Relentless in Texas

by Kari Lynn Dell

  As usual, he’d thought of everything. And if Gil was riveting when he was cool and arrogant, this hint of boyish eagerness made him irresistible. He had put so much thought and effort into this, taking everything she could want into account.

  She threw her arms out and spun two more circles before stopping to beam at him. “It’s great. And if you’re not in a big rush to get back to the office…”

  He arched his brows in mock disapproval. “Are you trying to lure me into your van?”

  “You betcha.”

  He grinned, and another piece of her heart crumbled. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter 32

  On Monday, the atmosphere inside the Sanchez Trucking shop crackled across Carma’s nerves like heat lightning. Gil had called Steve and Iris over the weekend, and they’d agreed on Thursday evening for Gil’s first practice session. Suddenly, what had been nothing but talk became concrete. Gil had been vacillating wildly between anticipation and doubt ever since.

  For her part, Carma was very much aware that Gil had never taken a woman to Miz Iris’s house. His fast and furious affair with Quint’s mother had not included dinner with what was, in every way that mattered, his family. Their approval meant more to him than either of his own parents’ opinions.

  No pressure there.

  And they had his brother underfoot too. Delon had already planned to spend most of April at home, only taking off for a weekend here and there to hit some bigger rodeos. With Gil’s announcement, he’d extended his hiatus until after the Diamond Cowboy.

  “My arm and my knee can use the rest,” he told Gil. “You can use the coaching. And I want to be here in case you and Mom decide to reorganize the entire business when I’m not looking.”

  Gil couldn’t argue with any of those points—not that he didn’t try—but Delon was no easier to budge than when he was on the back of a bucking horse. On the upside, with her younger son at the next desk buttering up existing or potential clients, Rochelle had to mutter her curses under her breath.

  At just before noon, it was only Carma and Rochelle in the office. Gil, Delon, Hank, and Steve Jacobs were all meeting for lunch at the café to start plotting Gil’s comeback. Quint and Beni were walking over from school to join them.

  Lucky waitresses, Carma thought. That was a lot of very fine male scenery in one place.

  At the sound of a fresh batch of curses, Carma slumped in her chair and closed her eyes. If they intended to expand the staff, they really should consider adding office space, too. And soundproofing. Maybe they could move Delon and Rochelle upstairs into the apartment. Or better, Carma, although it might seem a little odd to have the receptionist hiding from the public…and everyone else.

  Six weeks until the Diamond Cowboy. With a lot of determination and a nonstop playlist of Uncle Tony’s flute music collection in her headphones, she could hold on that long. Once it was over, though, she’d have to tell Gil she couldn’t do this anymore, the same way she’d had to leave her job at the middle school in Browning, and a movie set where the director kept everyone so riled up with his tantrums that Carma had had her one and only anxiety attack.

  Her head jerked up at the sound of a knock. A woman stood in the open shop door—short, slender, around sixty, with dark-brown hair professionally colored and highlighted and her nerves nearly as starched as her blouse.

  “Can I…” Carma began, then the question died as recognition dawned and her stomach did a backflip. “Oh. Hello.”

  Iris Jacobs smiled, clutching a soft-sided cooler to her midsection. “Hello…Carmelita, is it?”

  “Carma to most.”

  “It’s a lovely name either way.” Her gaze skittered around the office.

  Carma eyed the cooler. “Gil and Delon went out for lunch.”

  “I know.” Of course she did. They were meeting her husband. She looked past Carma and her smile widened, but her fingers tightened on the cooler. “Hello, Rochelle. I wanted to stop by and welcome you back.”

  “Thank you.” Gil’s mother stood with one hand wrapped around the knob on the office door. Like Iris, her smile was a little tense, dark eyes watchful.

  Iris made an awkward gesture with the cooler. “I brought lunch. Just chicken, potato salad, and rolls. And some of the oatmeal cookies the boys like. I don’t bake much these days with Steve’s cholesterol and my blood sugar, but this is a special occasion so…” She trailed off and made an impatient face. “Sorry. I’m babbling.”

