Violet felt her lip curl. Lord, the man put her teeth on edge, and not just because she’d made a complete fool of herself. He strutted around like he was God’s gift to rodeo, radiating energy like those big static electricity balls at the science museum. When one of the buckle bunnies put a hand on his arm, Violet was surprised the girl’s bleached hair didn’t stand on end. Violet was not surprised to see the blonde scribble on the corner of her rodeo program, tear it off, and tuck it into Joe’s hand.
“You’re in for a real treat today, folks. Our next bareback rider is a fan favorite…especially with the single ladies,” the rodeo announcer declared in a voice that was the equivalent of an exaggerated wink. “Delon Sanchez is a seven-time National Finals Rodeo qualifier, currently number one in the world standings!”
The crowd clapped enthusiastically, enjoying the exceptionally nice view as Delon leaned over the horse. His sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, exposing the muscle that bulged in his forearm. Little wonder his grip on the stiff leather handhold was nearly impossible to break. Riata Rose wasn’t nearly as awestruck. The mare slumped against the side of chute, sulking, as he worked his hand into the rigging, the squeak of rosin and leather audible. The chute crew massaged her mane and shoved on her hip as Delon lowered himself onto the horse’s back, but Rose wouldn’t budge.
Into the lull, the announcer’s voice boomed. “Hey, Joe, did you know Violet here is the only female pickup man in Texas?”
Oh hell. Not that again.
“Shouldn’t it be pickup girl?” Joe made it sound indecent, like she plied her trade on street corners.
The announcer grinned down at her from the crow’s nest, oblivious. “Well, now, I’m not sure. Do you prefer pickup girl, Violet?”
She gave an exaggerated shrug, but couldn’t stop the sidelong scowl she fired at Joe. He answered with a mocking smile. She snapped her focus back to the chute, but Riata Rose was in a mood and had no intention of cooperating until she felt damn good and ready. The mare sank onto her haunches. Delon shook his head and climbed off. In that position, the mare could flip onto her back in an instant and crush him.
While the crew tried to persuade Riata to play nice, Joe moved down the fence to an older couple, their knobby knees sunburned pink below baggy walking shorts. He held out the clip-on microphone so the woman’s strong German accent could be heard over the loudspeakers.
“What do you do? You don’t look like a cowboy.”
A valid question. If it weren’t for his white straw cowboy hat, he could have been mistaken for a soccer player, lean and edgy as a feral cat, in silky black shorts and a long-sleeved red jersey plastered with sponsor logos. His shaggy hair might be a fashion statement or just neglect, but either way it added to his general air of too cool for you.
“I’m a bullfighter,” he said.
“You fight the bulls? With the sword?” The woman made a stabbing motion, enthusiastic enough to make Joe step back.
“No, ma’am. I just jump in after the ride ends and distract the bull long enough for the cowboy to get away.”
“Oh.” The woman looked disappointed. “Why don’t you ride?”
“Have you seen the horns on those things?” Joe gave an exaggerated shudder. “You couldn’t pay me to get on one.”
Laughter rippled through the audience, for which Violet was reluctantly grateful. Joe was doing a good job of filling dead air, the same way he chatted with the cluster of fans that waylaid him every day after the bull riding. He’d also gone along with the impromptu autograph session the committee had included in their pancake breakfast. Three days in, even her dad couldn’t complain about Joe’s behavior.
Joe caught Violet’s glance—okay, maybe it was more like a frown—and his eyes narrowed. He held her gaze as he leaned closer to the German woman, his voice dropping to a purr. “I might consider climbing on a bucking horse if it meant Violet would pick me up.”
The crowd laughed and cheered in approval. Violet glared at Joe, kicking Cadillac up a few steps and angling the horse to turn her back on Joe. Big mistake.
“Hey, Vi?” he called out. “In case you’re wondering…those chaps make your butt look just fine.”
Her face went hot as a pancake griddle as every eye in place tracked straight to the back of her saddle. She slapped her hand against her thigh as if to encourage Riata Rose, hoping no one but Joe noticed her middle finger was extended. Three more horses to buck, then she could ride out of the arena, march up to the announcer’s stand and crank the dials on the sound system until the feedback fried Joe’s ears. And honest to God, if he made a crack about her not being any shrinking violet, she and Cadillac would run him down on the way.
One of the crew rattled the sliding gate at the front of the chute as if to open it and let Riata move forward. She fell for the fake, straightening. Delon slid into position and nodded his head. The chute gate swung wide and the mare blew straight in the air, all four hooves off the ground. The instant she touched down, she launched again, even higher.
Delon matched her, lick for lick, the loose rowels of his spurs singing as his knees jerked up and back, every stroke precise. Shoulders square, no wild flopping or bouncing, rock solid in the midst of a storm, while the silvery fringe on his chaps whipped around him. Violet kicked her horse into a lope to circle around in front of Riata Rose. The mare followed her lead, bucking in a tight loop in front of the chutes, clear to the eight-second buzzer.
On cue, Rose flattened out into a bounding lope. Cole closed in one side, Violet on the other. As she thundered up alongside, Delon yanked his hand from the rigging and grabbed Violet around the waist. The mare’s shoulder slammed into Violet’s leg, but the contact was routine, absorbed by her shin guard. She clamped her knees hard against the saddle as she veered left to pull Delon clear, then reined her horse to a stop. He dropped on his feet only a few yards from the bucking chute where he’d started.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for Delon Sanchez!” the announcer hollered. “If he keeps riding like that, this will be the year he brings a gold buckle home to Texas!”
Delon tipped his hat to acknowledge the cheers, then held up a fist. Violet bumped hers against it. He smiled up at her, out of breath and breathtaking with those sparkling brown eyes and chiseled cheekbones. His smile made her heart sigh a little, because it was the same one she saw on her son’s face every single day.
“And the judges say…eighty-two points!” the announcer boomed. “There’s your new leader, folks!”
Riata Rose flung her head up, prancing around the arena like a total prima donna, then ducked out the catch pen gate. Delon saluted the crowd then reached back and down to unbuckle the leg straps on his chaps as he stood beside Violet’s horse.
“Soon as I get my gear packed up, I’m gonna grab Beni from your mom and hit the road.”
“His backpack and suitcase are by the door in my camper.”
“Thanks. Don’t worry about picking up milk or anything—we’ll grab some groceries on the way.”
Thank the Lord above. They were all going home for the first time in three weeks. Tonight she’d dither as long as she wanted in a shower big enough that she didn’t bang her elbows when she shampooed her hair. “I can’t wait to sleep in a bed without wheels under it.”
“I hear ya.” Delon rolled his shoulders, then angled a look toward where Joe stood chatting with another fan, the microphone turned off. “Is he giving you a hard time?”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Usually she could ignore it. Cowboys had been making her the butt of asinine jokes since she started picking up broncs as a teenager.
“Joe’s not like most of the guys you know.”
Yeah. She’d noticed. “We can handle him.”
Delon aimed another narrow-eyed look at Joe. Then he slapped Violet’s leather-clad knee. “We’re outta here. I’ll see y’all
at the ranch.”
Reckless in Texas
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About the Author
Kari Lynn Dell is a ranch-raised Montana cowgirl who attended her first rodeo at two weeks old and has existed in a state of horse-induced poverty ever since. She makes her home on the Blackfeet Reservation, where she lives in her parents’ bunkhouse along with her husband, her son, and Max and Spike the Cowdogs. There’s a tipi on her lawn, Glacier National Park on her doorstep, and Canada within spitting distance. Visit her at karilynndell.com.
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Last Chance Rodeo Page 26
