Justified Deception (Prequel: Dancing Moon Ranch Series)

by Watters, Patricia

  Matt turned to Ruth. "You ready?"

  Ruth looked at him with a start. "You mean, I really am supposed get on this horse?"

  "Unless you can think of another way to ride him."

  Ruth glared at Matt. "I told you I was willing to learn to ride and that I'm not afraid of horses, but I'm not willing to risk breaking my neck just to prove a point."

  Tiny lines gathered between Matt's brows. "You want to run that past me again?"

  "Which part do you find confusing?"

  "The whole damn thing. From what I make of it, you intend to master riding a horse without getting on."

  Ruth stabbed a finger in the direction of Dynamite. "Without getting on that horse!"

  Matt snatched his hat off his head, mumbled a string of expletives under his breath and said, "I've met illogical females in my time, but you beat everything. Mind telling me what you have against this horse, or is it too complicated to explain."

  Ruth felt blood pumping through her veins. "For starters, his name!"

  "Well excuse me," Matt said, "but I don't match horse and rider by name. I match them by disposition. Seems I might have misjudged things this time though. Maybe I should put you up on old Judd instead."

  Ruth planted her hands on her hips and said in a low, impatient tone, "Is that what you think of me, that I'm ornerier than a mule with a burr under its blanket?"

  "You said it, not I. But it fits."

  Ruth refused to take insults from an irritating, hotshot cowboy. "And maybe you should look in the mirror!" Her statement seemed to amuse him, which only served to infuriate her. Feeling her temper rise, she sucked in a deep, mind-clearing breath to quell another outburst. She hadn't come this far only to get fired the first day. "Look," she said, "I don't know how we got so far off track, but there must be a logical reason why the horse is named Dynamite. I assume it's not because of his gentle nature."

  A gleam came into Matt's eyes. "So that's what's got you worried."

  "Well?"

  Matt shrugged. "Because it takes about a keg of dynamite to get the lazy critter to move. He's also the horse Annie learned to ride on."

  Ruth felt heat creep up her face. "I guess I jumped to conclusions," she admitted, "but your hired hands seemed overly amused, and with the name Dynamite..." She shrugged. "I figured they'd lined the fence to watch the show."

  Matt looked at her soberly and said, in a quiet, serious voice, "We don't play those kinds of games here, not with greenhorns, and not with seasoned riders."

  Matt's heartfelt words stirred something inside Ruth, something elusive and indefinable—a longing she couldn’t quite grasp—and she found herself at a loss for words. And as she silently held his gaze, the wind tossed a shock of hair across her forehead. Matt brushed it aside and rested his hand on her shoulder. She stirred uneasily. She didn't like the warm feeling she got when Matt looked at her the way he was, as though he cared. She was living a lie for the sake of her daughter and she'd never felt more deceitful in her life.

  Beware. Don't open your heart to him. If Annie is Beth, you'll have to take her away from him. If Annie isn't Beth, he'll be irrelevant...

  "Lighten up, Ruth," Matt said. "I see that little frown between your brows again."

  The spell broken, Ruth dipped her shoulder from his hand, and said, "We'd better get on with my riding lesson." She looked up at the horse then glanced around for something to stand on. Finding nothing, she braced her hands on her hips, and said, "There's no way I can get on this horse. He's too tall. I need something to stand on."

  Matt jammed his hat on his head. "If you're out riding and your horse dumps you on your backside, you'll either get back on or have a long walk home. Now, grab the horn, get your foot in the stirrup and swing up. Even Annie can do that."

  Ruth met his challenging gaze. Someday she'd tell him what she thought of the lot of them, that they were nothing more than overgrown boys who never stopped playing cowboys. But for now, she was determined to somehow get herself up on the horse, just to show the irritating man she could. Reaching up high, she managed to clamp onto the saddle horn, but after she'd braced her foot in the stirrup, when she attempted to haul herself up, she seemed stuck midway.

  "Geeze!" Big hands curved around her hips and Matt hoisted her up. "From here on out, you're on your own to mount your horse."

  As she settled against the saddle, Ruth stiffened her spine, and said, "Isn't there someone else who could teach me to ride? We don't work very well together."

