Relentless in Texas

by Kari Lynn Dell

  He tipped his head back, laughing in amazement. “God, you are something, Carmelita. Am I ever gonna stop finding new things to love about you?”

  It was almost incomprehensible, the way this tough, self-contained man tossed that word around so easily. He would never fail to surprise her, either. And they would probably never stop getting crossways of each other.

  “So, rule number one,” she said. “Tell each other what we really want. And rule number two: No assuming we know what’s best for each other.”

  He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “So basically change our entire molecular structure.”

  “I’ll rearrange your electrons if you’ll rearrange mine,” she offered.

  He grinned. “Now that’s a date. How about I start here?”

  She hummed her pleasure, then cringed when she saw the crowd clustered at the end of the hall, straining to hear over the noise from the arena, and watching with avid interest as he nipped at the bare curve of her shoulder.

  “Um, Gil, maybe we should wait…”

  Quint shoved his way through, face flushed. “Dad! You need to get out here.”

  Gil waved him away with an impatient hand. “We’re busy. Tell them No comment.”

  “Dad!” Quint planted his fists on his hips. “They need you in the arena.”

  Gil half turned, scowling. “Why? Was there some dumb-ass question they forgot to ask yesterday?”

  “You have to get on another horse.”

  Gil’s jaw dropped. “I… What?”

  Quint enunciated each word separately. “You won. You’re in the finals.”

  “I can’t be. That ride was ugly.”

  “And everybody else’s was uglier.”

  His eyes went wide. “Are you fu—”

  Carma slapped a hand over his mouth to cut off the curse. “Definitely not the place.”

  “Holy shit. I won. I have to go.” Gil grabbed her wrist and, tucking her behind him so he could break trail, hustled out of the hallway. The onlookers peeled away to clear a path, applauding and shouting encouragement. As they reached the mezzanine, a roar shook the coliseum, almost drowning out the announcer.

  “What a ride! The reigning world champ just showed you why he’s the man with the gold buckle. And rodeo fans, you know what that means.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It’s gonna be Sanchez versus Sanchez for all the diamonds.”

  Gil stopped and spun around. “Do you have the sky stone handy?”

  “Sure. In my purse.” She fished it out and gave it to him.

  “Thanks.” He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth. “I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

  * * *

  The coliseum went silent as once again the lights dimmed and a spotlight snapped on, creating a bright circle in front of the bucking chutes. Inside, the behind-the-chutes announcer stood with her microphone at the ready beside one of the judges, who held a silver bowl with two chips that would determine which horse they would ride. The rodeo announcer tuned his voice to mimic the opening of a prize fight.

  “Buckle your seat belts, folks, and prepare yourselves for the final showdown in our first event, the bareback riding! Representing the challengers, former pro rodeo rookie of the year and the comeback story of this year’s Diamond Cowboy event, from Earnest, Texas…Gil Sanchez!”

  Gil stepped nearly to the center of the circle, hands on hips, gaze hard.

  “And representing our invitees, also from Earnest, Texas, three-time and reigning world champion Delon Sanchez!”

  He stepped into the ring from the opposite side, meeting Gil in the middle with barely enough space between them for the judge to hold up the bowl. “As the rider with the highest score in the previous round, Delon Sanchez will choose first and ride last.”

  Delon held Gil’s gaze as he plucked a chip from the bowl. Gil followed suit. Neither of them broke eye contact or looked at what they’d drawn.

  The judge stepped back. The arena announcer stepped forward, her smile bright.

  “This is quite a moment for both of you.” She tipped the microphone toward Gil. “When you decided to enter the Diamond Cowboy, did you ever dream it would come down to this?”

  “Yes.”

  She waited. He didn’t elaborate. She turned to Delon, obviously expecting to be rescued. If anything, his expression was even stonier than Gil’s.

  Her smile wavered. “Regardless of who comes out on top, the ring will be going home with a Sanchez. It must be such a thrill to see Gil back in competition.”

  “It is,” Delon said. “I’ve been waiting a long time to show him who’s the top dog now.”

