Chapter 4
The next morning sucked.I woke up sweating like a pig and every muscle in my body hurt, especially my neck. The back seat of my truck wasn't the best place to sleep, but it saved me a few hundred bucks. Granted, I should've cracked the windows or something, but it had almost been cool last night. Late August in Oklahoma wasn't exactly camping weather, but my plan to keep out the mosquitos worked.
Although by ten in the morning, the inside of my truck was near char broil temperatures, and it didn't come with a shower. I managed to get my stuff together, head back into the convention center, and find a lady's room that was basically empty. The sink was the closest I'd get to a bath, but even I could smell the stench on my show shirt. Rinsing it out only went so far. Thankfully, it'd dry real fast in the back seat of my truck.
By the time check-in started, I was once again ready to go. I was also shocked to see I'd moved up a lot. From thirty-fourth place in the world standings to eighteenth, and I had two more chances to break into the top ten. If I could even get close, then maybe my dad would finally stop giving me hell about this. Like he had any room to talk. Dad had made a name for himself in Missouri as a bull rider. It was how he'd met my mom - she'd been a barrel racer - but he hated that I wanted to follow in the family footsteps.
Then again, if I'd asked to chase cans like Mom, he probably would've been on board. Sadly, he didn't know a thing about it, and we didn't really have the money for an instructor, or the most important thing, a horse. I did get plenty of experience hanging onto the back of a sheep doing some mutton busting, though, and he had no one to blame for that but himself.
Now, when I came home from a professional bull riding event with a check, he'd have to suck it up. None of the guys back home had been able to qualify. Most of them gave it up by the time they turned twenty. Those who stuck it out? They were still flapping their jaws about how bad-ass they were, and I was the only one who'd made the points to ride in the premier series of professional bull riders. I'd made it - and I'd keep making it until I could buy my way out of that backwater town and into something a bit nicer.
That was what I was thinking about while getting ready. Most of the guys set up their gear by the cattle pens. Sure, there was a locker room, but it was filled with cameras and mostly for the families and top riders to do interviews. Real bull riders just wanted to focus on the bulls. Back here, they hung their ropes side by side, stretched out their muscles, and many said a few prayers before trying to get themselves killed, but not me. I kept going until I found a quiet spot in the belly of the unused halls.
Down here, no one would see my contortions. No one would care that my thick blonde braid wasn't covered up by my hat. They also wouldn't stop me to ask questions. I didn't have time for that crap. I needed to get my head in the game. One bull may have been good enough yesterday, but I'd spent a lot of money to prove my point this weekend, and I wanted to make sure it stuck. I wanted to prove that I could do this.
In other words, I had to stay on for eight more seconds and make sure I came home with a score that wasn't shameful. My weakness was spurring. My legs were just too short for that, so I could only get a few good licks in when the bull gave me the chance. Typically, those were the animals who weren't overly showy, so while I might pick up the points, they lost them just as fast. That meant I'd have to take a couple of risks.
Go big or go home, right? This weekend, my worst-case scenario was that I got laughed out of the Tough Enough Series by the other riders. Getting hurt was fixable, usually. Unlike my local rodeos, which just had a few volunteer EMTs on hand, the PBR kept a full medical staff. If I screwed up bad enough, then I'd have some of the best care possible, by people who knew exactly what I needed this body for, so I should just go for it.
Decided, I pulled my rope from the fence, shoved my hair under my hat, and headed up the bland concrete ramp. At the end, I could hear the crowd echoing back. They were cheering, which meant someone was probably on a bull, but I couldn't see a thing except the length of silver panels used to herd the animals into the gates. I followed those up to the platform behind the chutes.
This time, I was coming out of chute five. A glance at the scoreboard showed a few more rides before it was my turn, but there was a good chance my bull was already waiting. I ducked my head and wandered that way. No one even asked.
Every step closer put me in the zone. This was what I'd been born to do. One girl. One bull. One more impressive score added to the list of things I wasn't man enough for. One step closer to getting the hell out of Nowhere, Missouri, and then we'd see who was laughing.
That was when I saw him. Disco Breakout was a monster. Black-and-white spotted with a set of downward-curling horns, he looked like a demon plucked right out of hell, and acted like it. The bull thrashed in his chute - my chute. He was a wild one, but that meant he'd be more than willing to help me bring in the points.
