Stockman’s Showdown (The Stockmen #4)

Thirty-seven

Ryder skimmed over the insurance forms, the ride and die forms, and the rules, then handed over his credit card and signed his life away on the dotted line.

‘Have you ridden a bull before?’ The middle-aged stockman’s deep tan made his creases darken like shadows across his face.

‘It’s like riding a bigger horse, right?’

The man chuckled with a nod. ‘Got any gear?’

‘Nope.’

‘We’ll find you some. I’d recommend gloves.’

‘I’ve got some in the ute.’ He pulled out his phone and texted Ash: Please grab my fencing gloves from the back of the ute, tucked in behind the spare tyre. I need them to ride a bull.

Ash’s response: WTF bro! You for real?

Ryder texted back: Bring them to the back of the rodeo ring. ASAP.

‘We’ll be drawing the bulls in a second, so stick around to find out your riding order. This is your number. Put it on your shirt, but I’d recommend you find yourself a vest to protect your chest.’

Ryder was given a number, like the one he’d given Mia when she represented his family at the muster dog trials. Ryder’s had three numbers, unlike Cowboy Craig who wore the number 3, and in that display case that held Charlie’s leather vest and chaps, it showed number 1.

‘Bad luck on the number, son,’ said Charlie, with Dex and Craig approaching. ‘Ya know what those numbers mean?’

Ryder didn’t care. It just showed he’d paid for his spot.

‘That’s your ranking as a rider. And we all start somewhere, son.’

This is exactly what he’d hoped for. Bree was holding back for Charlie’s sake, and what a better way to win over a champion bull rider, than to sit his arse on a bull.

‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ said Dex.

‘Don’t try to talk me out of it. I’ve already signed up.’ He held up his number to Dex.

‘Why?’

‘I have a bet with Bree.’ Bree was teaching him to play, and to be spontaneous. But he most enjoyed shocking the redhead by doing this.

My how the tables had turned, when normally he’d be the one trying to talk Bree out of doing something reckless. It’s what made this all the more sweeter.

‘Got any gear, son?’ Charlie looked over at Ryder, but with approval.

‘Nope.’

‘I’ve got a spare vest, and chaps,’ said Craig. ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘I hope your medical insurance is all paid up, and your will is in order,’ said Dex, shaking his head.

‘Oi, leave off,’ said Charlie. ‘If the man wants to have a go, let him. I didn’t see Ryder stop you from entering the ring for your fighting bouts.’

‘I trained for those. But this is a bull. A properly trained bucking bull.’

‘Hush now, you.’ Charlie flicked his hand at Dex, then patted Ryder’s shoulder. ‘Do you know what bull you’ll be riding, yet?’

Ryder shook his head. ‘They said they were drawing the names out soon.’

‘The rookie riders usually ride straight after the parade. You might like it.’

Ryder was only doing this once. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in a life-and-death situation. Yet, these guys did it as a sport. It took courage to get on a powerful beast like that, he had to respect the other rodeo riders around him, preparing to put on a good show.

‘Why did you do it, Charlie? The bulls?’ Considering the huge risk involved.

‘Well, rodeo has always been a popular sport amongst the stockmen in the Northern Territory. We’ve got enough cattle stations with plenty of stockmen willing to have a go. As you’d know.’

‘Sure, as a kid, I did the broncs, or just got my fill of rodeo breaking in stockhorses, or the occasional bull in the yards.’ Ryder also remembered as a kid how he went with his brothers to see the local rodeo, where they got their first glimpse of the tough men that made them all want to be stockmen. He’d worked every school holiday on some station to gain the skills, even had a few decent muster seasons under his belt before he joined the Army.

‘But it’s more than that, son. Our local rodeo is a celebration of the tough, independent lifestyle that defines the Northern Territory’s cattle industry. Very few people in Australia—certainly not those down south—live the way we do, with crocodiles and cyclones.’ Charlie patted his heart. ‘It’s who we are as stockmen. And it’s not about the trophies or showin’ off either, it’s about getting on that bull to prove you’re tougher than the land we work on. It’s about testing yourself, showin’ you’ve got the guts to stand tall, even when the world is tryin’ to buck you off.’

Those words hit home for Ryder, but also for his brother Dex. They’d been knocked on their arses plenty of times, as kids growing up in a junkyard, as men now trying to tame the wilderness that made the Northern Territory their home.

