Relentless in Texas Page 10

  Gil kept waiting for Carma to shut her down—a skill she practiced regularly in the office when callers were too persistent, bless her unflappable heart. He’d forgotten what it was like to have the annoying, irrelevant, and just plain crazy screened out of his calls.

  But now Carma was acting weird, smiling a little too much and being careful with her answers. Was she trying to impress his sister-in-law for his benefit?

  Tori swirled a carrot stick in ranch dressing. “It sounds like you’ve led a very interesting life.”

  “I’ve been lucky enough to have some unique opportunities,” Carma agreed.

  “You must enjoy new challenges.”

  A barely polite way of saying that Carma didn’t seem to stick with anything for very long—which shouldn’t annoy Gil so much when he’d asked Bing the same question only a day earlier.

  “Yes.” Carma pushed aside her plate, and Gil had the distinct impression that they’d come to the reason she’d tolerated Tori’s inquisition. “The latest is something that might interest you.”

  Tori’s carrot stick paused midcircle. “What’s that?”

  “We’re starting an equine-assisted therapy program back home.” Her mouth curled into a wry smile. “On a much smaller scale than yours, of course.”

  “There’s a lot more to it than sticking someone in the saddle,” Tori said.

  If Carma took offense to her bluntness, it didn’t show. “So I’m learning. I’ve visited half a dozen facilities in the last few weeks to observe the different methods.”

  Wait. This was what Bing had meant by an expedition?

  Tori cocked her head, cautiously intrigued. “In your climate, an indoor facility will be a must.”

  Carma nodded. “David Parsons has offered us the use of the arena he’s building a few miles west of Browning.”

  “The tie-down roper?” Gil asked. Even he’d been caught up in the drama at the National Finals two years back, when David came up just short of winning the world championship even though he’d arrived in Vegas well behind the season leaders. Gil vaguely recalled the announcers going on about David losing his good horse—missing, not injured—getting it back halfway through the season, then going on a tear.

  “We’ve met.” Understanding flashed in Tori’s eyes. “His stepson has fetal alcohol syndrome.”

  Carma nodded. “That’s Kylan. And David’s wife, Mary, is in special education. They’re part of our core planning group and will continue to be involved once we’re up and running.”

  Tori dropped the carrot stick, all business. “Are you planning to provide any therapies other than riding?”

  Carma’s gaze veered away. “We’re still working that out.”

  Gil caught Tori’s frown. He gave a slight shrug. Why would that, of all the things Tori had asked, be a sensitive subject?

  “I assume you’d like to visit our clinic, too,” Tori said.

  “If it’s not a problem.”

  For an instant, suspicion reared its ugly head. Was this what she’d wanted from Gil all along? But no. Getting tangled up with him was a hindrance, not a help. Tori wouldn’t be so suspicious if Carma was just Bing’s cousin.

  “We are more than happy to share our expertise and shamelessly promote our mission,” Tori said. “Just call the clinic. They’ll set up a day and time when there’s someone available to show you around.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do that,” Carma said.

  But there was still an odd tension in the air, as if Tori still had questions, and Carma hadn’t gotten quite the answers she wanted, either.

  Two hard raps sounded on the front door and Hank sauntered in, somehow looking like his perpetually boyish self but also infinitely more hardened than when he’d left the Panhandle. He gave Carma a guarded smile. “Hey. Nice to see you again. I was sorry to hear about your grandmother.”

  “Thanks. We miss her.” Her smile was a little misty. “Your dad made a very good impression when they were home for the funeral.”

  Hank snorted in disbelief. “With his outstanding people skills?”

  Carma laughed. “This is my family. If you never get tired of talking about horses, you’re in.”

  “In that case, they probably want to adopt him.”

  Tori waved at the leftovers. “Did you eat yet?”

  “Yeah, but I can clean up that potato salad for you.” Hank could always use the calories, with his tendency toward skinny.

  Gil pushed away from the table and told Tori, “You and the boys go saddle up while Hank licks the plates. I’ll stick ’em in the dishwasher when he’s done.”