  “I should just go…” Carma started to rise.

  Iris shook her head. “Stay. I’d like a chance to get to know you.”

  “Then let me take that.” Carma circled the desk to pry the cooler out of her hands.

  Iris drew a fortifying breath and fixed her gaze on Rochelle. “I’ve always felt like I owe you an apology for monopolizing your boys. I should have encouraged them to spend more time with you. I told myself that I kept quiet because I didn’t want them to think I didn’t like having them around, but the truth is, every time they left I was afraid they wouldn’t come back, and it would have broken my heart to lose them.”

  Rochelle inclined her head. “I knew when I asked you to take care of them for me that they would be like your own. I counted on it.” Her eyes dropped, her shoulders rounding. “I just didn’t understand that they would feel the same about you and Steve.”

  “And I didn’t keep my promise to keep them safe. After we lost Cole’s parents and brother, we were such a mess.” Iris swiped at her damp cheek. “I didn’t realize how far Gil had slipped away until we almost lost him, too.”

  Rochelle crossed the space between them in a few swift strides and gripped Iris’s shoulders. “You did the best you could in horrible circumstances—dealing with your own grief, your husband’s, your daughters’, Cole. It’s Gil’s nature to seal himself off.” She made a derisive noise. “God knows, he gets it from both sides. But he’s made an amazing man of himself…and you can take the credit for that.”

  With a choked sob, Iris drew the taller woman into a tight hug. “He has your strength. That’s what got him through.”

  They embraced for a long moment, then drew back, hands falling to their sides as they lapsed into awkward silence. Carma fought through the tornado of emotion that swirled around the room and inside her, gripping the edge of the desk for balance. She forced a bright, reassuring note into her voice and hefted the cooler. “I’d say we all deserve a cookie. Before those two sugar fiends come back and snarf them all.”

  Tears were scrubbed away as the older women laughed and nodded, then settled in to enjoy their lunch. Whew. That turned out better than she’d hoped. Carma had just bitten into a mouthwatering drumstick when Miz Iris turned to her with a bright smile.

  “So, Carma. I’ve been dying to meet you. Tori said you’re interested in equine-based therapy, and Beni said you’ve been in the movies. Tell us all about yourself. What brought you to Texas?”

  Hell. She was facing not one, but two of Gil’s mothers. And there was no way she could tell these women anything less than the whole truth.

  She set down her chicken and started at the beginning. “Gil and I met in Montana, when I was performing at a benefit, and we kept in touch off and on…”

  She left out the juicier parts, but she was sure they could fill in the blanks. Rochelle nodded approvingly as she told the story of the eagle vision. Miz Iris gave Carma a hug as she left.

  And whispered, “Good luck, honey” in her ear. Which was sweet…but also a little worrisome coming from someone who knew and loved Gil better than anybody.

  * * *

  Patterson Ranch—south of Amarillo

  Carma was in awe from the moment Tori turned down the driveway of the Patterson ranch. Everything was gorgeous. White rail fences, stone pillars, pristine graveled paths. Below the barns, rows of cabins for staff and guests circled
a small man-made lake. But inside the paddocks she was as likely to find a sway-backed, gray-muzzled rescue horse as one of the famously elegant and athletic Patterson-bred Quarter Horses.

  “This is one of the last three-year-olds we’ll enter in the reining futurities.” Tori tugged the brim of her cap down against the wind that buffeted them as they admired a stunning palomino. “I got my dad hooked on team roping, and he’s been gradually shifting the breeding program toward rodeo horses.”

  She pointed to a foursome of downy sorrel foals with white strips or stars on their foreheads and hindquarters already packed with muscle. “Those are all out of the sire of a two-time heading horse of the year and a mare that won over a hundred grand at the National Finals a couple years back.”

  It took Carma a beat to figure out how that was possible. “Embryo transfers?”

