JUSTIFIED DECEPTION Read online

  JUSTIFIED DECEPTION

  Patricia Watters

  ARMOUR PRESS

  JUSTIFIED DECEPTION

  Copyright 2011 by Patricia Watters

  Printed in the United States of America

  Third Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or were used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. The republication or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic or mechanical or other means, not known of hereafter invented, including xerograpghy, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrightable materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Annie Kincaid stomped a small bare foot against the ground, and said, "I don't want a nanny, and I won't do what she says!"

  Matt Kincaid clenched his jaws to keep from letting out an expletive, and said to his daughter, "Look pal, don't jerk my chain. You're going to have a nanny and you'll do what she says, and that"s that." He knew his anger was aimed more at Annie's mother than at Annie. Jody had been spoiled, self-centered and stubborn, and whenever Annie showed those traits it made him mad as hell. He also didn't have the time or patience to deal with a stubborn six-year-old this particular afternoon. Snaring a nanny willing to live at the ranch was tough enough. Keeping her on afterwards was damn near impossible. Annie could be a real pain in the butt when she wanted to get rid of a nanny.

  He also knew Annie might get her way this time. The first woman he"d interviewed had fingernails chewed to the quick, the second wrung her hands through the entire interview, and the third was a mouse of a woman who stared at him, unblinking. Granted, he'd been hard on the women, but if they couldn't stand up to his interrogation, they wouldn't survive either Annie or the rugged, isolated existence of living on the Kincaid.

  Annie glared up at him. "I hate nannies. They're bossy and stink like perfume. If you get me another nanny I'll jump in the bull pen and get stomped to little pieces."

  Matt clenched his jaws. He refused to let a pint-sized prima donna manipulate him. But, with less than twenty minutes before the arrival of Annie's next potential victim he'd have to change tactics. Softening his tone, he said, "I can't be all things to you, honey. You're a little girl, and I'm a man. You need a woman to see to your needs." He saw Annie's bottom lip quiver and knew he'd made some headway.

  "No one has to look after me," Annie lamented. "I can look after myself."

  "Sorry, that's not an option. When I"m out on the trail you need a nanny." He glanced at his watch. "Meanwhile, Miss Crawford will be here in twenty minutes for her interview and I promised I'd put together Aunt Jane's glider while we"re here. But first, I want a smile and a hug." He crouched and opened his arms. An impish glimmer came into Annie's big brown eyes and she slipped her hands around Matt's neck. "That's my girl."

  Matt cranked up the volume on his radio and grabbed the wrench he'd been using to assemble his sister-in-law's lawn glider. And Annie scrambled up the ladder leading to a tree fortress built over, around, and between the sturdy limbs of an ancient oak...

  Twenty minutes later, Matt glanced up from his crouched position, startled to find a woman staring at him. He hadn't heard her arrive and had no idea how long she'd been there. Which he concluded was probably often the case with this particular woman. If he were to describe her in one word, it would be: limpid. A plain woman with not a trace of lipstick on her prim, tight lips, she peered down at him through the lenses of wide, round glasses. She wore her drab, brown hair caught in a knot on top of her head, and her shapeless frame was clad in a loose-fitting brown suit coat that hung over a matching skirt that reached mid-calf. Serviceable brown shoes with broad flat heels completed her garb. A woman well into her thirties, she obviously had no desire to catch a man, which suited him fine.

  She offered her hand. "Mr. Kincaid, I'm Ruth Crawford, and I'm sorry I'm—"

  With a whoosh, something dropped from the boughs of the oak and glanced off the woman's head, drawing an audible gasp from her while dislodging the knot. She looked up, then repositioned the knot and impaled it with a wooden pin.

  Matt scooped up a rubber chicken that lay at the woman's feet. Jaws clenched, he looked toward Annie's perch. The little twit was really testing him.

  Miss Crawford, having recovered her composure, offered her hand again, this time somewhat tentatively, and said, "I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. Kincaid. That rarely happens."

