by Finch, Carol
Chance wrapped his hand around her rigid arm and directed her attention to Zack. “Check out the look on his face, Al. He’s one of the men right now. Part of the cowboy crowd. I’ve instructed the men not to let him take any unnecessary risks. Every one of us is ready to jump in at the first sign of trouble.”
Alexa stared up at Chance, her eyes wide with apprehension and concern. “Are you offering me a written guarantee that Zack won’t have to be dragged out of there in pieces? Look at you. You have experience galore and you’re standing on two bad knees, one of which is wrapped in a support brace.”
“Do you want me to ride behind Zack in the saddle?” he asked. “Will that make you feel better?”
“Hell, no. I want Zack planted firmly on the ground!”
“Sh-sh!” Chance hissed when her voice hit a loud pitch.
“I will not shush,” Alexa spouted off. “That is my son. He is my responsibility.”
“And you are being as dictatorial as Howard,” Chance dared to point out. “He says ride and you say dismount. What about what Zack wants?”
“Zack is eight years old. He doesn’t know what he wants,” Alexa contended. “He doesn’t know the risks involved. He just wants to be a hotshot like the rest of you.”
“You think I’m a hotshot?” Chance asked, offended. “At no time have I boasted of my skills and abilities. To my recollection I have given no indication that I hold world championship titles in steer wrestling and that I have more award-winning belt buckles than I can wear in a month.”
“You just did,” she snapped.
“I’m stating my credibility so you’ll realize that I can keep a handle on this situation,” he insisted. “I’m not bragging.”
“I still think you’re a hotshot,” Alexa flung disdainfully. “Howard constantly boasts of Dan’s accomplishments, but Dan was small potatoes compared to you. And if you have a hankering to train a kid to rodeo, then have one of your own!”
“Are you offering your services?” Chance teased in attempt to cool her simmering temper.
Alexa knew what he was trying to do, should have been grateful, but she was still fretting over the welfare of her son. “No, I’m not and you damn well know it.”
“Ready, squirt?” Sonny called out as he positioned himself beside the chute where the restless calf waited to be released.
“No!” Alexa shouted.
All heads turned toward her as she flung herself from Chance’s grasp and stalked into the arena. Her footsteps slowed when she saw the look of leery trepidation on Zack’s face, saw him glance sideways to gauge the men’s reaction to his mother’s intrusion.
A riptide of emotion warred inside Alexa. If she humiliated Zack she would never forgive herself. If he was injured, she would never forgive herself. Damn it, why hadn’t all these cowboys stayed home? She would have found a way to erect every wall in the barn by herself rather than risk Zack’s injury in this arena. This was Chance’s fault. She and Zack could be spending a quiet evening playing a harmless game of checkers if Chance hadn’t arranged for this surprise building party.
Alexa glanced at Howard, who was puffed up like a toad, ready to croak if she dragged Zack off the saddle. She shot Chance a mutinous look that branded him a traitor. And then she did the unforgivable that went against every fear and concern roiling inside her.
“I just wanted to wish you luck, kiddo,” she said, smiling past her apprehension.
Zack beamed in pleasure. “Thanks, Mom.”
Spinning on her boot heels, Alexa exited the arena and took her place beside Chance.
“You made the right choice,” Chance whispered as he watched Zack back his Appy into position, under Lefty’s careful instruction.
“I’m not speaking to you,” Alexa muttered resentfully. “I’m going to poison your kibble.”
“Fine, but there comes a time in every boy’s life when he has to discover that if he does, by chance, take a fall, he can pull himself up to his feet without his overprotective mother rushing in to do it for him.”
The comment infuriated Alexa. Macho men were into that taking-it-on-the-chin stuff, in hopes of proving their manliness. In her opinion, it was a waste of time.
“And before you get all huffy,” Chance added quietly, “ask yourself who was around to scrape you off the floor when you overextended yourself on the ladder—that I have named Grace—last week while framing the B-and-B.”
Alexa whipped her head around, causing her braided hair to ripple over her shoulder.