  Gil sliced him a kiss-my-ass smile. “Give it your best shot, little brother.”

  “Bet on it.”

  Rather than retreating, they stepped forward, deliberately bumping shoulders as they passed in the center of the spotlight.

  Gil said, “I get Steve.”

  “I’ve got Joe,” Delon shot back, like duelists picking their seconds.

  Abandoned, the arena announcer gave a nervous laugh. “Well, there you have it. These boys are serious. Let’s send it back up to the announcer’s booth for a few words about the horses they’ll be taking on.”

  “Thank you, Stephanie! We’re sticking to the family theme, with a mother-and-son duo from Smith Brothers Rodeo, and there’s not a nickel’s worth of difference between them. They’re just gonna bust outta the chute and throw on the power. If the cowboy gets tapped off, it’ll be spectacular, but if they have one bobble, they’ll be eating dirt. Like the song says, folks, with these broncs, it’s ‘Ninety or Nothin’.”

  * * *

  Geezus, the mare was big, her back wide as a truck and nearly level with the top rail of the chute.

  Gil flexed his riding arm, testing the tape he’d cut off and replaced to be sure he had all the support he could get. His spirit was more than willing, but he wasn’t so sure about his flesh. The cumulative effects of three rides quivered in his muscles and twinged in his tendons.

  Eight seconds. He only had to muster up enough strength for eight more ticks of the clock. He could go a helluva lot longer than that on pure stubbornness and pride, and the sheer joy of knowing that even if he got drilled into the ground one jump out of the chute, Carma would be there to kiss it better.

  Again, the hype and hoopla faded to the background when he straddled the mare. She was as calm as if they were headed out on a Sunday trail ride, but he wasn’t fooled. When the gate cracked, she’d go off like a cannon. Two chutes down, Delon stood waiting, arms folded, jaw set.

  Gil had no doubt his brother wished him the best of luck. And then Delon intended to kick his ass.

  “You got this,” Steve said.

  Gil nodded, slid up on his rigging, and called for the gate.

  This horse wasn’t a cowboy’s dream like Angel Wings, but she wasn’t a back-alley brawler like Blue Anchor either. When the force of the first jump hit Gil, every fiber from his fingers to his shoulder sang in protest, but his heels were solidly planted over the break of her shoulders. She didn’t pull any tricks. Just threw on the muscle and dared him to take what she dished out.

  Push. Push. Push. Keep it tight. Keep it snappy.

  He managed to stay just ahead of the mare, getting his spurs into her neck as her feet hit the ground, dragging them up to his rigging as she launched into the next jump. She grunted with effort as she bucked in a big circle in front of the chutes, giving the judges a front-row seat to pick out every flair and flaw. Time stretched as Gil fought to hold his form as the mare’s rump slammed into his shoulders.

  And then it was over. The whistle blew. The pickup man set him down right where he’d started and he braced a hand on the chute gate, his legs going rubbery as the adrenaline abruptly ran out. He barely had the energy to tip his hat when his eig
hty-eight score was announced.

  He’d given ’em hell. More than he’d thought he had in him. If this was the movies, he’d be holding the cash, the diamonds, and the girl when the credits rolled.

  But Delon hadn’t read that script.

  From the first jump out of the chute, the difference was clear. His body was tighter, his feet snappier, his confidence a force unto itself. Gil had matched the mare. Delon owned her son. When the whistle blew and his feet hit the ground, he didn’t even break stride, just pumped a fist in the air and accepted the well-deserved ovation as he sauntered back to the chutes, the outcome certain before the ninety-three-point score was tallied.

  Gil forced some starch back into his legs and met his brother halfway. They paused a beat, then flung their arms around each other and pounded one another on the back.

  “Helluva try,” Delon said.

  “Helluva ride.”

  “Maybe next year,” Delon said.

  Gil shook his head. “That wasn’t the plan.”

  “Screw the plan. I’ve been waiting my whole life to hit the road with my big brother. You owe me, asshole.”