Closing the distance, I passed over my rope. While the chute attendants worked it around the animal, I checked again. Four guys left, and it would probably take me that long to get strapped in. I was also in the middle of the arena. I'd need the extra space to avoid colliding with the wall if this bull went stupid.
Slinging a leg over, I started the routine. The guy by the gate pulled my rope taut. I warmed it, the handle, then started my wrap. Halfway through, the damned bull decided he'd waited long enough and lunged forward, nearly taking me with him. The chute attendant grabbed at my protective vest right across my chest, trying to hold me in place. Even through the thick padding, he must have felt my curves because he jerked back like he'd been burned.
"Sorry," he mumbled, moving his hand to my shoulder.
I just nodded at him. It wasn't like I could feel a thing through the layers of dense foam, and I knew he wasn't trying to cop a cheap feel. His job was to keep me from falling under the bull's hooves before the timer started.
"Almost ready," I told the guys, well aware that this was taking a bit. "My rope slipped."
The guy on the gate chuckled, but he didn't complain about pulling the rope tight again. I couldn't be the only person who'd had this happen. When he passed the end back, I finally got the wrap just the way I liked it. Then I looked up at the guy who'd already figured out I was a woman.
"How long?"
He glanced over my head. "You're up next. Just hang on before you ease down."
A few seconds later, the crowd moaned, proving that rider hadn't come off as well as he wanted. I didn't bother listening to whether or not he'd earned a score first. I was just watching my hand and the pretty heart-shaped spot on Disco Breakout's withers. That would serve as my center. I just had to keep my body over that for eight seconds, and then all hell could break loose.
"All right, you're on," the attendant said. "Good luck."
Easing myself onto the bull's back, I barely remembered to say, "Thank you."
I wasn't quite settled before the idiot of a bull decided to have a fit. Lunging in the chute, he nearly slammed my leg into the side wall before giving in. I didn't waste another second. My leg locked against his ribs; my grip was good. Disco Breakout barely had his feet back on the ground when I nodded, and the gate swung wide open.
It was on. All I had to do was keep my eyes locked on the bull's shoulders. That one heart-shaped spot was going to make this real easy. That was center. That was where I had to ride, but this beast was massive. He launched, kicking out in mid-air. Then we were down. Disco Breakout spun right into my hand, forcing me to work for this. The rearing and kicking weren't bad, but the spins along with it? Gravity was trying to help the bull get rid of me. Faster, tighter, this beast hopped without anything resembling rhythm. I couldn't prepare for it, all I could do was ride, but I was damned good at that.
Then he leapt again, twisting in the air. My leg slipped, but I got my spurs hooked against his side. Jesus, how fast could this bull move? He was big but quick, and that might be more than I could take. My right hand waved, helping me stay centered, and I stuck to it. As the beast began to tire - although not nearly enough - I even got in a good sweep against his side. Those were points. Again, then again, and then Disco Breakout got mad.
In the back of my mind, I heard the buzzer, but it took a moment for that to sink in. Beneath me, the bull was writhing, struggling to get rid of the parasite strapped to him. Now, I had to get free. Digging my spurs into the animal's ribs, I reached for the tail of my rope just as the bull tried to fly again. I slipped.
One leg went forward, the rope came free, and my rump left the back of the bull, but the world never stopped turning. Whump. The ground came up too fast. My left leg somehow kept me moving forward, then I got another face full of dirt. This time, something black was much too close. The bull's belly. That was the moment I knew I was hung. My spur was hooked in the rope! There was no way to get free without help, and I had nothing to hold onto.
I barely had the sense to curl my arms around my head before a spotted leg crashed down beside me. Everything was speeding out of my reach. And then I felt a whack across my thigh, leaving the flesh burning in its wake. I had to be under the animal's feet by now, but I couldn't do a damned thing about it! The ground was moving too fast. The arena was a blur. All around, people were wailing, aware they were about to see one nasty wreck, and I was in the middle of it.
"Ho," someone yelled, and a purple foot passed before my eyes. "Here! Over here! She's hooked!"
"Got it!"