“Chester told me you were a bit of a daredevil yourself. Let the kid build a little self-esteem and confidence with this baby calf I sorted out for him.”
Alexa did not appreciate the fact that Chance pointed out her shortcoming of risking personal injury to get the job done. In her own mind there was no comparison between building in the barn and roping in this arena.
This wasn’t a job. This was dangerous entertainment But despite her serious reservations, she held her ground and sent a prayer winging heavenward. Then she crossed her fingers, her legs and closed her eyes when she heard the chute gate snap open.
Holding her breath, she waited to hear the anguished scream of her son. To her relief, she heard a round of cheers instead.
She opened her eyes to see Zack’s oversize loop dangling around the newborn calf that stood in the middle of the arena, bawling for its mama.
“I tried to reduce every anticipated risk,” Chance murmured. “Howard is ecstatic, Zack is pleased with his accomplishment, and you lived through another difficult moment.”
“You still aren’t off the hook, cowboy,” she gritted between clenched teeth.
“I thought you said you weren’t speaking to me.”
“Well, I’m so upset that I forgot. And I hold you responsible for every second of torment I suffered.”
“What about Howard? This was his idea, you know,” Chance reminded her.
“Him, too.” Alexa pivoted toward the house. “Don’t let Zack ride again. He had his shining moment at my expense.”
“Come on, Al, Zack isn’t the first kid to try his hand at steer roping.”
“Go to hell, Butler,” she threw over her shoulder.
Even at a distance Chance could hear the slamming of the door. Not the one to the kitchen, but rather the emotional one that had crashed closed between him and Alexa.
For the duration of the weekend, while Chance Butler and company completed the ceiling joists and hung Sheetrock, Alexa was conspicuously absent from the barn. She called the cowboy carpenters to meals, then she took Zack to town to visit her sister. When the cowboys saddled up Sunday evening to sharpen their rodeo skills, Alexa found another excuse to drive Zack into town.
Drag the kid into town was more like it, Chance corrected. Clearly, the kid wanted to hang out at the arena and take another turn at roping, but his mother wouldn’t let him near the horses and steers.
Howard was none too pleased that his grandson wasn’t allowed to participate, but the old man compensated for his disappointment by bragging about his son’s moments of greatness in rodeo competition. If Chance heard Dan Tipton’s name mentioned once he heard it a couple hundred times. The old man had shoved Dan’s name down Chance’s throat since he arrived at Rocking T. But what frustrated Chance most was the emotional distance Alexa placed between them after their conflict at the arena. She had begun to warm to him, then wham! She wouldn’t even glance in his direction, not if she could help it.
As far as Chance was concerned, he had handled the rodeo incident fairly well. The kid hadn’t gotten hurt. His grandfather was exceptionally pleased. Zack had developed needed self-confidence.
Too bad Alexa had paid the price by sweating bullets while Zack rode, then roped the harmless calf. From her standpoint, Chance could understand her objections—partially, at least. Chance’s mother had never babied him, overprotected him. He had been left to fend for himself more often than not.
Chance recalled the time that his mother hadn’t
come home from her Saturday night date. He had awakened early Sunday morning, fixed his bowl of cold cereal, dressed himself and walked through town to attend church. To his dismay, he found the church locked up tight.
At the naive age of six he had assumed the preacher had decided not to hold church services on that particular Sunday morning. Years later, Chance realized he had simply arrived too early for Sunday school and church.
Not the slightest chance that Zack would ever find himself abandoned in favor of a one-night fling, because his devoted, responsible mother would never leave him home alone. But Betty Sue Butler hadn’t matured at that stage in her life and was too self-indulgent to worry about her kid.
These days Betty Sue was compensating for the mistakes she’d made early on. She provided model care for the two children from her second marriage. Chance had been the guinea pig that allowed his stepbrother and sister to lead a normal, well-adjusted childhood.
