After a few moments Ruth said, "What caused the breakup of the marriage?"
"Don't really know," Edith replied. "Mr. Kincaid never talks about it." Giving a little shrug, she added, "I've always thought it had something to do with adopting Annie."
Ruth stared at Edith unblinking, heart pounding. Then in a voice barely audible, she said, "Annie's... adopted?"
Edith nodded. "Mrs. Kincaid couldn't have children. At least that's what she claimed. But I figured she didn't want any, her wanting a singing career and all. It wouldn't have surprised me if she was on birth control pills, all the while acting like she was crying over not being able to have a child. Mr. Kincaid was broken up too, got the notion that adopting would fix the marriage. Then one day he just showed up with Annie..."
Although Edith continued talking, Ruth heard nothing after the words, just showed up with Annie....Images of Matt snatching Beth whirled in her head. Surely he wouldn't steal a child. But it made no difference in the scheme of things whether Matt took Beth himself, or got her through a black-market agency, he was harboring a child who wasn't his. But, by whatever means he came to have Annie, it was a heady reminder of how powerful the Kincaid family was...
"You okay?" Edith's words jarred Ruth.
She looked up then realized her eyes had been closed and her fingers pressed to her temples. She quickly collected herself. The fact was, there was no proof that Matt was harboring a child that wasn't his, because there was no proof Annie was Beth. But what was just is troubling was that, even though Annie might not be Matt's biological daughter, regardless of the means by which he'd come to have her, he was the father of Annie's heart.
Aware of Edith waiting for a response, she said, "I'm fine. Just a little distracted. You were saying something about Mr. Kincaid showing up with Annie. Didn’t he and his wife have to go through some kind of adoption process?"
"I suppose they did," Edith replied, "but I'd been away a couple of months, taking care of my sick mother, so I didn't get in on the details. But Mr. Kincaid was sure excited about having a little one." She let out a snicker. "Everyone around here was tickled... Mr. Kincaid fusing over a baby like that. But he didn't pay them no mind. He had his little daughter and she had her daddy and the pair of them took to each other like they were true blood kin. But, then, the boys took to her too, like they were all uncles. It was the darndest thing I ever saw, the bunch of them cooing and carrying on like that." Edith smiled at what were obviously fond memories.
But Edith's memories only served to underscore the hollowness of those missing years and the knowledge that while Matt's world was filled with the joy a child brings to one's life, she was going through hell, stripped of all the joys she'd ever known, devastated by her loss, her entire being filled with uncertainties and unspeakable fears. Focusing on the issue of the adoption, she said, "Did Mr. Kincaid say where he got Annie?"
Edith shrugged, and replied, "One of those agencies where unmarried girls go, I suppose."
"Then Annie's natural mother didn't die?" Ruth asked.
"No," Edith replied. "According to Mr. Kincaid, the woman just up and gave Annie away."
"Does Annie know she's adopted?" Ruth asked.
Edith chuckled. "Oh sure. Mr. Kincaid told her as soon as she was able to understand."
"What did he tell her, about her real mother, that is?"
"Nothing much, only that she didn't have any money, so she gave Annie up to someone with money who could raise her and give her lots of nice things. It doesn't bother Annie none though. She has her daddy and that's all she wants."
"They do seem to have a special relationship," Ruth said. Determined to ferret out of Edith as much information as she could while she had the chance, she said, "Mr. Kincaid mentioned his ex-wife never sees Annie. I find that strange."
Edith let out a short, cynical snort. "Mrs. Kincaid never took to mothering. All she wanted was to make it big in Nashville. Scarcely more than a year after they got Annie, she walked out on the two of them to take up with some country and western boys. Finally made it to the Grand Ole Opry and her career took off from there. Didn't surprise us though. She had one of those low husky voices that makes men sit back and take note. Mr. Kincaid liked her singing too, but that's not all he liked. She had a pair o' jugs on her like Dolly Parton. Knew how to use them to get men looking too." Edith chuckled. "I imagine that's what first caught Mr. Kincaid's eye."
