Relentless in Texas

by Kari Lynn Dell

  When Carma opened her mouth, Tori held up a hand to forestall any other argument. “We’d give you all the time and help you need to get the program back home up and running, plus we have some used equipment we’ll donate regardless. And unless you’d rather stay in your van, you could stay in one of the cabins whenever you wanted.”

  “I… Wow.”

  Tori kept pushing. “I’ve already got a replacement lined up for you at Sanchez Trucking, so you don’t need to worry on that count.”

  Carma’s jaw dropped. “Does Gil know?”

  “Yes. I told him I wanted to bring you down here, and that my receptionist at the clinic was looking to make a change if I decided to steal you.”

  Damn. Gil had said Tori could be relentless, but Carma had only seen hints of it until now. And she definitely hadn’t come here expecting Tori to throw open doors that could change the entire course of her life. To make her feel so valued. She pressed her palm to a heart that was suddenly racing. She could work in this incredible place, with people who believed in her abilities, and patients who desperately needed what she could give.

  An hour and a half from Earnest. And half a country away from what would always be home.

  Carma puffed out a breath, brought back to earth with a painful thud. “I have to think about it.”

  “Because of Gil.”

  “Partly.”

  “You know we’re not going to fire you if things don’t work out with the two of you, right? And we’re far enough away that you wouldn’t be bumping into him.”

  “That’s not the problem.” Carma twisted the reins between her fingers. “If I’m down here, and he’s up there—I’m afraid that we won’t break up, but not really be together either. You know what I mean?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Tori’s mouth twisted at one corner. “The distance is just about perfect for him to pop down here whenever he’s in the mood.”

  “But far enough to get so hung up in our day-to-day lives that we don’t give our relationship the time and attention it deserves.” Carma screwed up her face. “And I have a feeling it’s going to take a lot of energy for the two of us to get it right.”

  “He is Gil.”

  “And I am me. I don’t exactly have a stellar track record of my own.”

  Tori reined her horse around to continue on their way. “I have seriously considered suing the Beatles for letting me grow up believing that all you need is love. How come nobody wants to admit that it’s more like happily-if-you-work-your-ass-off-at-it-ever-after?”

  “Because if you put it that way no one would bother to try?” Carma suggested.

  “I guess you have to lure ’em in somehow,” Tori admitted grudgingly, then grinned. “And it is so worth it.”

  They crested the next hill and the wind grabbed Carma’s braid. She caught the end before it slapped her in the face. From where Tori paused, they could see nothing in any direction but an endless stretch of land and sky. Carma wanted to climb off her horse, sprawl on her back in the grass, and just stare up at the streamers of filmy white clouds.

  “We could help you,” Tori said. “If we thought you were letting him take advantage, me and Shawnee and Bing and the rest of the girls could slap some sense into you whenever you needed it.”

  Carma huffed a surprised laugh. “Gee, thanks—I think. But he’s family to you. I wouldn’t want to cause trouble.”

  “Pfft! If there’s one thing we all don’t mind, it’s butting heads with Gil.” She paused for effect, then added, “And it goes both ways, so if we thought you weren’t treating him right…”

  Carma gave a choked laugh. Far above, a shrill cry pierced the gusty air. Tori squinted into the intense blue of the sky until she located the bird. “That’s odd. We hardly ever see eagles around here in the summer.”

  A sense of knowing filled Carma as she looked up and watched the dark shape ride the air currents, swooping and circling directly overhead. Watching them.

  Watching over her.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the rustle of the grass and the whistling of the wind, until the music began to well up inside her to the tune of a thousand tiny voices singing out a welcome.

  She opened her eyes. “Tell your receptionist to go ahead and give her notice. I’ll be ready to start the second week of June.”

  Tori’s brows climbed above the rims of her sunglasses as she looked first at Carma, then up at the eagle, then nodded. “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  And it would be, somehow, as long as the land and the sky told her it was so.

