Texas Rodeo, #1
Author: Kari Lynn Dell
Pubdate: August 2nd 2016
ISBN: 9781492631941
Violet Jacobs is fearless. At least, that’s what the cowboys
she snatches from under the hooves of bucking horses think. Outside the ring,
she’s got plenty of worries rattling her bones: her young son, her mess of a
love life, and lately, her family’s struggling rodeo. When she takes business
into her own hands and hires on a hotshot bullfighter, she expects to start a
ruckus. She never expected Joe Cassidy. Rough and tumble, cocky and charming,
Joe’s everything a superstar should be—and it doesn’t take a genius to figure
out he’s way out of Violet’s league.
Joe came to Texas to escape a life spiraling out of control.
He never planned on sticking around, and he certainly never expected to call
this dry and dusty backwater home. But Violet is everything he
never knew he was missing, and the deeper he’s pulled into her beautiful mess
of a family, the more he realizes this fierce rodeo girl may be offering him
the one thing he never could find on his own.
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An Excerpt:
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.
“Let me see.” She took hold of his forearms, trying to pull his hand out
to where she could examine it.
“No.”
“Yes.” 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?”
“Go. Away.”
“Stop 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.”
“What’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.
“Stop!”
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. “Just…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.
“Thank 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 could
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 definitely
misinterpret the gesture. Much like her body was beginning to misinterpret
their current position, the lean length of him hot against her, his cheek
pressed to her collarbone, his face buried in the curve of her neck. Each short
puff of air was a hot stroke on her skin.
“You sound like you’re in labor,” she said.
He huffed a laugh that tickled her ear. “If having a kid hurts as bad as
gettin’ whacked on the pecker with a nylon rope, I need to buy my mother
flowers.”
“More like a new car,” Violet said drily. “And I thought it was your
thigh.”
“It’s both now, thanks to you.”
“I was trying to help.”
“Uh-huh. I’m guessing this is why you’re a pickup man and not a
paramedic.”
Degree by degree, the tension eased from his body, even as Violet wound
up like a spring. Need coiled hot and low, and the urge to wiggle against him
was almost intolerable.
“Up until then you were doing pretty good,” she said, by way of casual
conversation. “I’ll have to tell Beni you can handle stock okay.”
“Gee, thanks.” She could hear the eye roll in his voice. He blew out a
long, slow breath—then nuzzled his face into her hair and inhaled deeply. “You
even smell good when you’ve been rolling in the dirt.”
She jerked her head away. “Do you always go around sniffing women like a
damn stud horse?”
“Nah. If I were a stud horse, I’d do this.” He gave her a quick, light
nip at the curve of her neck that electrified every nerve ending and shot a
blue-white current straight to where his thigh was pressed between her legs.
She shoved at his shoulder. “Stop that!”
“Just wanted to see if you tasted good, too.” He pushed up onto his
elbows, groaned, and eased sideways, an excruciating slide of body against body
before he rolled clear and flopped onto his back, legs splayed. He lifted one
hand in warning. “Stay back. I’ll be fine as long as you don’t help me
anymore.”
No problem. Violet couldn’t move, paralyzed for a few breaths by the
sudden, aching absence of his weight. Then she scrambled to her feet, slapping
the dust from her butt and legs. “Take all the time you want, tough guy.”
His head snapped up. “You tackled me when I was already down.”
“I thought you were actually hurt.” She flipped a casual hand at him.
“No, don’t get up. Katie and I can handle it.”
He made a noise like a pissed-off rattlesnake. She shook the dirt out of
her hair, tugged her cap down low, and went to deal with the bulls before she
lost her head and tackled him again.
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A Letter from the Author
Dear Reader,
There’s something about a rodeo.
