Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders 11)

“Colby knows rodeo stock?”

Gemma nodded. “Cash and Colby competed on the same PRCA circuit for years. They quit around the same time, but the love of rodeo never really left them. They’ve been buying and breeding bucking bulls for a couple years. We’re doing things pretty unconventionally regarding stock trials. Seemed a sign Chase needed help with his ridin’ the same time Cash and Colby needed an experienced rider to test new bulls.”

Male shouts competed with the loud clanks.

“That one’s a chute fighter,” Gemma offered. “Which is problematic. They’ll let him fight until he settles down. But he could be too tired to buck and they won’t have an accurate idea of his bucking ability. After Chase rides him today, they’ll probably need a re-ride tomorrow to see how he performs. A bull that’s a chute fighter is an extra danger to the rider. A lot of injuries happen before the gate opens.”

“Does that thing he’s wearing, a modified catcher’s mask, prevent that?”

“Not all riders wear those protective helmets, but Cash makes them mandatory here.”

More loud sounds of flesh hitting steel and male warning shouts.

“Is Chase on the bull right now?”

“God no. They’re waitin’ to see if the bull calms down.” She pointed to the camera. “You oughta be getting this on tape.”

Eventually the huge bull, an ugly two-toned yellowish white with splotches of brown, calmed down. Chase secured his hand, nodded to Colby. Once again, Chase didn’t reach the eight-second mark before his ass met the dirt. A less forceful buck off than the last one, but the power when his body impacted into the ground had to rattle his bones and jostle his brain.

The idea of Chase constantly being subjected to skull fractures from a horn or a hoof to the head made bile rise in her throat. She bent down and retrieved the water bottle from her messenger bag. Sipping the lukewarm liquid slowly, half-afraid she’d toss her cookies, half-tempted to force herself to hurl so she had a valid excuse to leave.

Suck it up. You willingly signed on for this and you can’t quit the first day.

Ella tugged on her pant leg. “Miss Ava? Will you play with the kitties with me?”

Sure, kid. Let’s go right now.

Gemma squeezed Ella’s shoulders. “Maybe later, sweets. Ava is taping Chase’s rides so he can watch ’em tonight.”

“’Kay.” Ella raced to the old barn.

“How come she gets to go somewhere but I can’t?” Ryder complained.

“Because she could care less about the bulls. You, my curious son, would be back there pullin’ Chase’s bull rope if you had the chance. Here we go.”

Ava resituated the camera.

Come on, Chase. Ride this one.

The gate opened, the bull shot out like a rocket, zigging and zagging. Halfway across the arena, Chase bailed off, slipping sideways and landing on his hands and knees. Even from this distance she could see the hard set to his jaw, the stiff angle to his shoulders. He yelled, “Set ’em up again. A big one this time.”

Gemma said, “You know, it’d help if we recorded the buck-off times.”

“Good idea. There’s a notebook in my bag.”

Bull number five leapt out of the chute like a two thousand pound ballet dancer and Chase went flying like a trapeze artist from Cirque du Soleil. He rolled to his feet after he landed on his shoulder. Dust followed behind him, à la Pigpen from Peanuts as he moseyed to the fence. Ava snickered, until she zoomed in on Chase’s pained face. He was hurt. But that wouldn’t stop him.

How many more bulls would he get on today?

All of them, until he rode at least one.

Another hour passed. Then two. Chase stayed on bull number sixteen the full eight seconds. She didn’t get caught up in the clapping and whistles from Gemma, the kids and the guys because she was too busy taping the triumphant look on Chase’s face.

Did he quit after that?

No.

He climbed on three more bulls. Rode two of them. Bull number twenty was another chute fighter. By the time the bull settled down, she could hear Cash and Carter yelling at Chase to take a break. He shook his head, bounced around on the bull’s back and nodded at Colby.

It was apparent how not ready Chase was when the bull turned sharply, kicking out his rear end so powerfully that the rope jerked from Chase’s hand. Chase did a flip midair before he crashed into the corral.

But did the Man of Steel stay down, wallowing in pain? Nope. He staggered to his feet. Holding the metal fence rails for support, he limped across the dirt, waving off Colby’s help as they disappeared into the barn.

“That’ll do it for today,” Gemma said. “You comin’ up to the house to eat with us, Ava?”

“No. Thanks for asking, I’m sure it’ll be great, but it takes awhile to edit this. I imagine Chase will want to look at the footage later, so I’d better get started on it.”

As soon as Ava was inside the bunkhouse, she locked the door, shut the window, pulled the curtains and flopped on her bed. Blessedly cool. Blessedly dark.

The tears came before she could stop them.

And she wasn’t exactly sure why she was crying. Wasn’t like she’d gotten thrown around like a rag doll twenty times. Her occupation didn’t lend itself to danger. Maybe she’d get a paper cut from script pages. Or possibly she’d burn her mouth on a cup of coffee. Or she might have an allergic reaction to makeup. But nothing remotely life-threatening.

Talk about being out of her element on so, so many levels.

She’d never dated professional athletes, so she hadn’t ever witnessed that mindset and mix of physical perfection and determination needed to push to the highest level. She witnessed that drive in Chase today. It scared her to death.

So did this desolate feeling stem from fear for Chase?

No. Hers was fear of the unknown.

Out here in the real world? People dealt with serious hazards every day. Hazards she never even considered in her tidy universe, where out of sight, out of mind wasn’t just a saying but a way of life.

Ava let her gaze wander around the bunkhouse. She’d seen the wary way Gemma, Cash and even Chase had looked at her, expecting to see disgust on her face about the primitive accommodations. Right now, where she rested her head at night was the least of her concerns. For all her bold talk about experiencing real life, she didn’t know if she could handle it.

And didn’t that make her spoiled? She had the luxury of packing up her stuff and escaping if she so chose. These people didn’t.