Relentless in Texas

by Kari Lynn Dell

  “And crossing every single one of them,” Bing pointed out.

  “Sort of. Maybe.” Carma scowled as her precious arguments crumbled around her, replaced by a frantic fluttering behind her breastbone. “I don’t know for sure that he loves me.”

  “Are you trying to be dense, or is this some kind of denial?” Bing countered, with a pointed look at the spot where Gil had been sitting on the couch. Right next to the coffee table where the geode sparkled in a shaft of midday sun.

  Carma’s last line of defense came crashing down. He’d given the stone back in case it might help Eddie. And he would’ve stayed. All the work, all the pain, all the anticipation, all the thrill of last night and potential triumph of today—Gil would’ve given it up to be with her. What kind of man would do that?

  The best kind. A man who was strong, and stubborn, and occasionally aggravating. Who would set aside his dream without a second thought if someone he cared about needed him.

  “He loves me,” she marveled, sounding like a sappy TV movie.

  “Duh.” Bing did a remarkable impression of Quint at his most sarcastic and turned her laptop so Carma could see the screen. “And now that that’s settled…if you want to catch that flight in Dallas we’ve gotta leave in about forty-five minutes.”

  Flying straight to Eddie. Who would also have their mother. And their mother would have Tony. The hospital would have a whole platoon of mental health professionals with way too much experience in treating soldiers like Eddie. If Carma was one hundred percent honest with herself, there wasn’t anything she could offer her brother in the next few days that he wouldn’t get from someone else.

  Her love was a given, and she could send that clear around the world without leaving Texas.

  She walked into the living room, picked up the geode, and turned it so the crystals sparked blue fire. It had kept the eagle’s promise. Eddie had been spared. Now someone else she loved was preparing to go into a different kind of battle. Was she going to sit back and let him do it without all the support and protection she could give him?

  “Gil isn’t gonna quit when this rodeo is over,” she said.

  “It would be a massive waste if he did,” Bing said. “And I can’t imagine his family letting him.”

  Carma smiled a little, picturing that conversation. Max had better keep his water hose ready to douse the flames. “It won’t be easy, trying to squeeze a relationship in with everything else we’ve both got going on.”

  “No, it will not. And you two will find all the ways to make it more difficult.”

  Carma shot her a scathing look. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Just remember to use your words. Communication is a beautiful thing.”

  “You say that like it’s simple.” But Carma’s smile took over her whole face. “If we’re gonna get ourselves looking presentable and in Amarillo by rodeo time, we’d better get a move on.”

  Bing grinned back. “Clean towels are in the hall closet, and Johnny will have the pickup running.”

  * * *

  Delon would make an excellent campaign manager if Tori did decide to go into politics. Or was that a press agent? Whoever made sure the reporters left you the hell alone when talking to them could be dangerous for both parties.

  Gil didn’t know exactly what word Delon had passed around, but it had worked. When Gil slung his bag down behind the chutes at the coliseum, even the other cowboys gave him plenty of space.

  He went through his preride routine on autopilot—gearing up, stretching, prepping his glove and rigging. Each time his mind wandered to Carma, he dragged it back. If he was going to do her proud, he had to focus. Plus there was a double rank bucking horse waiting for him in chute number six, and if Gil didn’t get his head together Carma might be visiting him in a hospital, too. He’d almost laughed when he saw the name of the horse he’d drawn. Blue Anchor—the mare that had body-slammed him out at the Jacobs arena.

  And would again if he wasn’t primed and ready for that swoop.

  The other cowboys didn’t have it any easier. This was what they called the eliminator pen—the toughest bucking horses the contractors owned. The chances of hitting the dirt were high for everyone, but they couldn’t safety up and just get to the whistle. Only one cowboy out of the sixteen qualifiers got to face off for the title. If Gil wanted to be that man, he’d have to open up and take his chances.