  Matt glanced at his watch. Six minutes was hardly late. Still, he wouldn't let it pass. "I hope you're right," he said, "because my daughter needs structure." He wiped his palm on his jeans and shook the woman's hand, finding it moist and cold, which didn't surprise him. In fact it would have shocked the hell out of him to find the woman's hand anything but cold. A hot little number she was not. "Please have a seat."

  She sat on the edge of a lawn chair, feet together, hands folded across her brown leather shoulder bag, a sedate pose that whispered distinctly, don't touch. But she also looked practical, sensible and pragmatic, qualities that did nothing for him, but would help keep Annie in check.

  She seemed to be studying him though, as if she were here to interview him. He dragged a lawn chair over and sat opposite her. Now he'd see the kind of stuff Miss Ruth Crawford was made of.

  He had no intention of painting a rosy picture. He'd had his fill of nannies packing up and leaving with little more than a moment's notice.

  Looking directly at her, he said, "I'm going to lay it out for you, Miss Crawford. If you're looking for an easy job you've come to the wrong place. The Kincaid's a working ranch located in an isolated valley twenty miles from the nearest store, so you can't run into town for every impulsive female whim you've a mind for. And Annie's a scrapper. She's got a mind of her own.

  And she's independent as hell."

  Holding his gaze, the woman said in a confident tone, "I pride myself in being able to cope with difficult children.”

  "Good, because you'll need all your skills to cope with Annie. She doesn't have a very high regard for mothers or mother substitutes."

  The woman's inscrutable eyes unmasked momentarily. Did he glimpse despair in those eyes? Then it was gone.

  "As I said, Mr. Kincaid, I've handled difficult children. They"re not a problem for me," she said, her voice businesslike.

  Unquestionably no-nonsense, Matt decided. And she reeked of self-control. Probably never had a fit of temper or uttered a cuss word in her life. Good. She wouldn't cave in to Annie's melodramas or manipulations. "I assume you can ride."

  "Ride?"

  "Horses, Miss Crawford. The Kincaid's spread over a lot of rugged territory, much of it accessible only by horse." The woman's eyes sharpened, not so much in surprise, but something more akin to... panic? "You do ride, don't you?"

  She blinked several times. "Well, yes. I did once when I was a child."

  "Once! Oh geeze!"

  "I'm a fast learner, Mr. Kincaid," she said. "If you're willing to give me some instruction, I'm willing to learn. I'm not afraid of horses. I assume that's half the battle.”

  "Okay, I'll give you four days. You'll work with your horse from the ground up—do the feeding and grooming, clean its hooves, tend your own tack. And if you fa
ll on your butt you'll be expected to pick yourself up and get back on. You'll roll into bed bone tired at night and wake up aching from head to toe the next morning. I'm not meaning to scare you, but if you don't learn to ride fast, Annie will leave you in a cloud of dust. Besides, if you don't know horses, you and Annie will never bond."

  Ruth Crawford"s lips parted and fell into a downward curve, and behind the round lenses of her glasses, Matt saw sad green eyes that glistened with unshed tears. Though nothing about the woman attracted him, he had an illogical urge to hold her in his arms, like comforting a lost child. Then with a mercurial shift of mood, the woman blinked away the sadness, the corners of her mouth lifted from their downward droop, and she said, "I assure you, I'll be riding well within the week."

  "Yeah, well, we'll see. Any questions?"

  “Am I supposed to cook or clean?”

  “Nope. We have Edith for that. You just look after Annie. Anything else?”

  "No."

  "Then the job's yours if you still want it."

  "Yes... yes I do." She smiled then, her first real smile, and Matt noted two small dimples in her cheeks. Appealing little dimples that made years vanish from her face. He made a vow to coax that smile from her often. "Thank you, Mr. Kincaid."

  He returned her smile. "Honey, just call me Matt."

  "Yes, well, thank you... Matt."

  "Right. And one thing more. Annie will be home schooled. Can you handle that?"