Likewise with Samuel Butler, reformed alcoholic, Chance mused as he bedded down beside the cowboys who shared the bunkhouse. When shuffled off every other weekend to stay with dear old Dad, Chance was usually delegated as the waiter who carted beer and whiskey for the low-life guests who attended Sam’s weekly bashes. Drunks camped out on the threadbare carpet, remaining in a nearcomatose state throughout the morning. The bed was usually occupied, and it had been years before Chance realized what prompted the moans and groans and squeaking bed frames.
Hell of a way to grow up, he thought to himself. Lucky he grew up at all, in fact. The night Samuel Butler’s house went up in smoke—literally—because of a flaming cigarette that fell, forgotten, between the sofa cushions, had nearly done in father and son. Chance had awakened to tow his drunken father outside—and Chance had the scars on his right leg to prove his heroic battle against the flames.
Samuel had climbed on the wagon after his one-week stay in the hospital, and Chance ended up in one foster home after another, because his mother had taken off without leaving her forwarding address.
The Montana ranch where Chance spent his teen years had taught him the meaning of hard work and discipline. He and three orphan boys provided the labor for the slave-driving owner. Chance had learned to ride and rope and wrestle contrary cattle.
From there, he had gone to college on a rodeo scholarship and hadn’t looked back. He spent an occasional holiday with his parents and their second families, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that he was the family outcast, a reminder of earlier mistakes. Chance had learned to live out of a suitcase and stash his winnings in the bank. It was no big deal to live on the road when a man had never learned the meaning of home and family.
Families hurt each other, he reminded himself. Take the Tiptons, for instance. Howard had his own agenda of erecting monuments to a son who wasn’t as honorable and accomplished as Howard let on. Alexa suffered through a marriage with a faithless husband who dumped responsibility in her lap and followed the suicide circuit, seeking personal pleasures and fame. Zack was left without the guidance of a father.
Chance knew that feeling, knew it well enough that he cringed when he saw a part of himself in that reddish-blond-haired kid. If Chance had a lick of sense he would back off. But damn it, every time he looked into Zack’s face he wanted to help that little squirt become a man who didn’t pitch like a sissy, and didn’t shoot hoops that missed the basketball backboard by a country mile!
Atta boy, Butler, set yourself up for the pain you’ve already lived through as a child. You think you can make a difference in Zack’s life? In Alexa’s life?
Chance closed his eyes and absently rubbed his aching leg. Whatever his subconscious wanted from Alexa and her son, Chance knew he wasn’t going to get, couldn’t allow himself to crave. Rocking T wasn’t the right place, wasn’t his place. He should take Alexa’s advice and swagger into Bud’s Tavern, sidle up to a honky-tonk angel and be content with his lot in life. Maybe feminine distraction would pacify this growing need to hold and touch a woman who was so far out of reach that she might as well have been perched on the planet Pluto.
Debra Parsons opened her apartment door to find her sister and nephew standing on the porch. The petite blonde stepped aside, gesturing Alexa and Zack inside. “My goodness, I’ve seen more of you the past five days than I’ve seen in five weeks.”
Alexa rolled her eyes at her sister’s teasing remark.
“Hiding out again?” Deb questioned confidentially.
Oblivious, Zack tugged on the hem of Deb’s blouse. “Can I use your TV, Aunt Debs?”
“Sure thing, kiddo. What are you going to watch?”
Zack shook his head in dismay. “The Braves, of course. Maddux is on the mound tonight.”
“Who?”
Zack looked helplessly at his mom. “She sure doesn’t know much about baseball, does she?”
“Nope. She’s an artist. She’s into Rembrandt and Van Gogh.”
“Who?” Zack asked.
“Go watch the tube,” Alexa encouraged, grinning. “Keep me posted on which pitch is working best for Maddux tonight.”
When Zack whizzed off, Deb eyed Alexa curiously. “Are you going to tell me what’s up at Rocking T? I thought you had a bed-and-breakfast to build.”
Alexa collapsed in the dining room chair. “The renovations are progressing rapidly without me. All the Sheetrock on the barn loft ceilings has been hung, the electrical wiring has been strung and some of the plumbing pipes have been installed.”
“So why the glum face? I would have expected you to be elated.”
