Long and Short Reviews welcomes Kari Lynn Dell who is celebrating the upcoming release of Relentless in Texas. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for a chance to win one of two sets of Reckless in Texas, Tangled in Texas, Tougher in Texas, Fearless in Texas, and Mistletoe in Texas.

There’s a reason they call this cowboy relentless

Gil Sanchez was once rodeo’s biggest and baddest hotshot. Now he’s thirteen years sober and finally free of the pain that ended his skyrocketing career. Given one last, near-miraculous shot to claw his way back to rodeo glory, he can’t let fantasies of happily-ever-after dull his razor edge…but Carmelita White Fox is every dream he’s never let himself have.

And from the moment he saw the spark of challenge in her eyes, he hasn’t been able to look away.

Carma may come from a Blackfeet family noted for its healing abilities, but even she knows better than to try to fix this scarred, cynical, and incredibly sexy cowboy. Yet she’s the only one who can reach past Gil’s jaded armor, and the fiercely loyal heart buried beneath the biting cynicism is impossible to resist. Gil needs Carma just as much as she needs him, but as the pressure builds and the spotlight intensifies, they’ll have to fight like hell to save the one thing neither can live without.

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If following Carmelita was a bad idea, it was going to be one of the more interesting mistakes Gil had made. He didn’t just want her. He craved her…and that rarely boded well for him. But just this one time…

When the back door of the bar thumped shut behind them, Carmelita stopped and dragged in a long, deep breath. Her words came out in puffs of vapor. “God, that was suffocating.”

The closeness of the overcrowded bar? The argument with her cousin? The attention? “Why did you come?”

“My grandmother volunteered my services. Fund-raisers are the worst, though. Everyone is so…” Her hands fluttered in a broad circle, encompassing the tearful outpourings of gratitude that marked benefits.

“You’re used to being in the spotlight.”

“I prefer an audience to a crowd,” she said flatly. And the difference was in the separation. She could walk off a stage without interacting with the masses.

She tipped her head back to gaze into the heavens and her body language slowly shifted, as if she was drawing in the stillness. When she started off through the parking lot, she once again moved with fluid grace. Gil matched her stride, closing the space between them so his coat sleeve swished against hers.

“Bing told me about you, and introduced me to your… friend,” she said.

With that slight hesitation, she summed up Gil’s uncertainty about his relationship with Hank, past and future. “I’m his sponsor,” he corrected stiffly.

“Mmm.” A sound that translated to if that’s what you want to tell yourself. “We lack many things up here on the rez, but we do not have a shortage of recovering addicts.”

“I watched Hank grow up. I understand him.”

She angled a searching glance beneath lowered lashes. “I see.”

Yes, she did. There was something in the way she looked at him—through him—that made him want to both hide and move closer. He did neither. The breeze caught her hair, sending a strand fluttering and carrying the scent of pine needles and snow down from the mountains. He swung around to face her as they stopped beside the door to his truck, and when he looked into her eyes, he felt as if he was losing his balance, falling into one of the bottomless mountain lakes—only much warmer. He could just keep sinking and sinking…

She caught him, pressing her hands flat against his chest, but her smile was tinged with regret. “I wish I could stay. You and I would be very good together, I think.”

The image of Carmelita naked and lush under his hands sent heat shuddering through him. Then he registered what she was saying.

“You’re leaving?” Gil frowned at her in disbelief.

The hitch of her shoulder set the moonlight shimmering through her hair. “I can’t leave my grandparents with a sick baby.”

“His mother didn’t seem overly concerned.” Gil’s voice was harsh, along with his judgment of her charming cousin. Even when he’d been regularly popping Vicodin like breath mints, he’d managed to stay clean on the weekends he’d had his son.

Carmelita smoothed her palms over the front of his jacket. “Next time?”

“I won’t be back.”

She angled her head to give him another searching look, then nodded. “You’re taking Hank home. That explains it.”

“What?”

“This.” Her hand moved down, pressing with unerring accuracy over the clutch in his gut. She reached up with the other to brush cool fingers over the knot of tension in his forehead. “And this.”