  “Yes. Those are recipient mares. The mother’s owner gets pick of the litter.”

  “So basically like when we took my dad’s good cowdog over and bred her to the neighbor’s border collie.”

  Tori grinned. “Just on a slightly larger budget.”

  Like the entire Patterson ranch. Everything—from the individual blades of grass to the gleaming equipment in the physical therapy clinic—was the highest quality available. Tori introduced Carma to the therapists, the aide, and a man with muscular dystrophy who was undergoing his initial evaluation. They paused on the viewing platform reserved for friends and family and watched half a dozen riders, some being led by staff, others independently putting horses through assigned exercises.

  “Unfortunately my dad got called to Houston on business,” Tori said, leading the way down a set of stairs to ground level. “But you’ll get to meet him next time you come.”

  “There’s going to be a next time?”

  Tori smiled. “Let’s go meet some more of our patients. We promised them a special show today.”

  Which was why she’d insisted that Carma bring her ropes.

  As they stepped through the gate, a wail rose from the corner of the arena. A boy was huddled against the fence, arms clasped over his head, while a woman tried to soothe him and a staffer stood holding a horse and looking helpless. Even from a distance, Carma was rocked by his suffocating anxiety.

  Tori called softly, “Is Marshall having a rough day?”

  “It’s the wind. The noise scares him, and once something sets him off…” The woman gave them a frazzled, apologetic grimace. “I shouldn’t have brought him today, but he got so upset when I suggested that we stay home. I was hoping that seeing the horses would distract him.”

  Carma’s heart squeezed in sympathy, for child and mother. They couldn’t win. Even inside the building the wind was a low, almost visceral moan, felt more than heard. She took a few careful steps closer. “Does he like things that spin?”

  “Usually.” His mother cast a doubtful eye as Carma dropped all but the shortest of her ropes.

  “Let’s give it a try,” Carma said. “If it bothers him, I’ll stop.”

  She made a dinner plate-sized loop and began to spin it vertically in front of her, like a shield. Marshall’s gaze darted toward her, then away, back and away, each time lingering a little longer until finally it became fixed on the rope. Very softly, she began to hum what she called the Chinook song, inspired by the warm but powerful winds that rolled over the mountains and onto the plains, bringing a rapid, welcome end to bitter cold snaps.

  When she felt a subtle easing in the boy’s tension, she took a few more steps, so they were a dozen yards apart. Then she let the loop begin to move in slow, graceful arcs, rising and falling with her voice like a bird gliding on the wind currents. Marshall’s eyes remained locked on the rope. Gradually the rigid muscles of his arms softened.

  Carma’s own arms were beginning to burn, but she switched from one hand to another to keep going. There. She felt a tiny flicker of light through the churning darkness inside the boy. She repeated that part of the song and felt it again. “Can you sing with me?” she asked, repeating the melody once, twice, three times, along with the exact motion of the rope.

  On the fourth, he made a low, monotone noise. She smiled and nodded. “Yes. Like that.”

  His gaze and his voice followed her, the darkness fading slightly with each repetition. She kept going until her muscles quivered from the exertion and she had to let the rope drift to the ground.

  “Don’ stop!” he protested, the words guttural and slightly slurred.

  “I’m too tired.” She lifted her arms and let them fall limp. “But we can keep singing.”

  He eyed the crumpled rope as if he hoped it might float up on its own. Carma felt the pressure inside him begin to rise, but right on cue, the horse snuffled and blew as if to say, “What about me?” drawing Marshall’s attention. They gazed at each other for a long, soulful moment.

  Then the boy turned hopeful eyes on Carma. “Can I ride and sing?”

  “I bet your horse would like that,” she said. “What’s his name?”

  When she turned to take the lead rope, she realized everyone in the arena had gathered in a ragged circle to watch and listen. They all mimed applause, silent to avoid startling the boy. Carma gave a slight bow. Her chest burned and her head spun as if she’d hiked straight up a mountain into the thin, sweet air at the edge of the sky, but a special kind of joy bubbled in her veins that only came from knowing she had touched another soul and eased its pain.

