Relentless in Texas

by Kari Lynn Dell

  None of those things made Gil feel a damn bit better.

  “Fine. Let’s go,” he said.

  But her absence had taken the shine off his mood. They shuffled outside, the cumulative fatigue hitting Gil hard as he stepped into the still-balmy night air.

  “I can’t believe you did it,” Quint said, with an insulting amount of disbelief. “Uncle Delon and Uncle Steve kept saying you could, but I thought they were just trying to build your confidence.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Quint shrugged. “You gotta admit, it was a long shot.”

  Past the moon and to the stars. Gil felt as if he’d been launched into hyperspace, where this man had never gone before. Tomorrow he could go even higher.

  Chapter 42

  When they were in the pickup and headed back to Earnest, Bing turned in her seat to check on Carma. “How bad, on a scale of one to I never want to speak to another human again?”

  “Six. Maybe seven. I’ve been worse.” Carma tipped her head back, her exhaustion battling with the desire to be with Gil. “I shouldn’t have left.”

  “Gil saw how you were after that first trip to the Patterson ranch. He’ll understand. And you don’t want to be so wiped out that you can’t function tomorrow.”

  Bing was right. Dammit. And it wasn’t like Gil was dying to see Carma. He hadn’t so much as stuck his head out and waved, even after the initial chaos had died down.

  “How was Jayden?” Bing asked.

  “Better than usual. It’s really done this time.”

  “Good to hear.” Bing reached back and squeezed her hand. “Probably not what you needed on top of everything else, though. Gil took it okay?”

  “Seemed to.”

  Other than not even trying to see her after his ride. She kept telling herself that he’d had a thousand people trying to talk to him, but it felt like payback. You want to ignore me all afternoon…

  Which was better than if he’d completely forgotten her. At least if he was mad it meant he gave a damn. She closed her eyes as they rolled through the outskirts of Amarillo, the bright lights of an endless procession of gas stations and fast-food restaurants and used car lots adding to her sensory overload.

  She’d done this to herself. When Gil had asked her to give up her Wednesdays and the after-work rides at the Patterson ranch, she’d vowed to find some other way to decompress. Long walks. Meditation. A ride along the river at the Brookman ranch when she could fit it in.

  But two evenings a week she went with Gil to practice. On the others, Quint showed up for more trick-roping lessons, or Rochelle invited them to supper at the house she’d taken over from Merle, or Carma was invited to a girls’ night at Analise’s apartment in Dumas. She’d enjoyed all of it—and she’d known it was too much. Never a good sign when she almost burst into tears because she couldn’t find her favorite gel pen to write her weekly letter to her brother.

  Eddie said emails weren’t the same as getting an actual envelope to rip open.

  The uncertainty of her relationship with Gil had only compounded the problem. In the past few days she’d started to dread the moment when the Diamond Cowboy was over. Would Gil finally tell her how she was pretty sure he felt about her? Or would he be so caught up in the thrill of riding again that he’d decide it wasn’t the time to make any kind of commitment?

  If tonight was any indication, she might want to brace herself for a rapid retreat on his part.

  Stop. Everything felt hopeless when she let herself get this tapped out. After a good night’s sleep…

  The next thing she knew, Bing’s hand was on her shoulder. “Honey, you’re home.”

  Carma yawned her thanks for the ride and stumbled into the van, where she crawled onto the bed and crashed again without getting undressed.

  But now her sleep was filled with fractured sounds and images. Faces loomed out of nowhere—Lily, Violet, Miz Iris, total strangers—all of them demanding to know where Gil was. Why hasn’t he called? He didn’t even send a text? The questions hammered at her along with the announcer’s voice, and the chorus of one of those irritating country-pop songs they’d played too many times. Shake it yourself, asshole.

  Then she was in Jayden’s pickup, and he was driving back to Montana and they were arguing about Gil, and Texas, and how Carma had to come back home where she belonged. She wanted out, had to get back to the rodeo, but Jayden wouldn’t stop and let her out. And then he did, in downtown Denver, and there were scary men staring at her, following her as she stumbled blindly down street after street looking for a cab, a bus, anything.

