Losers Weepers (Lost & Found 4)

When people had heard of me riding again, I got a wide range of responses. Some, the real cowboys who’d gritted their teeth and would have finished their day even if they’d broken a leg, patted me on the back and grunted, “Atta boy.” The doctors and therapists had to—grudgingly perhaps—confirm that as far as my back and health were concerned, I wasn’t at risk . . . I mean, other than the obvious risks associated with bull riding. My back would be fine. Until it wasn’t, as Dr. Murphy continually reminded me, when I took another bad fall and found myself back in a wheelchair. Or worse. Most people were of a mind like the good doctor’s, baffled as to why I’d want to return to the very sport that had nearly killed me. They thought I was spitting on the gift of regaining my mobility by hopping on another bull’s back months after healing. They accused me of being careless and stupid and of having a serious god complex that came with assumed invincibility.

They could think whatever the hell they wanted though. I only cared what one person thought, and in so many words, Josie had ordered me to get back on the horse. She hadn’t done it without hesitation seeping into her voice or anxiety filtering into her eyes, but I’d gotten the confirmation that she was supportive of me returning to the arena when she flashed my registration, which she’d filled out herself, in my face. The one she’d signed me up for was the one I was riding tonight. My first one back.

Josie hadn’t been able to mask her nervousness quite so well tonight, and her nails had been chewed down to nubs by the time we’d made it inside the arena. I’d told her I was willing and ready to walk away then and there if that was what she wanted. If never having to hold her breath while I clung to the back of a bull made her happy, that was good enough for me . . . but instead she’d kissed me and said to ride hard. Following another kiss, she’d turned and rushed away to where I guessed she was going to finish chewing down what was left of her nails until my ride was over.

I thought she felt as I did though, and that was why she hadn’t asked me to stop riding. She knew a person couldn’t just back away and go down another road every time life dropped a challenge that terrified them. You couldn’t walk away from the things and people you loved because of inherit risk. I’d learned that in my way this year, and Josie had learned that in hers.

I’d been holed up in some small room since arriving, stretching and preparing myself for my ride. I’d never been one of those guys who’d had to find a quiet spot to “get his head in the game”—I’d usually just hung out with the rest of the guys staggered around the chutes. But tonight, something was different. I needed a quiet spot. Not just to get into the right mindset but because I didn’t want to look like a little ballerina, stretching and limbering up. Plenty of guys had their routines that included stretching, but after what I’d been through, I wanted to be as loose and limber on that bull as a person could be. I wanted to be able to bend in half frontward and backward without snapping or breaking or injuring anything.

I wasn’t sure I would get there, ever, but I didn’t want my competitors and the spectators to witness my attempts at getting there. Some of the stretches my therapist had me doing made me look more like a little girl hoping to be a prima donna rather than a rough and tough bull rider.

A quick knock sounded at the door right before a couple bodies popped inside the room. One looked apologetic for the abrupt interruption. The other didn’t appear concerned in the least.

“Are you praying?” Jesse asked as he and Rowen surveyed me on my knees with my elbows propped on the seat of a chair.

Rowen let out a sharp huff. “To what? The only god Garth believes in is himself.”

I smiled humorlessly before lifting off of my knees. “For your information, Mrs. Sterling-Walker, I was visualizing.”

Jesse’s brows lifted. Rowen’s brows came together.

“You? Visualizing?” She moved closer, giving me a look of pure and utter skepticism. “What’s next? Developing a mantra and reading self-help books?”

I grabbed my hat hanging off the chair and slid it back into place. I felt naked in front of people without it. “My therapist recommended visualizing the ride before actually getting out there and riding. He said it’s, like, been proven to enhance athletes’ performance when they do it.”

Rowen’s skepticism was transferring to Jesse.

“What? You should give it a try before painting a picture or sculpting or whatever it is you do. It might help.” I finished strapping my protective chest guard into place. Then I double-checked it. I wasn’t leaving anything but fate to fate tonight.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that, Black.” Rowen fired a wink at me as she stopped a few feet in front of me. “The nice thing about my chosen profession is that I don’t have to worry about my paint brush crushing me and breaking me in half or wonder if a tube of paint will stab me in the ass with its horns.”

“If you’re not dodging a set of horns or hooves every few weeks, you’re not living life to its fullest.” I scooted the chair beside me behind Rowen. That was about the same time Jesse showed up with the other chair from the corner.

“What are you talking about?” she said, thanking us both with a tired smile as she maneuvered

into the chair Jesse had retrieved for her. Of course. “I’m living life so much to its fullest I’m about to burst.” Her hands covered her stomach, which was long past the is-she-or-isn’t-she point. I guessed with Rowen being such a tiny slip of a thing that when a baby was developing in her stomach, it really stuck out. She looked as if she’d shoved a basketball underneath her shirt.

“How you feeling there, mama bear?” I asked, pushing the empty chair Jesse’s way. He wasn’t carrying the baby, but he looked more tired and beat-up than Rowen.

“Like if pregnancy could magically change from being nine and a half months in duration to six, I’d be the happiest person in the world.” Her hands continued to slide up and down her stomach. “Other than that and not being able to sleep at night without waking up every two hours to pee and feeling like I could eat the contents of the Country Buffet in town at every meal and feeling like my chest is on fire from the heartburn I get after eating said buffet and having to assure and reassure this guy every time I make a face that might even hint at discomfort . . .” She shot me a smile. “I’m doing fantabulous.”

Jesse slid into the chair beside her, hovering just as he’d taken up doing since Rowen got pregnant.

“How’s the old ticker?” I asked, lifting my chin.

Rowen chuckled while Jesse shot me a sneer. “Still ticking away. Thanks for asking. How’s yours?”

“Good. But I’m not the pregnant one with a heart condition.”

“Garth,” Jesse warned, but his irritation dimmed when Rowen’s chuckle continued.

I wasn’t trying to make light of the threat posed to Rowen and their baby, but sometimes life needed to be laughed at instead of feared. At least some of the time.

When she finished laughing, she looked at me. “No, but you’re the one about to go out and crawl onto the back of a bull after the last ride left you paralyzed from the neck down.” She gave me an evil little smile. “In terms of who’s got the bigger death wish, you’ve got me beat, Black. Congratulations.”

I bowed while Jesse heaved a sigh.

“How have the cattle been?” he piped up, obviously wanting the topic shifted away from death wishes. “You need a hand this week with anything?”