  When the horses were loaded, Gil draped his rigging over his arm and stepped onto the back of the chutes. From there he had a clear view of the seating contingent. They were all present and accounted for. Analise and Tori were sitting with Beth, who already fit right in even though she didn’t start until Monday. Hank and Grace had rushed back from a rodeo in Lubbock. All the mechanics were there, and a few drivers, along with various spouses and kids. Rochelle was between Miz Iris and Violet.

  But three seats beside the aisle had been left glaringly empty. No Carma, no Bing, and no Johnny.

  A hand clapped Gil’s shoulder, hard enough to rattle his teeth. “You ready?” Delon asked.

  Gil nodded, once again making the effort to clear his head of everything except this moment, this horse, this ride. He took the frustration and worry and channeled it into the hard, low thud of his pulse as he strapped his rigging on Blue Anchor. The mare cocked her head to eye him with a combination of challenge and contempt. Hope you brought more game this time, round ass.

  Ten minutes to go. The music swelled and a public address announcement urged everyone to take their seats before the lights were dimmed for the opening ceremonies. Delon gave him one last slap on the back, then went to line up for the introduction of the world champions, who would stride onto an elevated walkway lined with nozzles that spewed fog to catch the colored spotlights. Then a stirring patriotic video and the national anthem would draw the audience’s attention away from the crew that swarmed the arena to haul the stage out.

  Five minutes. Four. Three. Gil couldn’t tear his gaze away from those empty seats.

  Two minutes. One. The coliseum went dark, and laser-generated fireworks burst across the arena floor while spotlights played over the audience. One of them caught a woman standing at the head of the stairs, and Gil’s heart stalled.

  Carma. In a short, cream-colored dress, hair falling free around her bare shoulders, pausing with one hand on the rail—and that damn ugly purse slung over her shoulder. She met his gaze across the space and noise and commotion and smiled. A wide, no-holds-barred smile that hit him harder than any shot of whiskey. Then she extended her hand, palm up, and he saw the blue sparkle of the sky stone.

  Gil grabbed the top rail of the chute and sank into a crouch, his knees suddenly weak.

  Another, larger hand settled on his shoulder. “You okay?” Steve asked.

  Gil laughed. Okay? Try drunk on relief, riding the high only Carma could give him. She was here, for him, despite everything. She might as well have had them plaster the message up on the jumbo screen in neon letters.

  Carmelita White Fox loves Gil Sanchez.

  He dipped his chin and touched his hat brim, a gesture of everlasting gratitude to whatever higher power had dragged him out of his truck and into the Stockman’s Bar that night in Babb. No matter what happened now, he had already won.

  He straightened, braced his feet, and planted his hands on his hips. “Bring it on.”

  * * *

  “Impressive timing,” Violet said, as Carma waited for Bing and Johnny to scoot in ahead of her before she took the aisle seat. “Whoever’s running that spotlight deserves a big tip.”

  “Pure luck,” Carma said.

  “And a killer dress,” Melanie added. “The spotlight guys love a great pair of legs.”

  Those legs were still trembling from the sprint across the parking lot to get inside in time for the opening ceremonies. Carma’s hair wasn’t even
completely dry from her shower, and she’d had to do her makeup on the drive down. But she’d made it.

  Violet nodded toward where Gil was crouched on the back of the chutes. “Is he praying or cussing a blue streak? It’s hard to tell through all the smoke and lights.”

  And with Gil in general.

  Carma had braced herself for a barrage of questions and concern, but there was only Miz Iris leaning over to put one gentle hand on Carma’s shoulder and the other on Bing’s and give a gentle squeeze, obviously the designated giver of support and sympathy. Carma’s throat tightened. Bless them and their grapevine. There was no need to pester Carma with all the questions Bing had no doubt already answered. These were amazing people her cousin had fallen in with.

  And Carma too.

  She stared at the crown of Gil’s hat and wondered what was going on under there. He had seen her, there was no doubt about it. Was that good, or had she completely blown his concentration?