  “I’ll help,” Carma chimed in.

  Tori stood. “Thanks. We’ll meet you at the arena.”

  She yelled for the boys, and when the door shut behind them, Carma let her breath out in a quiet whoosh. “I feel like the Secret Service will be running a background check on me before we get out of the driveway.”

  Hank swallowed a gigantic forkful of potato salad. “She did that an hour after Delon told her they hired you.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Carma shot a worried look at Gil, almost as if she had something to hide. Did she think Tori would disapprove of the naked movie roles?

  Gil stacked plates and carried them over to the dishwasher. “She’s just being weird because it’s the first time she’s gotten a look at anyone I’ve dated.”

  Her brows rose into intrigued arches. “We’re dating?”

  “Do you have a better word?” He sure as hell didn’t, and he’d been searching high and low for a tactful way to explain their arrangement to Quint. The English language was sadly lacking in alternative labels for how two consenting adults could interact.

  She pressed a finger to her bottom lip. “Well, you did bring me to dinner, so I guess that qualifies.”

  “Dinner with the family, no less. That’ll really set the tongues to wagging.” Hank flashed his patented troublemaker’s grin, but his eyes were shrewd. “It’s like he’s not even the Gil we all know and tolerate.”

  Gil bared his teeth.

  Hank laughed, then made an apologetic face at Carma. “You’d best prepare yourself. You’re already the hottest gossip in town.”

  “You know where I come from. I’m used to it.”

  And Gil had seen and heard for himself how little she’d enjoyed the unwelcome attention. Having the entire population of Earnest discussing their every move wasn’t gonna encourage her to stick around. Not that he expected her to stay forever. Or even long enough for anyone to start thinking they might be more than a spring fling.

  Gil slapped the last dinner roll into Hank’s hand and gave him a shove. “Go play outside, Junior.”

  Hank set the empty potato-salad bowl on the counter, grabbed a Dr Pepper out of the fridge, and did as he was told.

  “He sure has lightened up since I saw him last,” Carma said.

  “Yeah.” Gil scowled. “It’s annoying as hell. He used to be scared of me.”

  She smiled, eyes soft and warm as the rest of her. When she touched her fingertips to his chest, his system jolted as if she’d pressed the live end of a set of jumper cables to his skin. “It’s hard to be terrifying once you’ve let someone see your heart.”

  Which was why he didn’t go around baring his soul. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of Carma being able to look right through him, but it was a little easier to accept since Analise had explained away the mystique.

  She pressed her palm to his chest, the way she’d done that very first night, and Gil wondered if she could feel more than just the thud of his heart. Could she really see inside him, to all the ugliness and scars that didn’t show up on any CT scan?

  If so, what the hell was she doing here, and how could she still look at him that way?

  “Almost no one is pretty all the way through,” she said, a d
irect answer to what he’d only been thinking.

  Nonverbal cues. Human predictability. What addict didn’t hate themselves? She was reading him, not his mind.

  “Don’t worry. You are definitely not an open book.” She gave him a reassuring pat on the chest. “Now let’s head to the arena before we end up making out in your sister-in-law’s kitchen.”

  * * *

  Carma slouched in one of the cheap plastic patio chairs set near the roping box and tipped her head back. It was good to smell dirt and horse manure, but she couldn’t see anything but black beyond the arena lights. Too bad. She could really use a massive dose of open range and stars.

  It was stupid to get defensive because they’d mentioned a background check. They’d be looking for her credit and work history, a criminal record, not sending undercover agents out to ask questions about Carma’s reputation as “that chick who thinks the clouds sing to her.”

  She brought her gaze back down to earth. The small, squat house, simple pole barn, and indoor arena were set close together to leave as much space for pasture as possible. Across the driveway, this outdoor arena was a brand-new addition. The steel rails were shiny and pristine, but immediately beyond the east fence, rusting hunks of deceased farm equipment slumped in acres of overgrown weeds.

