Relentless in Texas

by Kari Lynn Dell

  “Didn’t want you?” The question exploded out of Gil. “What the fuck made you think that?”

  “Language,” his mother murmured behind him.

  Gil batted a shush hand at her, his gaze pinned to Quint.

  The boy turned a shade of red somewhere between embarrassed and pleased. “I didn’t want to be in the way.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. You’re my son.” Gil walked over, grabbed him by the shoulders, and looked him in the eye. “Yeah, I was shocked when your mom told me you wanted to live with me. After all the years of fighting for every hour with you that I could get, I couldn’t believe she’d hand you over. And I was scared shitless that I’d screw it up.”

  Quint started to smile, then winced when it reopened the split in his lip. “I’m usually pretty low maintenance.”

  “Are you?” Gil tried to look below the surface to whatever Carma had seen. “Or is this the real Quint coming out?”

  “Nah. I just needed to make a statement.” He shot another glance at Carma. “There’s some things you don’t say about a Sanchez.”

  And Gil could tell that was as much detail as he was gonna get. He made a monumental effort to level his system, giving Quint’s shoulders a squeeze and letting him go. “Well, at least we’ve got everything out in the open.”

  “Not quite,” Rochelle said. When they all stared at her, she held up a piece of the company letterhead. “You need to tell him about the logo.”

  “What about it?” Quint asked.

  Gil frowned at his mother. “It’s not like it’s a secret. Everybody knows.”

  “We do?” Analise said.

  Quint’s forehead puckered. “Knows what?”

  “I told you. On your fifth birthday.” Gil sighed, realizing his mistake. “When all you could think about was the brand-new Lego set back at the house. Of course you don’t remember. Come here.”

  He waved at Quint to follow him into the shop. Everyone but Rochelle exchanged puzzled looks as they followed, and Max and the mechanics joined the parade. As Gil marched out the front door and turned to stand with hands on hips, head tipped back, Beni came zipping through the gate and braked his bike hard, throwing up gravel and dust.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “We seem to be having a moment,” Analise said.

  They all gazed up at where Sanchez Trucking was painted in two-foot-tall letters, circling the life-sized silhouette of a bucking horse blowing straight in the air, the cowboy’s shoulders flung back, chaps flying and spurs reaching for the sky.

  Gil threw up both hands. “Behold. Seventh round of the National Finals, ninety two points—the best ride I ever made.”

  “Whoa,” Beni breathed. “That’s you?”

  “It is. I made that logo to celebrate Quint’s birthday, which was also my second anniversary of getting sober.”

  “But…why aren’t there any other pictures of you?” Quint asked, actually looking dazed.

  “When I got home from the hospital after my wreck, I got drunk and smashed a few things.” Gil made a pained face. “Delon and your grandpa packed up everything else and hid it. But I do have this one.”

  He pulled out his wallet and extracted a photo. They all leaned it to see a photo of Gil and Quint posed manfully in front of the freshly painted sign—one adorably young and the other, well, younger. Gil had never been baby-faced.

  “Oh!” Quint unzipped a side pocket on his backpack, dug out his wallet, and removed a tattered copy of the same picture. He turned it over to show lines of blue blurs. “There was something written on the back, but right after you gave it to me, Gwennie spilled milk on it. What did it say?”

  Gil’s hand was unsteady as he took the photo. He started to speak, paused, cleared his throat, and began again. “Sometimes Delon would get upset because we didn’t belong anywhere. We didn’t look like our dad, and we weren’t like our mom. I used to tell him…”

  He turned over his photo to show words that were faded but clearly legible, and read them aloud. “We are the Sanchez boys. We make our own place.”

  He slung an arm around Quint’s shoulders and the other around his mother’s waist, anchoring himself against a groundswell of pride and love. Beni dropped his bike and joined them. Gil cleared his throat. “Now you’re all here, so it’s truer than ever.”

