She nodded again, giving him zero feedback.
“Tori says I’m in better shape than most twenty-year-olds.”
Carma reached back to squeeze his butt. “I can testify to that, although it has been a while since I’ve had my hands on a twenty-something.”
She’d better not be thinking about doing it again. And yeah, that was possessive as hell, but he’d have to worry about it later. Compartmentalize and conquer, that was him.
“And there’s still this place.” He tapped one foot on the floor. “I couldn’t do anything without more help. You know how much luck I’ve had with hiring, and Analise is already working overtime.”
Even as they spoke. She’d come in to cover while he went to Amarillo, and he’d promised to take over for her when he got back. But he had also told her not to expect him before ten, so technically he had another hour. “I could ask Dad to take on more of the stuff that’s not contracts or dispatch. And I could turn over the inventory and maintenance oversight to Max.”
“Could you?” Carma twisted around, eyebrows peaked.
Honestly? He had given it a lot of thought since Quint had moved in. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Max, but Gil busted ass—his own, the mechanics’, and the drivers’—to maintain an excellent safety rating, which had an impact on everything from insurance premiums to attracting new clients. Max might be too laid-back to keep everyone toeing the line.
“I can try.”
“Sure.” She sounded skeptical. Because she doubted Max’s ability to lay down the law, or Gil’s to cede any significant control?
He gave her a nudge and she faced forward again. He knew she’d noticed that he’d skipped over the most obvious source of extra labor. “I’m not gonna make Delon cut back his rodeo schedule.”
“Why not?”
“He isn’t gonna be able to compete at this level forever. I don’t want him to waste any of the time he’s got left.”
“Shouldn’t that be his decision?”
“It’s not that simple.” He leaned down to yank the dryer cord out of the socket. “Where I’m concerned, he has a bad case of survivor’s guilt. He’d say yes because he’d think it was payback for all the years he went on rodeoing when I couldn’t.”
“And for the business you built for him to come home to?” she asked.
“I didn’t do that for him. And it’s not like he didn’t contribute.” Gil wrapped the cord tightly around the dryer. “His success has helped put Sanchez Trucking on the map.”
Carma laced her fingers together in her lap and bit down on her bottom lip, visibly restraining herself.
“Go ahead,” Gil said. “I want to hear what you think.”
She held out for another few seconds, then shook her head. “I don’t think Delon will thank you for making more sacrifices on his behalf.”
“I told you, I haven’t given up anything for him.”
Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched, but her voice was neutral. “If that’s how you see it.”
“It is.”
She drew a deep breath. “Okay. So you pawn off what you can on your dad and Max. Maybe take another shot at hiring someone who can cover dispatch at least part time. What else?”
That was the tricky part, and that kiss out on the landing had made it ten times more complicated. He set the dryer on the nightstand before turning back to face Carma. The rain had stopped and the sudden silence made his ears ring. Her fingers curled into her palms as she read his intent before he could put it into words. All the chaos inside him was reflected in her eyes. They weren’t ready for this, but like the thunderstorm, it had hit them anyway.
“I would need you to stay,” he said.
She sat very still again, absorbing the impact.
“I know it’s sudden. But this…” He spread his hands, indicating the two of them. “It’s gonna take a while to sort out.”
Her mouth opened, but for a long moment she only stared at him. Finally she said, “You realize what you’re asking?”
“Yes.” And it made his heart knock and sputter like an engine with a bad spark plug. This was a total violation of their no-strings rule. A monster step over Gil’s personal lines.
She didn’t throw herself into his arms. Not that he’d expected her to, but a little unbridled enthusiasm would have made him feel less like a bad decision she was telling herself she shouldn’t make. He should be thrilled that she was also leery. Her obvious misgivings made it easier for him to establish a whole new set of ground rules, this time with an eye toward damage control so that if it did end, it wouldn’t have to be in a ball of fire.
Her mouth curled ever so slightly. “So…you’re gonna go for it.”
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
The smile grew, climbing into her eyes. “And you think I should go on this wild-ass ride with you.”
“Yeah. I do.”
She gave a slow, disbelieving shake of her head, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. “I guess it wouldn’t be the craziest stunt I’ve ever pulled.”
“Have you ever jumped off a cliff?”
“Only a short one, but I was on a horse.”
He had to laugh. Geezus. Only this woman could top damn near every bone-headed stunt he’d ever pulled.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t do anything but listen,” she insisted.
“That was enough.” He kissed her again, then reluctantly stood. “I’ll see you in the morning. I’d better go take over for Analise.”
And let them both have some time to possibly come to their senses.
* * *
When the back door shut behind him, Carma flopped onto the bed, exhausted. It had taken every molecule of self-control to keep her lips zipped when that know-it-all part of her brain was screaming opinions on exactly what Gil should do. Her only slip had been when they were talking about Delon, and Gil had refused to listen to her so it didn’t matter.
And as delicious as it was to have him lounging around in nothing but his underwear, Carma needed some distance to process what had just happened.
