Not Just Another Cowboy (Silhouette Special Edition)

by Finch, Carol

  “What’s up, Al?” he asked as nonchalantly as he knew how.

  Alexa sank down cross-legged beside him. “Nothing much. I was standing on the porch when I saw you walk out of the bunkhouse. I saw you rubbing your leg and presumed you were hurting worse than you let on.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted, then chuckled. “I suppose my machismo got the better of me after watching the other cowboys practice. Pride can do as much harm as good, I guess.”

  He slanted her a quizzical glance. “Did you come down here to say you told me so?”

  “Nope.”

  To his shock—and pleasure—Alexa leaned over to kiss him right smack-dab on the mouth. It was the briefest touch of lips, but the impact of the gesture sent desire flooding through him. For a moment Chance forgot his leg was killing him.

  He stared curiously at Alexa as she retreated into her own space. “What just happened here?” he had to ask.

  Alexa chuckled. “And here I thought you were a worldly, experienced cowboy. Come to find out you don’t know a kiss when it lands on your lips.”

  The previously concealed side of Alexa’s personality intrigued Chance. There was a playful tone in her voice, a teasing smile on her lips. Chance decided to go for it, even if he got his face slapped. He had been as gentlemanly around Alexa for as long as he could stand.

  “Ma’am, where I come from that ain’t no kiss,” he drawled. “That’s a peck. Now this is what we call a kiss up yonder in Montana—”

  With a flair, Chance twisted her sideways, draping her across his lap, then lowered his head, inch by inch, so as not to overwhelm her. He gave her time to protest if she had a mind to. To his everlasting relief she simply stared up at him, waiting.

  As tenderly as he knew how, as gently as a woman like Alexa deserved, Chance slanted his lips over hers. The urge to crush her against him and plunder her mouth was nearly overwhelming, but Chance proceeded with care and restraint. He had waited for more than two weeks to hold her in his arms, to sip the sweet nectar of her lips. He wasn’t going to blow it by letting animalistic desire run rampant.

  In all his born days, he couldn’t remember being so attuned to a woman’s reaction to him, so thrilled by the shivers he felt sweeping through her body. Oh man, if ever there was a woman he wanted to savor, to prolong every delicious sensation she aroused in him, it was this woman. He felt as if he had been starving to death for a taste of her, had bent over backward—and that wasn’t easy to do on a burn leg—to please her, help her, reassure her.

  When he heard Alexa moan softly, felt her hand glide up his arm to anchor on his shoulder, Chance deepened the kiss. And suddenly, his breathing altered. So did hers. His arm contracted around her, pressing her breasts to his chest, her hips against his arousal. The fire blazing in his knee spread through every inch of him.

  The cool evening air was suddenly stifling. He couldn’t breathe without inhaling the alluring scent of her. She was consuming his senses, and need pounded through him with such shocking intensity that it caught Chance completely off guard. Talk about an instantaneous, radioactive reaction!

  Instinctively, Chance rolled sideways, bringing Alexa down beside him so he could graze his hand over the pebbled peaks of her breasts. When she arched into his hand, silently encouraging him, he slid his fingertips beneath the hem of her shirt to explore the flat plane of her belly, the undersides of her breasts.

  Somewhere within the mind-clouding fog of desire that condensed around him he heard Alexa whisper his name. And then he lost touch with reality. He drew her T-shirt out of his way to suckle her, caress her. He wanted to excite her to the same heightened frenzy. He wanted to skim his hands over her flesh, learning her by touch, by shivering response.

  And respond she did, like a woman brimming with so much suppressed passion that nothing could restrain her reaction. She was a sensual wild woman beneath that veneer of cool reserve. Again, Chance felt himself wondering why Dan Tipton had been unfaithful when he had a woman who could more than match him in the heat of passion.

  No matter which fence in eternity—heaven’s or hell’s—that Dan was sitting on, he had to know he was a fool to betray a woman like Alexa.

  When Chance felt Alex’s hand glide along the band of his jeans, then dip lower, his lungs nearly collapsed. He held what little breath he had left, wanting her to touch him intimately—afraid she would and he’d lose all vestige of self-control.

