Title: Tangled in Texas
Series: Texas Rodeo, #2
Author: Kari Lynn Dell
Pub
Date: February 7, 2017
ISBN: 9781492631972
It
took 32 seconds to end his career.
But
it only took 1 to change his life.
Thirty-two seconds. That’s how long it
took for Delon Sanchez’s life to end. One minute he was the best bronc rider in
the Panhandle and the next he was nothing. Knee shattered, future in question,
all he can do is pull together the pieces…and wonder what cruel trick of fate
has thrown him into the path of his ex, the oh-so-perfect Tori Patterson.
Tori’s come home after her husband’s
death, intent on escaping the public eye. It’s just her luck that Delon limps
into her physical therapy office, desperate for help. All hard-packed muscle
and dark-eyed temptation, he’s never been anything but a bad idea. And yet,
seeing him again, Tori can’t remember what made her choose foolish pride over
love…or why, with this second, final chance to right old wrongs, the smartest
choice would be to run from this gorgeous rodeo boy as fast as her boots can
take her.
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.
Buy Links:
****Giveaway****
One (1) print copy of Tangled in Texas is available. Please comment on the post including your email address to be eligible to win. I will draw the winner on January 1. Giveaway is limited to US residents only.
Excerpt
She
shouldn’t have gone to the party. She’d dithered until almost eleven o’clock
that New Year’s Eve. Stupid, to go by herself. She’d never even been a party
person, for the same reason that she didn’t date much. She’d watched too many
of her prep-school classmates be victimized by an asshole looking for his
fifteen minutes of Internet fame. Only on rare occasions, with boys who were
equally protective of their privacy for similar reasons, had she allowed
herself to cut loose a little, or let one of those dates extend past her front
door.
But
this party was right there in her apartment complex. She could hear the music
and the shouts, see cowboys and girls wandering in and out. Maybe tonight, when
they were laughing, relaxed, a little drunk, they’d give her a chance.
Of
course she did it all wrong. Or right, to those who expected her to show up
looking like a spoiled, clueless princess. Thousand-dollar hand-stitched boots.
Chunky turquoise jewelry. A floaty little silk dress with a top that tied at
the neck and middle, but left her back naked down to her sterling silver concho
belt.
She’d
realized her mistake as soon as she saw the other ropers lounging against a
wall. Naturally it would be Shawnee, Violet, and Melanie—the rock solid core of
the rodeo team. Violet was the daughter of Jacobs Livestock, even worked the
arena as a pickup rider. Melanie was sixth-generation Panhandle ranch stock,
and Shawnee’s dad had been a world champion team roper. They wore fancier
versions of their usual jeans with colorful blouses. Their jewelry and makeup
were as party perfect as Tori’s, though probably not as expensive, and Shawnee
had used some kind of product to transform her wild mop of brown hair into less
unruly curls. But unlike Tori, they were still Amazons of the arena, still
looked like they could kick ass.
And
they despised her.
Tori
had hesitated, looked around for anyone else to talk to, but these were mostly
pro circuit cowboys. Older. Harder. A little scary when they were at this
advanced stage of inebriation. She worked her way, keeping her exposed back to
the wall, to the corner where the three amigos stood sipping beer.
“Uh,
hi.” Tori tried a smile. “Crowded in here.”
Shawnee
looked her up and down, then smirked. “Hot damn, if it ain’t Cowgirl Barbie.
You got Cowboy Ken waitin’ outside in the pink convertible, or are you lookin’
to git yerself a man who’s actually got something in his shorts?”
Everyone
in the immediate area burst out laughing. Tori’s face went beet red. She
stammered something about finding a beer and dove into the crowd to escape. Bad
move. The apartment was so packed she could barely squeeze between bodies. More
than one hand strayed across private parts of her anatomy. A sob of panic
bubbled in her throat as the mass of human flesh pinned her in place. She
squirmed, trying in vain to make forward progress.
A
beefy arm snaked around her hips and a pelvis ground against her butt. The
man’s breath was hot against her bare shoulder. “You keep rubbing that fine ass
of yours up against me, darlin’, I’ll scratch that itch between your legs.”