  She had to get back. The rodeo was starting and Gil was about to ride and he would be furious if he found out she’d missed it because of Jayden. Then somehow she was running through the Denver airport, checking gate after gate for a flight to Amarillo, but they kept saying no, not this one, and telling her to get on the train but it was always going in the wrong direction, and she was so tired her legs kept buckling and she set her purse down for just a second and it was gone. Stolen. No phone, no money…

  She fought her way out of the anxiety dream, her pulse pounding in her ears. Rolling onto her back, she pressed both fists to her chest and fumbled for her purse, just to be sure. It was there, phone tucked in the side pocket. No texts. No missed calls. 3:19 a.m.

  Carma stripped off her dress, pulled on her sleep shirt, and found an audiobook on her phone, an old favorite with a mellow narrator. The soothing voice and well-worn story drew her mind away from its endless loop of chatter, but the sky was turning pearl gray in the east when she finally slept soundly.

  * * *

  She woke up at eight, tired and still unsettled by that frantic dream. Coffee. Sugar. Ibuprofen. And a little fresh air wouldn’t hurt. She could walk the long way around to the front gate and sneak into the office for her caffeine fix. Max would be the only one in this morning, doing his usual Saturday morning inspection of the shop to be sure the mechanics had left everything ship-shape.

  A dry, gritty wind buffeted her as she walked, her body feeling as if she was overdue for maintenance and running low on oil. When she shuffled into the break room, she nearly wept at the scent of strong, fresh coffee. Bless you, Max. A loud bang made her jump, sloshing creamer onto the floor. Gil stomped through the door, hair raked into spikes, wearing his standard T-shirt, jeans, running shoes, and scowl—so exactly like every other morning that for an instant she wondered if she’d imagined the past twenty-four hours.

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted.

  He frowned. “Where else would I be?”

  “Uh…resting? Focusing?”

  “If I get any more focused, I’m gonna burn a hole in my skull.” He flipped open the top on a fresh box of doughnuts and growled when he saw Way to go, Boss Man! in Max’s blocky scribble inside the lid. “Analise broadcast the rodeo results to all the drivers, and they told half the clients, and it was on the radio this morning. Everyone in the Panhandle seems to think they need to personally congratulate me.”

  “Assholes,” Carma said. God. He was so wired, the electricity danced across her already-raw nerves.

  “Tell me how you feel after you’ve listened to them for an hour.” He glared balefully at the doughnuts before snatching one dipped in chocolate and peanuts. “There’s a whole shitload of messages. I had to mute my cell phone and send the landlines to voicemail so I could wade through my inbox to find the stuff that’s actually business-related.”

  That was the real problem. They were knocking holes in his walls, slopping together parts of his life he kept neatly divided. And wait a minute. He expected her to check the messages on a Saturday morning, when she’d only come for the coffee?

  She plunked a couple of sugar cubes into her coffee and stirred, wincing when the spoon clanked against the mug. As always, the suffocating fatigue had coalesced into prickles underneat
h her skin, making her hypersensitive to every touch and sound. And person.

  For the first time, he actually looked at her…and frowned. “Geezus. Mom and Quint were right. You do look fried.”

  Her mouth dropped open, but she had no words. That was how he greeted her this morning? Wow, you look like shit.

  He blinked as if he suddenly heard himself and plowed his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I’m just really…well, you know.”

  “Sorry? Yeah, I noticed.” She grabbed the last chocolate doughnut even though she would rather have had maple, then headed toward her desk out of pure habit.

  He came after her. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “Yes, you did.” She fired a glare at his office door. “Just go make your computer stop doing that.”

  He hesitated, then muttered a curse and disappeared into his lair. The pinging stopped. The swearing didn’t. Carma slapped her headphones on, picked up the phone, and started writing down messages.

