Relentless in Texas

by Kari Lynn Dell

  Quint shrugged his consent, with no sign of lingering fear from the incident in Tori’s arena, but also no hint of Beni’s enthusiasm.

  The woman who had to be Cole’s wife coiled her rope and fisted a hand around it to prop on her ample hip. Shawnee was wearing flip-flops and denim shorts and had pulled her hair into a high ponytail, the long, unruly curls spilling across a racer-back tank that bared powerful arms. She was…well, interesting was too mild a word. Compelling, Carma thought instead. This was one of the best female ropers in the country, the only woman currently working as a pickup rider in professional rodeo, and her confidence shown like a lighthouse beacon.

  She cocked her head and studied Carma with unabashed curiosity. “So you’re the famous Carma.”

  Famous? Yikes. Just how much discussion had there been among Gil’s friends?

  He performed introductions, pointing out Cole, Shawnee, the two bullfighters, and the truck drivers—identical twins somewhere over the age of forty. Gil dismissed the remaining cowboys, saying, “And the rest of these guys are just here for the TV and free food.”

  The men grinned and nodded in greeting.

  “Are you staying the night?” Shawnee asked.

  “Yes!” Beni declared. “We’re gonna help sort and load in the morning.”

  “Wouldn’t want to miss it,” Gil said dryly.

  Beni definitely didn’t. He talked to the men with authority and a sense of ownership. Analise had said he also knew Sanchez Trucking from top to bottom, having lived in the apartment above the shop off and on until Delon and Tori got married. In a way, it was almost criminal. Back home Carma saw so many bright kids who had almost no opportunities, born into families who came from nothing, had nothing, and could barely imagine the possibility of anything more. Meanwhile, here were Quint and Beni, who could choose between their fathers’ and mothers’ legacies, unless they pursued another of the nearly unlimited options their educations, money, and connections provided.

  Shawnee shook out a new loop. “Come and play PIG with me,” she ordered Tori.

  “Hah! You know I hate losing. I’m grabbing a lounger and a cold Dr Pepper, thanks.”

  Shawnee looked at Carma. “What about you?”

  “Me?” Carma’s voice almost squeaked at being the sudden focus of all that competitive energy. “I…um, I’m not that kind of roper—”

  “She’s a rancher,” Tori cut in, her gaze also speculative. “She ropes necks, not horns.”

  Her tone caught Gil’s attention, and a calculating gleam came into his eyes. “What are the rules?”

  “Just like basketball.” Shawnee gestured at the roping dummy. “I take a shot. If I catch, the other person has to repeat exactly what I did, or I win a letter. If I miss, she gets to call the next shot. The first to spell PIG wins.”

  “I assume there’s a trick to it,” Gil said.

  “Trick being the key word. The person calling the shot gets to throw in any twists they want, and the other has to match them exactly.” To demonstrate she twirled her loop into a flat circle and sent it spinning once around her body before whipping it out and around the dummy’s horns with a decisive whack!

  “I don’t think—” Carma began.

  “Take the horns off so it has to be a neck catch and she’ll do it,” Tori said.

  Shawnee’s grin was downright malevolent. “The usual bet?”

  Tori snorted. “We don’t make guests polish your stinking boots.”

  “Then what—”

  “I’ll put a hundred bucks on Carma,” Gil tossed out.

  Carma gaped at him. Holy crap. She’d been about to agree, thinking it was a casual game. “I don’t even have my own rope.”

  Shawnee ignored her, focused on Gil. “Cash?”

  He pulled out his wallet and extracted five crisp twenties. Everyone under the awning swiveled to take in the proceedings, the football game forgotten in favor of some real drama.

  “This is silly. We can just play for fun…” Carma’s protest withered under Shawnee’s glare.

  “Where’s the fun if there’s nothing on the line?” She jerked a nod at Gil. “You’ve got a bet.”

  Oh hell. “I am not ponying up the cash if you lose,” Cole said, frowning his disapproval. Not surprisingly, he was the conservative voice in their relationship.

  “Are you implying that you don’t have faith in my abilities?” Shawnee asked, eyes wide with mock hurt.