She
drove her elbow into his gut, exactly as her father’s bodyguard had taught her.
He grunted and fell backward, setting off a domino effect. Tori dove through
the space he’d vacated, tripped over a tangle of feet, and tumbled face-first
onto the love seat. The cowboy sitting there threw up his hands to catch her
around the rib cage. She grabbed his shoulders and found herself nose to nose
with rodeo’s answer to Zorro, minus the mask. Black shirt. Black hat. Black
hair. Chiseled jaw and cheekbones. And those eyes. Were they truly black, too,
or was that just the shadow from his hat brim?
He
grinned and her heart actually skipped a beat. “Just droppin’ in, or were you
plannin’ to stay a while?”
“Sorry.
I’ll just…” She tried to push herself upright, but the wave of stumbling bodies
had bounced off the opposite wall and sloshed back their direction.
“Hold
on.” The man in black lifted her off her feet, turned her sideways, and plopped
her down on one of his muscular thighs, leaving his hands on her waist. “Your
knee was fixin’ to do permanent damage.”
Her
face went a few degrees hotter as she realized her skirt had flared out to
drape over his leg, leaving her bare butt in direct contact with the starched
denim of his jeans. Teach her to wear a thong. “I, uh…sorry. Again.”
“No
harm, no foul.” He craned his neck to examine her back. “You’re coming undone.”
Sure
enough, she was on the verge of flashing the entire room. She reached up and
behind, shoving her boobs under his nose, but her fingers fumbled the satin
strings tangled in her waist-length hair.
“Here.
Let me.” He scooped her hair aside and reached around her, his shirt pulling
snug across the powerful bulge of muscle in his shoulders and arms. His fingers
brushed her bare spine as he moved to the lower tie and sensation exploded at
every point of contact, a thousand individual fires flaring to life.
“There.”
He gave the strings a firm tug. “I double-tied the bows, just to be safe.”
“Thanks,
um…”
“Delon.”
One arm tightened around her as he stuck the other out to fend off a drunk who
toppled their direction. “And you are?”
“Tori.”
She hesitated, then added, “Patterson.”
“Nice
to meet you,” Delon said, without a blink.
Hallelujah. One person in the
room who didn’t give a damn about her family. He certainly didn’t have to tell
her his last name. In early December, Delon Sanchez had competed at his first
National Finals Rodeo, leaving with a pocketful of cash and predictions that
he’d be the next Panhandle boy to bring home a world championship. As an alumni
of the rodeo team—he’d graduated with a two-year associate degree in business
the spring before Tori arrived—he had been the hottest topic of conversation at
school for weeks.
Especially
amongst the rodeo groupies who lingered, like Tori, around the edges of the
real cowboy crowd. These girls hunted cowboys the way earlier generations of
Patterson men had once stalked lions and water buffalo on the African plains,
before it became a hot-button issue. A world champion was the ultimate prize,
but nabbing a top fifteen contender earned serious points. A man who looked
like Delon must’ve always been a target, but now, as a local boy done good,
he’d become the equivalent of bagging a snow leopard.
And,
from what Tori had overheard, almost as elusive.
But
he didn’t look skittish as he cocked his head, studying her. “We definitely
haven’t met.”
“Um,
no. And I should get off,” she said, then blushed harder. “Of you, I mean. I
was just, um, leaving.”
“Don’t
go on my account.” Delon blessed her with another of those heart-tripping
smiles, then shifted his gaze to the impenetrable wall of humanity between them
and the door. “You’re not getting outta here right now, anyway.”
Not
with her clothes and her dignity intact. As if to prove the point, a whoop went
up and a shirt came flying out of the middle of the throng, followed by a bra,
then a woman was hoisted above the crowd, her boobs bouncing as she pumped her
arms to the music. The walls of the room vibrated with cheers of approval. Tori
dropped her gaze, unnacountably embarrassed. God, she was such a sheltered
twit.
“The boys are getting out of hand.” Delon squeezed her waist, his hand
warm through the thin silk of her dress, and gave her a look that set off
another explosion, deeper, more centrally located. “You’d better stick with
me.”