  “That’s gonna be pasture eventually.” Gil settled into another of the chairs while Tori, Beni, and Hank uncinched horses and packed away their gear. “They bought this old junkyard last fall, and we spent all winter dragging scrap metal out to make space for the arena. We had to take off the first foot of topsoil to clear out all the nails and glass and oil spills, then haul all this sand and clay in.”

  Carma dug her toe into the perfectly blended dirt. “It’s beautiful ground.”

  “Should be. Fixing it up cost more than the property. We just got the sprinkler system installed a couple of weeks ago.” He frowned at a puddle below one of the posts that had a sprinkler head mounted on top. “It still needs some adjusting.”

  “Did you ever compete?” Beni piped up.

  “Just through high school. But I used to be a trick rider.” And nothing made a person appreciate safe footing like hanging off the side of a galloping horse in a suicide drag, with your arms and head skimming the ground.

  “Why did you quit?” Quint asked.

  “It’s like being a gymnast—you can’t carry extra weight.” She spread her arms to display a body that sported a lot more curves than when she was twenty. “The older I got, the harder it was to stay skinny. And I like to eat more than I loved trick riding.”

  “I saw you kick all the guys’ butts in the cross-country race at Heart Butte.” Hank strapped a protective boot onto his stirrup for safe-keeping. “I figured you’d take a run at the Indian relays too.”

  She laughed, flexing her feet. “I don’t have the springs for it.”

  “Indian relays?” Tori glanced up from stowing ropes in a bag. “That’s where they race around bareback and bail off one horse and onto another?”

  “With no help from the guys holding the horses,” Hank said. “The riders have to be able to jump on by themselves, while the horse is going bonkers because there’s other teams flying all over the place. It’s nuts.”

  “Since they’ve started putting up big money, it’s hella competitive,” Carma said. “Racetrack-bred horses, and the riders are state champion basketball players.”

  “Those Blackfeet boys can definitely jump.” Hank made a face. “They schooled me in the open league up there.”

  Hardly. Hank was a former high school all-star himself. “I heard you held your own,” she said.

  He only shrugged, and Carma caught a whiff of guilt and pain, the residue of past failures still clinging to every reminder of the God-given talent he’d squandered. But he was only twenty-five. He had plenty of time to rebuild his bullfighting career, plus people in his life who would do everything in their power to help him succeed: his father, Grace, Bing, and of course, Gil.

  They were friends, no matter how Gil tried to pretend Hank was just an obligation.

  “I want to try.” Beni shot a challenging look at Quint. “I’ll race you around the arena.”

  Quint shook his head. “I’m not good at riding bareback.”

  Ironic coming from a Sanchez, but rodeo broncs were a whole different matter. Besides, living in Oklahoma City with his mother, Quint probably hadn’t had the opportunity to ride all that much.

  Damn, it would be good to jump on, feel the prickle of horsehide through her jeans, and absorb the coiled energy of muscle that could spring into explosive motion in a heartbeat.

  She had told Tori that her prospective staff could handle horses. This was a prime opportunity to show that she included herself in that number.

  “I’ll do it.” Before Beni could get too fired up, she added, “Just a demo, not a race. And only if these horses can be trusted.”

  “Ranger and Ruby will be fine.” Hank put one hand on the saddle horn of a lanky brown gelding and rubbed behind the ear of his sorrel.

  Gil hitched up his eyebrows. “Didn’t that mare buck your dad off and break his shoulder?”

  “Yeah, but I’ve put a lot of time on her since then, and quite a bit without a saddle ’cuz Grace likes to ride bareback.”

  “I’ll bet,” Beni muttered.

  Tori elbowed him, but her mouth twitched. She patted her horse on the neck. “Fudge and Cadillac are both bulletproof.”

  “I call dibs on Fudge and Ruby,” Carma said. They were the shortest, and she hadn’t swung onto a horse without the aid of a stirrup since last summer. “Usually we’d have three horses each, but we can switch back to the first one on the second exchange.”