And in Matt's eyes Ruth Crawford's a flat chested old maid... A silly, foolish woman who’d spent a fitful night fantasizing about a man whose nature it was to charm the pants off women, though she doubted he was aware of it. But Edith's description of Matt's ex-wife, along with Annie’s account of Lorinda, left no doubt in Ruth’s mind the kind of women that attracted Matt. It was also the catalyst she needed to harden her heart against cushy, obtuse—yes, that was a good use of the word—feelings about him.
With a new sense of emotional detachment from the man, and steadfast resolve to get some answers, she drew in a steadying breath and braced herself for the answer to the next question, which could be the deciding factor whether she stayed on as nanny, or left to continue the search for Beth. "How old was Annie when Mr. Kincaid adopted her?" she asked. If Annie had been newborn, Beth was still out there somewhere.
"She wasn't yet two. I think maybe around twenty months."
A pain shot through Ruth’s heart as if it had been pierced. Annie had already turned two when she was taken. But the scar, and the face on the computerized photo... Annie had to be Beth. But how could she be if Matt adopted her before she was two?
…Black-market adoption... bogus birth certificate...
Bill's words. He'd said the date on the fake birth certificate would be different.
Before she could ask if Annie had been large for her age, Edith said, "I have the photo Mr. Kincaid sent me of Annie’s second birthday. I was visiting my mother at the time. I'll get it." She wiped her hands on her apron and left the room, and a couple of minutes later, returned with a framed photo, which she offered to Ruth. "Annie wasn't very happy about celebrating."
Ruth took the photo from Edith, prepared to look at a picture of Beth as a toddler, one photograph that would settle things once and for all. But what she saw was a red-faced, squinty-eyed child with chocolate icing smeared across her face, screaming at the top of her lungs. There was no way of knowing if it was Beth.
"Turn it over," Edith said. "Mr. Kincaid wrote something on back."
Ruth flipped the photo and read the words scrawled across the cardboard backing: This is our sweet little Annie on her 2nd birthday. Typical woman, thinks she's already over the hill. She's got a hell of a pair of lungs though...
Edith snickered. "Doesn't that sound like Mr. Kincaid?"
"Doesn't what sound like me?" Matt strolled into the room, a small cowboy shirt in one hand, a stuffed pig wearing cowboy boots and chaps in the other.
Edith replied, "What you wrote about Annie."
Matt tucked the stuffed pig under his arm and took the photo from Ruth. "Annie-Big-Mouth," he said, with affection. The memory of that day filled him with warmth. And misgiving. Warmth, because after that he was able to hold Annie without her crying, and misgiving, because for the first time since the hasty adoption, he'd realized his pride and stubbornness might ultimately cause him to lose her, a weight he'd continue to bear until Annie was eighteen.
He glanced at Ruth and saw her staring at him, intently. Forcing a smile, he said, "Annie was screaming her head off because she couldn't shove her hand into the cake until after I took the picture. Obviously she won the battle." He set the photo down. "And speaking of Annie-Big-Mouth—" he held up the pig "—were you being creative, or was Annie being a pain in the butt?"
Ruth shrugged. "Annie wouldn't pick up her things," she clipped.
Matt tossed the pig and shirt aside and pulled out a chair. "Want to tell me about it?" He flipped the chair around and straddled it, then folded his arms across its back and waite
d for Ruth's response. When she said nothing, he added, "Obviously she was a pain in the butt, so maybe we can find some humor in what happened."
"Fine then," Ruth said. "Annie dumped her clothes all over the floor after I straightened her dresser, so I threw them out the window, and when she started throwing toys all over the room, I tossed them into the toy box, dragged it outside, and dumped it in the back of your pickup." She held his gaze, daring him to challenge her. Which he wouldn't. Her actions with Annie were about as innovative as he could imagine. He'd never have thought to do that himself.
He studied Ruth at length, trying to figure out what it was about her he found so captivating now, and why he had initially thought her so plain. Something to do with the eyes, sparkling brown eyes that held a myriad of ambiguous emotions. Impulsively, he reached across the table and squeezed her hand, and said, "Sorry Annie gave you a bad time," he said, flatly.
Ruth tugged her hand free. "We got through it," she said. Then she compressed her mouth in a harsh line and folded her arms across her chest.
