by Finch, Carol
Damn, thought Chance. Dan Tipton was ten-dozen kinds of fool for riding the suicide circuit instead of staying home with his gorgeous wife and young kid. Dan had had heaven at his fingertips and he’d been living in the fast lane, chasing women that didn’t compare to the one waiting for him at home.
This was one dynamite woman, Chance mused as his gaze traveled over her in masculine appreciation. Given what Howard had said about Alexa—her independence, her willingness to take on any challenge, her ability to cook food that made a man’s taste buds stand up and salute—Chance was immediately impressed.
Zack glanced up from his book and smiled. “You’re the new guy. I’m Zack.” He hitched his thumb over his narrow shoulders. “That’s my mom.”
“Glad to meet you, Zack, Mom,” Chance replied, flashing a smile. “Howard told me to report for supper at seven o’clock sharp.”
The kid thrust out his hand, indicating the chair where Chance was supposed to sit. Mom simply stared at Chance, making him wonder if he’d buttoned his shirt improperly or forgotten to zip his blue jeans.
“Dinner will be a few minutes late,” Alex said before pivoting toward the stove. “I was detained in the barn.”
“Grandpa says Mom is wasting her time with that old barn,” Zack confided. “Mom says—”
“Zack,” Alexa cut in, “don’t bother our guest with family differences of opinion, please.”
Alexa gave herself a mental shake and stared at the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove. She hadn’t expected to feel such a startling reaction to the cowboy who appeared in her kitchen. Even when she turned her back on the man she could still see the image of broad shoulders, raven-black hair and twinkling silver-blue eyes staring back at her. To date, none of the cowboys who had come and gone from Howard’s cowboy rehab center had made such a strong first impression on her. She shrugged them all aside, but this masculine hunk of brawn, muscle and good looks made his dynamic presence felt by doing nothing more than favoring her with an engaging grin.
Not that it made a whit of difference, of course. Alexa had absolutely no use for cowboy types, no time or inclination for relationships—casual or otherwise—with men. She was on a crusade to revive this faltering ranch, despite Howard’s vocal objections and snide remarks. She would treat this temporary addition to her home with the same courtesy as his predecessors. She certainly wasn’t in the market for a husband, because she had been down that road before and discovered that the pathway was filled with potholes. Alexa knew how to take care of herself, and her son. She wasn’t looking for security, because husbands didn’t come with written guarantees that they could handle responsibility. In her experience, a husband was another responsibility she had to undertake.
No, thought Alexa, although this new cowboy was incredibly easy on the eye, she wasn’t interested in getting to know him. Her nine-year marriage to a rodeo cowboy had cured her of that.
Resigned to her life as it was—and as it would stay—Alexa wheeled around to snatch up the pitcher on the counter. “Mango tea or milk?” she asked.
“Mango tea?” Chance repeated.
“It’s Mom’s special,” Zack confided. “It’s going to be on her menu at the bed-and-breakfast, along with her Southern fried chicken and spaghetti.” Zack grinned, displaying his missing two front teeth. “Spaghetti is my favorite. Grandpa likes the chicken when he can’t have steak.”
Chance glanced over his shoulder. “Where is Howard?” “Poker night,” Zack reported. “Mom says Grandpa doesn’t have money to blow on bad card hands, but he—”
“Zack.” Alexa’s gaze narrowed on her loquacious son.
“Family matter?” Zack asked.
“You got it, kiddo. Read your book and don’t pester our guest.”
“No problem, ma’am,” Chance felt inclined to say when the kid’s face fell in disappointment. Despite Chance’s vow to keep his emotional distance from the Tiptons, he kept seeing a bit of himself in this kid. “What are you reading, Zack?”
The boy’s nose wrinkled distastefully. “Science stuff. They make you learn all sorts of dumb junk when you’re in the third grade. We even have to learn history.”
Chance tried to look properly shocked. “No kidding? I reckon those teachers still want kids to be well-versed in lots of subjects, huh?”