She also needed to touch a familiar base. She yanked on jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed keys and the cheap cell phone he’d told her to keep until hers was replaced, and escaped out the front door and across rain-scrubbed gravel to her van.
The interior smelled of sun-warmed vinyl, dust, and the whiff of burnt sweetgrass that had earned her a search by the K-9 unit in Tucson after she’d been stopped for supposedly not using her turn signal—but more likely for driving while being brown-skinned. The carpeted walls and plush velvet ceiling closed around her, everything soft and unapologetically out of date, a piece of home on wheels.
She collapsed onto the bed and rubbed her cheek into the scratchiness of the wool Hudson Bay blanket that she used as a bedspread. She missed this van, with all its textures and its checkered past, a family legend in its own right.
The apartment had zero personality, unless she counted what wafted up through the floor vents. She and Gil had packed so much into the past six days—sweet hell, had she really been in Earnest less than a week?—that she hadn’t given her accommodations much thought. Lying in the van, though, she knew she couldn’t stay in that apartment.
She craved solitude, and a place with grass, and trees, and stars that weren’t drowned by security lights. Bing would let her park out at the ranch, but that came with an obligation to socialize, and too many eyeballs that would be winking if Gil stopped by for a visit.
The Canadian River was nearby. And a lake. She vaguely recalled a sign pointing to a recreation area on the drive from Amarillo. There must be a campground where she could park in the short term.
In the long term…
She groaned out loud. Long term? After less than a week? Rolling onto her back, she
dug her fingers into her blanket, breathed in the scents from her world, and slowly settled back to earth. What was she doing?
She’d promised to help make the therapy program a reality. More to the point, she’d promised to consider herself first the next time she got involved with a man. Her needs, her responsibilities, her motivations, her future. But Gil asked her to stay and she immediately said yes. No questions. No qualifications. She hadn’t even asked For how long?
A month? A year? Until he won a few rodeos and found a shiny new blond of his own?
Oh, stop it! Of all the issues she and Gil had to deal with, that was the least of her worries. Maybe she should start with how he was a recovering addict, and she was a serial enabler who had a crappy track record with men. Well, mostly one man, but still…
Carma sighed. The hell of it was, Tori was right. Carma had caught Gil at a weak moment. He was struggling to find his footing with Quint, and Sanchez Trucking was at one of those tipping points where growth was outpacing their work force, even fully staffed. Gil’s life had been in a state of forced flux before Carma stumbled in.
He wouldn’t be the first man to jump into a relationship to solve his problems. She wanted to shake off Tori’s words, but it was a truth that had to be faced.
And that was just Gil. From Carma’s standpoint, there was a lot to consider. How did she feel about living in this town? Hell, this state? She had never considered moving away from home indefinitely. What about Sanchez Trucking? Could she work with Gil, side by side, day after day? If she couldn’t, what would she do?
And how could they even ask, let alone answer, any of those questions when Gil could be on the verge of turning it all upside down? There was no sense figuring out how she fit into this life if he made a successful comeback and ended up living a completely different one.
Oh hell. Admit it. You were in it for the long haul the minute he said he needed you.
God, she was such a sucker.
She reached over to the stereo, tuned it to a classic country station, then gazed at the constellation of raindrops on the nearest bubble window. But for once, looking to the heavens wasn’t the answer. What she needed was a good grounding.
She palmed the cell phone while she did the usual time zone calculation, minus an hour now that she was in Texas. Nine forty-five here was seven fifteen in the morning in Afghanistan. She could pay for the international call when Gil got the phone bill.
As always, reaching around the world seemed impossible, and her heart tripped in relief and affection when a gruff, infinitely precious voice answered. “Carma? I almost didn’t pick up, but Mom said you got a different phone.”
“Yeah. Mine got stolen.”
She settled herself more comfortably on the bed and prepared to tell her brother the whole story—minus a few key parts. They did not discuss their sex lives, and Eddie was too sensible to believe anyone could fall in love practically overnight. But even if all they talked about was the lousy weather for calving back home, Eddie would help center her.
And Lord knew where Gil was involved, she was in constant danger of losing her balance.
Chapter 25
Gil had suffered every form of insomnia known to man, but it had been a long, long time since he was too excited to sleep.
Declaring his intentions out loud had been the mental equivalent of swinging open a gate. All the thoughts he’d tried to keep penned up stampeded through his head. Who should he tell next? And how? Phone calls seemed like a mediocre way to share news this big. He wanted to see faces, savor the shock and awe.
He’d have to start with Quint…unless he gathered everyone up and told them at once. Delon would be home Sunday. So would Steve and Miz Iris. It would mean sitting on this bombshell for days, but it would be worth it. And the delay would also force him to give the bruise on his ass plenty of time to heal.
In the meantime, he would sneak in as much time as he could on the spur board, and he could study video of current competition, which had always been one of his favorite ways to improve his own riding. He sure as hell wasn’t making any progress on the Heartland Foods contract. If he wanted to rodeo, they couldn’t sign it anyway. There was no way they could do a decent job of it if Gil cut back his hours. Delon would be rightfully pissed after all the work he’d put in, but he’d understand.