  “Just so we’re clear.” The lawn chair groaned as Cole settled into a front-row seat.

  Carma heaved a resigned sigh. “I have to find a rope and take some time to warm up—without an audience.”

  One of the men—tall, lanky, with a long face that shaded toward homely—popped out of his lawn chair. “I should have something you can use.”

  “Brady will set you up.” Shawnee stood, loop in one hand, coils in the other, feet braced like a gunfighter. “Meet me back here in half an hour.”

  Carma had to stifle a nervous giggle. Geezus. It was like an old western movie—the stranger rides into town and is immediately challenged to a showdown at high noon.

  And like all those idiots, her pride refused to let her walk away.

  * * *

  When they returned exactly thirty minutes later, her new friend flopped into one of the chairs that had been lined up for optimal viewing. “I hope you brought your A game, Pickett,” Brady said.

  “I always do.” But beneath Shawnee’s steely determination, there was a flicker of uncertainty. This was Carma’s one advantage. Shawnee didn’t know what to expect from her, while Carma had spent years watching Jayden and his friends play these games.

  “You want in the side pot, Brady?” one of the truckers asked, clutching a fistful of cash. “Twenty bucks. Pick your winner.”

  “Carma.” He dug out a pair of tens and passed them over.

  Beni flipped a quarter to see who would go first. Shawnee won. She started out easy, with a repeat of the same trick she’d demonstrated earlier, the loop rippling around her in what was known as an ocean wave. Carma successfully mimicked the throw, although her loop didn’t snap around the steer’s neck with the same authority.

  “Not bad.” Shawnee gave her a long, measuring look before stepping up to take her turn.

  She went with another basic trick, making the loop stand upright and dance side to side in a butterfly maneuver before swinging it around to settle neatly over the steer’s head. Carma duplicated the trick. The half of the crowd who’d bet on her cheered.

  Shawnee bared her teeth at them. “Apparently some of you have forgotten who does most of the cooking around here.”

  She changed it up on the next trick, spinning the loop in the opposite direction and roping the dummy backhanded. The spin was no problem, but Carma’s rope sailed over the dummy at the end.

  “P for me!” Shawnee crowed, to the applause of her supporters.

  Carma’s cheering section groaned. Crap. She’d shown a weakness that Shawnee wouldn’t hesitate to exploit.

  “Did we mention that you can’t do the same trick twice?” Tori asked. “House rules.”

  Carma threw her a thankful look. Shawnee scowled, then walked up, did one reverse rotation of ocean wave, switched directions, then caught the loop in her right hand, took two swings and threw. Another clean catch. Again Carma cruised through the twirls, but her loop smacked the steer on the side of the head.

  “I!” Shawnee pumped a fist.

  Another chorus of groans and cheers from the audience. Carma glanced at where Gil leaned against the side of the camper, hands tucked in pockets, totally relaxed. Well, it was his money. If he wasn’t worried…

  Shawnee gave her a smile packed with false sympathy. “I was hoping you’d at least give me a run for it. Let’s see what you can do with this, Sunshine.”

  T
hey went back and forth several times, with Carma duplicating Shawnee’s moves while getting more comfortable with the catches. Neither of them missed, so Shawnee maintained control of the shots. On her next turn she did a wedding ring, dropping the big loop over her head, stepping out, in, then out before catching the loop in her hand to make the throw. It snapped tight around the empty sockets that usually held the interchangeable horns.

  Shawnee swore. Tori smirked.

  “That counts as a miss,” she said. “Carma gets to call the next shot.”

  So this was why Tori insisted on neck catches—to level the playing field between Carma and a woman who was in the habit of literally roping steers and bulls by the horns.

  Gil deliberately caught Carma’s eye and lifted his phone, now plugged into the speaker system. He tapped one finger and the unmistakable riff of Guns N’ Roses’s “Sweet Child o’ Mine” shredded the air.

  “Finish it,” he said.

  Shawnee snorted in patent disbelief.

