Relentless in Texas Page 13

  Carma shrugged as she hung up the mic. “That’s how I talk. I’m not ashamed of it.”

  No, but he’d heard her mute her Native accent when she was on the phone with customers, the same way he clipped his vowels when he was doing business with non-Texas clients. The thicker the drawl, the more they tended to downgrade his IQ. His real favorites, though, were the people who informed him that he didn’t sound like a Sanchez.

  And the assholes meant it as a compliment.

  Personally, he had been disappointed when he’d learned he didn’t have any Hispanic blood. He had harbored fantasies of relatives in haciendas who would teach him to speak rapid-fire Spanish and play mariachi music. Eventually he’d realized he wouldn’t have belonged there any more than with his mother’s Navajo family.

  As the saying went, Red on the outside, white on the inside…and once an apple, always an apple.

  “When Bing moved to Earnest, she joked that she increased the Native population by twenty-five percent,” Carma said.

  And Bing was still the only brown-skinned woman in town, as Rochelle had been before her. Gil had tallied all the reasons life here would’ve been difficult for his mother. All her excuses, a mean little voice whispered. He tried and, as always, didn’t quite succeed in ignoring it.

  But his mother had been only nineteen when she’d answered Merle Sanchez’s ad for a receptionist and dispatcher. Like Gil, she’d been in a rush to get out and experience the world. It must’ve been scary, though, especially for someone who looked and sounded different. Was different, in ways far beyond appearance.

  Gil had always thought he’d understood. But now, seeing the sparkle die in Carma’s eyes at a single, ignorant jibe, he felt it in a way he never had. And his father would have been zero help, brushing it all off under the general heading of They don’t mean anything by it, the same as he had with his sons.

  “What was it like for you?” Carma asked.

  “Not so bad. We were born here, so people were used to us, and we had a built-in gang. We were the arrogant bastards.” From elementary school on, they’d been the star athletes, the homecoming kings and queens, the rodeo champs from Pee Wees on up. And he’d had Xander—his best friend, his confidant, his settling influence. Until, of course, Xander had died.

  Once again in mental step with him, Carma said, “It must’ve been horrible when Cole’s brother and his parents were killed.”

  “Yeah.”

  Even now, Gil had to force himself to believe it was true. For all of them, it had been a devastating loss, but while the others had huddled together, Gil had retreated. Into himself. Into a bottle. The night of Xander’s funeral, he’d stolen a fifth of whiskey from his dad’s cupboard and hid out in one of the trucks, the first time he’d drank himself unconscious.

  One of many possibly inevitable steps down the path to addiction, given what he understood about himself now. But it was impossible not to wonder how different it all might have been if only…

  It was also a waste of time.

  Carma pulled a strand of hair forward over her shoulder and wove it through her fingers. “What about Quint’s mother? Do you get along?”

  “Well enough.” He paused, debating how much to share. There wasn’t much of the story that made him look good. “It was ugly when we broke up. I was crazy about her…and just plain crazy, going balls to the wall in Georgia overdrive.”

  “Georgia what?”

  “When you turn off the truck and let it roll downhill. No brakes. No steering.” And the farther down the slope, the more out of control he got. “When we found out she was pregnant, I wanted to marry her. She ran home to Mommy and Daddy instead, and I decided she thought she was too good for some half-breed trucker’s son.” His grip tightened around the gearshift knob. “It took me a long time to admit that she had to bail out to save herself…and Quint.”

  Carma laid her hand over his and let it rest there. His fingers relaxed of their own accord, and a steady warmth radiated up his arm, muscle by muscle, as if she was pushing it into him. For a few minutes he let the vibration of the gearshift accentuate the feeling.

  Then he pulled free and touched her bare ring finger. “Have you ever been married?”

  She yanked her hand back into her lap. “Not quite.”

  “Which means?”

