The first rider, a rookie, fell off at five seconds, landing unhurt in the dust of the arena. By the time the safety riders had driven the bull out through the gate, Tex was in the chute, ready to drop onto Sidewinder’s back. The big bull was in a foul mood. He exploded out of the gate, bucking and spinning like a tornado. But Tex stayed on him like a champion, riding with style and control. The crowd cheered as the eight-second bell rang. Tex vaulted off his bull after a great ride.
Then something went wrong. As Tex landed, his leg gave way, and he went down. Before the clowns could move in, Sidewinder wheeled and was on him. A gasp went up from the crowd as the huge animal butted the cowboy with t
he weight of his massive head and hooked him with his blunted horns.
Already in the chute, with no way to get to his friend, Bull could only watch in horror as the clowns drove Sidewinder away and, with the aid of the two mounted safety riders, forced him out of the gate. As Tex lay sprawled in the dust, a team of paramedics rushed out with a stretcher and lifted his inert and battered body onto it. From outside the arena came the wail of an ambulance siren.
On with the show. That was the rule of the rodeo. The loudspeaker was already announcing Tex’s score—an outstanding 86 points. And now Bull, still numb with the shock of what he’d seen, heard his own name. Settling his weight on Nitro’s back, he gripped the rope handle, raised his right arm, and nodded.
Afterward, he remembered little of the eight-second ride except that he’d stayed on the bull and made it out of the arena on his feet. When he asked, repeatedly, how badly Tex was hurt, the only replies were shrugs and head shakes. Nobody knew.
He made it through the second round, with marks high enough to qualify for the finals that evening, which meant he’d be going home with cash in his pocket. He thought about the house and what the money would mean for his future plans. But when he closed his eyes, he could see only Tex’s limp and beaten body lying on the ground.
With time to spare before the final event, he drove to the nearby hospital and found his way to the emergency room. The place was busy, but he finally found a nurse who was willing to talk to him.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “We did everything we could, but your friend never regained consciousness. He died on the operating table. We get quite a few cowboys here when the rodeo’s on, but we’ve never lost one before. Were you aware that he was competing with a broken fibula?”
Shaken by the news, Bull managed to recall that the fibula was the thin bone in the lower leg. “God, no,” he said. “He looked fine. Had a great ride. Then he jumped off and just went down.”
“I can’t say for sure, but I’m guessing the leg gave out on him. It should’ve been in a cast. He had it wrapped with duct tape.”
Bull thanked her and made his way back to his truck. How many times had he taped his own broken bones and gone back into the chutes? How many other riders he knew had done the same thing? It was against the rules to ride injured, but desperate men were capable of desperate acts.
He couldn’t stand the thought of carrying the tragic news back to the arena. He would keep his mouth shut and let word get around some other way. It would be all he could do to ride in the finals, collect his prize money, then drive back to the ranch. There was no way in hell he’d be able to sleep tonight.
When he got back to the arena, the times and bulls had been drawn. Bull would be riding last—and he’d be riding Sidewinder.
“We can get you a different bull if you want,” the official said. “We’d have taken him out of the drawing, but somebody upstairs thinks it would give the crowd a thrill to see him out there again. It’s up to you, Tyler.”
“I’ll take the bastard,” Bull said. “And I’ll ride him.”
Six cowboys had made the finals. Tex would have been one of them. But Bull couldn’t let himself think about that now. Nor could he put too much blame on Sidewinder. He was just an animal, following his nature. Tex was more at fault, doing a dismount on his broken leg. But how many times had Bull taken equally foolish chances? Life was nothing but a crapshoot. Some won, some lost. And usually there was no rhyme or reason why.
By the time he climbed into the chute, Bull had cleared his mind. Nothing existed except him, the animal under him, and eight vital seconds. Left hand on the rope; right hand high; knees gripping; spurs digging into Sidewinder’s thick, loose hide. A nod, the gate swinging open, the clang of the heavy bell between the bull’s thick front legs. Shift and balance. No fear. No emotion. Sidewinder bucked and twisted, putting on a good show. When the bell rang and the crowd erupted in a roar, Bull knew he’d won. What surprised him was, he didn’t care.
He rolled to one side and hit the ground on two feet. By the time the clowns rushed in, he was safe.
His score was decent—not as high as Tex’s but enough to win. As the crowd poured out of the bleachers, he went back behind the chutes to collect his prize—$5,000, most of it in hundred-dollar bills. The wad of money felt leaden in his hand.
Seeing the grim faces around him, he knew that the riders had gotten word of Tex’s death. The man behind the table held out an open shoe box with a few bills in it. “Some of the boys are taking up a collection for Tex’s wife and baby,” he said. “Anything you’d care to contribute—”
“Oh, what the hell!” Bull tossed the bundle of cash into the box and walked outside into the summer night.
CHAPTER 13
FOR THE NEXT THREE WEEKS BULL WORKED HIS RANCH MONDAY through Friday and spent weekends on the rodeo circuit. He was doing all right, winning cash every time, but never again finishing in first place. It was as if seeing a good man get pounded to death by a bull had taken something out of him. He rode with a cold detachment that kept him in the money, but the passion to make it as a champion rider was gone.
The weekend rides were taking a toll on his body. He was nursing cracked ribs, a wrenched shoulder, and strained muscles that screamed with every move. Ignoring the pain, he would tape whatever could be taped, gulp down a handful of over-the-counter pain pills, and go back to the chutes.
His next event would be in Atlanta—a long drive, but it was a big rodeo, and the prize money was excellent. Unfortunately, so was the competition. Some of the top bull riders in the country would be there. He would be lucky to make the finals.
It hadn’t escaped him that he would be within driving distance of Susan. The hunger to hear her voice and hold her in his arms had kept him from sleeping nights. He’d imagined storming her parents’ house, kicking down the front door, and carrying her off in his truck. But he knew better than to act on his fantasies. She’d warned him not to contact her. And she hadn’t called him since the night she flew home.
Was she all right? Had she abandoned her promise to wait for him? The questions chewed on him day and night. But pride and caution kept him from seeking answers. Whatever happened next would have to be up to her.
Meanwhile, he had a ranch to run.
* * *