Alexa was—in an exasperated sort of way. The cowboy carpenters had made giant strides, especially after Chester arrived Monday morning to offer his expert guidance. Even the downstairs dining area, kitchen and den had been framed in. But Alexa had to spend every evening on the run, avoiding the rodeo practices at the arena. She had expected the cowboys to pack up and move on, come Monday morning. Turned out that they planned to stay until the day before the rodeo was scheduled to begin in Tulsa.
Alexa had dreamed up excuses to haul Zack to town. They had watched a Disney movie—twice—visited with Deb and made extended trips to the supermarket. Alexa had spent five days looking through Chance as if he were thin air and had conjured up excuses to put off Howard.
“Well?” Deb prompted as she grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. “What’s up?”
Alexa cleared her throat, shifted uneasily in her chair, then dived right into the heart of the problem. “There’s a cowboy...”
When her voice trailed off, Debra snickered. “Uh-huh, and there’s your solemn vow to avoid, forevermore, that particular breed of men. A real sucker for a pair of boots and a Stetson, aren’t you, sis? I don’t suppose this cowboy fills out a pair of jeans to such sexy extremes that he should be labeled armed and dangerous, too.”
Reluctantly, Alexa nodded.
“Just passing through? Like the rest of Howard’s hobos?” Deb questioned as she plunked ice cubes into the glasses.
Alexa nodded again.
“The injured cowboys have been filing in and out of Rocking T for more than a year. What makes this one different?” Deb wanted to know.
There was one person in the world whom Alexa felt comfortable confiding in—her sister. They had been together through thick and thin. Alexa felt the need to air her feelings and frustrations before she burst.
“Chance Butler is the one who rounded up the posse of cowboy carpenters to help with my renovations. He wants to teach Zack to play ball, and he let Zack ride and rope with the visiting cowboys,” she said in a rush.
Debra poured diet Coke in the glasses, then shoved one in front of Alexa. Deb’s pale green eyes appraised her sister’s expression astutely—like a conscientious artist studying a painted portrait. “And what does this Butler character want from you for all his efforts on your behalf?”
“He says nothing.”
Deb lounged in her chair, smiling wryly. “And you don’t trust him.”
&
nbsp; Alexa shrugged, then sipped her cola. “He has given me no reason not to trust him. He’s proved himself to be a hard worker and a gentleman, even though we have differences of opinion on whether Zack should be allowed to hang out with the cowboys while they practice in the arena.”
“How does Zack feel? Does he like Butler?”
Alexa rolled her eyes and smirked. “Not much, just worships the ground Chance floats over, just follows at his heels like a devoted puppy. I caught the two of them playing catch behind the barn after Zack came home from school yesterday, and again today. I told Chance not to bother, but he defied my request.”
Deb frowned, bemused. “What’s the big deal? It’s not as if you’re a qualified baseball coach, you know. You never played the game. If Butler can give Zack a few pointers that improve his skills, what’s the harm in that?”
Alexa straightened in her chair and stared at her dense sister. “This isn’t about baseball.”
“No? Sounds like it to me.”
“The harm is that Chance will be going down the road as soon as his injury heals and he won’t be back. Zack is entirely too attached already, though I’ve tried to keep them apart. Dan was always leaving Zack behind. I don’t want my kid growing up thinking that’s a man’s way.”
“I think you’re being paranoid and overprotective,” Debra declared bluntly.
“That’s what Chance says.” Alexa glared at her sister. “I never thought you’d take sides with a man you never even met.”
Debra grinned, undaunted. “Hey, sis, I know what you’re like. You are overprotective. You nearly smothered me after our parents died.”
Frustrated, Alexa scowled at her sister. “Talk about ungrateful!”
“Not!” Debra chuckled, then sipped her drink. “I told you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, the sacrifices you made. You kept me from going down the wrong path when I was a troubled kid. But admit it, sis, your noteworthy strength is also your weakness. You like to be in control.”
Alexa slouched in her chair, pondering Deb’s insights. Was she a control freak? Had she been put in charge and left to handle so many diverse situations since she was seventeen that she was trying to run other people’s lives in accordance to her own expectations?