  "Home schooled?" A distinct look of alarm crossed the woman's face and her smile faded, replaced by... wariness? "Is there a reason why?" she asked.

  "Sure," Matt replied, "the ranch is located in an isolated valley miles from the school."

  "But it's my understanding that there is school bus service in that area," she argued. Which puzzled him. Home schooling was not uncommon these days, though his reason for keeping Annie on the ranch had nothing to do with the logistics of getting her to school. He studied the woman's sober face and wondered if he was making a mistake with this one. She seemed unusually astute. But there was also a tough side to her that gave him the gut feeling she could handle Annie. "There's school bus service," he admitted, "but for the first couple of years I've decided to keep Annie home. Would that be a problem for you?"

  "Well, no," the woman replied. "I'm certain I could manage her studies."

  "Good. Since that's decided, it's time you met Annie." He looked up at the tree fortress and caught a glimpse of a young, sassy face before Annie ducked out of sight. He should climb up there and tan her little bummer for dropping the rubber-chicken. Instead, he stood at the base of the tree and called up, "Annie, get your fanny down here and meet your new nanny."

  "Annie, fanny, nanny... Annie, fanny, nanny,” she mimicked in a sing-song voice.

  “Don"t push my buttons pal. Do as I say.”

  A very strident young voice bellowed down from the boughs of the tree. “I don't want a nanny and I'm not coming down!"

  Matt looked askance at Ruth, and said, "Go on inside and have a cup of coffee, sweetheart.

  The pot's on the stove. I"ll bring Annie in and you two can meet and get acquainted."

  Ruth's lips parted, as if to respond, then she nodded vaguely and turned away.

  ***

  As Ruth walked toward the house, the realization that in moments from now she might come face to face with her own little Beth suddenly hit her, and everything about that horrifying day four years before came rushing back. The shock, the hysteria, the helplessness, the waiting, the fear of leaving home because she might miss a call from the police. The fear of getting a call from the police. And the terrible, ever present guilt. If only she hadn't left Beth with a baby sitter.

  If only the baby sitter hadn't left Beth alone for an instant while she answered the phone. Alone in a fenced yard. In Beth's own front yard. If only the clock could be turned back.

  If only... if only... if only...

  By the time she reached the house, Ruth felt so lightheaded she had to lean against the door jam for support. But after the dizziness passed, she willed herself to again take on the character of the nanny she held herself out to be, the nanny Matt Kincaid just hired. That woman was calm, collected, in control. A woman able to cope with difficult children. She'd come prepared for that possibility. When she learned from Bill McFadden, her private investigator, that Matt Kincaid was in Portland at his brother's house, interviewing for a live-in nanny, she also learned that finding new nannies was often the case. "They don"t stay long because the ranch is so isolated and the child so unruly," Bill told her.

  Was her little Beth a difficult child now? And had Matt Kincaid made her that way? If, in fact, Annie Kincaid was Beth. The possibility was very real. This had been their best lead yet.

  And for some reason Matt Kincaid wanted his child home schooled. Maybe so he could keep her away from authorities who might learn the truth? Learn that she was not Annie Kincaid, but instead, a little girl named Beth Sinclair who'd been stolen four years ago. In due course she'd find out, but for the moment, she'd set aside Matt Kincaid's reason for keeping his daughter at home and concentrate on carrying out the plan.

  She stepped into the kitchen and scanned the surroundings. The presence of a child was everywhere—a scattering of broken crayons by a picture of a horse, a plate with a half-eaten jelly sandwich, a plastic cup with a coiled plastic straw. She walked over to the refrigerator and studied the photos attached to the door with magnets. In one, Annie sat on her father"s shoulders.

  In another, he held a pony while Annie stood with arms out, balancing on the pony's back. In another, Matt Kincaid crouched behind Annie, who held a winner"s ribbon, a proud smile on her face. And in another, Annie was slung over her father's shoulders like a sack of grain, Annie making a silly face at the camera. As Ruth studied the pictures, one thing stood out above all else. Annie and Matt Kincaid looked truly happy together, as if no one mattered but each other.