  After all, that was their deal—first and foremost, Carma answered his damn phone.

  * * *

  Obviously, Gil wasn’t the only one on edge this morning. He had crashed when he got home last night…only to snap awake three hours later, certain that all of it—from Huntsville to the practice sessions to Amarillo—was just another dream. Scratch that. It was a nightmare, so vivid that he’d hauled himself out of bed to dig his grubby shirt and jeans from the hamper, going limp with relief at the very real dust and sweat and scent of horses.

  And if Quint had woken up and found him sniffing his dirty laundry, he’d think Gil was back on drugs.

  Getting back to sleep had been impossible. After the rides he’d made, the prospect of hitting the road was hammering at him. He could buy his pro card today, enter up all through July and August…

  No. He’d promised that this was a one-shot deal. Trying to juggle just this rodeo along with everything else had almost pushed him over the edge.

  But once the others are all settled into their jobs…

  No! For once, he would listen to his younger self and live like tomorrow might be his last day in an arena. But that left him with only Carma to think about, and that wasn’t any more restful. If she wasn’t supposedly worn out, he would have gone knocking on her van at about 4:00 a.m., when the agitation drove him out of his bed.

  He’d watched two episodes of one of those wilderness survival reality shows instead, wondering how long any of them would last in Carma’s mountains without a cameraman constantly on hand to toss them a sandwich. The grizzlies would probably get them all, he’d decided…and the sandwiches, too.

  But he hadn’t expected Carma to be the real bear this morning.

  Half an hour after she stole the last chocolate doughnut—and he knew damn well maple was her favorite—she marched into Gil’s office and dumped a mountain of pink While You Were Out slips on his keyboard. “There are a few dozen more jerks who wanted to congratulate you.” She handed him two sticky notes. “I saved the voicemail from your dad saying he wishes he could be there today, but he didn’t want to make it awkward for your mom, so he’d be watching on TV and cheering you on. And those are both from owner-operators who are looking for regular loads.”

  Gil had wondered if Merle would show up. From the time they were kids, he’d been in the stands for the big stuff whenever he wasn’t on the road. But for once, it was better that he wasn’t—and knew it. Maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as they all thought. Gil stuck the other notes to his monitor to deal with on Monday, then grabbed a fistful of messages and started flipping through them. “Who the hell are all these people? I don’t even recognize half the names.”

  “Guess that’s what happens when you go getting all famous.” She started out the door. “If there’s nothing else, I actually only came to grab coffee.”

  Gil checked the time as he followed her into the reception area. “We’d both better get out of here. It doesn’t look like you’ve even showered, and we have to leave in half an hour.”

  She whipped around to face him. “Excuse me?”

  “I have to be in Amarillo at eleven,” he said, then remembered she hadn’t been with them when they’d discussed this morning’s departure time. “Oh right. I guess you missed that since you went home early, but it’s been on Delon’s schedule all along. Mandatory press conference for the finalists.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his impatient tone. “I remember the press conference. I don’t recall being invited.”

  “Invited?” Why wouldn’t she think she was welcome—hell, wanted—to come along?

  “You know, where you ask a person if they would like to attend a particular function?” She folded her arms and set her jaw. “Contrary to what you seem to think, I am not your spare tire.”

  “My…what?” he asked, dumbfounded.

  “That thing you assume will be in the car wherever you go. The one you don’t even think about until you need it? When’s the last time you actually invited me to go someplace, instead of just informing me of your schedule and assuming I’d be in the car?”

  What the fuck? She’d insisted she wanted to be included in every part of his life, and now she was busting his balls for not sending her an engraved invitation every time they left the damn trucking yard? Gil mirrored her posture, cinching his arms over his chest. “If this is about last night…then yes, I probably screwed up. I could have waded through that sea of reporters to lay a kiss on you and thrill the fans. But since you didn’t bother to tell me that you were taking off with my car and leaving me cooling my heels for three hours, I figured radio silence was standard operating procedure.”