He wanted to lean into that touch—into her—and let her wipe his mind clean for a few hours.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.” She stroked a blissful circle on his temple. “But I can give you something for that headache.”

“A fistful of ibuprofen?”

“A promise.” Her eyes were steady, her tone certain. “Hank will be fine. He’s stronger than you think, and whatever you’re keeping from him, he’ll understand it was for the best. So will the others.”

Gil jerked his head back. “I never said anything to Bing about that.”

Her hands fell away and she angled her gaze upward, eyes going distant. In the Panhandle the stars were painted on the sky. Here it seemed as if they were standing among them.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just feel it. But I’m almost always right.”

Without warning, she tipped onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his. Her lips were cool, but at the touch of her tongue the glowing embers they’d been gathering between them burst into flame, whooshing through him like a prairie fire. His thoughts, the last of his reservations, the ability to think at all were consumed by a wall of heat. He gripped the lapels of her coat to drag her hard against him, and she fisted her hands in the sides of his jacket, pressing even closer. Her tongue slid over his, the friction setting off more sparks.

A palpable shudder ran through her. She braced her hands on his shoulders, slowly, inexorably separating her mouth from his. Then she smiled, a copper-skinned Madonna with fathomless eyes, and pressed a palm over his thundering heart. “You should get some rest, Gil Sanchez. You’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

***

Excerpted from Relentless in Texas by Kari Lynn Dell. © 2020 by Kari Lynn Dell. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author: KARI LYNN DELL brings a lifetime of personal experience to writing western romance. She is a third generation rancher and rodeo competitor existing in a perpetual state of horse-induced poverty on the Blackfeet Nation of northern Montana, along with her husband, son and Max the Cowdog.

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, Kobo, BAM, or Bookshop.

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Long and Short Reviews welcomes Kari Lynn Dell who is celebrating the upcoming release of Last Chance Rodeo, the newest book in her Blackfeet Nation series. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for a chance to win a copy of Fearless in Texas.

He came to Blackfeet Nation looking for his missing horse
And found the heart he’d lost along the way.

One thoughtless moment cost David Parsons everything—his irreplaceable horse, his rodeo career, and his fiancée. After four long years he’s finally tracked his horse to the Blackfeet Reservation and is ready to reclaim his pride.

It should be the happiest day of his life. But the troubled young boy who’s riding Muddy now has had more than his fair share of hard knocks, and his fierce guardian, Mary Steele, will do whatever it takes to make sure losing this horse isn’t the blow that levels him. David finds himself drawn to both woman and child, and is faced with a soul-wrenching dilemma: take his lost shot at rodeo glory…or claim what could be his last chance to make his shattered heart whole?

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When David Parsons rode into the arena in Cody, Wyoming, he knew in his gut he’d ride out a winner. He was on that kind of roll. He’d drawn the right calf and, Lord knew, he was riding the right horse.

Muddy rooted his nose, pushing into the bit as David turned him around in the roping box. When David tugged on the reins, Muddy kicked up his hind feet, revving his engine like a drag racer burning his tires, a quirk he’d developed as a colt and never outgrown. Then he jammed his butt into the corner of the box, ears forward, every molecule of his body cocked and ready.

David kept a tight hold on the reins, his attention zeroing in on the calf. Head’s turned. Wait. Wait. Make sure he’s standing square. Let him take the first step.

The instant the calf looked forward, David nodded. The gate banged open. David’s rein hand barely twitched and Muddy exploded from the box, the start perfectly timed. The loop sliced through the night air. One, two, three swings, and throw. Zap! Clean around the calf’s neck. David felt the sizzle of the rope dragging through the hondo as he pulled his slack.

Muddy’s stop was like slamming into a brick wall on a motorcycle. Wham! Sixty to zero in a single stride. David swung out in the right stirrup and let the momentum launch him down the rope, so fast he was standing at the calf’s head as it spun around, still on its feet.

Muddy scrambled backward, pulling the calf into David’s lap. He flipped it onto its side, had the loop of his piggin’ string snugged tight around the front leg before the calf hit the ground. He scooped up the back legs, crossed them over the front, took one, two wraps and a half hitch, and threw up his hands to signal for time.
David hustled back to his horse, vaulted into the saddle and rode Muddy forward a few steps to put slack in the rope, adrenaline pounding through his veins as applause washed over them. Muddy bobbed his head, acknowledging the ovation.