  Chapter 33

  Jacobs Ranch—six weeks before the Diamond Cowboy Classic

  It was surreal, standing on the back of the chutes at the Jacobs arena, strapping on a pair of chaps instead of watching all the other cowboys get ready. As Gil fastened the last buckle, Delon raised his eyebrows.

  “Where’d those come from?”

  “The pawn shop in Dumas.”

  Delon frowned. “I gave you back all your stuff.”

  And while Carma was at the Patterson ranch, Gil had spent the previous evening going through the boxes with Quint, telling the stories behind old pictures, taking grief for how scrawny he’d been at Quint’s age.

  But when they’d pulled out the chaps—black with shimmering gold and metallic red fringe—Quint had picked them up with a sort of reverence. On impulse, Gil had said, “You can have them. In case you ever want…”

  “But you need chaps,” Quint had said hastily.

  Gil ran a hand over the battle-scarred leather. “I think I’ve outgrown these. But they’d fit you.”

  It was as close as he’d come to asking his son if he was interested in riding broncs. Quint hadn’t taken the bait, but later, when he’d claimed he was tired and going to bed, Gil could’ve sworn he’d gone into his room and tried them on.

  Maybe there was one positive tradition Gil could share with Quint. For now, though…

  He straightened and adjusted the new chaps more squarely on his hips. They were the opposite of the Flamethrowers, plain tanned leather with no fancy conchos or tooled designs. “I’m trying to keep a low profile, remember?”

  Delon gave him a long look, then nodded. Low-key. Low-risk. That was the plan they’d made, step by reasonable step. No one did controlled and sensible better than Delon. He also understood why Gil couldn’t bring combustible pieces of his past into this future.

  Beyond the fence, Miz Iris, Tori, Rochelle, and Carma sat in lawn chairs, sipping sweet tea like old friends. Carma had been subdued all day, and even now she seemed removed from the conversation. Gil had worried that her day at the Patterson clinic hadn’t gone well, but when he’d asked, she’d said it was good, just a little overwhelming. Then Grace’s brother, Jeremiah, had arrived for his interview, and Gil hadn’t had another chance to talk to her.

  But every time he looked over to where she was sitting, her gaze was fixed on him.

  The evening was balmy and still, as pretty as the Panhandle could offer in April, but Gil was sweating under his leather vest. Beni and Quint were ready to open the gate. Out in the arena, Hank and Steve were mounted on pickup horses to fetch Gil at the end of the ride. Three horses were loaded in the chutes, all old campaigners that were barely a step up from climbing on a merry-go-round.

  And still his heart thwacked against his ribs as he lowered himself onto Topper’s broad back. Was he really doing this? Yes, he was. This time, the scents of dirt and rosin were real. Instead of the wooden spur board, there was hard, warm horseflesh between his thighs as he worked his glove into the rigging. His pulse wanted to race, and his breath along with it.

  Calm. Steady.

  He’d expected to fumble, but after all those fantasy rides in the back room, every movement felt routine. Check his bind, slide up on the rigging, cock his free arm back. Nod hi
s head.

  The gate swung open, and Gil’s heels snapped up to plant in the gelding’s neck as he braced for the yank of the first jump. It was more like a long tug. Gil dragged his feet up to the rigging, snapped them forward again—and waited another endless moment for Topper to finish the next jump, like a slow-motion replay.

  Miz Iris finally blew the eight-second whistle and Topper leveled into a smooth lope, knowing his job was done. The pickup men closed in, and Gil pried his hand out of the rigging to throw an arm around Hank’s waist and drop to his feet, not even winded.

  Steve reined up beside him with a broad smile. “That wasn’t even a good warm-up. Give us a few minutes, and we’ll bring up some horses that’ll give you a little more of a challenge.”

  God yes. His body was primed for a real battle. He started to agree, but Delon cut him off.

  “Not tonight. The plan is to start out easy and see if you get sore. We’re sticking to it.”

  Exactly as Gil had sworn…dammit. Keep me reined in. Left to himself, he’d have told Steve to run in the rankest bastard he had. Instead, he gave a resigned nod. “These will do for tonight.”

