Miss Crawford.
If you're looking for an easy job you've come to the wrong place. The Kincaid's
a working ranch located in an isolated valley twenty miles from the nearest
store, so you can't run into town for every impulsive female whim you've a mind
for. And Annie's a scrapper. She's got a mind of her own. And she's independent
as hell."

Holding his
gaze, the woman said in a confident tone, "I pride myself in being able to
cope with difficult children."

"Good,
because you'll need all your skills to cope with Annie. She doesn't have a very
high regard for mothers or mother substitutes."

The woman's
inscrutable eyes unmasked momentarily. Did he glimpse despair in those eyes?
Then it was gone.

"As I
said, Mr. Kincaid, I've handled difficult children. They’re not a problem for
me," she said, her voice businesslike.

Unquestionably
no-nonsense, Matt decided. And she reeked of self-control. Probably never had a
fit of temper or uttered a cuss word in her life. Good. She wouldn't cave in to
Annie's melodramas or manipulations. "I assume you can ride."

"Ride?"

"Horses,
Miss Crawford. The Kincaid's spread over twenty-four-hundred acres of rugged
territory, much of it accessible only by horse." The woman's eyes
sharpened, not so much in surprise, but something more akin to... panic?
"You do ride, don't you?"

She blinked
several times. "Well, yes. I did once when I was a child."

"Once! Oh
geeze!"

"I'm a
fast learner, Mr. Kincaid. If you're willing to give me some instruction, I'm
willing to learn. I'm not afraid of horses. I assume that's half the
battle."

"Okay,
I'll give you four days. You'll work with your horse from the ground up—do the
feeding and grooming, clean its hooves, tend your own tack. And if you fall on
your butt you'll be expected to pick yourself up and get back on. You'll roll
into bed bone tired and wake up aching from head to toe. I'm not meaning to scare
you, but if you don't learn to ride fast, Annie will leave you in a cloud of
dust. Besides, if you don't know horses, you and Annie won't bond."

Ruth Crawford’s
lips parted and fell into a downward curve, and behind the round lenses of her
glasses, Matt saw sad brown eyes that glistened with unshed tears. Though
nothing about the woman attracted him, he had an illogical urge to hold her in
his arms, like comforting a lost child. Then with a mercurial shift of mood,
the woman blinked away the sadness, the corners of her mouth lifted from their
downward droop, and she said, "I assure you, I'll be riding well within
the week."

"Yeah,
well, we'll see. Any questions?"

"Am I
supposed to cook or clean?"

"Nope. We
have Edith for that. You just look after Annie. Anything else?"

"No."

"Then the
job's yours if you still want it."

"Yes...
yes I do." She smiled then, her first real smile, and Matt noted two small
dimples in her cheeks. Appealing little dimples that made years vanish from her
face. He made a vow to coax that smile from her often. "Thank you, Mr.
Kincaid."

He returned her
smile. "Honey, just call me Matt."

"Yes,
well, thank you... Matt."

"Right.
And one thing more. Annie will be home schooled. Can you handle that?"

"Home
schooled?" A look of alarm crossed the woman's face and her smile faded,
replaced by... wariness? "Is there a reason why?" she asked.

"Sure,"
Matt replied, "the ranch is located in an isolated valley miles from
school."

"But it's
my understanding that there's school bus service in that area," she
argued.

"There's
school bus service," Matt said, "but for the first couple of years
I've decided to keep Annie home. Would that be a problem for you?"

"Well,
no," the woman replied. "I'm certain I could manage her
studies."

"Good.
Since that's decided, it's time you met Annie." He looked up at the tree
fortress and caught a glimpse of a young, sassy face before Annie ducked out of
sight. He should climb up there and tan her little bummer for dropping the
rubber-chicken. Instead, he stood at the base of the tree and called up,
"Annie, get your fanny down here and meet your new nanny."

"Annie,
fanny, nanny... Annie, fanny, nanny," she mimicked in a sing-song voice.

"Don’t
push my buttons pal. Do as I say."

A very strident
young voice bellowed down from the boughs of the tree, "
I don't want a nanny and I'm not coming
down!
"

Matt looked
askance at Ruth, and said, "Go on inside and have a cup of coffee. The
pot's on the stove. I’ll bring Annie in and you two can meet and get
acquainted."

Ruth's lips
parted, as if to respond, then she nodded vaguely and turned away.

***

As Ruth walked
toward the house, the realization that in moments she might come face to face
with her own little Beth hit her, and everything about that horrifying day four
years before came rushing back. The shock, the hysteria, the helplessness, the
waiting, the fear of leaving home because she might miss a call from the
police. The fear of
getting
a call
from the police. And the terrible, ever present guilt. If only she hadn't left
Beth with a baby sitter. If only the baby sitter hadn't left Beth alone for an
instant while she answered the phone. Alone in a fenced yard. In Beth's own
front yard. If only the clock could be turned back.

…If only... if only... if only...

By the time she
reached the house, Ruth was so lightheaded she had to lean against the door for
support. But after the dizziness passed, she willed herself to again take on
the character of the nanny she held herself out to be, the nanny Matt Kincaid
just hired. That woman was calm, collected, in control. A woman able to cope
with difficult children. She'd come prepared for that possibility. When she
learned from Bill McFadden, her private investigator, that Matt Kincaid had
flown in from his ranch in southeast Oregon, and was in Salem at his brother's
house, interviewing for a live-in nanny, she also learned that finding new
nannies was often the case.

"They
don’t stay long because the ranch is so isolated and the child so unruly,"
Bill told her.

Was her little
Beth a difficult child now? And had Matt Kincaid made her that way? If, in
fact, Annie Kincaid was Beth. The possibility was very real. This had been
their best lead yet. And for some reason, Matt Kincaid wanted his child home
schooled. Maybe so he could keep her away from authorities who might learn the
truth? Learn she wasn't Annie Kincaid, but instead, a little girl named Beth
Sinclair who'd been abducted four years ago.

In due course
she'd find out, but for the moment, she'd set aside Matt Kincaid's reason for
keeping his daughter at home and concentrate on carrying out the plan.

She stepped
into the kitchen and scanned the surroundings. The presence of a child was
everywhere—a scattering of broken crayons by a picture of a horse, a plate with
a half-eaten jelly sandwich, a plastic cup with a coiled plastic straw. She
walked over to the refrigerator and studied the photos attached to the door
with magnets. In one, Annie sat on her father’s shoulders. In another, he held
a pony while Annie stood with arms out, balancing on the pony's back. In
another, Matt Kincaid crouched behind Annie, who held a winner’s ribbon, a
proud smile on her face. And in another, Annie was slung over her father's
shoulders like a sack of grain, Annie making a silly face at the camera. As
Ruth studied the pictures, one thing stood out above all else. Annie and Matt
Kincaid looked truly happy together, as if no one mattered but each other.

Ruth was about
to turn from the refrigerator when a magnetic frame with a head-and-shoulders
image of Annie caught her up short. Unzipping her shoulder bag, she retrieved a
computerized image that morphed Beth's two-year old face into that of a
six-year-old girl, and held it up to the photo in the frame. Her gaze shifted
between the two. The curly hair ash-blond hair, the clef in the chin, the
almond-shaped hazel eyes.... The likeness, right down to the scar on Beth’s
chin, was more than uncanny. Annie Kincaid
had
to be Beth. Ruth knew it in her heart, and on some higher plane, she knew it in
her soul.