The scent of early morning dew and the quiet crunch of gravel under metal
shoes. The first drowsy simmer of excitement wakened by the dull thud of hooves
on rubber as horses hop into the trailer. One last check to be sure all the
rope bags and bridles and the one certain saddle blanket are packed into the
tack compartment. The life-giving aroma of coffee in travel mugs, and a
half-hearted debate about whose turn it is to climb behind the wheel, and who
drove last time, and yeah, honey, I know you hate those idiot Portland drivers.
I’ve got that shift.
There’s something
about a rodeo that takes you to places you would otherwise never venture. Tiny
towns on dead end highways, with names like Weippe and Rosebud. Into the chaos
of city traffic in Minneapolis and Seattle. Through endless miles of high
desert to Winnemucca, and crawling up the side of Hell’s Canyon to Asotin.
There’s something
about a rodeo. Bucking bulls and horses drowsing in the midday sun, tails
twitching at the occasional fly. Voices and laughter echoing through a maze of
pickups and trailers in the contestant parking area. How’d you do at
Homedale yesterday? Great ride at Fort Pierre last weekend. Did you draw a good
one today? Yeah, I got on Thunderfoot at High River. Better have your hammer
cocked, he’ll throw some moves at you.
The whistle of
ropes as cowboys pull out their gear and warm up their arms. The jingle of tack
and the slap of leather, punctuated by an occasional whinny. Damp earth and
diesel smoke as the tractor rumbles around the arena, preparing the ground, and
the first, tempting wafts of grilled beef from the concession stand. And
underneath it all, a slow-building tension.
Almost time…
There’s something
about a rodeo. Old men in battered, sweat-stained cowboy hats and pearl snap
shirts, clustered together in the stands to relive the good times, shaking
their heads at how fast these boys are nowadays. Babies in strollers, and their
older siblings scampering around in boots and spurs, swinging kid-sized ropes
and dreaming dreams as big as the world.
Bucking horses
peering out through chute gates, bareback riders standing over them with hats
pressed to hearts as the Star-Spangled Banner streams behind a galloping horse
and the notes of the national anthem soar into a blue summer sky. Heads bowed
as the announcer’s solemn baritone recites the Cowboy’s Prayer.
We ask, Lord,
that you be with us in the arena of life…
There’s something
about a rodeo. The simmer turning to a buzz as your moment creeps closer.
Muscles tighten, lungs constrict. Relax. Breathe. The concerted effort
to clear the clutter from your brain and be here, now, in this moment.
This few seconds that are the culmination of all the hours of training and
practice and travel. Hands that want to tremble from anticipation when you
tighten cinches and test your loop. The creak of leather and the musky scent of
horse sweat as you swing aboard. Reins that twitch in your hands, bottling up
the equine nitro that churns beneath your saddle, eager for the instant of
explosion.
Almost time…
Minutes drag, and
then race, and then drag again. Relax. Breathe. Riding the wave of
adrenaline to the razor-thin edge between ultimate effort and tipping over into
a debilitating tangle of nerves. Focus. Clear. You’ve done this a thousand
times. Shut down your mind, trust your body.
There’s something
about a rodeo. That moment when it’s your name booming over the loudspeakers.
You backing into the roping box, climbing down into the chute. A ton of muscle
and adrenaline quivering beneath you, primed to launch. Ready, ready…
And then you nod
your head.
There’s something about
a rodeo. And I hope you’ll grab a copy of Reckless in Texas and come
along for the pulse-pounding, heart-stopping ride.
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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 lives on the Blackfeet Reservation in her parents' bunkhouse along with her husband, her son, and Max the Cowdog, with a tipi on her lawn, Glacier National Park on her doorstep and Canada within spitting distance. Her debut novel, The Long Ride Home, was published in 2015. She also writes a ranch and rodeo humor column for several regional newspapers and a national agricultural publication.
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Giveaway:
10
print copies of Reckless in Texas.
The giveaway runs from 7/24 to 8/21.
Thanks so much for featuring my book. I've been on the road in a state where even cell phone service is iffy so I didn't get to check in earlier. Here's hoping the winners enjoy the ride with Joe and Violet, things are gonna get western!
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