  The lines around her eyes and mouth tightened. “I’ve been falling in and out of love with the same man damn near my whole life. We dated in high school, broke up when I went to college. Got back together when I dropped out. Then Jayden went pro and moved to Arizona to be closer to his team-roping partner and we split up again. And so on, and so on…”

  “Last year was his first trip to the National Finals?”

  “Yeah. He has all the talent in the world, but…” She shrugged. “You know how it is—the season is long, and when the going got tough, Jayden would start fighting his head and fall apart. I was always there to put the pieces back together.” She made a self-deprecating face. “I am very good at telling everyone else how they should fix their lives. And then last year he finally got it together.”

  Gil shot her a narrow look. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

  “Not for him. For me?” She made a bitter sound. “Same old story. Hometown boy makes good, trades in hometown girl for a blonder, shinier version. I mean, that’s how you know you’ve really made it, right? When even the whitest white girls want you?”

  Gil winced. He’d done practically the same thing. And Delon too. They didn’t get any shinier or blonder than Krista, or Tori in her early twenties when she and Delon first met. It was possible the Sanchez brothers’ preferences had come at least partly from being the only two brown boys in Earnest, Texas. The realization didn’t sit comfortably in his gut.

  He accelerated around an RV, settling into his own lane before asking, “Were you already planning this program of yours when I met you?”

  “No. My grandmother came up with the idea right before she died, because of my brother.”

  “He needs rehab?”

  “Maybe. Eventually.” She twined the strand of hair around her fingers. “Eddie has been in the Army for almost half his life, and this country has been at war the entire time. He’s been deployed so many times…” Her face pinched with worry. “You can’t do that to a human being and not expect them to have some kind of problems.”

  Anxiety. Depression. PTSD. Drugs. Alcohol.

  Suicide. So many suicides.

  “Your grandmother wanted him to have a place to go if he needed it,” Gil guessed.

  “More than that. Eddie is the guy the other soldiers always come to with their problems and he does what he can to help. We’re hoping if we give him a way to do that full time, he’ll come home instead of reenlisting. Grandma gave us forty thousand dollars out of her settlement as seed money for the program.”

  Forty grand? Not exactly chump change. “Settlement?”

  “You know, the Elouise Cobell lawsuit, for trust payments?”

  Gil remained blank. She obviously didn’t realize how far he was out of the Native loop. “Never heard of it.”

  “Oh. Well…” She took a minute to decide how to explain. “In the late 1800s the government tried to make farmers out of us by allotting each member an acreage, held in trust by the Department of the Interior. Then they found oil and gas and other good stuff on the land so they leased it out to developers and such, but not all of the money they collected made it back to the trustees. Elouise was working at the Blackfeet Bank and realized the payments didn’t add up, and hadn’t for about a hundred years. The class action lawsuit was settled for almost two billion dollars, payable to current owners of those allotments.”

  And Carma’s grandmother had bet a big chunk of her windfall on being able to lure her grandson out of the military, for his own good and that of everyone else who would
benefit from the program.

  “You’re supposed to make this happen?” Gil asked.

  “Not by myself. There’s people doing all the paperwork and planning. My job is to learn what other programs are doing and figure out what we can use.” She hesitated, then admitted, “The Patterson program is hands down the best in the country. That’s why I’m here. And to visit Bing, of course.”

  But not Gil. He had never been part of her plan, a realization that left an ugly gouge in his ego.

  “We texted three or four times while you were on the road, and you didn’t even tell me you were coming,” he said, something that had been nagging at him.

  “I couldn’t find the right GIF.” Carma ducked her head. “And I wasn’t sure where we stood in real life, so I figured I’d just show up and see what happened.”

  And then Fate had intervened in the form of a bad hamburger. Maybe he shouldn’t call it that other four-letter f-word after all.

  Quint’s voice cut through the low static on the CB. “Break one-nine. Big Brother, you got your ears on?”

  Gil snagged the mic. “Loud and clear.”

