Karen Templeton - Honky-Tonk Cinderella

Perhaps Alek had had little experience with kids, and perhaps—no, probably—he was about to screw up yet again, but he refused to let the kid get away with treating his mother with less respect than he did the dog. Calmly, and before Luanne had a chance to react, Alek walked out to the living room where the boy was sprawled on the floor on his stomach, chin propped in hands, watching something on TV. Knowing full well how the child—not to mention the mother—were likely to react, Alek grabbed the remote from the table beside the sofa and clicked the off button.

“Hey!” Chase whipped around just as Luanne breathed “Alek!” sharply behind him.

Alek carefully replaced the remote on the table. “I believe your mother called you?”

“Geez! I said, in a minute!” The child lunged for the remote; Alek snatched it out of his reach. “Give that back! I was right in the middle of a program!”

“Alek, I can handle this,” Luanne said, obviously fighting for control. Over herself, the situation or her child, he wasn’t sure which. Maybe all of the above.

He turned to her. “For once,” he said softly, “you don’t have to.”

She ignored him. “Chase, there is no cause for your being rude like that. None. Not to me, not to Alek and certainly not to Odella who made those biscuits especially for you.”

“Like I give a damn.”

Shock drained what little color was left from Luanne’s face. She opened her mouth, but only to say, “Oh, Chase,” in the saddest voice Alek had ever heard, then quickly walked out of the room.

Alek was over to the child in a heartbeat, grabbing him by the back of his T-shirt and hauling him to his feet.

“Hey—!”

He began marching him toward the kitchen. Or rather, dragging, since the child was not in the least bit interested in cooperating. “You will apologize to your mother and Odella both—”

“No!” the kid yelled, wriggling in Alek’s grasp like a just-caught fish. “Not fair! Everybody’s always tellin’ me what to do! When’s somebody gonna ask me what I want? Let go of me—”

With that, he kicked out, grazing Alek’s shin with the toe of one of those oversize cowboy boots. Alek dodged the second kick, grasping the child by the shoulders and squatting just enough to lock their gazes. “Kick me again, buster,” he said, “and those boots are history!”

Furious tears welled in the bright-blue eyes. “You can’t do that! They’re my daddy’s boots!”

Alek’s heart cramped in empathy, but he refused to let it derail him. “Then I suggest you give serious consideration to not using them as deadly weapons.”

The child stilled, but he looked away, his brows nearly meeting in a tight frown. “Chase,” Alek went on, more gently, “nobody is ever asked if they want to lose someone they love. But that doesn’t give you the right to act as if you’re the only person in the world who’s ever been hurt.” His heart twinged again at the single tear that streaked down the boy’s cheek. “Your mother didn’t take your father away, but you bloody well are acting as if she did. And how do you think that makes her feel?”

After a good five seconds, Chase said, very quietly and with more venom than Alek could have believed possible from a ten-year-old child, “Go to hell.”

Alek’s first reaction was anger. Hot, vicious anger that literally made him see red. Until the haze cleared long enough for him to see reflected in his son’s eyes a sixteen-year-old boy too old for tears, yet too young to handle overwhelming feelings he neither understood nor wanted.

“I have a better idea,” he said, straightening. “How about you go to your room instead?”

The blue gaze narrowed. “You’re not my—”

“I agree, Chase,” came from behind them. Alek turned to see Luanne standing in the doorway, clinging to the tatters of her composure like a beggar his threadbare cloak. “Go on to your room until you’ve done some good, hard thinking about your behavior.”

“I’m sorry—” he began, but Luanne shook her head.

“Go on.”

After a moment’s glare, equally lobbed at the two of them, the child stomped out of the room and up the stairs. Luanne sagged against the wide door frame to the living room, staring down the hall.

Alek wasn’t sure which was more clear: that she was in way over her head, or that she would cut off a limb before she’d admit it. Then, slamming right up against those first two thoughts with a breathless oomph came an idea of just how he might be able to rescue the woman without her realizing that’s what he was doing.

“Can you imagine him running around a palace?” Luanne suddenly said, startling him. He turned to catch her wry, sad smile. “He’d just charm the pants right off everybody, wouldn’t he?”

Swallowing his irritation at the self-censure in her voice, he said, “About as much as I did at that age, I imagine.”

“You sayin’ you were a handful?”

“According to my grandmother, I was a holy terror.”

A little of that humor that had at once time stolen his breath sparked in her eyes. “And I’m supposed to find that reassuring?” she said, then let out a weighted sigh, as worry once again creased her brow. “He wasn’t always like this.” He saw her swallow and look away, rubbing her belly. “Everything just seems to have gotten away from me.”

The urge to hold her—and the terror of what the feel of her softness in his arms would do to him—was so strong Alek shook with it. Barely five feet separated them, a space he could cover in two strides…a space that spelled the difference between sanity and folly. But dear God—the only other time he’d ever heard her admit to needing something beyond herself was the night they’d made the child currently having a sulk-fest in his room. The night Alek had run from the very things now staring him in the face and demanding his attention.

Whether or not he was now any better equipped to deal with any of it, he had no idea. And there was the very real chance that his clumsy attempts to atone for his youthful cowardice could well make things worse. But what choice did he have? All his life Alek had gone to extraordinary lengths to avoid letting another human being lean on him. Now, in one breath-stealing, epiphanous flash, he realized what a precious thing it was to earn someone’s trust enough to be considered worthy of being leaned on.

Especially the trust of a woman who would choke on her own pride before she admitted she needed help.

Be that as it may, the fact was that too many people had turned their backs on Luanne Evans Henderson. The least Alek could do was reverse the trend.

“I have an idea,” he said.

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