Closing his laptop, Gil grabbed his tablet, popped in his earbuds, and stretched out on the bed. Five minutes and a credit card number later, he had access to the video archives of all ten rounds of the previous year’s National Finals Rodeo. He started with the first bareback ride of the first night and worked his way through, pausing and rewinding to analyze every detail. To be the best, you studied the best.
That kid from Manitoba was tall, but he hardly ever got whipped out of shape. What was he doing with his free arm to keep his upper body so controlled? On the flip side, that other poor bastard had gotten slammed into the dirt three nights in a row. Why was he getting jacked up over his rigging at around the four-second mark every time? Gil also made reams of notes on the horses. Usually they had a pattern to the way they bucked, and having an idea what to expect could give a cowboy the edge.
Plus a lot of the same stock would be bucking at the Diamond Cowboy.
Yes, he would be insane to try to go from zero to ninety-point rides in less than two months. That’s what it would take to have a shot at the Diamond Cowboy title, and in his heyday Gil had only broken the ninety-point barrier twice. What made him think he could do it now?
Better training, a persistent voice whispered in his head. The program Tori had designed and constantly tweaked for Delon was light years beyond the workouts they used to do. Better horses. All he had to do was pull up highlights from ten years ago to see how much the horses had improved—more jump, more kick, more chances for a cowboy to score points.
Or get thrashed.
He’d be smarter to ease into this, but how could he ignore the Diamond Cowboy when it was right in his front yard? Where else could he go to face that level of competition, with that much at stake? The monster summer and fall rodeos like Cheyenne and Pendleton—wins that were career highlights for any cowboy—only accepted contestants who were currently in the top forty or fifty in the world standings, which counted him out.
Even a berth at the Texas Circuit finals would be a serious stretch with the season halfway over. He’d have to hit every rodeo left on the schedule and win consistently to catch up, and that was too much time away from the shop.
The Diamond Cowboy was the only chance he’d have at something big until next year. Gil had never competed without a championship in his sights. He didn’t want to start now.
Plus it would be a good measure of where he stood. If his game wasn’t up to snuff, he could pack his gear away and say he’d given it a shot. And it wasn’t like he’d be jumping straight into the main event. He had to get through the qualifier first.
He was deep into the fifth round when his bedroom door swung open. He slapped the tablet facedown onto the bed.
“What are you doing?” Quint blinked groggily at him. “It’s four in the morning and you still have your clothes on.”
Gil swiped a guilty hand down the front of his T-shirt. “I got caught up in…stuff. Why are you up?”
“I had to piss. I saw your light on.” Quint frowned, and Gil felt like he was the delinquent kid. Busted. “Turn that thing off and try to get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quint made a growly noise and stumbled off toward his bedroom. Gil was sorely tempted to pick up where he’d been interrupted, but now that he’d stopped to blink, he realized his eyes were gritty and throbbing from staring at the screen. Plus Quint might come back to check on him. Sighing, he set the tablet aside, stripped down to his underwear, and crawled in bed.
An hour and a half later he eased into the weight room, not wanting to wake
Carma while he rummaged through the storage bins under the workbench. Where were his old chaps? Oh, right. Delon had also taken those when he’d confiscated the pictures and stuff that he was afraid Gil would destroy. Good job, little brother. But since Gil had no idea where they were stashed, he would have to wait until after his big announcement to find out if what he’d called the Flamethrowers still fit.
He’d also need a glove and a rigging, and those couldn’t go straight from the store to the arena. It took hours to get them just right, treating the glove with benzoin to add stiffness, adjusting the handhold by sanding here and gluing in pieces of leather there until the fit was perfect. But Gil could skip a few steps by borrowing one of Delon’s backup gloves and riggings and adjusting it to fit him. And with some help from Steve Jacobs—
His cell phone vibrated. Duty calling. He checked the number, sighed, then shoved the bins back under the bench and headed to the office to deal with the first crisis of the day.
At seven Carma strolled in. She’d pulled her hair back into a sterling-silver barrette and was wearing a deep-pink, fluttery sundress. She looked so delicious Gil had to have a taste.
When he eased out of the kiss, she smiled. “Good morning to you, too.”
He looped his arms loosely around her waist, enjoying the thrum of his blood. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better than you,” she said, studying him critically. The eye drops apparently hadn’t erased all the signs of his video binge.
“I’m fine. No, scratch that. I’m great.” He grinned, feeling ridiculously cheerful. “I have to run over to the house—I forgot my tablet. Ignore any messages for me that don’t start with I’m upside down in a ditch and on fire.”
“I can do that.”
He kissed her again, quick and light, then headed back to his house. Outside, the birds were clearing their throats in the damp, sweet predawn air. It reminded him of waking in his mother’s hogan and tiptoeing out to find her sitting on a blanket, greeting the sunrise. He didn’t understand a word of the traditional Navajo morning prayer, but he’d loved to listen anyway, enchanted by the rise and fall of her voice.
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