“I guess,” Zack mumbled. “Mom says I’m supposed to know more than which end of a horse kicks and which end bites, because most cowboys—”
“Zack, for heaven sake!” Alexa’s face blossomed with embarrassment.
Out of the mouth of babes, she thought, exasperated. She swore every reckless remark she’d ever made was stuck in Zack’s head and would find its way to his tongue. She should be flattered that her advice didn’t go in one ear and fly out the other, but she didn’t need Zack spreading the gospel according to Alexa every time some down-on-his-luck cowboy hobbled in here.
When Alexa glanced in Chance’s direction to apologize she became the recipient of his good-natured grin—one potent enough to melt her knees.
“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” Chance said with a wink. “I realize most folks think that all a cowboy knows is bulls and broncs and not much else.” He turned his attention back to Zack. “But fact is, I studied animal science in college and kinda liked it.”
College? Alexa groaned. An educated cowboy. She had been deprived of college because of the responsibilities she was obligated to assume. Of course, this cowboy had only himself to consider. Must be nice, she mused resentfully.
“Science?” Zack looked appalled.
Chance nodded. “Yep, a good rancher has to know all sorts of scientific data if he wants to keep his livestock and land in prime condition. And it doesn’t hurt to know the history of the breed of your stock, either. Take the Morgan horse that was developed during American colonial days, for instance....”
Alexa set a glass of tea in front of Chance and watched her son sit up and listen with rapt attention. For the first time since Howard opened his home to mending cowboys Zack wasn’t being brushed aside. He was being included in conversation and subtly informed that the “dumb junk” taught in school was important.
But Chance Butler would still be just as gone when his wounds healed, Alexa reminded herself cynically. She couldn’t allow Zack to get too attached to this cowboy. Rodeo performers were cut from the same scrap of rope, and Alexa wasn’t grooming her son to follow his father’s footsteps. No matter what, young Zack wasn’t going to be hurt more than he’d already been because his own father hadn’t had much time for him.
To Alexa’s frustration, she sat through supper watching her son warm to this new arrival by alarming degrees. Chance Butler, damn him, had an appealing way about him. Twice Alexa caught herself smiling at something Chance had said—the man could definitely turn a phrase, making Zack giggle and grin. And when Chance looked to her for acceptance it took all the firm resolve she could muster not to melt beneath his easygoing grin. She wasn’t going to get attached to this man—or any man like him. That was that.
When Chance levered to his feet to clear the dishes from the table, Alexa glanced up, surprised.
“It’s the least I can do after that sensational meal.” He leaned close to add, “Even if Howard has reservations, I think your bed-and-breakfast will prosper. But if you tell him I said so, I’ll get fired before I put in my first day of work.”
Alex stiffened when the scent of cologne and appealing masculine presence invaded her private space. Her instinctive reaction to Chance shocked her, unsettled her. She didn’t want to feel anything except mild approval of a man who would be no more than a temporary acquaintance.
He’s a here-today-and-gone-tomorrow kind of man. Don’t you forget it, Alexa told herself as she bounded from her chair to escape the lingering scent of Chance’s cologne.
“Zack, put your plate and silverware in the sink.”
“I know, Mom,” Zack grumbled.
Alexa grimaced when she realized s
he had offended her son’s pride. Zack had taken an instant liking to Chance, and he balked at being treated as though he was eight—which he was. Hurriedly, Alexa tried to compensate.
“After you finish your math assignment, how about if we play catch. I should have the kitchen spiffied up by then.”
Alexa could have kicked herself for her suggestion. Zack glanced expectantly at Chance, Clearly, the boy didn’t want to play catch with his mom when there was a muscular man around the house.
Trying to spare Zack from disappointment, Alexa shooed him on his way. “Better hit the math book before it gets too dark to see the baseball. I don’t want your blazing fastball to smack me in the nose.”