He eyed the pearl snaps on the pockets of her western-cut shirt, rising and falling above her folded arms with each rapid breath. She wasn't stacked like Jody, yet, her trim figure made Jody's buxom one seem less desirable by comparison.
"Is there something wrong?" Ruth clipped.
Matt looked up. Aware that he'd been staring, he said, "I was just thinking the shirt makes you look less like a city girl and more like you belong on the Kincaid."
Ruth looked at him, uncertain, and said, "Then you have no problem with the way I handled Annie?"
"I think it was ingenious," Matt said. "I also think you also made progress with her, although it might take a few days for it to show."
Ruth unfolded her arms and looked toward the hallway. "Maybe I should help her bring in the rest of her things. There was quite a pile."
"Not anymore," Matt said. "The shirt and Miss Piggy were all that was left when I followed Annie into the house. Her arms were crammed with stuff. I think the little scrapper's met her match." He winked. "Congratulations, nanny girl. You done well."
Ruth's face took on the flush he'd come to know each time he complimented her, and she rewarded him with a smile that brought the two little dimples out of hiding. It was one of those rare occasions when her smile reached her eyes. And for the moment, he forgot how clever she'd been with Annie, and how subdued Annie had been toting in her toys and clothes, and how enticing the pearl snaps had seemed. All he was aware of was Ruth’s beautiful brown eyes...
Matt shifted his gaze when he saw movement and found Annie staring at them from the hallway. He shoved his chair back for her to climb onto his lap, but she walked over to Ruth instead, and said, matter-of-factly, "I can read."
At first Ruth didn't reply, and Matt hoped it wasn't because she was still mad at Annie. That would undo everything Ruth had accomplished. But then, Ruth blinked several times, and said, "Really? Who taught you?"
"Daddy. Would you like me to read to you?"
Ruth smiled. "I'd like that very much."
Annie scampered off, and a few moments later, returned with The Cat in the Hat. She handed the book to Ruth and leaned heavily against her. But before Annie started to read, Ruth hefted Annie onto her lap.
Annie settled against Ruth, placed her small hands over Ruth’s bigger ones as Ruth held the book, and began to read, slowly and deliberately, "The... sun... did... not... shine... it... was... too... wet... to... play... so... we... sat... in... the... house... all... that... cold... cold... wet... day..."
Matt watched with amusement and pride as Annie read, eyes narrowed in concentration, her small mouth enunciating each word. But when he looked at Ruth and saw her wistful face—eyes shimmering like ice in the sun, dark lashes spiked with tears—the elusive thing that had closed around his heart squeezed tighter. And he sensed that the course of his life had just been subtly, but irrevocably, altered.
***
From her perch on the fence, Ruth watched Annie twirl a lasso in a wide circle and launch it toward a fence post. The circle collapsed, missing its target. Annie collected the rope and returned to her position by the fence.
"You need to loosen up, baby," Matt said. "We’ll try it together." Matt stepped behind Annie, and with his arms curved around her, arranged her fingers around the rope. Then he jiggled her elbow, and said, "Don’t tense up, keep your arm loose. And this time let your arm follow through." He twirled his hand along with hers and together they sent the rope flying through the air, looping it squarely over a fence post. "Good," Matt said. "Now try it again by yourself." He retrieved the rope and handed it to Annie, then leaned against the fence, next to where Ruth sat on the top board, watching.
Chewing on her bottom lip, brows drawn in concentration, Annie twirled the rope in a wide arc and sent it flying. It missed the target and flopped to the ground. Matt called to her, "That’s better, but you’re still tensing up before the throw." He collected the rope. "Here, let me show you, and this time watch my wrist and elbow." Effortlessly, he twirled the lasso and looped it around the fence post. He winked at Annie. "If that post was a young bull he’d be down and squalling his head off. Keep practicing and you'll get it. With roping, it takes lots of practice."
Matt started to walk away, but Annie rushed after him and caught him by the arm and said, "Don’t go yet, Daddy. Show me how to do it again."
"You’re doing fine, honey," Matt replied. "You just need practice. Besides, Uncle Bret’s flying in from Salem this afternoon and I have to let Edith know."