  “You think so?” Gil thumbed his hat back and saluted their fan club, still on their feet and whooping it up after the rest of the crowd had subsided. Miz Iris threw out her arms in a long-distance hug. Carma blew him a kiss. Rochelle clapped slowly, her expression thoughtful as she watched her sons.

  Gil nodded toward her. “If you want to drag me outta the office, you’ll have to get permission from our mother.”

  Delon snorted. “I’m her baby. She can’t say no to me. I can get you to enough rodeos this summer and fall to be in the top fifty, so you’re eligible to enter next year’s big winter rodeos.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all penciled out.”

  “Nineteen different ways. I started the minute I heard you were sound enough to ride again.”

  Gil shook his head. And he thought he was the only one who got carried away. They turned in unison to stroll toward the exit gate.

  Delon ignored the event personnel who were waving at him to hurry. “Everything good with you and Carma?”

  “Until I fuck it up again.”

  Delon laughed. “So next week?”

  “If not sooner.” He glanced at where the dignitaries were lined up, waiting to present Delon with the huge cardboard check and glittering ring, and sighed. “You can’t wait to wave that thing under my nose.”

  “At least once a day,” Delon agreed, then gave a jerk of his chin toward where they’d left their gear bags. “Pack your shit. You’ve got a plane to catch.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going with Carma, dumb ass.”

  To Germany? Gil looked down at his vest, chaps, and boots. He had the clothes on his back and a thousand and one things to do at the office. He couldn’t just drop everything…could he?

  He glanced up at where Carma sat, then back at Delon. “I hear you’ve all been picking up my slack at the office.”

  “We’d be doing a lot more if we didn’t have to tiptoe around some hardheaded bastard who thinks he’s the only one who knows shit.” Delon pushed him in Carma’s direction. “Go away. Tori’s got your passport, and we’ve got the rest covered for as long as Carma needs you.”

  “Fine. I will.”

  “Good.” Delon gave Gil one last shove and went to collect his loot.

  * * *

  “Never bet against the champ.” Tori plucked a twenty-dollar bill out of Carma’s hand. “Now, you’re probably gonna want to get a move on. Our jet is fueled up and waiting at the airport.”

  Carma gaped at her. “Your…what?”

  “Jet. You know…” Tori made airplane wings. “If you leave now, you’ll probably beat your mother to the hospital.”

  Carma blinked at her. “That will cost a fortune.”

  “What good is money if you can’t use it to help your friends?” Tori said with a shrug. “Besides, we’ll make you earn it once you start working full—”

  Carma threw both arms around her and squeezed, her voice hitching. “Thank you so much.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Tori endured the embrace for about ten seconds, then started to squirm. “Um, really not a hugger here.”

  Carma laughed through a blur of tears as she let go and turned to Bing. “I guess you’re driving me to the airport after all.”

  “I think he’ll have something to say about that,” Bing said, pointing over her shoulder.

  Gil was striding along the mezzanine toward them, impossible to miss in his purple shirt with his gear bag slung over his shoulder. He barely acknowledged the fans who called out congratulations, his gaze locked on Carma.

  And just like that, she knew. That gut-deep certainty she’d felt when she saw the way Johnny looked at Bing, or when her dad reached over to give her mom’s hand a squeeze just because.

  This one was meant to be hers. Forever and always. Carma met him at the top of the stairs and he caught her hand.

  “Mind if I tag along?” he asked.

  She blinked. “To Germany?”

  He flashed one of those trademark sardonic grins. “Why not? I’ve heard stories about the bedroom on this jet. There’s a club I think we need to join.”

  Carma leaned into his arms, her head spinning. Somehow, this had become her life. Friends who would—and could—literally go above and beyond to get her to Eddie.

  A man who would drop everything to be with her.

  And making love suspended between the clouds and the stars.