  Matt gave a kind of grudging laugh, and replied, "You're right, I have a problem with helpless females. I'll send Gabe to take over."

  Matt strode towards the stable in long, ground-eating strides. He couldn't remember when he'd met a woman as adept at pushing his hot buttons. And he knew damn well she was anything but helpless. The odd thing was, he liked this spunky side of her. He liked the way her eyes flared when she was pissed, and the stubborn way she lifted her chin when confronting him. And when she pressed her lips in disapproval, all he wanted was to kiss them into soft submission.

  Nor had her shape escaped him—her nicely-rounded butt, her small waist, her full breasts. And he'd bet his last buck the skin beneath her western-cut shirt and tight-fitting jeans was as soft as the muzzle of a newborn foal.

  She was also right about him teaching her to ride. They didn't work well together. Exactly what she did that made him short fused, he couldn't figure. He'd always prided himself on his tolerance and self-control when teaching a greenhorn to ride.

  He looked ahead and saw his newest hand. The kid had a nice way about him and was young enough to view Ruth as an older woman to be treated with respect. He was also about as skilled with horses as any wrangler he'd ever had. "Hey Gabe," he called out...

  ***

  Several hours later, Ruth swung down from her horse like a seasoned rider. She slapped at her jeans, sending puffs of dust into the air. Though her butt was sore, her face sunburned, and she ached in places she hadn't known existed, she felt a sense of exhilaration with her newfound skill. Gabe, unlike his intolerable boss, had the patience of Job. After having her spend the first ten minutes learning to mount and dismount, she was able to bend her leg, give a little hop, and be up on the horse with relative ease. And she'd learned terms like cinch and pommel and skirts, as well as most of the parts of the horse, though she still got some terms confused. Gabe promised to write it all down, and she was determined to memorize it before her riding lesson the following day. What pleased her most was that after only a few rounds in the corral, she could stand in her stirrups while the horse ambled around the ring. And when the horse trotted, she remained square in the saddle.

  They'd spent the next four hours riding fence, though Ruth knew Gabe alone would have covered far more territory than they had together. But he never let on. She'd also sat her mount while the horse waded knee-deep in water as they crossed a river. And although she'd clung to the saddle horn when the horse lunged up the opposite embankment, she'd nevertheless, hung on. Gabe laughed like he was enjoying the outing, and praised her skill as a beginner. He also assured her that before the four days were done, she'd be scaling the embankment without the aid of the saddle horn. And she was set on proving him right, and Matt Kincaid wrong.

  A few minutes later, as she stood inside the barn, brushing Dynamite, a shadow fell across them. She looked up to find Matt's tall, broad-shouldered frame in the doorway. A big man with an imposing presence, he was there, she suspected, to pick up where they'd left off. She couldn't remember exactly where that was, but it made her annoyed.

  Matt pushed his Stetson back with one finger. "I see you made it back in one piece."

  Gripping the brush, Ruth began brushing in short, quick strokes. "Yes, thanks to Gabe's patience and pleasant disposition."

  Matt ambled over to where she stood, and with an amused smile on his lips, he said, "Honey, if you're trying to brush that horse bald you're going at it the right way."

  "I am no
t your honey," Ruth said. She'd had her fill of this sweet talking cowboy. The brush strokes became harder, faster. "Is there something you want, or are you just here to irritate me?" As soon as she said the words she knew she'd overstepped her bounds again. Matt was, after all, her boss. He also had a knack for bringing out the worst in her.

  A large palm came around to cover her hand, stopping the frantic motion. "Simmer down, sweetheart, or you'll brush the coat right off the dang horse."

  Ruth tightened her mouth. Her objection to his hollow endearments didn't faze the man. She pulled her hand from under his and looked up to find him smiling. "What's so funny?"

  A rowdy expression came in his eyes. "I don't think you really want to know."

  "I asked, didn't I?"

  "Suit yourself," Matt said. "I was enjoying the way your butt sashayed back and forth when you were brushing the bejesus out of that horse."

  Ruth stopped brushing momentarily, gave him a sharp look, and said, "I’d appreciate it if you’d save those kinds of remarks for Lorinda!"

  Matt arched a brow. "Who told you about her?"