  Carma reached into her purse and closed her fingers around the geode. Win or lose, just let him be safe.

  Steve Jacobs leaned down to slap Gil on the shoulder. He nodded and straightened, chin up, chest out. As the lights came up and the smoke cleared, his gaze zeroed in to meet Carma’s, and for a long moment they could have been the only two people in the coliseum.

  Then he smiled, a wicked promise that whatever happened next was gonna be worth watching.

  * * *

  “The competition will start with our qualifiers, all fighting for that number one spot,” the announcer explained to the audience. “Then the five invitees will duke it out to see who goes head to head with the challenger for the diamonds. First up, a hot young Idaho cowboy…”

  That was the last thing Gil heard. When he stepped over the back of the chute, his mind went still and deadly calm, like a sniper zeroing in on his target. The noise, the nerves, the doubts—they all faded as he worked his glove into the rigging and tested his bind. The only voice he heard was Steve’s, deep and low, as he and Joe checked the flank strap and helped Gil place his rigging in the perfect position and cinch it tight. The only thing he saw was the curve of the mare’s shoulder below her wild mop of black mane.

  That was the target. If he planted his heels right there on every jump there was no way she could get out from under him.

  He was barely aware of the clangs and cheers and whistles that accompanied the rides before him. He didn’t watch. He didn’t listen to the scores. They didn’t matter. Only him and this horse. Then Delon’s hand was on his back, Steve stood ready to pull the flank strap, and Joe was at the mare’s head, keeping her square in the chute as Gil gritted his teeth and nodded his head.

  The gate opened, and she launched.

  Drive, drive, drive… Gil slammed his feet down, fighting the power that tried to yank his arm straight and smack his head off her ass. From the first jump, it was a slugfest. She punched, he countered, so dialed in that he felt the bow of her spine as she began to swoop left. He was ready, his free arm jerking hard to keep him centered, his shoulders back. But as the seconds ticked down his control began to slip, and his hips slid a precious inch away from the rigging, then two. Come on, come on…

  Just as the whistle blew, the mare yanked him to the end of his arm, flipping him down and over her head to slam him onto his back. He rolled with the impact and came to his knees, gaze shooting from one judge to the next, looking for a telltale yellow disqualification flag on the dirt.

  There were none.

  The roar of the crowd crashed down on him as he staggered to his feet and slumped against the fence, sucking air. Up on the big screen, the gate swung open again in slow motion. Geezus. It looked almost worse than it had felt. Those last few ticks of the clock were definitely going to cost him.

  “Eighty-five points!” the announcer intoned. “That’ll put Gil Sanchez in first place for the moment, but we’ve got six more top cowboys and rank horses yet to go.”

  And that was it. Game over. That score wouldn’t hold up through the next six rides. Gil drew a breath and got his bearings. As luck would have it, he’d ended up almost directly below where the Sanchez fan club was seated.

  Back at the chutes, the television reporter was waiting, microphone ready, to broadcast his opinion of the beating he’d just endured. He was supposed to make a few comments on his ride, then go stand on a platform where the television and in-house cameras could catch his reaction when someone inevitably knocked him off the top of the leaderboard.

  Screw that. He had one more promise to keep. He jerked the lace of his glove loose with his teeth, unwound it, and stuffed it into the waist strap of his chaps. Then he grabbed the top rail of the fence, hoisted himself over and headed straight for Carma.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed, as he latched onto her hands and hauled her out of her seat.

  “Making absolutely damn sure you know how happy I am to see you,” he said, grinning like he’d won all the diamonds, and then some.

  After the barest hesitation, she sighed and said, “I should’ve known you’d make a spectacle of this.”

  And she kissed him, long and hard, while cheers, laughter, and catcalls rained down around them, and somewhere nearby he heard Quint groan, “Aw, geez. On TV?”