“Seven point three seconds!” the rodeo announcer shouted. “Ladies and gentlemen, there is your tie-down roping champion!”

A committee member caught David at the gate as he rode out. “We need you behind the bucking chutes for the television interview.”

“Give me a minute to tie my horse up.” He swung off and wove through a gauntlet of backslaps and congratulations to a spot along the fence behind. Muddy flattened his ears at the next horse in line.

“You’re not big enough to win that fight,” David said. He reached up to give Muddy a scratch for a job well done.

Muddy jerked his head away, pinning his ears again. David laughed. “Cranky little bastard. Good thing we don’t get paid for your personality. Or your looks.”

Muddy shot him a look that was the equine equivalent of a middle finger. David laughed again, flipped the reins around the fence rail, and patted Muddy on the butt as he left, just to annoy him.

When the interview was over, David made his escape into the milling crowd.

“Hey, hotshot!” a voice called. “You too cool to hang with us losers now?”

He looked over to see a trio of cowboys lounging against the fence and sipping beers. Losers. Hah. Between the three of them, they owned enough gold buckles to pave the road to Oz.

One waved an empty cup. “You’ve been takin’ my money all year, least you could do is buy an old man a brew.”

David hesitated, then angled over to join them. Muddy would be okay for a few more minutes. He fetched four fresh beers and took a deep draw off his while the others exchanged opinions and jibes, and David basked in the knowledge that he’d been accepted by this most exclusive club as, if not their equal, at least a worthy contender.

Then the arena lights went out and one of his companions drawled, “Oh goody. Fireworks.”

Oh shit. David whipped around. “I gotta go.”

He moved as fast as the dim lights allowed. Dammit. It was the Fourth of July. How could he have forgotten the fireworks? Muddy went ballistic at the first sign of the big overhead boomers.

The grandstand had started to clear, and people strolled toward their cars, clogging David’s path. The first rocket burst overhead before he fought his way clear. He rounded the last turn and swore. The spot where Muddy had been tied was empty.

Eighteen hours later, David slumped onto the fender of his horse trailer. Exhaustion crashed down on him as he faced the awful truth. Muddy was gone, and he had no one to blame but himself.

***
Excerpted from Last Chance Rodeo by Kari Lynn Dell. © 2017, 2019 by Kari Lynn Dell. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

Abut the Author:Author Kari Lynn Dell is a Blackfeet descendant who lives with her family on the reservation and brings a lifetime of rodeo experience to this touching family drama.

What People Are Saying about Kari Lynn Dell:
“Look out, world! There’s a new cowboy in town.”— CAROLYN BROWN, New York Times Bestselling Author
“An extraordinarily gifted writer.”— KAREN TEMPLETON, author of Wed in the West series
“Real Ranches. Real Rodeo. Real Romance.”— LAURA DRAKE, author of Sweet on a Cowboy series
“A sexy, engaging romance set in the captivating world of rodeo.”— Kirkus Reviews
“Illuminating…a standout in western romance.”— Publishers Weekly

KARI LYNN DELL brings a lifetime of personal experience to writing western romance. She is a third generation rancher and rodeo competitor existing in a perpetual state of horse-induced poverty on the Blackfeet Nation of northern Montana, along with her husband, son and Max the Cowdog.

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, Kobo, IndieBound, BAM, or WalMart.

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Long and Short Reviews welcomes Kari Lynn Dell whose newest book Tangled in Texas releases February 7. Leave a comment for a chance to win a print copy of the book.

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.

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The shop looked cleaner and classier than she remembered. The eaves and windows were trimmed with red, and a huge logo had been painted on the expanse of blank front wall—the silhouette of a bareback rider in red and black, with Sanchez Trucking, Inc. circled around it. Neatly pruned shrubs lined the sidewalk on either side of the door marked Office. Sheesh. Even a shop had better landscaping than her place.

“How do you get up to your apartment?” she asked.

“The stairs are around the side.”