  She gave a contemptuous snort. “There were plenty of other people who could’ve given you a ride wherever you wanted to go. And considering how hard we’ve all been busting our asses to make this happen for you, I thought I’d earned a little time off.”

  “From work?” He thumped his chest. “Or from me?”

  Her eyes glinted dangerously. “Right this minute? I’d take—”

  “Time out!” Quint barked from the hallway, making an emphatic T with his hands. “Geezus. I could hear you clear back in the weight room.”

  Carma stuck out her chin. “Because this place is built out of Popsicle sticks and tissue paper. I can’t sneeze without one of the mechanics yelling ‘Bless you’!”

  “If you hate it here so bad, why didn’t you just quit?” Gil demanded, guilt digging a fetid claw into his gut and stirring up his temper even more. “I didn’t want you to give up your Wednesdays off, but you insisted on doing more.”

  “You needed me!” she all but yelled.

  “I didn’t ask you to run yourself ragged for my benefit. I would have managed!”

  “But you weren’t,” Quint said, quiet enough to shut them both up. “That night of Bing’s party, you were…” He shook his head, unwilling to put it into words, and his mouth went tight. “It wasn’t Carma’s idea. Grandma told everyone to come to her or Uncle Delon or Analise with their questions instead of bothering you. Max hired the new mechanic himself, without running all the applications by you. And I—”

  Quint cut off abruptly.

  “You what?” Gil glared at first one, then the other. “What else has been going on behind my back?”

  Quint shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and hunched his shoulders. “Nothing. Forget about it.”

  Gil took a step closer. “I don’t think so. I’m damn tired of being left in the dark. What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” Carma repeated. “Because it might upset you to find out that there’s a Sanchez boy who doesn’t want to be a bareback rider. So he hung around here pretending to be interested instead of going to roping practice with Tori and Beni.”

  “Roping?” Gil echoed, incredulous. “Like…steers?”

  “Yes,” Quint
muttered, sounding like an actual sullen teenager.

  Team roping. His son. It was all well and good for Beni, who was already on his way to outgrowing any of the roughstock events. But Quint? He had the build. The athletic ability. He could do anything…and he wanted to take up the rodeo equivalent of bowling?

  “You have got to be—”

  Before Gil could finish the sentence, Carma’s cell phone rang. Visibly relieved to have something else to focus all her pent-up energy on, she pulled it out of the back pocket of her faded denim shorts and frowned at the screen. “Hey, Bing. What’s—”

  Then her face went pale and she grabbed the edge of the desk for support. “Eddie,” she whispered.

  Chapter 43

  “He’s alive,” Bing said, her voice firm. “And he’s in one piece. Is there someone with you?”

  “Yes.” Carma sagged with relief, vaguely aware of Gil and Quint grabbing her by the arms and guiding her into a chair. “How bad is it?”

  “They aren’t absolutely sure. Your parents got the call from one of his friends, not through the official channels, and the soldier didn’t know many details. A mortar round landed on the base, just outside the canteen. At least one person was killed and several injured. It sounds as if Eddie was far enough away that he was thrown clear. The guy who called said it looked like he was talking to the medics, and it didn’t look like he was bleeding other than some small cuts. They loaded everyone on a plane to the military hospital in Germany, and no one would tell him anything except that Eddie’s injuries didn’t appear to be life-threatening.”

  Oh God. Oh, thank God. Carma’s hands were shaking so bad she could hardly hold the phone. Gil took it from her. “What do you want us to do?” he asked Bing.

  “Bring her to me.”

  * * *

  They put her in the back seat of the Charger, and Quint held her hand the whole way out to the Brookman ranch. The scenery was a blur, her mind flooded with possibilities that varied from bad to worse. If she’d let him, Gil probably would have carried her into the house, but she forced her rubbery legs to walk from the car to Bing’s couch while Johnny hovered nearby, silent and helpless. The landline rang and Bing snatched it from the cradle, holding it so both she and Carma could hear.