  Chapter 45

  When they finally came up for air, Gil laced his fingers through hers and tugged her up the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” Carma protested, not exactly dragging her feet. “You’re supposed to be down there doing…stuff.”

  “They’ll get over it.” They reached the mezzanine and he glanced both directions and cut right, towing her past startled spectators, then left down a short service hallway between two concession stands. When they reached the end, he spun her around and planted a hand on either side of her shoulders, bracketing her in place. He was wearing that purple shirt she loved and he smelled of sweat and rosin, leather and horse, so potent it sent her head spinning.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  Her breath was coming in short puffs from a combination of exertion and lust. “This might not be the best time—”

  “I’ve wasted too much already.” Then he abruptly pushed to arm’s length to study her face. “Your brother. Anything new?”

  “He’s at the hospital. Mom and Tony are on their way.”

  “And you’re here.” There was a note of awe in his voice, followed immediately by concern. “Did you have trouble getting a flight? Do you need, um, money or something? Those last-minute ticket prices are legal extortion.”

  A tad insecure. Damn, Bing. Did she always have to be right? Now that he had time to think, he was already wondering if she’d only come because she didn’t have a better option.

  Carma held up the pink camo rhinestone purse. “Do you see this?”

  “Uh…yeah.”

  She waved a hand to indicate her dress, her makeup, her absolute favorite lace-up sandals. “Do you see this?”

  His eyes went liquid and hot. “Oh yeah. Everybody in the building saw that.”

  “And do you honestly think a woman would go to this much trouble to look good, then carry a purse this damn ugly if she wasn’t trying to make a statement?”

  That startled a laugh out of him. “I guess not. But I didn’t realize—”

  “No, wait. I just want to say that earlier, when I sent you away, you shouldn’t have felt…” She trailed off, hearing herself, and slapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh my God. I’m doing it again. We can’t even have a big romantic moment without me trying to dictate what you should feel.” She flapped her fingers at him. “Go ahead. You start.”

  His mouth quirked. “So this is you telling me exactly how I should stop letting you decide what I should do.”

  She groaned. “I am pathetic. Do you know yesterday was the first conversation I ever had with Jayden that I didn’t sa
y the words, ‘You should’?” When his eyebrows shot up, she groaned again. “Right. Mentioning the ex. Also not recommended for big romantic moments.”

  “Let me try.” He nuzzled into her hair, kissing the side of her neck and making her shiver. “I should have made a U-turn way back in November and drove straight back to Montana, because I never stopped thinking about you. Or I should have texted you an invitation to come south for the winter and promised to keep you very, very warm. At the very least, I should have told you the first time we showered together that I would be honored to be your spare tire, just tell me where you want to go.” He leaned back to angle her a dangerously boyish smile. “How am I doing?”

  “Um…not bad,” she stammered, fighting for the air he’d knocked clean out of her. “I think you should keep practicing, though.”

  “Nope. Your turn.”

  She tried to reassemble the brain cells he had so thoroughly scrambled. “Oh. Okay. I should have left you a note when I left last night that said I am so incredibly proud of you, and we are still on for Later, just stop by my van when you get home.”

  “Dammit!” He smacked the heel of his hand against the wall. “I knew I should have come knocking.”

  “Well, see, that’s the kind of thing that happens when we don’t communicate. We end up tired and cranky and unsatisfied, when we should have been celebrating.” She gentled her smile, reaching up to cup his face. “We are both way too good at protecting ourselves by putting other people first.”

  “Because if you take all the responsibility, they can’t let you down?” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure you haven’t been talking to Tamela behind my back?”

  “Believe me, I know my limits, and that is one I would not test.” She slid her palm down to the side of his neck. “We wouldn’t have to do things behind your back if you’d just ask for help.”

  “Sure. And while I’m at it, I’ll just come to work naked.”

  She smiled. “It’s not that hard.”

  “Asking for help?”

  “Coming to work naked.” She shrugged. “Been there, done that. Have the movie credits to prove it.”