  Ruth was about to turn from the refrigerator when a magnetic frame with a head-and-shoulders image of Annie caught her up short. Unzipping her shoulder bag, she retrieved a computerized image that morphed Beth's two-year old face into that of a six-year-old girl, and held it up to the photo in the frame. Her gaze shifted between the two. The dark curly hair, the clef in the chin, the brown, almond-shaped eyes.... The likeness, right down to the scar on Beth"s chin, was more than uncanny. Annie Kincaid had to be Beth. Ruth knew it in her heart, and on some higher plane, she knew it in her soul.

  She felt prickles of pain in her hand and realized she'd been clenching her fist so tightly her fingernails had impressed half-moons into her palm. But the pain was mild compared to the deep, heartfelt fear that, even with everything pointing to this child being Beth, it could yet be another false lead. She closed her eyes....

  Please God, don't let me down again. Let this child be Beth.

  Not Beth. Annie... Annie.... This child is named Annie. Annie Kincaid.

  Ruth started trembling, and hot tears welled. She patted her cheeks and blinked away the tears then silently practiced her opening words. ' Hello, Annie, I'm pleased to meet you. I'm certain we'll get on fine. Please call me...' Always she stumbled here. Since the kidnapper would be familiar with the name, Jennifer Sinclair, using her middle name, Ruth, and her mother"s maiden name, Crawford, had been a compromise...

  She glanced out the window and saw Annie making her way down the tree ladder. When her foot hit the ground, Matt snagged her by the arm and headed toward the house. Before Ruth could remind herself to take a deep breath and stay calm, Matt walked through the door, the child tugging against his grip. As Ruth stood, silent and rigid and clinging to the strap of her shoulder bag, Matt nudged the sun-kissed, slip of a child toward her.

  Ruth's throat tightened, and when she tried to speak, words wouldn't come. Nor could she take her eyes off the small scar that followed the line of the child's jaw, a scar about where Beth's would have been. For an instant, everything in the room faded. Only
the compelling dark eyes staring back at her seemed to exist, as if she and the child were frozen in time. As she held Annie"s unwavering gaze, she searched for some sign of recognition in the child"s eyes, but all she found was hostility. Forcing a smile that felt as stiff as it was feigned, she said, "Hello, Annie, I'm pleased to meet you."

  Annie"s brows gathered in a frown, and for an instant Ruth was certain she'd detected bafflement in those dark eyes. But the moment was fleeting, and Ruth wondered if she'd simply deceived herself into seeing something that wasn't there.

  Matt nudged Annie. "Mind your manners, bucko. Say hello to Miss Crawford."

  Annie pinned Ruth with a cold glare, shot a defiant look at her father, and said, "I don't want a stupid nanny," then fled through the open door and never looked back.

  Ruth stared after her, feeling confused and uncertain. During the terrible empty years without Beth she'd held onto the hope of this moment, to the dream of a tearful, joyous reunion, of taking Beth in her arms and holding her for dear life. And now, if the moment had come and gone, she could never have prepared herself for this kind of reception from a child who might be her daughter. Complete aversion.

  Matt looked at Ruth and shrugged. "Nannies aren't her favorite people."

  "And her mother?" Ruth asked. "Does Annie see her frequently?"

  "Annie's mother's not a part of Annie's life," Matt said, in a tone that told Ruth the discussion was over. Which made Ruth even more determined to learn why Matt Kincaid had sole custody of his daughter. Bill had not been able to glean that information. But he had pointed out the power in the Kincaid family when he'd first begun piecing things together. "Kincaid's the son of a judge, the youngest of four boys," he told her. "One brother's a high-powered attorney, one's a state senator, and another's the state Attorney General. Seems Matt Kincaid's the maverick in the family... left home when he was sixteen and moved around, hiring on as a ranch hand. Then he married the rancher's daughter, divorced her, and ended up with the ranch and sole custody of their daughter. Obviously used his family's influence to come out on top..."