  Oh yeah? Match this. Carma closed her eyes, letting the beat throb through her for a few bars before she launched into a reverse ocean wave, then a trio of pop-outs with first her right hand, then her left, a forward ocean wave, and a series of butterflies. Finally she squared up to take careful aim and set the loop precisely over the steer’s head.

  The crowd went wild.

  Shawnee said a very bad word. “How am I supposed to remember all that?”

  “Give it your best shot.” Carma smiled sweetly. “Sunshine.”

  Cole groaned. Shawnee hissed, built a loop, and launched into the routine, catching the steer neatly at the end.

  “You forgot the second ocean wave,” Beni said.

  “Are you sure?” Shawnee demanded.

  Brady held up his phone. “I have the video replay if you want to throw a challenge flag.”

  “Fine.” Shawnee yanked her rope off the dummy and stalked a few paces away to stand, arms folded, in front of a growing crowd of contestants and random passersby who’d gathered to watch the show. Carma picked up the rhythm of the song at the end of the second chorus, whipping her rope into another complicated series of tricks with some footwork thrown in for good measure, ending with a loop that sailed prettily through the air to capture the steer.

  Halfway through her attempt to duplicate the routine, Shawnee bobbled and her rope wrapped around her head. She swore a blue streak while untangling it from her ponytail.

  “I,” Carma said.

  Cole pointed an accusing finger at Tori. “This is your fault. And I’m stuck in the pickup with her all the way to Arkansas tomorrow.”

  “It’s not over!” Shawnee snapped.

  “My sympathies, big guy.” Tori smiled back at Cole without a hint of apology.

  Both combatants were winded, and Carma was dripping sweat in the unaccustomed heat. Shawnee scraped damp curls from her forehead. “Go ahead. Do all your fancy shit. Just don’t miss the steer.”

  Nice. Put a little negative imagery in your opponent’s head. If that’s the way she wanted to be…

  Carma kicked off her sandals, the grass prickly under her feet as she built her loop into a huge wedding ring above her head, then let it settle to a bare inch above the beaten grass. As it skimmed around her, she sank into a full split, floating the loop up and out to land around the steer’s neck just as the final notes of the song faded away.

  The crowd went wild, sending lawn chairs tumbling as they leapt to their feet.

  Shawnee threw her hands and the rope into the air. “Screw it. If I try that, I won’t walk upright again for a week.”

  “Not to mention…” Cole began, then went beet-red as every eye turned on him. He lunged out of his chair. “I better finish fixing that halter.”

  Laughing, Carma checked for Gil’s reaction. He was frowning at his phone. Oh. Well. She assumed he’d been paying some attention since it was his hundred bucks on the line. The glow of triumph dimmed slightly, and she coiled her rope as the applause died to a single, slow clap. She pivoted to find the source.

  Flaming icicles speared her heart. Oh shit. Jayden.

  * * *

  The buzz of Gil’s phone barely penetrated his cloud of lust. Geezus. Watching Carma, her rope, the way her body moved…

  Then he read Analise’s message about Asshole Ted at Express Auto. He always called on the weekend and refused to talk to anyone but Gil, no matter how basic the question. Ted didn’t deal with minions. Only the Man.

  If car transport wasn’t one of the most profitable segments of their business, Gil might’ve been less flexible, but Ted kept five or six Sanchez drivers very well employed, shuffling his rentals between airports all over the Southwest.

  Unfortunately, Ted knew it, and milked his clout for all the special attention he could get.

  Gil bit off a curse. He’d done this to himself, wooing clients with the promise of his full, personal attention, twenty-four seven. Not a problem back when he’d had the time to give to every whiny, self-important bastard in the country. He started to reply that Analise should say he was unavailable until Monday morning, then became aware of a shift in the atmosphere, the chatter and laughter dying.

  Beni nudged him. “Uncle Gil.”

  He looked over to where a man stood in front of Carma—square-jawed, stocky, and Native. Every one of Gil’s hackles snapped to attention when the guy smiled. “Hey, Carma. Lookin’ good, as always.”

  She nodded, unnaturally stiff.

  “I heard you were in Texas, but I didn’t expect to run into you here.” The guy took a step closer. “I tried to call. Your phone is out of service.”