  * * *

  Carma could hardly breathe at the sight of them, standing tall and proud on ground where they had staked an unquestionable claim. Four faces, so striking and so much alike, each an integral piece of what that logo represented. Gil hadn’t hidden from anything. He’d taken the proudest moment of his career and stamped it on everything he’d accomplished since.

  Past, present, and future, all wrapped up in one incredible man.

  As she watched Quint’s arm creep around his dad’s waist, pressure swelled inside Carma’s chest, squeezing out every emotion that had come before. Dear God. She’d thought that weak-ass muddle of desire and frustration she’d felt for Jayden was love, but it had never had the power to make her sun shine brighter, her sky sing, and the earth beneath her feet tremble.

  Or to break her heart into a million jagged pieces.

  “There’s something else we haven’t told you boys,” Gil said. “When that fall in Huntsville didn’t bust me up, the doctors released me to do anything I want.”

  There was a long, confused pause. Then Beni said, “Wait a minute. Anything?”

  “Yeah.” Gil drew a deep breath. “I can ride again. And I’m gonna enter the Diamond Cowboy.”

  And then all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 31

  When Gil showed up at her van that night, Carma didn’t even bother with hello. “What happened to ‘the Diamond Cowboy is the road straight to hell’?” she demanded.

  He shrugged, not even a little sorry. “Tamela pointed out—again—that the rodeo isn’t the problem. It’s me trying to do it alone.”

  Of course. It was fine when Tamela encouraged him to chase his dream, but Carma…

  Had already screwed up twice, even if both situations had turned out pretty well. The look on Gil’s face when Quint confessed he’d wanted to live with his dad…God. She fisted a hand against the ache that flared under her heart.

  “But why the Diamond Cowboy? Why not ease into it?”

  “That’s not really my style.” When she bared her teeth at him, he threw out both hands to ward her off. “That’s how I’ve always been. If I’m gonna compete, I want something big to go after.”

  “And you’re not worried about getting carried away?”

  “Yes. And no. That’s the beauty of the Diamond Cowboy. It’s one and done. I go, I give it my best shot, and call it good.”

  Carma shook her head, confused. “That’s it? One big rodeo, then you quit?”

  “I had a long talk with Delon, and we agreed that riding bareback horses isn’t like golf. You don’t just play a few rounds now and then. It’s like—I don’t know—boxing, I guess. You have to do it on a regular enough basis for your body to stay accustomed to the beating. But I still want one more shot—so this is it.”

  “And you think you can do that. Just walk away?”

  He leaned against the frame of the open door and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket, the chilly breeze ruffling his hair. “At least this time it’ll be under my own terms. And it’s a pipe dream anyway. What are the chances that I’m gonna bust out of a fifteen-year retirement and kick everybody’s ass?”

  Knowing Gil? Probably pretty damn good. Carma shivered as the wind gusted through the open door. A cold front had slid down from the southern Rockies, and what had been a blustery fifty-degree day had lost another ten degrees since sunset.

  Shivering, she said, “Come in before we both freeze.”

  He did, sliding the door shut behind him, then s
tood hunched over, uncertain whether to join her on the bed or sit in the passenger’s seat that was swiveled to face the rear. Should she keep him at a distance, where he wouldn’t muddle her brain? But his forbidden-forest scent was already making her senses hum. Five feet of shag carpet wouldn’t save her.

  She scooted over to make room on the bed. With the door shut, the propane heater quickly banished the chill. What was left evaporated when Gil settled beside her, close but not touching. She had to give him points for not assuming that her invitation was all-inclusive, and for angling his legs so his shoes weren’t on the bedspread. Did she have Rochelle or Miz Iris to thank for both?

  The radio was playing, a rambling, poetic song by Reckless Kelly about a weather-beaten soul, and when Gil leaned back and closed his eyes, the lyrics could have been written about him.

  The silence stretched, until Carma finally said, “So you’re really doing this.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well. Congratulations. That’s great.”

