Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

The following weekend, Bull drove all night to Shawnee, Oklahoma, and parked behind the stands at the rodeo grounds. After a couple hours of sleep under the camper shell in the bed of his truck, he got up, swigged some coffee out of a Thermos, wolfed down a stale chocolate doughnut, and went back to the area behind the chutes.

He’d registered over the phone, so they already had him in the lineup. All he needed to do was show up at the table, draw his times, and draw his bulls. After that he’d have a few hours to rest, eat, and warm up the muscles that cramped from the long drive. Then it would be showtime.

Not much had changed since what he’d come to think of as the old days. Same sounds and cow shit smells; same flies, smoke, and dust. And at least some of the same people. A few even remembered him.

Most of the bull riders he saw were so young that they barely looked old enough to shave. At twenty-two, Bull felt like a senior citizen among them. He’d bought himself a plug of chewing tobacco. Filthy habit, but it helped steady his nerves. He wasn’t out to win glory for himself. Just stay on the damned bull for eight seconds and avoid getting hurt on the way to the ground. That was all he needed to keep the money coming in.

“Hey! Bull Tyler! Is that you?” Bull turned at the sound of his name. Tex Holden, a friend from the old days, was striding toward him, a grin on his freckled face. “Hot damn! Don’t tell me you’re back. I thought you’d quit bull ridin’ for good.”

Bull shrugged. “I thought so, too. But I needed some quick cash, and so here I am. How about you?”

“Same here. I got married last year. Bought me a nice little spread outside Abilene and quit the rodeo—for good, I thought. Then we had ourselves a sweet baby girl. Those hospital bills— man, they just don’t quit. It’s ride the bulls or take out bankruptcy.”

“Well, congrats on the baby. And here’s wishing us both luck.”

“Thanks,” Tex said. “I’ve been on the circuit all summer. Done okay so far, sendin’ money home. But there’s always that one bad ride just waitin’ to happen. I think about it every time I climb into that damned chute.”

“Well, you’d best not think about it too hard. See you around, Tex.”

“Yeah. Good to see you, Bull. Maybe we can have a beer tonight, after the rides.”

“Sounds good.” Bull headed out to check his truck and put his paperwork in the glove box. He was too keyed up to eat lunch, but there was a bar down the block, and he liked the idea of a cold beer. After that he could walk off the stiffness in his joints or maybe find a shady place to park the truck and get a couple more hours of sleep.

The bar was dark and cool, the chilled beer like heaven going down his throat. He sat alone in a booth, nursing his drink. This was his least favorite thing about bull riding—the wait, trying not to think about what could happen in the arena.

“Buy me a beer, cowboy?” The girl who slid across from him looked too young to be legal, but that wasn’t his problem.

“Sure.” He caught the attention of the waiter, who brought her a Bud Light and a glass. The girl was pretty enough, with dyed black hair and an American flag tattooed on her bare shoulder. Two years ago, before Susan, he might have been interested. Now, not even a spark . . . and hell, she was just a kid.

“So, are you riding this afternoon?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.” Bull sipped his beer.

“Bulls?”

“That’s right.”

She smiled, showing a gap between her front teeth. “Meet me here after the rodeo, honey. I’ll give you a different kind of ride.”

Bull sighed. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.” Her mouth assumed a childish pout.

“That’s what I figured.” Bull drained his beer, laid a couple of bills on the table, and left the bar.

He showed up early at the arena and checked his times. He had two rides scheduled in the afternoon. If he placed high enough, he’d be riding again that night for first place. The bulls he’d drawn were new to him. Too bad. Knowing what to expect from an animal could make a big difference. This time he would have to trust his instincts.

To finish in the money, he would have to qualify for the finals. Otherwise, his time and effort here would be wasted.

He checked the rest of the list. He would be riding third. Tex would be riding second, his bull an old acquaintance—the irascible Sidewinder.

The rodeo had already started, but the bull-riding event would be last. Bull buckled on his chaps and spurs and waited with the others, stretching and bending to keep loose, walking off nervous energy. The bulls were in their chutes. He studied the one he’d drawn, remembering what he’d learned from other riders. Nitro, a young animal, was big and full of spunk, but short on experience. Probably not a high scorer. Just stay on him this first time, Bull cautioned himself. Go for the high points later.

Sidewinder was in the neighboring chute. Bull recognized the brindled hide and the way the huge animal snorted, tossed his blunted horns, and body-slammed the sides of the chute in an effort to get out early. Tex had lucked out, drawing him. Sidewinder was getting old, but he’d been a champion in his day, and his performance in the arena could still rack up points for his rider.

“Hello, you old bastard.” Bull spoke softly. “Nice to see you’re still around. We’ll get together one of these times, and when we do I’ll show you who’s boss. That’s a promise.”

Loud cheers from the stands signaled the start of the bull-riding competition. Bull took his old leather glove out of his pocket, slipped it on his left hand, and secured it at the wrist with tape. Then there was nothing to do but wait.