  “The Princess says she’s ready for a pit stop, and she’d like a place that serves Dr Pepper floats with real ice cream.”

  Gil knew just the spot, for refreshments and a few other things he wanted to pick up. He flipped on his turn signal. “Follow me off the next exit.”

  * * *

  The truck stop Gil had chosen had a fifties-style diner and soda fountain. The instant they rolled to a stop, the boys scrambled out of the Freightliner. When Gil held the door for Tori and Carma to walk in, they were already huddled over the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner.

  Tori made a beeline for a large corner booth upholstered in turquoise pleather with red trim. Carma slid into one side and Tori the other, but instead of joining them, Gil said, “Order me coffee and a chocolate shake.”

  “With a cherry on top?” Carma guessed, a reference to his ChapStick comment.

  He rewarded her with a sizzling smile. “Two. Extra whipped cream.”

  “And you make fun of Delon’s sweet tooth,” Tori drawled.

  “I don’t buy Hershey’s Kisses in bulk.”

  “No. You just raid his stash in the god-awful hours of the night.”

  Gil held up his hands. “No witnesses. No foul.”

  The jukebox boomed out “Rock Around the Clock,” and Carma’s system buzzed with something akin to a sugar rush as she watched Gil push through the door into the adjacent convenience store.

  Tori followed her line of sight. “I probably owe you an apology.”

  “But?” Carma asked, detecting zero remorse.

  “I wouldn’t really mean it.” Tori’s gaze was as direct as her words. “You have to admit, it’s awfully convenient.”

  Carma blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Gil has been notoriously hard to pin down. Then all of the sudden, you show up when he’s as vulnerable as he’s ever been—getting custody of Quint, shorthanded at work. He wouldn’t be the first man to jump into a relationship to solve his problems.”

  Carma gaped at her. “And you figured Bing and I plotted out how to nab him?”

  “I am extremely suspicious, by nature and nurture.” Tori rested her hands on the table, fingers laced, gray eyes steady. “I’ve seen a couple of receptionists at Sanchez Trucking who were looking to take home more than a paycheck. And they would’ve been happy with either brother.”

  Carma almost sputtered. “I have no interest in your husband.”

  “And they aren’t that kind of men.” Tori flicked dismissive fingers. “Like I said, I was wrong about you.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Carma blurted, caught between disbelief and outrage.

  “I called David Parsons last night.” Tori smiled when Carma goggled some more. “Didn’t he tell you that he and my first husband knew each other pretty well? They grew up a couple of hours apart and went to all the same junior rodeos. David had very good things to say about you. I believe ‘unique’ was the word he used.”

  “Oh. Well. That’s…nice,” Carma said faintly.

  “He’s a very nice man. And I was kinda a bitch at dinner last night.” Tori screwed up her face. “My husband tells me I can be a little…overwhelming. But it’s bizarre, feeling like I need to protect Gil. I mean, come on. Gil?”

  Carma actually laughed, just as the boys piled into the booth. Beni pulled his phone out and logged onto the free Wi-Fi to check the results from wherever his dad had ridden that night—Delon was sitting third with an eighty-seven score—plus highlights and scores to see how the Jacobs stock was performing at the bull-riding event in Atlanta. Quint leaned in to watch, adding a couple of dry comments that had Tori snorting into her water glass.

  He knew rodeo and could talk the talk for his cousin’s benefit, but he didn’t share Beni’s boundless enthusiasm. The only spark of real interest Carma observed was when Tori countered by pulling up a video of the top ten teams in a big all-girl roping from the previous weekend. While Beni waxed poetic about superhuman efforts of one of the Brazilian bull riders, Quint’s gaze strayed to Tori’s screen.

  Interesting.

  The waitress came to take their orders, and Carma was stirring cream and sugar into her coffee when Gil reappeared carrying a plastic shopping bag.

  He slid into the booth beside Carma and dropped the bag in her lap. “That should get you by until you have a chance to go shopping.”