  She nodded again, still silent, her shoulders rigid.

  Shawnee stepped in, thrusting out a hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. Jayden, right?”

  Fuck. The name exploded in Gil’s head. This was Carma’s ex? No wonder she looked gobsmacked. Gil shoved his phone into his pocket and shouldered through the crowd toward them.

  “Heard you’ve had a tough winter.” Shawnee made a show of looking to Jayden’s left, and then to his right. “Is that why the arm candy isn’t still hangin’ around?”

  Jayden’s face darkened, and he gave Shawnee a fuck-you glare before turning to Carma, who still hadn’t moved. “I was hopin’ to talk to you alone.”

  Oh, hell no. After what he’d done to her, and the shit people had been saying that night Gil had first seen her in the Stockman’s Bar? This bastard was not gonna pretend it was all fine and dandy. It was about time Carma got a little payback instead.

  Gil moved fast, catching her around the waist and tipping her back. She dropped her rope to clutch his shoulders as he kissed her, swift and hard.

  When he lifted his head, she blinked up at him. “What was that?”

  “Part of your reward for winning my bet,” he drawled. “I also owe you dinner…and whatever you want for dessert.”

  She made a choked noise at the blatant implication, and when he set her back on her feet, she immediately stepped out of reach. Okay. Not quite the reaction he was expecting, but he had caught her by surprise. Gil turned to Jayden. “Gil Sanchez.”

  Their eyes locked, and Gil thought Jayden might slap away the hand he’d extended.

  Jayden ignored it instead, jerking around to head for the rows of contestant horse trailers. “Never mind. I’ve gotta get saddled up.”

  Carma stared after him for nearly a count of ten, then turned dazed eyes on Shawnee. “She dumped him?”

  “That’s the word.”

  Brady chimed in. “Like Shawnee said, Jayden’s been stone cold since the beginning of the year. He went into one of his poor-me funks, and she said ‘adios.’”

  Geezus. Gil had forgotten that pro rodeo was such a small world, and gossip traveled as far and fast as the cowboys who roped full time. Of course Shawnee and Brady w
ould know all the gory details of Jayden’s breakup.

  Brady smirked at Shawnee. “Just guessin’, but I think you just got crossed off his Christmas list.”

  She made a rude noise and turned to yell at her crew. “One hour to rodeo time. Get a move on, kiddies.”

  They all scattered—Shawnee to her trailer to change clothes, Cole toward where his pickup horses were stalled, and the rest to the stock pens…with Beni and Quint on their heels.

  Hell. Gil had forgotten his kid was watching when he’d jumped to what he thought was Carma’s rescue. Was he ever gonna get the hang of this dad thing? Gil’s phone rang, vibrating across the stainless steel shelf where he’d left it. Double hell. Dickhead Ted had no doubt bypassed Analise and was calling Gil directly. He ignored the summons and stayed beside Carma.

  She stared at the ground, hands clenched. Mad? Hurt? Longing for what might have been, even after everything Jayden had done? Gil’s temper stirred—along with something that felt uncomfortably like jealousy.

  “If you go after him, you could probably still get him back,” he drawled.

  Her head jerked up and her eyes blazed when she turned on him, biting off each word. “Don’t be a prick.”

  “Why not? Apparently it’s what I do best.”

  “No, it’s not.” She looked straight past his sneer, into a part of him that flinched away from her gaze. After a tense beat, she huffed out a breath, flicking a hand toward where Jayden had stood. “That isn’t what you think.”

  “Then what is it?” As if he had the right to demand an explanation.

  “It’s just…I can’t…” She gave a frustrated shake of her head. “It’s hard to explain, and I need some time to process. Go answer your phone before we say something we’ll have to pretend we didn’t mean.”

  “Fine.” Gil ground the word into dust and stalked over to grab the now-silent phone.

  She wanted space? Great. He had his own shit to deal with. He didn’t need to go on trying to play the hero for a woman who obviously didn’t want to be rescued.

  It wasn’t like the role suited him, anyway.

  Chapter 17

  Carma yanked a comb through her hair hard enough to make her eyes water.