Whirlwind (The Champions 1)

Brock led Shane down the corridor to an empty office, motioned him inside, and closed the door.

“This had damn well better be important,” Shane said. “I need to focus on my ride.”

“This is about your ride,” Brock said. “I’ve been talking to Chip Harris. He’s got his eye on Whirlwind.”

This was news. Chip Harris was the biggest stock contractor in the PBR, famed for his championship-winning bulls. He bred superb buckers. He also liked to buy promising young bulls and develop their careers. If he wanted Whirlwind, he was in a position to make the Champions an offer too good to refuse.

“We’ve got to make sure Harris loses interest,” Brock said. “He mustn’t see what that bull can really do.”

“So what are you getting at?” Shane didn’t like where the conversation was headed.

“Don’t let Whirlwind show his stuff. Let him dump you at the gate.”

“Hell, I can’t do that,” Shane snapped.

“Sure, you can. All you have to do is let go. If it’s extra cash you want for letting yourself get bucked off, that’s no problem.”

Shane felt his anger boiling, fueled by years of living on Brock’s land and blindly taking orders. He owed Brock his loyalty—but not at the price of his integrity. Not at the price of his soul.

He had known there would be a breaking point. He had felt it coming. Now it was here.

“You’re asking me to take a dive,” he said. “I won’t do it. I owe that bull, that woman, and myself my best effort. That’s what I plan to give.”

“And what about me?” The color deepened in Brock’s face. “What the hell do you owe me?”

“Plenty, but not that. You can find yourself another flunky. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got a bull to ride.” Shane headed for the door, then paused, sensing that Brock had more to say. He was right.

“We’re done, you ungrateful bastard.” Brock’s voice was flat and cold. “I’ll need you to drive the trailer and the two bulls back to the ranch. Once you get there, you can load your gear in your truck and clear out. I won’t be here tonight. I’ll be leaving my plane and taking a red-eye flight to Chicago for a meeting. When I get home Monday night, I expect you to be gone.”

“Understood. I’ll leave the key and the gate remote on the kitchen counter. So long, Brock.” Without waiting for a response, Shane walked out and closed the door behind him.

He’d wondered how it would feel when he finally cut ties with the boss. Now he knew. It felt damned good, like putting down a heavy weight.

He strode back along the corridor, toward the chutes. He’d be fine, Shane told himself. He had savings in the bank, an old but reliable truck, and he shouldn’t have any problem finding an apartment in Tucson. All he had to do was finish a few events in the money, and he’d be sitting pretty.

But first things first; and right now, as he’d told Brock, he had a bull to ride. Lexie’s bull.

The score for a ride, based on a possible hundred points, was divided between the rider and the bull. If the rider was bucked off before the eight-second whistle, only the bull’s performance would be scored. The rider would get zero.

What every rider wanted was to last eight seconds on a world-class bucker who would rack up the points. A combined score of over eighty points was a good ride. Over ninety points was a spectacular ride. The record stood somewhere in the mid-nineties.

For a rookie bull, Whirlwind had an impressive string of buck-offs. But in

order to be noticed, what he needed was to score high with a good rider. That was what Shane hoped to accomplish tonight. He would give this ride his best—for Whirlwind, for Lexie, and for himself.

From beyond the stands, he could hear the strains of the national anthem. Shane felt his blood begin to race. It was showtime.

Waving down a friendly Brazilian rider, he got help wrapping his glove. On the far side of the chutes, he caught a glimpse of Lexie. She was standing on a rail, helping to fasten the flank strap on her bull. The strap, made of soft cotton, went around the bull’s haunches—not over his genitals as many people believed. It wasn’t painful, but the slight pressure was annoying enough to make the bull kick higher. Shane would add the bull rope himself, with a small bell attached to give it weight, just before he mounted.

Lexie had finished attaching the strap and had climbed down from the rails. For an instant, Shane was tempted to go and talk to her, to let her know that he’d broken with Brock. But that would have to wait. Right now there could be nothing on his mind but the ride.

There were three bucking chutes that opened onto the arena. Once the first one was empty, Whirlwind would be herded into it to await his turn. The silver-gray bull was already restless, banging his horns against the rails and back-kicking in the confined space, trying to dislodge the flank strap. A good sign. With luck, Whirlwind would be mad enough to buck like crazy.

Now all Shane needed to do was ride him for eight bone-jarring seconds. But before that would come the hardest part of all—the waiting.

The announcer’s voice echoed in the hollow space above the crowd. Then the gate swung open and the first bull was out for a quick buck-off, barely two seconds into the ride. The three bullfighters sprang into action and shooed the big animal back through the exit gate.

With the second bull being readied and mounted, Whirlwind was let into the bucking chute. By now, Lexie was nearby, hovering over her bull like a mother hen over her chick. Her eyes met Shane’s as he climbed onto the rails with his bull rope in hand and mouthpiece in place. She swiftly looked away.