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 becaus
e 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.
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