  “Thanks.” But. She didn’t have to be any kind of mind reader to know what that pucker between his brows meant. “I’d appreciate it if you’d come to me from now on, instead of confronting Quint.”

  “I guess that depends on where things stand with you and me.”

  He opened his eyes, and what she saw in them made her heart turn over. “I’m still in. What about you?”

  “I’m…yes.” So far in she would need that tow truck of his to haul her out. Her insides melted with relief, but she had to get through the rest of this conversation before she followed suit. “If there’s going to be an us, Quint and I have to figure out how to deal with each other.”

  Gil bristled. “That doesn’t include keeping secrets from me.”

  “Yes, it does…if he chooses to tell me something he doesn’t want to share with you.”

  His expression darkened. “Even if it’s potentially harmful?”

  “That question had better be coming from your inner control freak,” she snapped, letting him see that he’d offended and, yes, hurt her. “If you don’t trust me to tell you if he’s in any kind of danger, we’re wasting our time.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  She raised her brows. He held her stare for a couple of beats, then huffed out a breath. “It’s not that I don’t trust you specifically. I’m just not good with blind faith in general.”

  “You’re gonna have to learn. Or would you rather he didn’t talk to anyone?”

  Gil’s jaw worked, a visible battle between his concern for his son and the need to have his finger on every pulse. “You’d tell me if it was serious?”

  “You have to ask?”

  His shoulders rose and fell on a beleaguered sigh. “No.”

  Inside, Carma did a fist pump. Chalk up one not-so-small victory. “So…when does this big comeback start?”

  He tried, and failed, not to grin. “It already has. I worked out on the spur board right before I came here. I barely even noticed the bruise on my hip.”

  By which she assumed the pain was less than being stabbed with flaming daggers. “What about actual bucking horses?”

  “We’re aiming for sometime next week. Delon flew to California tonight and will be back Saturday. Steve and Miz Iris will be home late on Sunday. We’re all gonna sit down Monday and work out a game plan.”

  And where do I fit in? But instead, she said, “I assume Tuesday night practice is out, since that’s when you get together with Tamela.”

  She’d tried to sound totally neutral…and failed. He angled her an impatient glance. “I meant it when I said there’s nothing sexual between us.”

  “It’s not that.” Honestly, Carma couldn’t imagine Gil cheating. Not physically. Emotionally, though, every word and thought he gave to the other woman felt like a betrayal—and Carma would have to either get over it or get out. A sponsor was no different than a therapist—the whole point was being able to tell them the things you couldn’t say to anyone else. But…

  “Then what?” he asked.

  How could she explain without sounding jealous or insecure? “I assume the two of you have discussed me, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.”

  “You talk to Bing about me.”

  She shook her head. “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  I’m not deliberately shutting you out of whole chunks of my life. But if she pushed too hard, he’d bolt those doors and throw away the key.

  Patience, she reminded herself. One day at a time. She’d convinced him to trust her with Quint. Eventually, she’d break through to him too.

  “You and Bing are friends,” she hedged. “I’ve never met Tamela. It’s weird, knowing a stranger is hearing every detail of our relationship.”

  His mouth curled wickedly. “Not every detail.”

  Even though she knew he was deflecting, heat oozed through her like warm, sweet caramel. The conversation wasn’t leading anywhere constructive, and it wouldn’t take a minute to get him out of those clothes and into her bed.

  While Quint waited back at their house. She sighed. “I suppose you need to get home.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  She gave him a quick kiss. “Don’t forget, next Wednesday is when I’m going down to the Patterson ranch with Tori.”

  “Damn.” He frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess we’re waiting until Thursday then. You have to be there when I climb on that first horse.”

  He’d do that for her? After waiting an eternity for this, he was willing to put it off another day just so she could be with him?

  She kissed him again, harder, and he returned the favor.

