Never Too Late

by Patricia Watters

  "Oh for heaven's sake no!" Andrea said, mortified that she'd left the briefs in plain view. A hot flush rushed up her face as the scene of Jerry gyrating in them filled her mind's eye. From the way he'd been bumping and grinding he'd looked like the thing was stuck to him and he was trying to thrust it off. She'd laughed and pointed and told him those tentacles were clutching something that belonged to her alone, and she wanted the thing off him immediately. Their lovemaking that night eclipsed anything she'd ever experienced with Jerry before...

  "Mom? Are you blushing?"

  "It's menopause," Andrea said quickly. "I get hot flashes at odd times." She took the briefs from Bailey and tossed them into a bag of clothes ready for the thrift shop.

  Bailey eyed the briefs in the bag. "Daddy didn't ever wear those, did he?" she asked, her tone anxious. "I mean... a man his age. That would be kind of perverted."

  "Of course he didn't wear them," Andrea said, quickly. At least not for very long.

  "Then where did they come from?"

  "Where?"

  "How did you get them?"

  Andrea let out a nervous giggle while struggling to come up with a plausible explanation as to why a forty-four-year-old woman would have given a forty-eight-year-old man a pair of bikini briefs with an octopus hugging the crotch. "They were given to us for our anniversary celebration on the ship," she said impulsively. "You know how people give black balloons and cards with tombstones for people's fortieth birthdays? Well that's how it was for our anniversary celebration on the ship. People gave us hilarious gifts."

  "Like these?" Bailey lifted out of Andrea's bag a black satin half-bra and thong set with ladybugs crawling over them, a little something Jerry bought at the lingerie shop on C Deck the night before they docked in Charleston.

  Andrea's flush deepened. "Well, yes." She let out another little nervous giggle. "It seems everyone had the same idea. There was this little lingerie shop on the boat. I can't imagine anyone wearing such a thing though," she said, her face feeling as if on fire as she envisioned the look on Jerry's face when he'd entered the stateroom with his hands behind his back and the twinkle in his eyes he gets before the love play begins. She'd pulled his arms from around him and saw the white-paper-wrapped gift with the salmon and white satin ribbons and a gold-foil logo from the lingerie shop. From the small size of the box, she knew whatever Jerry selected was scanty and sexy. And it was. Her performance for Jerry ended with her tossing the bra over his head. After that, Jerry was the one to slither up the full length of her naked body. And what followed was pure ecstasy...

  "Mom, if you take estrogen you won't get those hot flashes," Bailey said.

  "Umm... well... I'll ask my doctor," Andrea replied, knowing estrogen was the last thing she needed. Her libido was as active as when she first married Jerry. And there was no question... testosterone had kicked in for him. Big time...

  She hadn't realized she was smiling until Bailey said, "What's so funny?"

  Andrea blushed again. "I was just thinking about... the cruise. It was just what we needed... time to be alone. Thank you, sweetheart. That was very thoughtful of you girls."

  "We knew you and Dad would have fun." Bailey held the bra against herself. "It is kind of cute with all the little lady bugs," she said. "But knowing how provincial you and Dad are, I would have thought you'd have buried them at sea."

  "Well, yes, we thought about it," Andrea said. "But then we decided it was a hilarious reminder of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary."

  "I suppose," Bailey said, wistfully. "As long as you promise you and Dad will never wear them. It would be totally humiliating to think my parents would be that... well... perverted."

  "I tell you what, honey." Andrea scooped up the lady bug set, snatched the octopus briefs from the thrift bag, and handed them to Bailey. "Just to ease your mind, take these and do whatever you want with them."

  Bailey's face flushed. "I'll... umm... just get rid of them... somehow." She walked out of the room, and Andrea returned to her laptop. She was in the process of deleting, biggest mistake, when she heard muffled giggles coming from the direction of the hallway. Setting her laptop aside again, she peeked around the doorway and saw Bailey standing at the head of the stairs while holding up the octopus briefs, and Megan and Stefanie looking on in amusement.

  "Well you two I guess it worked," Stefanie said to her sisters. "What could have been the wedding anniversary cruise from hell turned out to be the second-honeymoon cruise from heaven. I think we can safely say the divorce is history." Raising her palm, Stefanie got high fives from her sisters, then chatting and giggling, the three scurried down the stairs.

  And Andrea realized she and Jerry had been completely and lovingly hoodwinked by their daughters. Returning to her laptop, she deleted a whole block, and wrote:

  Little did I know, my first day at college, that I was about to make the best decision of my life. That was the day I met Jerry. It was love at first sight, and twenty-five years later, we're as happy as the day we married, thanks to our three wonderful daughters, who are also a trio of conspirators. But that's another story. To sum it up, I guess every marriage has its ups and downs...

  ###

  Thank you!

  Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed Never Too Late. If you did, I'd love for you to:

  Consider posting a review: I appreciate all reviews, positive and negative, because I want to give readers the best ebook read I can. I check my reviews frequently. Here's the link to Amazon

  Lend the book. Like all of my books, Never Too Late is lendable through the Kindle lending program, so please lend it to a friend.

  Read the first three chapters of Justified Deception: I want to introduce you to another of my books with the hope that you'll like it well enough to buy it.

  Check out my website. On it you'll find covers and descriptions of all my books, and while you're there, I'd love to hear from you. I answer all notes. www.patriciawatters.com

  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.