  Yet something about the tentative way she smoothed her hand over the bulge in his jeans stated that she was exploring uncharted territory. Chance had the feeling Alexa needed to know that her touch pleased him, that he wanted it as badly as he wanted to touch her. He hoped his perceptions weren’t off base or he’d come off sounding like a fool.

  “You’re driving me crazy,” he rasped. “You know that, don’t you?”

  The comment pleased her, he could tell by the expression on her face. “Am I?”

  He moaned when her hand swept down with more confidence. “Mmm,” he wheezed.

  “Was that a yes?”

  The languid stroke of her hand over the fly of his jeans made him want to throw back his head and howl at the moon. Instead, he caressed her in the same gentle fashion, wishing there weren’t so many layers of cotton and denim between them. But yet, he was thankful there was, thankful he had enough sense left not to rush through to completion. This wasn’t a woman accustomed to one-night stands. She was too responsible, too much in control of her life. She would be plagued with regrets. Chance would bet his rodeo winnings on that.

  The fact that she permitted things to go as far as they had amazed him. He knew her reservations, understood her fears, respected them.

  Although it took the sum total of the self-discipline he possessed, he withdrew his hand from her hip to cup her chin, then bent to press a whisper of a kiss to her lips. When he raised his head, Alexa stared unblinkingly at him. Somehow he knew he had made the right decision to call a halt before things got completely out of hand—or in hand as the case might have turned out to be.

  Chance grinned playfully at her. “Darlin’, I guess you know I’ll have to crawl back to the bunkhouse now You have a fierce and powerful effect on me.”

  Alexa felt a sense of pleasure streaming through her. She was astounded by Chance’s gentleness, his sensuousness, his patience. He left her wanting so much more, left her aching with unappeased desire. Her respect for him rose a dozen increments while he smiled that sexy smile.

  “Try crawling all the way to the house and up the stairs, cowboy.”

  “Is that an invitation?” he questioned, grinning roguishly.

  “I was referring to myself.”

  He nodded in understanding, then grinned again. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one feeling the dizzying aftereffects of that kiss.”

  He implied that she devastated him as thoroughly as he devastated her. Alexa was immensely pleased with the knowledge. Though she didn’t want to make comparisons, she was discovering that passion didn’t necessarily have to be as rushed and unfulfilling as she had previously thought. Chance knew how to make a woman want him.

  The sad, undeniable truth was that Dan Tipton did not.

  When Chance rolled away, trying to gain his feet, Alexa vaulted up, then extended a helping hand. He didn’t push her away, but rather accepted her assistance. He was man enough to admit his physical limitations. Some men weren’t.

  “Kick me,” Chance requested out of the blue.

  Alexa blinked. “What?”

  “I had no business getting on that horse and bounding off to hog-tie that calf this evening,” he grumbled as he hobbled up the hill, his arm draped around her shoulder for support. “At this rate, I’ll be laid up here longer than originally planned.”

  Alexa wrestled with the words stuck to the tip of her tongue, then she reminded herself what Deb said about enjoying every pleasurable moment for as long as it lasted. “That’s okay by me, cowboy. I kinda like having you around.”
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br />   Chance stopped short, then peered down at her. “Alexa?”

  “And furthermore, you don’t have to sneak off behind the barn to play catch with Zack. Any pointers you can offer are welcome. Can’t have the kid throwing like a sissy, after all. Bad for his image and all that. One thing, though, you need to teach me the fundamentals so I can continue with them after you’re—”

  Silence filled the space between them. Alexa knew Chance realized what she intended to say.

  “Tell the rookie that we’ll play catch after he has his after-school snack tomorrow. If you want to take notes, we’ll be in the front yard. Bring along a bat,” he requested. “Zack’s swing has a hitch in it.”

  “Yes, sir, anything else?” she said saucily.

  “Yeah.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I’m not going to sleep worth a damn tonight. Not because of the leg. Because of you. I’ll need coffee as strong as motor oil for breakfast to jump-start me in the morning.”

