Reckless in Texas by Kari Lynn Dell Page A

Dozer around and kicked. The big sorrel lowered his head and grunted, metal-shod hooves carving divots as he plowed ahead, skidding the bull across the hard red clay. Violet rammed Cadillac’s chest into the bull’s butt. The bull popped to his feet, took three steps, then locked up again. Dozer kept going. After another bump from Violet, the bull weakened, still dragging, but walking now. Joe pulled him through the gate. When the bull spotted his companions clustered at the far end of the lane, he launched for the herd, blowing past Joe and Dozer. The rope burned through Joe’s gloved hand, the free end whistling as it spun loose of the saddle horn. Violet heard a pop.
    Joe doubled over the front of the saddle. “Fuck!”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Alarm shot a cold spear into Violet’s gut. “Did it catch your hand?”
    Joe was too busy cussing to answer. Violet jumped off her horse, swung the big metal gate shut, and slammed the latch into place. Joe slid off his horse, face contorted with pain. He pressed his back against the nearest post and eased down, knees bent, hands clasped tight between his thighs, grinding out curses between clenched teeth. Violet dropped to a crouch between his feet, stomach churning at what she might find. Just a month earlier, she’d seen a team roper lose a thumb by catching it in his rope, and last year one of the tie-down ropers had crushed his wrist in a stray coil.
    â€œLet me see.” She took hold of his forearms, trying to pull his hand out to where she could examine it.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYes.” She slid her hands down to his wrists, not feeling any gross deformities or blood, but he still had his gloves on. “Is it your thumb?”
    â€œGo. Away.”
    â€œStop being a baby.”
    His right hand snapped up, whip-quick, and clamped on the back of her head, bringing them nose to nose, eye to eye. “It’s not my hand, Violet. It’s what’s underneath.”
    â€œWhat’s—oh!”
    Joe’s hand was cradling his crotch. That pop she’d heard? It was the knotted end of the rope whacking him where it counted. And her hand was right on top of his.
    He bared his teeth. “Still wanna kiss it better?”
    Mortification rolled over her, hot as molten lava. She tried to jerk away, but the force of Joe’s grip on her nape tipped her off balance. She grabbed his shoulders and her not-inconsiderable weight knocked him sideways. They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs. She scrambled to get her knees under her. One of them made contact with something solid. Joe yelped, twisting hard and fast, flipping Violet onto her back. She arched, bracing to fight him off.
    â€œStop!”
    Violet froze. Joe was sprawled on top of her, his body rigid. Air hissed in and out between his teeth and sweat beaded on his forehead.
    â€œJust…don’t…move,” he panted. “Honest to God, you knee me in the thigh again, I’m gonna puke right down the front of your shirt.”
    Violet held her breath. If possible, she would’ve willed her heart to stop beating, in case the thud, thud, thud disturbed his stomach. Motherhood had done nothing to disable her very active gag reflex. As her head cleared, she sorted out what was where. Joe was draped over her, chest to chest, her kneecap flush against the inside of the thigh Dirt Eater had nailed. She carefully rotated her leg, removing the pressure.
    â€œThank you,” Joe breathed. “Just give me a minute to catch my air and I’ll get off of you.”
    Her hands were still clamped on his shoulders, but she couldn’t find anyplace else to put them. The longer she stayed put, the more aware she became of all the hard, lovely muscle under his T-shirt. If it were Beni, she would rub his back to make him feel better. She imagined sliding her palm down the sleek curve of Joe’s spine. Imagined his reaction. Yeah. He would