  But when he stripped off his vest after the third ride, still vibrating with unused adrenaline, he felt like kicking something. Possibly his brother, who was enjoying his frustration way too much. Delon was smart enough to clear out, the boys close on his heels, though Beni muttered, “I coulda rode that last one,” as he passed.

  Hell, any kid could’ve owned that horse. He hadn’t kicked high enough to scatter his own shit. Gil hoisted his butt onto the platform behind the chutes, legs dangling as he yanked out the tails of his shirt, popped open the buttons, and shoved the sleeve off his right arm to pick at the waste of good athletic tape on his elbow. Nothing he’d climbed on tonight was gonna do any damage.

  Which was the point, dammit. He had no pain. And, he realized with a jolt, he hadn’t had a single doubt, no niggle of fear about reinjuring his hip, conscious or subconscious. Technically he’d made excellent rides, patient and precise, another on their list of goals. His all-out style might have thrilled the fans, but too often his loss of control had cost him. If he wanted to compete with Delon and the like, he had to eliminate every flaw.

  And in two days he’d be back to take on some broncs with a little more firepower…if he didn’t explode before then.

  “Lookin’ good, cowboy.”

  He glanced over to see Carma stepping through the gate from the arena, her hair and skin set aglow by the lowering sun, her eyes greedy as they skimmed over him. Answering heat flared instantly, deep and hard.

  That mouth of hers curved into a smile that set his blood on full boil. “I’m impressed,” she said.

  “Even when I’m riding a bunch of rocking horses?”

  One eyebrow rose. “Were you? I must’ve been distracted.”

  She stepped between his knees, her gaze bold and hungry as her hands slid up his thighs. God. He was so on edge her touch was like fire even through his chaps. She ran her palms along his bare torso, up his sides, over his chest, leaning in to scrape her teeth along the side of his neck.

  He shuddered, groaning, and took her mouth in a kiss that shot straight past any preliminaries. His hands dove under the hem of her lacy, half-transparent shirt. They had to stop. Someone might…

  He tried to turn his head, but she caught his chin. “They’re gone to have apple pie and ice cream. I told them not to wait for us.”

  Only the roof of the house was visible over the barn. No one could see down here, especially behind the chutes. And they all had more sense than to come looking.

  Gil’s hands closed on her hips, dragging her against him as he nuzzled kisses into the sweet silk of her hair, every ion of pent-up energy translating into mind-melting desire. He made one last-ditch attempt at sanity. “You know what they’ll think if we take too long to show up.”

  “Well, then…” She reached into the ugly purse she’d slung over her shoulder and pulled out a condom, dangling it in front of his nose like a ticket to heaven. “We’d better make it quick.”

  * * *

  Carma fell asleep on the ten-minute drive back to town, and the sun hadn’t even set.

  “Wow,” Quint whispered from the back seat. “Tori was right.”

  Gil shot her a concerned glance as he eased into the driveway and put the car in park. “About what?”

  “Miz Iris said Carma seemed tired, and Tori said it got pretty intense yesterday with one of their patients, and she guessed it might take a day or two for Carma to recharge. That they’d have to be careful not to let her get too drained.” Quint’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror, that pucker between his brows. “Is Carma leaving us to go to work for them?”

  Not that she’d told Gil. All he’d gotten was a text, a few minutes after he’d heard her van rumble into the trees out back.

  Home safe. See you in the morning.

  No goofy GIF. And no invitation to come on out and kiss her good night. He’d assumed the long day had worn her out, but he’d had no idea a treatment could do this to her.

  Did he do this to her?

  She’d never seemed drained after the times they were together, but maybe he just hadn’t noticed. He could be pretty damn oblivious. And it might be a matter of degrees.

  He stroked her cheek, and her lashes fluttered open, then shut again as she burrowed into his palm. “Mmm. Sorry. Long day.”