  She fished out a pink camo canvas purse with fake alligator trim and a blinding array of rhinestones and metal studs. Her jaw came unhinged. “I…um, thanks?”

  Tori didn’t bother to be diplomatic. “Did you try to find the most hideous thing in the store?”

  “Yep.” When they both blinked at him, Gil bared his teeth. “Too ugly to steal.”

  Carma’s heart gave a lurch, like the combined thrill and terror of a carnival ride. No one—certainly not Jayden—had ever given her something that was so exactly what she didn’t know she needed. Gil had replaced her stolen property in a way that made a smile tug at her mouth, diluting the sickening aftertaste of violation with the tart fizz of a shared joke.

  He nudged the purse with one finger. “I grabbed a few necessities while I was at it.”

  The glint in his eyes had her tucking the purse close to her chest as she opened the clasp and peeked, aware that the boys and Tori were watching with intense curiosity. The main compartment held a travel-sized pack of tissues, a small vial of ibuprofen, a tin of breath mints, a pair of nail clippers still in the package and—her smile widened—a tube of cherry ChapStick. He’d tucked a couple of Sanchez Trucking pens in one of the side pockets, and in the other…

  Hot color rushed to her face, and she slapped the purse shut on the pack of condoms.

  Tori’s eyebrows peaked. “Do I have to ask?”

  “Uh…” Carma stammered.

  “What?” Beni demanded.

  Quint folded his arms, prepared to be amused by their explanation. Honestly. Nothing short of the threat of bodily harm rattled that kid.

  Gil slung an arm along the booth behind Carma, his fingers brushing her shoulder, all loose-limbed arrogance. But this was no casual gesture. He had declared for all to see that outside the office, his relationship with Carma was not purely professional. “Just some personal things.”

  “Like…oh.” Beni’s eyes went wide, and his face reddened to match Carma’s. “You mean girl stuff.”

  Tori smirked but said, “Geez, Beni. You wanna yell that any louder?”

  Beni glanced around and realized they now had the attention of all the other diners. “Oops. Sorry.”

  Carma tucked the purse between her and Gil on the seat. “That was very, um…thoughtful.”

  “Wasn’t it, though?” Tori drawled. “If I didn’t
know better, I might think I’d witnessed you performing an act of kindness.”

  Gil’s smile sharpened. “There’s always something in it for me, Princess.”

  Literally, in the case of the condoms. But Carma couldn’t help thinking, self-serving as he might claim to be, Gil paid more attention to what she needed than the man who’d claimed to be in love with her ever had.

  And from the way Tori was eyeing the two of them, Carma wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

  Chapter 16

  When Carma stepped out of the truck in Huntsville late the next morning, the increase in humidity was immediately noticeable, giving the air both softness and heft. The Jacobs crew was camped around back by the stock pens, consisting of a large fifth-wheel camper lined up beside a four-horse trailer with living quarters in the front.

  A tarp was strung between the trailers to shade a patio area complete with all-weather carpet, gas grill, tables, and a dozen or so lawn chairs and loungers. A generator hummed, powering air-conditioners and the flat-screen TV, part of an entertainment center that folded out of the side of the camper. Several cowboys were sprawled in the shade watching a severely lopsided college football game, and a large man hunched over one of the tables, repairing a heavy leather bronc halter. Beyond the trailers, a woman tossed a rope around the horns of a plastic dummy steer.

  They all turned to stare at the newcomers.

  Beni bounded ahead, diving into a chorus of greetings and good-natured insults, while Quint hung back, his body relaxed but his eyes alert.

  Cole Jacobs pushed aside the halter and rose to his full, impressive height and mass to clap Gil on the shoulder. “Glad you could make it. If you’re up for it, I’ll put you to work. There’s a rookie crawling on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend today. He could use all the help he can get.”

  “Sure,” Gil said.

  “What about us?” Beni asked, tipping his head to include Quint.

  “We can use an extra hand or two on the stripping chute.”