A stern man with a white hat stood on a crate. ‘ All right, you lot, it’s time to draw the names…’

The men’s voices hushed as the adjudicator drew the names of the bulls they were to ride. The results written on a large board for everyone to see.

Craig rolled up with a load of black leather goods in his hands. ‘I’ve got you this padded vest. It might be tight, but we can adjust the ties on the side. As your event is in the rough stock category, I’d recommend you wear these leather chaps, too.’

‘The chaps will protect your legs from the bull and help with the ride,’ explained Charlie.

It was a lot of fancy black leather, complete with tassels and stringy leather ties. It was kind of like the gear worn by the BDSM community. Hmm, Bree was certainly no buckle bunny, but she did have a kink for men wearing military uniforms and masks. Did she have one for leather-wearing bull riders?

‘What about a ball cup to protect the jewels?’ suggested Dex.

‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ said Craig. ‘It’s just plain uncomfortable and it’ll throw you off balance.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Ryder slid his arms through the heavy vest. His Kevlar vest was lighter.

The adjudicator called out the bulls’ names such as Dirty Harry, Evil Forces, Destroy, Holy Moly. There were no pet names like Coco, Fluffy, or Peanut. But if they had a bull named Cupcake, he’d pay to ride the thing just to show Bree he was no cupcake.

‘You’ll need some rosin, son. Ya got any, Craig?’

‘Same recipe you gave me.’ Craig lifted the lid on an old tin.

‘What is that?’ Dex dabbed his finger at the amber-like material. Sitting in the bottom of the tin, it was the size of a small bar of soap, that was a sticky mix between honey and super glue. ‘It’s gummy.’

‘It helps your gloves keep a good grip on the rope,’ explained Craig. ‘When you’re on the bull, you apply this rosin onto the riding rope. Then rub the rope repeatedly, to make the stuff hot to create a Velcro-effect. Listen, if you’re only mucking around, I wouldn’t recommend it, coz once it’s activated, you’re on for the ride.’

‘I’ll use it.’ Ryder had a bet he was determined to win.

‘Want a helmet?’ asked Dex.

‘Nope. It’d just get in my way. I don’t want it slipping and blocking my view during the bull ride.’ Ryder secured the chaps on his legs. They were heavier, compared to the pair he used to protect his legs when branding cattle in the drafting yards.

Ash ran up with the gloves. ‘You’re really doing this, huh?’

Ryder slid on his gloves. ‘I’m not dressing up for fun, am I?’

‘I don’t believe it.’ Ash looked at Dex, who shrugged.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t got a set of bull ropes to lend you, son.’

‘I normally keep some bull ropes in the ute to lend, but I’ve only got bronc ropes with me,’ said Craig.

‘The adjudicator said he’d lend me some.’

‘Good. I’ll check them over for you,’ said Charlie. ‘Do you want to ride with a left or right-handed rope?’

‘Left.’

‘But you're right-handed,’ said Dex.

‘I still want to write, if something goes wrong.’ Hoping not to tear his arm out of his shoulder socket.

‘You’ll want some spurs, son. They’re an important part of the bull rider’s kit.’

‘Use mine,’ volunteered Craig, unstrapping them from his boots. ‘They’re regulation, already checked by the judges. They’re not too sharp to hurt the animal, but they’ll help you get a good grip. Charlie gave me these.’

‘That I did.’ Charlie patted Craig’s shoulder as Craig tied them onto Ryder’s boots.

‘Well, look at you.’ Craig pushed back his hat and gave an approving nod. ‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re ready to ride a bull.’

‘The dressing up is the easy part,’ said Dex, with his arms crossed over his chest, while Ash could only rub his neck wearing worry not normally seen on his younger brother.

‘If you’ve got any tips on riding the thing, I’m listening.’

Charlie nodded with approval, patting Ryder’s arm. ‘I do.’

This is why Ryder was going through with this, just for that look. Now all he had to do was make the eight seconds to win his bet with Bree.

The adjudicator called out, ‘ Riggs. Riding Chainsaw. First ride out the gate.’

The gathered rodeo riders murmured. Some shook their heads.

‘Is that bad?’ asked Ash.

‘Craig, you know this crowd,’ said Dex, ‘what is wrong with Chainsaw?’

‘Chainsaw is known as the widow maker. No one has ever lasted the full eight seconds on that bull.’