  "I have my sources."

  Matt chuckled. "Annie-Big-Mouth."

  "You're not exactly subtle around her," Ruth said. "Annie's very aware of your fascination with Lorinda's... attributes."

  Matt let out a short guffaw. "Every cowboy within spitting distance of Lorinda is fascinated with her attributes."

  Ruth moved to the other side of the horse to put some distance between them. Focusing on the brush in her hand, she said, "Well, your salivating over the woman is not a very good example to set. Annie will think men are only interested in women as sex objects."

  "Annie's not into that right now."

  His self-assured comment riled Ruth. "You have no idea about the mind-set of a little girl. You and the rest of the bunch around here treat Annie like she was one of the boys. I doubt she’s ever had her hair fixed with ribbons or even owns a dress.

  "Annie wouldn't wear a dress if she had one," Matt said. "And there'd be hell to pay if anyone tried to put ribbons in her hair."

  "How do you know? Have you ever tried?"

  Matt gave a cynical snort. "No, but you can have at it."

  "Fine, I will." Ruth realized she was frantically brushing the horse again and slowed her movements. She also made a firm vow to get Annie into a dress and put ribbons in her hair if it was the last thing she did.

  A shadow flickered and Ruth turned to find Annie's small frame standing in the doorway. Annie pressed her hands beneath her eyes and pulled downward, distorting her features while sticking out her tongue. Ruth feigned a smile, but she couldn't shake the hurt she felt on seeing Annie's hostile, deliberately distorted face. If Annie was Beth, how could she feel such enmity towards a mother who'd loved her with all her heart?

  Unless she also felt betrayed by that same woman who disappeared from her life without saying goodbye. A woman Beth's soul would remember, even if Beth didn't. Which might explain Annie's behavior. But there was another side to the issue, a side Ruth found far more troubling than Annie's hostility. She was finding it hard to like Annie.

  How could a mother feel anything but tenderness and heartfelt love for her own child? How could there be anything but a deep, soulful affinity? Still, there were moments when she'd wanted to take Annie by the shoulders and shake her, that she also longed to take her in her arms and hold her. And those were the moments she'd keep close to her heart, because to concede would be to fall back into the hopelessness that had marked her life for the past four years...

  Matt looked in the direction of Ruth's gaze, and Annie's face returned to normal. He motioned for Annie to join them. "Did you finish in the henhouse?"

  Annie shook her head.

  "Then get on back and finish your chores so you can take Ruth around and introduce her to the ranch dogs."

  "I don't want to show her the dogs."

  "Sorry pal, you don't have a choice."

  Annie rolled her bottom lip out in a pout and didn't budge.

  Matt peered down at her. "Tuck that slab of ham back in your mouth, and do as you're told."

  Annie pinned Ruth with resentful eyes. "She keeps staring at me."

  Matt's gaze darted between the two females, coming to rest on Annie. "She's probably trying to figure you out. You're like a puzzle with missing pieces. Ruth has some of the pieces—she knows you're smart and have pretty blue eyes and a great pair of lungs. But she wants to know more. And frankly, kiddo, you haven't made it very easy on her. In fact, you've been a real pain in the butt."

  Annie eyed Ruth with disdain. "I still don't like her."

  "Yeah, well, that's your problem," Matt said.

  "Will you take me shooting if I do everything?" Annie asked, looking up at her father.

  "You got a deal." Matt gave her a high five.

  Annie slapped Matt's big palm with her little one and skipped toward the chicken yard.

  Matt stared after her in amusement. "Manipulative little filly." He gave Ruth a lopsided smile. "She's also got her old man pegged. All she has to do is roll those pretty blue eyes at me and name her ticket."

  "And that ticket is going shooting." Ruth said in a cynical tone. "I assume she meant shooting guns, not pool, not that shooting guns would be any better."

  Matt shrugged. "Annie has a 22 rifle she got for her birthday. The boys chipped in and bought it for her and she's real proud of it. She's pretty good with it too," he added.

  Ruth glared at Matt. The idea of a six-year-old sporting a rifle, a girl no less, brought her temper rising just below the surface, whether that child was Annie or Beth. "Do you really think shooting a gun is appropriate for a little girl?"