She stepped out of the car and was engulfed in Delon’s signature cologne—grease and diesel exhaust. Even though she’d loved Willy, truly and deeply, one tiny corner of her heart had always twitched at that scent. She’d hated how it still affected her, but there it was, so all she could do was make damn sure her path didn’t cross Delon’s when he was competing at Cheyenne, and avoid truck stops whenever possible.

And if her brain kept hopscotching between the new Delon and Willy and the old Delon, she’d be the one falling off of barstools before long.

She hunched her shoulders against the chilly breeze and walked around to the side of the building. The staircase was metal, narrow and steep. No way would she let Delon go up those alone. She went back to find him maneuvering his leg out of the car. He hissed in pain when his toe caught on the doorframe. She stepped closer and offered a hand. His fingers were warm and strong as always, but the clasp of his palm against hers felt different.

The calluses were gone. Those hard ridges on the fingers and palm of his riding hand that had been such a raspy, delicious contrast to her most sensitive spots. The nape of her neck. The inside of her thigh. Her nipples. She remembered how he’d smiled when he realized what it did to her—a dangerous smile full of wicked promises.

She let go so abruptly he lost his balance and had to grab the open car door to keep from toppling backward.

“Oops,” she said. “Slipped.”

And fell face first into another hormonal bog. Damn. She really had to get a hold of herself, before she went totally bonkers and tried to get a hold of Delon instead. That would be bad. Because he was her patient—and he was her past. They were both, to paraphrase his words, fucked up. Two broken halves couldn’t make a functional whole. Could they?

“I can make it from here,” he said.

She stepped back, but fell in beside him as he limped around the side of the shop. “Those stairs are treacherous.”

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“I doubt you were half tanked before. So rather than stand back and watch you roll ass over teakettle down a flight of stairs, I’ll just follow you on up.” His expression went mutinous, his bottom lip poking out, and she laughed outright. “Wow. I bet that’s exactly what Beni looks like when he doesn’t get his way.”

His scowl dissolved into a weary sigh. “It’s been a long day.”

“Tell me about it.” Beginning with her father’s divorce bomb, but she wasn’t thinking about that now.

Delon grasped the stair rail and stepped up with his good leg, then brought his sore leg level. Tori let him get two steps above her, then put her hand on the railing behind his, her upper body canted forward so she had leverage if he started to sway. Her position put his butt directly in her line of sight. Dear Lord, that was one nice butt. She yanked her gaze away, to a trio of trucks parked in a row alongside the shop, the chrome and polished paint of the tractors gleaming under the security lights.

A familiar fascination tugged at her sleeve. Big rigs had a sexy mystique, like modern day stagecoaches, the drivers perched high and proud, all that horsepower at their command. She’d had fantasies about Delon dragging her into one of those sleepers. Carrying her off to crisscross the country, just the two of them on an endless road trip, town after town of strangers who didn’t know or care who her father was. She gazed at the nearest black one, streamlined as a stealth fighter. Climb on in, it whispered. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.

Her head rammed into Delon’s elbow as he stopped on the landing. When she stumbled, he grabbed the back of her coat and hauled her upright as easily as if she was Beni’s size.

“Good thing you came along to keep me safe,” he deadpanned, then raised his eyebrows. “Were you staring at my trucks?”

At first she thought he said butt, and her face went hot, before she realized he’d caught her checking out the semis. “They’re pretty.”

“Pretty.” He spit the word out in disgust. “Next thing, you’ll call them cute.”

She drew herself up, offended. “Cute is not in my vocabulary.”

“But you do have a thing for trucks.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s okay. Lots of girls do.” His smile was sly, his eyes gleaming with something wild and dangerous.

She suddenly realized they were face to face on the landing, their bodies touching, if you didn’t count the five layers of clothes between them. His hand was still on her shoulder and his fingers tightened fractionally, as if he would pull her even closer. Her heart sprouted legs and launched into a frantic gallop. Oh God. What if he kissed her? She wasn’t ready for that. Was she? If he leaned in and put his mouth on hers, would she shove him away, or devour him?

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.

Buy the book at Amazon, Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, Chapters, iBooks, or Indiebound