  She stood and waggled her butt experimentally. Thanks to hiking through forests and canyonlands every chance she’d had on her trip, she wasn’t carrying the five pounds she usually gained over the long, cold winter.

  Since it was conveniently at his eye level, Gil gave her butt a leisurely, appreciative inspection, then cupped his fingers to mimic the shape. “If you need a boost, I’m happy to lend a hand.”

  Her pulse tripped, and her laugh was embarrassingly breathy. “That’s against the rules, remember?”

  He smiled lazily. “Have I ever told you how I feel about rules?”

  “Um…I can guess.” She slid her hand across her back pockets, the skin tingling as his eyes tracked its path. Then she realized Hank was watching, too, and Tori. She cleared her throat. “Let’s do it, then.”

  Gil smirked and she lost a couple of seconds of brain function.

  While the others slung saddles and blankets onto the fence, Carma jogged halfway down the arena and back again, then did a few low lunges, intensely aware of Gil watching every move.

  Hank led the mare over, stripped down to just a bridle, and wrinkled his nose at the dark patch on her back. “You’re gonna get sweaty.”

  “Won’t be the first time.”

  He opened his mouth, glanced toward Gil, then snapped it shut again.

  Carma gave herself a mental head smack. She had to stop handing Gil fuel for that fire in his eyes. “Hang on to this beast,” she told Hank.

  He did, and she grabbed two fistfuls of mane, took a breath, then half jumped, half swung aboard. Whew! That went better than expected. Then she watched Beni hop onto Cadillac as if the tall gelding was a kid’s rocking horse.

  Damn boys and their pogo-stick legs.

  She gestured toward the closest end of the arena. “Gil, hold Fudge right there, and Quint, you get ready to catch this horse as I jump off.”

  Everyone except Quint moved into position. He stood, rocking indecisively on his feet, giving off a whiff of…not quite fear, but definitely I’d really rather not.

  “Scratch that,” Carma said. “Gil, you should be the mugger. It takes more experience.”<
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  “I can do it.” Quint set his jaw, and Carma let the matter drop. He might get bumped around a little, but this experience could help him get more comfortable with horses.

  “Great.” She trotted the mare straight down the arena, grabbing the mane again as she swung off the left side, keeping her knees soft to absorb the impact and one hand on Ruby’s neck for balance as she jogged alongside the horse.

  She and Beni practiced a few dismounts, then Carma sketched out an area along the left fence. “This is will be our exchange zone, where we jump off one horse and onto the next.” She pointed at Quint and then Hank. “You catch the incoming horse and get it out of the way. And you—” She pointed to Gil and Tori. “Hold the next one while we jump on.”

  Hank scratched a starting line across the front of the chute with the heel of his boot while Carma rode into the roping box on one side and Beni on the other. Gil, Quint, and Tori took up their positions in the exchange zone.

  As they turned to face the starting line, Carma shot a warning look at Beni. “This is not a race.”

  “Sure.” But his grin said otherwise.

  “Ready?” Gil asked. At their assent, he held up one hand like a pistol and said, “Bang!”

  They took off faster than Carma had intended, but still well under control, circling the edge of the arena as if it was a track. As Carma completed the first lap, she tugged on the reins and Fudge slowed, but her feet slammed into the dirt hard enough to make her stumble. While she scrambled toward Ruby, Beni hopped onto Ranger and was off down the arena before Carma got aboard.

  When they took out after Beni, the mare pushed into the bit, eager to catch up. Carma eased her grip and Ruby stretched out, dirt scattering from beneath her feet as they rounded the far end of the arena. Carma’s heart pounded along with the mare’s hooves, both of them wishing they had the space to really stretch out and fly.

  They were only a couple of lengths behind Beni as they approached the second exchange. The mare slowed at Carma’s first tug on the reins, nearly at a stop when Quint grabbed for the bridle. Then suddenly, Ruby snorted and lunged, slamming into Quint. Carma clutched at her mane, nearly coming unseated. What the…