  Matt's face sobered. "It is when she's out riding and a rattlesnake crosses her path."

  Ruth looked at him in alarm. "You have rattlesnakes here?"

  "Sure. It wouldn't hurt you to learn to shoot too. "In fact I'll teach you myself."

  "You forget, we don't work well together."

  "Yeah, well, we'll work on that because I’ll be the one to teach you to shoot."

  The thought of standing with her back to Matt in the circle of his arms, and his hands on hers to steady her rifle, made Ruth's breath catch. Dismissing the unnerving thought, she said, "I don't suppose it would make any difference if I told you I didn't want to shoot a rifle."

  "None at all."

  Resigned, Ruth returned to the issue of Annie. The man was hopelessly off track when it came to raising a daughter. He was also as oblivious as his men, she suspected, when it came to gifts for little girls. While returning to brushing the horse, she said, "Has anyone around here ever thought of giving Annie jewelry, or maybe a doll house for her Barbies?"

  "Jewelry and doll houses for Annie?" Matt smiled then, a warm smile of affection that had the odd effect of triggering a dull, hard thumping in Ruth's chest. "Knowing Annie, she'd rather have a toy barn and horses for her Kens. And let’s just slow that brush down…" He placed his hand over Ruth's, and this time she didn’t pull away. The warmth of his hand moving with hers invoked a bizarre sense of longing that was as strong as it was unexpected. She glanced up at him. "Still, I want to get her something pretty."

  His hand remaining on hers, Matt stopped the movement of the brush, peered down at her with eyes that shone as if each possessed its own little sun, and said in a quiet voice, "I'm glad you've come to us, Ruthie girl. This place needs a woman's touch."

  For a moment, Ruth couldn't breathe, or speak. All she could do was look up at him, while a silent voice in her head said, don’t do this to me. Don't smile your crooked smile and look at me with eyes that make my heart flutter...

  Wariness settled inside her. Something insidious was stealing into her existence, directing her mind to oppose her will. Whatever it was, she didn't like it.

  Matt lifted his hand from hers and stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "So serious. Give me a smile. Show me those dimples you keep hidden beneath
a frown."

  Ruth offered a smile, but it quivered and flattened. And the pleasure she’d felt was replaced by the terrible awareness that she was becoming attracted to the man who might have kidnapped her daughter. She'd heard it could happen, a victim drawn into a kind of perverse bond with her perpetrator. She'd guard against that. Matt was merely a means to an end. Nothing more.

  ***

  That evening, while Matt and Annie were occupied with their bedtime story-telling shenanigans, as Matt jokingly referred to it, Ruth stood on the porch, contemplating her day. It had not gone as she'd planned. She'd intended to endear the child and dislike the man, but that's not the way it turned out. As untouchable as Annie had been, Matt had been the opposite. After their encounter in the barn, he'd shown her around the place, and during that time he frequently touched her—his palm at the small of her back or beneath her elbow as they walked, his finger pushing a wisp of hair from her forehead or brushing a smidgeon of dust from her cheek, his hand grasping her arm to pull her out of the way of a frolicking dog. He'd treated her as if she were special, someone who, in some way she couldn't hope to understand, made a difference in his life. She wanted to think the worst of him, but couldn't.

  An unfamiliar sensation began to well in the area of her solar plexus, a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation and hope. She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of horses and warm earth and night blossoms, and the feeling began to subside. Maybe it had only been a touch of fatigue. It had been a long day.

  A small, insistent voice inside said, No, Ruth, it's not fatigue, nor has it been a long day, and you know it. But she dismissed the voice and concentrated instead on the bright moon peeking from behind gauzy clouds while weaving a gossamer web of ethereal light and shadows on everything it touched. The night was filled with a chorus of sounds—the hooty, hoot of an owl, the winsome flute-song of a night bird, the ceaseless drone of frogs at the pond, the cacophony blending with the whirring of crickets and the far-off laughter of men in the bunkhouse. But gradually, all the sounds seemed to grow faint, until not a leaf moved, not an insect stirred. The air seemed to hang motionless. But while the sounds around her faded, the sensation of being watched grew, until it was so strong, tiny hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle. Nervously she turned. And stilled.