A Dolphin's Gift

by Watters, Patricia

  Ruth looked at Matt Kincaid, and said,. "Annie must feel somewhat insecure living on an isolated ranch with only one parent."

  Matt gave a short, ironic laugh. "Annie's about as insecure as a rutting bull. She's got more family at the ranch than she knows what to do with. And she knows the only way she'd ever be separated from me would be over my cold, dead body. If anyone's insecure it's me. Without Annie, there wouldn't be much meaning to my life, something someone without kids wouldn't understand. Just take my word for it."

  Ruth clenched her jaw to keep from screaming, how dare you say I don't know how much meaning a child can bring to a person's life.... or how meaningless life can be without her...

  Matt smiled a slow, contemplative smile. "There's no doubt, Annie's the best thing that ever happened to me." And in that moment, Ruth knew Matt Kincaid would go to any length to hold and protect his child. And at this point, she couldn’t be sure Annie wasn't his child, just as she couldn’t be sure little girl was Beth. But time would tell.

  If Annie was Beth she’d have a past that didn’t include Matt Kincaid. Photographs from birth to two years of age would be missing. So, inquiring about pictures of Annie as a baby would be one of her first objectives. Locating Annie's birth certificate and verifying that she was adopted would be another. For now, she'd still cling to hope. If Annie was Beth, the worst of her fears would be dispelled. Beth had not been snatched by a sexual predator, or a child killer, or a deranged woman desperate for a child. She'd been cared for by a devoted man who'd lay down his life for her, a man with the money and wherewithal to take the child he claimed was his and hide her where she'd never be found. And Ruth didn't question for a moment that Matt Kincaid would do precisely that, if boxed into a corner...

  "We'll be flying to Bend in the morning," Matt said.

  Ruth looked up from her distracted thoughts. "So soon?" She'd have no time to get the DNA kits before leaving. Bill only recently brought up the idea of DNA self-collection tests, if she was able to get the nanny job and would have access to the child. The results would not be admissible in court, but if they confirmed a biological relationship, it would be enough to start legal action that would force Matt Kincaid to allow the Chain of Custody collection procedure done, which would be admissible in court. More important, it would determine if Annie Kincaid was Beth...

  "I need to get back to the ranch," Matt said. "We'll fly to Bend, where we'll stock up on supplies, then fly to Pine Grove, but from there we'll head to the Kincaid by truck." He scanned the full length of her. "I hope you have some more suitable clothes… jeans, shirts, boots, a hat."

  "I have a few pairs of slacks."

  "Slacks won’t do. We’ll get you outfitted in Bend."

  Ruth shook her head. "I can't allow you to buy my clothes."

  One corner of the man's mouth tipped up in an ironic smile. "Sweetheart, I don't need your permission."

  Ruth stiffened. This sweet talking cowboy with his overbearing attitude set her blood boiling. She wasn't one of his range hands, and she definitely wasn't his sweetheart. She was, however, a hired hand of sorts, with the most important job of her life, and she’d better remember that if she wanted to hold onto it.

  Giving him a wavering smile, she said, "I'd rather you didn't." But as she said the words she already knew he'd get his way.

  But Matt Kincaid’s forceful manner and use of endearments and all the other irritating qualities about the man were irrelevant, because in her heart, Ruth believed she'd found Beth, and she had no intention of leaving her side until Beth was returned to her own bedroom, where she'd find her toys and dolls and stuffed animals waiting for her to come home... waiting to hear her childish laughs and sweet young voice fill the house once again.

  But to accomplish that goal, she'd be forced to put up with the bossy, arrogant likes of Matt Kincaid, something she did not look forward to doing.

  ***

  After a bumpy flight in a twin engine Cessna, they arrived in Bend, where Ruth was outfitted in the clothes she didn't want—snug fitting jeans, western-cut shirts with pearl snaps, a western hat with a wide brim, several bandanas, and a pair of stiff, brown cowboy boots for riding. It was dusk when they touched down in Pine Grove, but since the plane was to remain there for servicing, the rest of the trip was in a truck with an extended cab.

  They arrived at the ranch shortly before midnight. Pole lights lit up a compound of outbuildings that included the shadowy outline of a huge barn. But the structure that caught and held her attention was a large, two-story log ranch house with a wrap-around porch and a high, dormered roof that sloped steeply to shed the snow.