  Innumerable laps around the arena later, Marshall began to droop, and didn’t protest when his mother called a halt. She flashed Carma a grateful smile as he slid off the horse and into her arms.

  “Thank you. That was…” She pressed her quivering lips together.

  Carma’s eyes went hot in response. “I’m glad I could help.”

  The boy was still humming his toneless version of the song. His mother squeezed his shoulders. “I don’t suppose you have a CD we can buy?”

  “Afraid not, but I can record it for you.”

  “Done.” One of the staffers waved a phone. “I already emailed it to you, for the trip home.”

  Wow. These people were on the ball.

  When mother and son were gone, Carma sank down to sit in the dirt, folding her arms across bent knees and resting her forehead on them. Behind closed eyelids, her thoughts blurred into an exhausted haze.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” Tori spoke in the subdued voice of a person used to dealing with patients who were at their physical and psychological limits.

  “Give me a few minutes,” Carma managed. “Then a Coke and some air.”

  Tori gave her all three, sitting silently beside her until Carma dragged in a deep breath and raised her head. Immediately, a staffer hustled over with a cold Coke and a Dr Pepper for Tori. As the sugar hit her system, Carma’s muscles began to lose the rubbery feeling, and when she’d drained the can, she grabbed the fence rail to haul herself to her feet.

  Tori followed suit. “Are you up for a ride?”

  Carma couldn’t think of anything she wanted more.

  Outside, another staffer waited, holding a blood bay mare with black mane and tail and a flashy chestnut with four white socks, both saddled. The girl handed Carma the reins to the bay. As she swung aboard, she wondered how many tens of thousands of dollars worth of horseflesh was being so casually offered for her use. They’d even adjusted the stirrups to the perfect length.

  Tori led the way to a path that cut between two of the paddocks, toward the wide open space beyond. The mare moved to follow and Carma pushed everything out of her mind except the horse flowing beneath her, smooth as water over the packed red earth. The revitalizing warmth of the sun soaked into her skin, and the purifying wind whipped through her hair.

  When their horses stepped onto native prairie, Tori kicked into an easy lope. The scents of earth and grass rose up from
beneath their hooves. Carma inhaled again and again, each breath cycle pushing out some of the darkness she had absorbed, then dragging in light to fill the space. They crested a long, low hill, skirted a brush-choked ravine, and crossed a wide flat before Tori slowed. The horses dropped into a ground-eating walk, a testament to hours spent riding these pastures.

  “I assume that’s why you never finished your degree in counseling,” Tori said without preamble. “If it takes that much out of you…”

  “Not always.” But often enough that she couldn’t make a career of seeing patient after patient. “It’s more what I take from them. With someone like Gil, I’m only redirecting their energy away from the pain. With others it’s like drawing out the poison.”

  Tori nodded thoughtfully. “Does it get easier? If you saw Marshall again, for example.”

  “The few I’ve worked with more than once seem to respond quicker once we’ve established a connection. I don’t have to break through to them every time.”

  In the near distance, sleek black cows raised their heads to eye the passing riders, and dozing calves jerked awake and clambered to their feet. Finally, Tori said, “If you’re willing to give it a try, we’d love you to join us. We would be sure not to burn you out.”

  It was exactly what she’d hoped for, with the unexpected bonus of Tori’s quiet respect. She didn’t question Carma’s talents, only appreciated the results. “I have Tuesdays off.”

  Tori stopped her horse and nudged the gelding around to face Carma. “I meant full time, once the Diamond Cowboy is done.”

  “But…you’ve only seen me work with one patient.”

  “It was pretty damn impressive. Plus there was Gil. And we need people who don’t lose their heads if a horse gets spooked or acts up. I’d say you passed that test with flying colors that night with the snake.”