Never Too Late (31 page)

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 waited 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.