Chance understood the dynamics of this situation perfectly. He would have had to be blind in both eyes not to realize the kid had taken an instant liking to him. He would also have had to be stone deaf not to catch the tone in Alexa’s voice. She intended to let Chance off the hook with the kid, to run cheerful interference. The single supermom was handling her own affairs, expecting nothing from the outsider.
“Thanks for a delicious supper,” Chance complimented as he rinsed the dishes in the sink.
“You’re welcome. Breakfast is served at six-thirty, so Zack can catch the school bus into town.”
Chance recognized a dismissal when he heard one. He limped out the door, reminding himself that he was to keep his distance from Alexa Tipton and that lovable little kid who craved a man’s attention.
Not your problem, Butler, he told himself on the way to the bunkhouse. He didn’t need emotions crowding in on him, wasn’t going to get involved in matters that didn’t concern him. Besides, what did Chance know about being a male role model. His own father hadn’t set positive examples to live by. Just the opposite, in fact.
Yet an hour later Chance was standing at the window on his aching leg, watching Alexa and Zack play catch. She threw the baseball like a girl—and so did her son. Twice, Chance had to stop himself from hobbling outside to offer unwanted instruction on the fundamentals of throwing and catching. The kid stabbed at the ball with his oversize glove, and he released his pitches so far behind his ear that the ball’s trajectory resembled a rainbow’s arc. No doubt, this kid would be riding the pine if he tried out for the baseball team—if his mom even allowed him to participate at all.
“Girl, I keep telling you that you can’t carpenter unless you have your butt behind you,” Chester Whitmier instructed. “Gimme that nail gun and pay close attention.”
Alexa wiped the perspiration from her brow, then twisted around to face the fuzzy-gray-haired carpenter. Chester knelt beside the stud wall he had measured and laid out on the floor to be nailed together.
Thump-whack, thump-whack. Nails, driven by the force of the air compressor, thudded into the two-by-fours.
“See, girl, you’ve got to shoot from the correct angle into these studs or they won’t hold when you have the added pressure of ceiling joists and Sheetrock on them. You don’t want to have flimsy walls falling down around your guests, now do you?”
Alexa was dry-throated. Hours of hard physical labor made it difficult to speak. She shook her head.
“Now take the nail gun to the far end of this wall and secure the braces. Four nails per stud should do it. And this time, don’t overextend yourself on the ladder. You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself the last time you lost your footing and took the plunge.”
Alexa lugged the heavy nail gun in one gloved hand and wiped away the stream of perspiration on her neck with the other. Although she knew she was saving money on labor, she was working herself into exhaustion. Between her duties of cooking, cleaning, laundering and renovating there was barely enough time to spend with Zack. But Alexa had made a pact with herself when she began this project that she would give up sleep before she neglected her son. Dan had done too much of that already.
Arm shaking, Alexa hoisted up the nail gun and pulled the trigger. Thump-thump-whack.
“Hey, girl, keep a light touch on that trigger!” Chester chided her. “You shot two nails at once. You’re damn lucky one of them didn’t shoot you in the foot!”
Confound it, Alexa wasn’t sure she’d ever get the hang of this power-driven hammer. And Chester, bless his heart, was trying to teach her the tricks of his trade. But he spouted off rapid-fire instructions and Alexa could remember only half of them.
“Okay, now we have the wall nailed together so we can stand it upright and secure it to the floor,” Chester said as he positioned himself at the opposite end of the framework. “Grab the level and ladder so you can nail this wall in place.”
Obediently, Alexa did as she was told. When she and Chester lifted the wall into place, she balanced one foot on the ladder and grabbed the nail gun.
“Good. Now nail this baby in place.”
Alexa pulled the trigger, securing the uprighted wall. Then she climbed down the ladder to move to another position to nail.
If she’d climbed this ladder once, she’d climbed it a hundred times a day. Her legs felt like cooked noodles, but she refused to complain, refused to give out until the new wall to the first upstairs bedroom was securely in place.
Two quick thumps from the nail gun and the wall stood alone. Alexa climbed down, then stepped back to appraise her handiwork. Pride of accomplishment overshadowed her exhaustion. She was making headway under Chester’s constant, critical instruction.