  When Chance hobbled toward the bunkhouse, Alexa watched him go with a smile playing on her lips. She liked that about Chance—the way he made her grin, made her anticipate their next encounter. She intended to spend the following day hanging Sheetrock, but she would be ready and waiting in the front yard when it came time for ball practice.

  Alexa strode toward the house, very much afraid she would end up getting her heart broken when that cowboy rode away. Then she decided to follow Scarlett O’Hara’s advice and not worry about that today. She would worry about that tomorrow.

  “Okay, rookie, now remember what I told you,” Chance prompted. “Make a level swing toward the ball. Don’t come out of your shoes, swinging like a wild man. We aren’t looking for home runs here, just solid base hits. Watch the ball meet the bat, kid.”

  Chance limped a short distance away from the piece of scrap carpet that served as home plate. He was vividly aware that Alexa was sitting on the front steps, scribbling notes. She was taking this coaching session seriously—as she did everything else, until last night....

  Stifling the distracting thought, Chance concentrated on Zack’s shoulder-width stance, the position of his arms. “Look for the laces on the ball while it’s coming at you. If you can see them you’re watching closely. Ready, rookie?”

  The reddish-blond head nodded vigorously. The boy’s gaze bore down on the ball. He was the picture of intense concentration.

  Chance tossed the ball underhanded—right down the middle. Zack swung, and the ball blazed back at Chance. His lack of agility made it difficult to move aside, so he stuck out his glove to snag the hit.

  “Perfect. Now, here comes a low ball. Stay down with it, kid. Drive it back to me.”

  Again the red-blond head nodded—as mighty young Casey stood at bat. A funny little tug contracted around Chance’s heart as he stared at the kid. Zack wanted so much to succeed, to imagine himself in the Atlanta Braves’ lineup. With sound fundamentals and encouragement Zack could begin his sports career. Every bit of confidence he could develop would mold him into a strong, self-reliant individual. Chance wished he could be around to see how this rookie turned out.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself, Butler. The kid is years away from his high school sports career, and Howard Tipton has no intention of any man becoming Zack’s substitute father, and Alexa refuses to let another man into her life who lives on the road....

  The crack of the bat connecting with the ball jerked Chance to attention—a second too late. The ball thumped him on the shoulder.

  “Wow!” Zack said excitedly.

  “Are you all right?” Alexa called out to Chance.

  Chance rubbed his shoulder. “The rookie packs a wallop. We’ve got a player on our hands, Al. Are you getting all these tips down on paper? Feet shoulder-width apart, short stride, level swing?”

  “Got it,” Alexa declared.

  For the next few minutes Chance tossed balls to Zack and the kid smacked them back. When Zack sent a line shot soaring over Chance’s head, he called a halt to batting practice. Chance intended to leave the kid with a vision of a perfect hit to motivate him until tomorrow’s practice.

  “Always quit on a winner,” Chance told Alexa.

  After Chance sent Zack off with instructions to toss the ball onto the roof of the barn, then catch it properly in his glove, Alexa strode forward. It touched her deeply to observe the way Chance paid attention to Zack, the way he playfully ruffled the boy’s hair. Those small gestures of affection and acknowledgment pleased Zack immensely. The boy hadn’t received those positive responses from his father.

  “You’re putting me to shame, you know. Where did you learn all this stuff?”

  “From my junior high and high school coaches. Big and strong as I was, they decided it was a waste of athletic ability not to know sports skills. They taught and I listened,” Chance explained.

  “I don’t suppose you played basketball, too,” she asked hopefully. “Zack idolizes Michael Jordan.”

  Chance eyed the rickety basketball goal attached to the barn. The ten-foot pole was entirely too high for an eight-year-old kid. The boy needed a goal that adjusted to fit his height and a ball to fit his small hands.

  And Zack would have them, Chance decided. The spare pipe from the corral fence, and left-over plywood from Alexa’s building project, would serve the purpose. The future Michael Jordan would have a new goal and backboard as soon as Chance completed the list of chores Howard scheduled for him the following day.