Then my leg got yanked hard, but it wasn't enough. All I could do was listen and try to keep my mouth shut. Every step slammed my face back into the dirt, and my struggling wasn't helping. Another yank, then I just dropped.
"She's free, go, go - shit!"
I rolled to my feet but wasn't fast enough. With one hand pushing me forward, aware that my shoulder hurt like hell, I was trying to run when it hit. Right at the back of my thigh, the bull slammed into me like a Mack truck at full speed, and the ground disappeared. I still tried to run, but there was nothing to run on. Then the wall found me. Hard. Time to go up. I had to get the hell out of this arena, and now!
I tried to pull myself onto the fence just as someone yelled behind me. I was still in the damned bull's sights! I needed to get up, to get high enough that he couldn't hit me again.
A hop, a pull, and then someone else leaned over the rail and grabbed my vest, heaving me over like a rag doll just as the bull slammed into the spot where I'd just been. I stumbled, thrusting a hand out to brace myself, and felt solid muscle beneath it. Then an arm curled protectively around my back. Sucking in a deep breath, I didn't even try to fight it, just hoped that the world would settle and my mind could catch up.
"And it looks like the bullfighters have done it again!" the announcer called out. "That could have been real bad, but instead, Cody Jennings walks away from that with a score of 84.5! Let's have a round of applause for one lucky rookie!"
"Cody?" That was closer. That was the guy I was leaning on.
I pulled away, trying to ignore what had just happened and play it off like no big deal, but my hat was gone. Long gone. That meant my braid had to be a mess, and the whole world was probably looking at me right now. My hat had to be somewhere in the arena still.
Leaning over the rail, I saw Tanner lift it up. "Lose something?" he called.
I gave him the best smile I could and held up my hands. In response, he tossed it up like a frisbee. It went high. Even if I jumped, I wouldn't get it, but the guy behind me took care of that. He snagged my hat easily, then pressed it into my hands.
"Cody?" he asked again, and that was when his voice clicked into place.
Ty McBride said he'd be up here. He said I could meet him early and he'd be waiting. I hadn't even thought about it, and it certainly hadn't crossed my mind while trying to get away from some bull, but now I was standing face to face with him, and there was no playing off where I'd just come from. Shoving my hat back onto my head, I did the next best thing. I tried to make a hasty retreat.
"Thanks," I mumbled as I turned for the stairs.
Unfortunately, he followed. "Nice ride. Thought you said you weren't a big deal? The first woman to ride in the Tough Enough Series? Sounds pretty impressive to me."
"Uh huh." I kept going, but the throbbing in my left thigh matched the burning across my right hip. In other words, hobbling was the best I had.
"Cody!"
This time he sounded annoyed, but I wasn't really shocked. The guys hated that I could do this. They always hated it, and the only one who had to suffer for that was me. That he was exactly the kind of man I wanted to impress made it even worse.
I spun back to face him. "I'm not quitting, I'm not backing down, and I don't give a shit what you think, ok? I got this."
"I was gonna say that you should lean on me. You took a good hit back there, and I know just how bad that hurts."
Right. Sure he was. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and tried to ignore just how hot he looked with his straw Stetson pulled down like that. "I learned a long time ago that if I want to do this, then I'm going to have to do it on my own. I'm not here to play your games, Ty."
At the sound of his name, he smiled. "I think you are. It's called the PBR, honey, and you make a hell of a lot better bull rider than a buckle bunny."
"What?"
He just reached up and settled his hat a bit deeper on his head. "Go ahead. Think that over. If you decide you believe me, then I'll be looking for you in that corner before I go. If not, then I'll buy you a beer tonight and continue to explain."
"No deal. I'm not here to be your entertainment."
He took a step closer, right into my personal space. "Already figured that out, sweetheart. You're my competition. I prefer to call those friends." Then he leaned even closer, making my heart race. "Hate to cut this short, but I have a rookie kicking my ass and a reputation to uphold. I'll be lookin' for ya."
The deep rumble of his voice made my belly flutter. And yes, when he sauntered his way toward the chutes, I looked. There was no way I'd pass up the chance to see Ty McBride's ass in a pair of tight jeans and chaps. No way at all. I'd also never admit it to anyone but my best friend, and she'd die before she told a soul.