  They were both flushed when he broke it off. He picked up her hand and folded it between his. “What do you suppose the chances are that we’re going to screw this up?”

  “Close to a hundred percent.” She snaked an arm around his waist and nuzzled inside the vee of his jacket, where his scent was so condensed she almost lost her train of thought. “My trick riding coach used to say, ‘You knew when you signed on that you would fall and it would hurt. Do you want it bad enough to dust yourself off and try again?’”

  He caught her chin and tipped her head back so he could look directly into her eyes. “I do.”

  Her heart stuttered at what sounded perilously close to a vow. This man knew failure, he knew pain, and he had refused to let either stop him. If he decided what they had was real and worth the inevitable stumbles, nothing would stop him from having it.

  And if he decided it wasn’t, there would be nothing she could do to change his mind.

  * * *

  On Saturday morning, Carma wandered into the office in search of coffee and found both Gil and Rochelle at work. Gil followed her into the break room, backed her up against the wall, and gave her a slow, leisurely kiss.

  When he lifted his head, she blinked at him with a lust-hazed smile. “What happened to rule number one?”

  “There’s a weekend and holiday exception.” He demonstrated again, leaving her limp and flushed. “Also, I brought you something.”

  He steered her into his office and presented her with a pair of top-of-the-line noise-canceling headphones. “I’ve scared off half a dozen receptionists all by myself. I can’t imagine what it’s like in stereo.”

  Carma rolled her eyes toward the closed door of the main office, which might as well be made of cardboard for all the sound buffer it provided. “She does realize we all know she’s swearing, even if it’s in Navajo?”

  He grinned. “You gotta admit, it sounds pretty badass.”

  And like her son, Rochelle wasn’t pretending. She was one tough lady. At least she and Gil weren’t swearing at each other.

  Rochelle flung the door open, coffee cup in hand, pausing when she saw Carma. “Do you work Saturdays?”


  “No, she does not,” Gil said. “And I’m leaving for a while. I have something to show Carma.”

  “Fine. I’ve got plenty to keep myself occupied.” If she wondered exactly what kind of thing that might be, she didn’t let on.

  “Bring your keys,” he told Carma, and herded her out the front door to the powwow van, which was looking especially glorious since Max had had his detailer hand wash and wax every inch, bringing the beadwork trim out in vivid color. Gil walked around and climbed into the passenger’s seat, gesturing at Carma to get behind the wheel. “Drive around back to that gate on the other side of my house.”

  She did. The gate was open, and beyond it a strip of grass had been mowed to reveal a faint set of old tire ruts that led to the trio of live oaks that stood in the otherwise open prairie. Inside the shady triangle formed by the trees, the grass had been cut to form a good-sized parking area, with a tan portable toilet tucked between two of the massive trunks and a generator set beside it.

  “Welcome to the grand opening of the Earnest RV park,” Gil said with a wide sweep of his arm. “All the amenities, plus it’s within walking distance of downtown…and Sanchez Trucking.”

  Carma stepped out and turned in a slow circle. The branches of the oaks hung low, screening the shop and the highway from view. In the other direction there was nothing but prairie in sight. She could have been miles away instead of barely outside the gate. “Who owns this?”

  “We do. Our lot is part of a twenty-acre parcel.”

  And he’d chosen to put his house inside the fence, surrounded by gravel and chain link? Honestly, sometimes it was like he was actively avoiding nature. Carma tilted her head back to admire the shimmy of dark-green leaves against a deep-blue sky, then down to watch the breeze play through the bunches of native grass beyond where it had been clipped almost down to the dirt. “Why did you mow it?”

  “Snakes.”

  Oh. Right.

  He paced to the most likely place to park the van, the breeze ruffling his hair and enthusiasm warming his eyes, a sight that stole her breath. “It faces east. I know that’s important to my mother. You can use the shower in the apartment, and it’ll be easier to spend time together than if you’re clear down at the lake.”