  With Annie sleeping cradled in his arms, Matt lead Ruth through a spacious, rustic living room with a large stone fireplace at one dne, up a wide bank of half-log stairs, and down a hallway, stopping in front of a bedroom with the door ajar. He nudged the door open with his toe, and said, "This is your room, and Annie's is the next one down the hall. Have her dressed and down for breakfast by seven. Normally morning meal's at six, but we'll bend rules this once." With not so much as a "Good night," he continued down the hallway to Annie's room.

  Her hand on the doorframe, Ruth was a heartbeat away from yelling after him, 'The devil with ranch rules! A child needs sleep!' Not only would it get her fired, but Matt Kincaid was obviously too autocratic to listen to anything the new nanny might offer.

  Yet, there was also another side to the man.

  Once airborne, and with his ranch foreman in control of the plane, Matt turned back his cuffs and became totally absorbed with Annie, reading to her and playing endless games of tic-tac-toe and connect-the-dots, until Ruth felt as if Matt and Annie existed in their own little world. Except for those unexpected moments when he’d look towards her as if suddenly remembering she was aboard. But it gave her time to study the man, unobserved. A big man with a lean, sun-bronzed face and broad muscular shoulders, he was all cowboy, from the crown of his weathered Stetson to the tips of his scuffed brown boots.

  She remembered the first time she’d seen a picture of him. Bill handed her a photo and said, "Matt Kincaid owns a large cattle ranch in southeast Oregon... sometimes visits his brother, Bret Kincaid, an attorney who lives in Salem. Take a look. See if you recognize the man."

  Ruth braced herself for what she might find. Someone familiar... a friend of the family... someone the child would trust... Words from police officers, and social workers, and concerned citizens who'd read of Beth's abduction. But when she looked at the photo, all she saw was a tall, broad-shouldered man who, with his hazel eyes and ash-blond hair, looked more akin to Beth than she did, with her dark hair and brown eyes.

  Heaving a weary sigh, Ruth flipped the light switch and stepped into a bedroom outfitted with solid furniture that included a peeled-pine chair with faded upholstery, a pine dresser with horseshoe drawer pulls, a wardrobe with a full-length mirror on its wide door, a double bed, also of peeled-pine logs, and a quilted bedspread with ranch patterns. At the foot of the bed was a stack of towels and washcloths in mismatched colors.

  While she was turning back the bedspread, a ranch hand named Seth delivered her suitcases, along with the numerous shopping bags with her new clothes. After fetching the pajamas she bought for Annie in Bend, she went to Annie's room. By the light funneling in from the hallway, and while Annie was sleeping soundly, she stripped off Annie's tie-dyed tee shirt and mini sweats and eased on the new pajamas, then tucked the covers around her. Annie would not remember any of it, but she’d be happy to wake up wearing new PJs. But before leaving the room, Ruth looked at Annie’s restful face, taking in the child's quiet features bathed in soft light. But when Annie stirred, Ruth backed into the hallway.

  As with most nights, Ruth knew she wouldn't fall asleep without a book to make her drowsy, but when she'd packed she'd been so anxious about what lay ahead she’d forgotten to include any books. But as they'd passed through the living room on their way to the stairs earlier, she'd noticed that the ston
e fireplace with its high arched opening was flanked on both sides by bookcases. Intending to fetch a book and crawl into bed, she made her way down the stairs. But when she entered the living room, she was surprised to find Matt settled into a leather overstuffed chair, reading. Ankles crossed, bootless feet propped on a low coffee table, a pair of reading glasses on his nose, the whole scene appeared incongruous. Cleaning guns or soaping boots seemed more appropriate...

  The floor creaked beneath her feet and he looked up, then waited for her to speak. She shrugged, and said, "I need a book and I thought I could find one here."

  "Help yourself," Matt replied, then returned to his reading.

  Ruth scanned the books, surprised to find so many of the classics, including Plato’s Republic and Homer’s Odyssey. She also found books of poetry interspersed with Aesop’s Fables, The Boy’s Book of King Arthur and an illustrated, Children’s Bible. A small area included books on child psychology and single parenting. Definitely not what she'd expected to find in Matt Kincaid’s library. Reaching for a book on child psychology, she turned and said, "I’ll just take this one and be on my way."

  Matt looked up, as if surprised she was still there, gave a nod, and returned to his reading.

  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 of
fbeat 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."