"What about Ruth? Aren’t you gonna teach her?" Annie smiled at Ruth, and Ruth smiled back. During the past week she and Annie had come to an unspoken agreement. She wouldn’t tread on Annie’s Daddy’s territory and everything would be fine.
Matt looked at Ruth and his mouth curved slightly.
Ruth jumped down from her perch on the fence. "No thanks," she said. "Riding a horse is one thing. Roping is another." She definitely did not want to deal with the proximity involved in Matt giving her roping lessons.
Matt collected the rope, and while wrapping it into a coil, started walking toward her. "Annie’s right," he said, closing the gap between them. "Who knows when you might be out on the range and have to rope a critter of some kind?"
"Yes... well... I don't plan to be out on the range, and I’d rather not—"
"Just remember what I told Annie," Matt said, ignoring her appeal. "It’s all in the wrist." Before she could protest further, Matt was around behind her, his chest against her back, his arms encircling her. "Raise your hands," he said, over the top of her head. Ruth could barely compute what he was telling her, his nearness so unsettling. "Your hands, honey. You can’t throw a rope by remote control."
Ruth raised her hands and Matt placed the coil in her right hand and tucked the tail of the rope in her left. To her shock, he bent down, and with his lips brushing against her ear, he said in the deepest whisper she'd ever heard, "Just relax and we’ll throw it together a few times." His large hand encircling hers, he started twirling the rope with her. It wasn’t until the loop swung free and landed over the fence post that she realized his other hand was around her ribcage. "Good throw," he said, his lips a breath away from her cheek. "Now, we’ll try it again."
Ruth didn’t respond. All she was aware of was the feel of Matt's palm on her ribs and his chest against her back, and the tingle of his breath wafting over her temple. What finally snapped her out of her daze was Annie’s giggles.
"Daddy, you should see Ruth’s face. It’s as red as a baboon’s butt."
Matt slackened his hold, and Ruth snatched the chance to duck out of the circle of his arms. But when she started to walk away, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. She turned and waited for him to speak. He winked at her, and said, "Annie’s right. You’ve got some color to your cheeks Ruthie girl. It suits you."
Ruth pulled her hand from his grip and glared at him. Her cheeks prickled with heat as sh
e said, "I can’t imagine you'd teach men to rope like you did me."
"Yeah, well, maybe not," Matt said, "but it’s not as much fun either." As she walked away, he called after her, "Be down for dinner a few minutes early so you can meet my brother, Bret."
Ruth waved him off and headed for the house, disturbed by the flood feelings rushing through her. It was as if his nearness heightened her senses, his touch awakening every nerve beneath the surface of her skin, his breath filling her nostrils with his musky male essence, his voice resonating through every filament in her body, until she felt as if he were her twin soul...
Her twin soul from hell, she reminded herself. The Devil disguised himself in many ways, she'd learned back in Sunday school. He'd tempt, and tease, and toy with you and bring you to his will. How easily the Devil could manipulate her. Here was a man who might have kidnapped her daughter, and every time he was near, she lost all sense of reality. And the reality was, she had a mission to complete, and she would not be led astray by Matt Kincaid again.
Shortly before dinner, she toyed with the idea of begging off. The roping incident was still fresh in her mind, her strong reaction to Matt too unsettling. But, deciding he'd come looking for her if she didn't show up, she grudgingly went to join him and his brother in the living room. As Matt made introductions, his brother eyed Ruth at length, and said, "Have we met? You look familiar. I'm thinking maybe our paths crossed at some time."
Ruth looked at Bret Kincaid with apprehension. Would he be the chink in her armor, the one who would expose her? Yet, she was certain she’d never met the man before. "I have one of those generic faces," she said. "I’m told often that I look like someone’s aunt or sister."
Edith called them to dinner then, and Ruth was thankful for the commotion the men brought to the table, if only to keep Matt’s brother occupied. And when a pork roast with all the trimmings was set down, Bret Kincaid began eating with enthusiasm, and it appeared the incident was forgotten. But later, when she was about to leave the dining room, he looked steadily at her again, and said, "I'm sure I've seen you somewhere. I'm good with faces, and yours is very familiar. If we’ve met, it'll eventually come to me."
Never Too Late Page 24