  And there would be many more to come. They were only getting started. The coming weeks would be a madhouse at Sanchez Trucking, and Gil knew from experience that he would get more demanding and even less patient as the Diamond Cowboy got closer.

  But he had to be careful with Carma. Less…consuming. He’d been using her like a USB port he could plug into whenever he needed to offload excess pressure. She would never tell him it was too much because Carma was a born giver.

  And Gil was born to take more than his share. Now that he knew better, though, there was no excuse. He’d have to find other outlets for his stress.

  She turned her head and pressed a warm, sleepy kiss into his palm. If there hadn’t been a console between them—and a teenage boy watching—Gil would have gathered her close and let her sleep on his shoulder.

  He ran a thumb along her eyebrow instead. “Wake up, darlin’. We need to get you to bed.”

  He ignored the stifled snort as Quint climbed out of the back seat. “Go ahead. I’ll see you”—Quint flashed a knowing grin—“later.”

  Which left Gil no choice but to drive Carma over to her van, tuck her in, and go directly home. Damn wiseass kid.

  * * *

  Carma woke up Friday morning feeling energized and clearheaded, her batteries finally recharged. She hummed along with the birds as she got dressed, her body twinging pleasantly from those hot, frantic minutes behind the chutes, and a little glow around her heart as she touched the spot where Gil had kissed her forehead as he tucked the blankets up to her chin.

  Spurring a bronc, teeth clenched and muscles straining, he was a glorious sight. But those random, unexpected moments of tenderness were what completely undid her.

  As she strolled past his house on the way to the office, the front door popped open and Quint stuck his head out.

  Carma paused, one hand on the world’s most ironic white picket fence. “Good morning.”

  “Mornin’.” Quint shuffled onto the front step, barefoot and rumpled in a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans, as if he’d jerked on clothes in his rush to catch her. “Are you feeling better?”

  Damn. Tori must have told them why she’d been so zoned out most of the previous day, with the notable exception of that quickie behind the chutes—testimony to the fact that the sight of Gil Sanchez in chaps was enough to raise the dead.

  Carma held her smile. “I’m great. How about you?”

  “Good
.” He smoothed a hand over his mussed hair in a very un-Quint-like gesture. “Are you going to work for the Pattersons?” he blurted. “I asked Dad and he didn’t answer, so I figured that meant yes.”

  Or that he didn’t know, since Carma hadn’t quite got around to telling him. No secrets in this crowd, though. “Eventually,” she said.

  Quint shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Because of me?”

  “Um…what?”

  “Are you leaving because I got you in trouble with my dad when I punched Sam?”

  Oh. Oh! “No! Not at all. He wasn’t even mad at me.” Much. She wrapped her hands around two of the white pickets. “I came here hoping to work with the Pattersons. On-the-job training, I guess you’d say, for the program my family is starting back home. Sanchez Trucking was sort of a detour.”

  “You were never planning to stay?”

  “Not indefinitely. I was clear on that from the start.”

  Quint’s eyes narrowed. “What about you and Dad?”

  “We didn’t expect things between us to get, well, complicated. Especially not so fast.” Carma shifted under his increasingly critical stare. “And I hadn’t planned on accepting a full-time position with the Patterson clinic.”

  Quint’s shoulders loosened a fraction. “So you’re just leaving this job, not us.”

  Us? Did he realize what he’d…

  Quint grinned, and Carma heaved an internal sigh. Silly girl. Of course Quint knew what he was saying. Didn’t he always?

  “I’m staying in Texas,” she said, a whole new glow warming her heart. Us. This incredibly particular child wanted her to be a part of them. “But I’m not making any guarantees about me and your dad, except that we are trying not to screw it up.”

  He nodded, looking absurdly wise for a kid with bedhead. “He can be kinda difficult. Let me know if you need any advice.”

  “I’ll do that,” she said, just as solemnly. “I bought myself a firepit Wednesday. How would you feel about roasting hot dogs and marshmallows tonight? Or is that for kids?”

  “Hey, I’m a kid.”