  Epilogue

  Almost one year later at the Parsons arena near Browning, Montana

  The evening was warm for spring, and the breeze drifting through the open doors of the new indoor arena was soft with the promise of summer, despite the snow still gleaming on the peaks outside. Inside, one end of the dirt had been packed hard for the night’s festivities. As Gil leaned against a post at the edge of the makeshift dance floor, he was caught in a powerful wave of déjà vu.

  Where would he be right now if he hadn’t gone into the Stockman’s Bar that night? Not here. And not this unbelievably happy.

  He probably wouldn’t have a whole new family to get to know either. Sanchez Trucking had hired several of Rochelle’s relatives to help keep up with all the new business, and three of the cousins had moved to Earnest, two of them with their wives and kids. A person could say they were reverse colonizing the Panhandle, and Gil took great pleasure in imagining Earnest students being taught by the newly hired Mrs. Yazzie.

  Those kids were gonna get a whole new perspective on American history.

  The band wrapped up a song, and Eddie stepped onto the temporary wooden stage. Carma and Bing fretted about how he needed to gain back more weight, but Eddie was less haggard than he’d been almost a year ago. Those first weeks back from Afghanistan he’d struggled to leave his cabin at the Patterson ranch.

  Gil and Eddie shared a mutual obsession with technology and how to make things work better. Plus they both loved Carma…and knew a thing or two about nightmares. But it was Eddie and Quint who’d truly bonded. Quint who’d stayed in the cabin with him, playing cards or watching TV late into the night. And Quint who’d lured him to the arena to rope steers with Tori’s dad and whoever else was passing through.

  Gil and Carma had rented a cottage in a small town almost dead center between Earnest and the Patterson ranch. The thing was tiny and possibly even uglier than Delon and Tori’s, but the backyard was surrounded by trees and a high wooden fence, which allowed Carma to stretch out under the sky in whatever state of dress—or undress—she preferred.

  Gil couldn’t imagine anything better than rolling in late from a big win at the rodeo in Las Cruces, New Mexico, to find Carma basking in the moonlight, unless it was the two of them naked under the stars together.
<
br />   And when spring had begun to chase the white from the mountain peaks and scatter wildflowers across the Montana prairie, Eddie had decided he was ready to come home and manage the program his family had built for him.

  The lead singer relinquished the microphone, and Eddie cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming to the official opening of the Thelma White Elk Program for Hope. Our grandmother would have been so happy to see all of you here, supporting her dream.” Eddie gestured to a couple standing near the back. “We also have to thank David and Mary Parsons for giving us a home here in their arena.”

  “Hey! What about me?” someone called.

  Eddie laughed, more freely than since Gil had met him in that hospital in Germany. “And their son Kylan Running Bird, who has volunteered to be our official farrier.”

  Kylan waved from the corner where he, Beni, Quint, and a few other teenagers were lounging, all of them ropers. When Beni had heard Quint’s plans, he’d declared that they were gonna partner up to start a new Sanchez family tradition.

  Team roping. Geezus.

  Beni had also suggested that his dad and Gil consider learning, too, since they couldn’t ride broncs forever. It was a lot more tempting than Gil liked to admit.

  “Don’t forget that the silent auction closes in half an hour,” Eddie reminded everyone. Then, with a grand sweep of his arm, he announced. “And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for…my lovely and talented sister, Carmelita!”

  Gil was lost as soon as Carma started to dance. She looked almost exactly the same as when he’d first seen her, in black leggings, moccasins, and that clingy black dress. Tonight she’d cinched a silver and turquoise belt around her waist and left her hair loose.

  He would never get tired of watching her turn a piece of rope into a living thing that danced along with her. Hell, he’d never get tired of watching Carma do anything.

  Directly across the dance floor, Delon stood with both arms around Tori’s waist, her head tipped back against his shoulder. He and Gil had spent the day at the rodeo grounds, teaching a free clinic for a horde of eager young cowboys—and two that were pushing thirty. In high school they’d been the ones to beat, before drugs and alcohol had derailed them. Gil’s story had persuaded them to give it another shot—and they were only the latest of many who’d made a point of letting him know that he’d changed their outlook on life.