  “Thank you,” Alexa murmured. “I hope you realize how much your help means to Zack...and to me.”

  Chance wanted to pull Alexa into his arms and assure her that a kiss was payment aplenty, but he’d established the fact that sexual gratitude wasn’t expected for his assistance.

  “My pleasure, AL Any kid who lives and breathes sports the way Zack does deserves a chance to improve his skills. He has the desire to succeed. You’ve done well by him. He’s a good kid.”

  “Howard still insists on taking Zack to the rodeo in Tulsa this weekend,” she said as she watched her son position himself under the ball and make a clean catch.

  “And?” Chance prompted.

  “And I said okay...reluctantly.”

  “Afraid the kid will join the rodeo circus and run off?” he asked teasingly.

  She met his gaze head-on. “Afraid he’ll think that putting down roots is a woman’s work, not a man’s,” she confided softly.

  “A lot of professions demand travel,” Chance reminded her.

  “Not the kind rodeo requires, not the kind that comes with a built-in nightlife. Dan spent more than two hundred days a year on the road. He barely knew his son, never took time with his son.”

  So that was the crux of Alexa’s inner fears, Chance mused. “Didn’t he have time for you, either?”

  Chance could have cheerfully kicked himself for posing that question. It was out of his mouth before he could bite it back. The pinched expression on Alexa’s face spoke volumes. The high and mighty Dan Tipton was so wrapped up in his own potential stardom that he neglected his wife and son. And if Chance were a betting man—which he was on occasion—he’d bet that Dan’s lack of time and consideration also reached the bedroom. In some ways, Alexa seemed an inhibited novice at intimacy.

  “Hey, Chance, my arm is all warmed up now. Can I pitch?”

  “Sure thing, rookie,” Chance called back. “Grab a bucket for me to sit on while I catch you. My lame leg forgot how to squat.”

  Leaving Chance and Zack to the pitching lesson, Alexa turned toward the house. “I’ll start supper,” she offered. “What are you craving, cowboy?”

  “You,” he said, and grinned wickedly.

  To Chance’s amazement, Alexa didn’t frown in disapproval. She tossed him a sassy smile. “Served on a bed of rice or a medley of mixed veggies on the side?”

  “Surprise me,” he murmured before he pivoted on his good leg and limped off to play catch.

  While Howard was attending his weekly poker gam
e in Shorty McClain’s basement, Alexa and Zack were glued to the tube. The Atlanta Braves were in a hitting slump and Zack was beside himself. When Alexa announced that it was bedtime, Zack grumbled about missing the end of the close game. Promising to catch the score and report it to him at breakfast, Alexa coaxed Zack to bed.

  She leaned against the door that led into a room filled with posters of Zack’s sports heroes and memorabilia Howard had added to remind Zack of his father. It was a boy’s room, and Zack was all boy. He was anxious to grow up, to become the next Cy Young Award winner. Alexa couldn’t imagine life without him. He was her center focus, her motivation.

  “Mom?”

  “This isn’t going to be another one of those long conversations aimed at postponing lights-out, is it?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Nope. I was just going to say that I sure like Chance.”

  Alexa felt a constriction in the vicinity of her heart. “Me, too, kiddo.”

  “Dad never played with me like Chance does.”

  The constriction became worse. “I know, son.”

  “How come Dad didn’t? Didn’t he like me very much?”

  Alexa couldn’t help herself. She crossed the room in a rush to plant herself on the edge of Zack’s bed. “Your dad loved you. Don’t doubt that. He was involved with his career and he couldn’t spend much time at home.”

  “You’re busy and you find time for me. Chance finds time,” Zack pointed out.

  Yes, Chance did, and Alexa was grateful for it, though she still had concerns about how Zack would deal with Chance’s inevitable departure.

  Zack linked his fingers behind his head and stared quizzically at his mother. “I sure hope Chance comes back again. He’s teaching me all sorts of things about baseball. He even said we were going fishing next week, after he buys the poles and bait.”