“What time is it?” Alexa questioned as Chester plopped into a folding chair to rest.
“Don’t know, girl. Times have been so hard that I had to lay off one of the hands on my watch,” Chester said, then grinned. His false teeth flashed in a teasing smile. “My guess is that it’s close to four o’clock. The school bus should be here soon, and Zack will be bounding up here to ask another million questions.”
“Four o’clock?” Alexa’s shoulders slumped. Could it be that late already? She had promised Zack that she would make peanut butter cookies for his after-school snack. She refused to go back on her word.
Don’t neglect your son. The rest of your world can go to hell, but never let Zack suffer.
“I’ll help Chester lay out the next wall while you see to Zack.”
Startled, Alexa whipped around to see Chance Butler leaning negligently against the balustrade that led downstairs. Alexa felt an odd sense of pride spilling through her as Chance’s approving gaze drifted over the newly erected wall.
“Nice work,” Chance complimented.
Chance had been standing there for several minutes, watching Alexa balance on one leg like a trapeze artist, holding the nail gun in her shaking hand. Chance had held his breath, afraid she was about to take a spill, wondering how he was going to dash across the barn loft on his gimpy leg in time to catch her. The woman was a daredevil, he decided. No woman in his acquaintance would have considered attempting such feats.
Chance had been also been standing there long enough to overhear what Chester said about Alexa taking a previous fall from the ladder. Right there and then, Chance decided to refer to the rickety aluminum ladder as Grace. And as long as Chance was at Rocking T he would find a way to see that Alexa was saved from future falls from Grace.
Chester took a swig from his water jug, then nodded a greeting. “You must be the new cowboy Zack has been carrying on about for the past three days.”
“Chance Butler,” he said as he limped forward, outstretching his hand.
“Chester Whitmier.” He looked Chance up and down. “You know how to carpenter, boy?”
“I’ve done a little of this and that through the years.” He tossed Alexa a wry smile, then added, “I know enough to know that you have to get your butt behind you when handling a nail gun.”
Alexa forced herself not to react to his teasing comment and sexy grin. She was the workhorse at Rocking T, and she didn’t have time for nonsense. “I’m not sure Howard would approve of your helping me with this project,” she murmured as she relinquished the nail gun to Chance.<
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“And I doubt you want to disappoint Zack after you promised him fresh-baked cookies,” he countered.
Alexa was surprised Chance had paid attention to the quiet conversation she’d shared with her son at supper the previous night. As she recalled, Howard had been bending Chance’s ear with more stories of Dan’s grand accomplishments on the rodeo circuit For more than a year, Howard had repeated—and embellished—tales of Dan’s feats, keeping the memories alive for himself and whomever was polite enough to listen.
“Thanks,” Alexa whispered before stepping away. “I’ll serve you an extra portion of fried chicken at supper.”
When Alexa exited, Chester leaned back in his chair. “She is some kind of woman, isn’t she?”
“Yep.”
“She’s determined to remodel this barn by herself and cut expenses. Even talked me into coming out of retirement to help her, even after I told her no a half dozen times.” Chester shook his head in amazement. “Don’t know all that many womenfolk who have Alexa’s grit. But my money is on the lady and her new bed-and-breakfast.”
“Mine, too,” Chance agreed.
In between mending fences and moving cattle to greener pastures, Chance had watched Alexa come and go from this grand old barn, carrying lumber, gathering tools, working tirelessly. The woman had impressed the hell out of him, just as she had obviously impressed Chester. Time and time again Chance had asked himself why Dan Tipton had sewn so many wild oats while on the circuit. He’d had every cowboy’s dream waiting for him at home and been too dense to realize it.
No job seemed to be too great or small for Alexa to undertake. She astonished him with her organizational abilities, her efficient use of time. He had seen her do two things at once without batting an eyelash or voicing complaints. Weary though Chance knew she was, she made time for her son, had the patience to deal with Howard’s constant boasting.
