Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The morning sun was shining brightly over Guthrie when the three walked to breakfast early the next day.
They found a charming little café in an old brick building that was surrounded by shops in the connecting structures. After eating, her Daddies took Mina in the shops so that she could browse. Thirty minutes later, they were in the pickup and heading to the arena.
Mina found it was the right time to broach the subject that had been on her mind since waking up earlier.
“I’m scared, Daddy.” She gripped Slater’s arm to indicate which man she was talking to.
Sitting in the passenger seat, he patted her hand. “I’ll be just fine. This ain’t my first rodeo, remember?”
“But that doesn’t make it any less dangerous,” she countered. “No matter how many times you’ve done it before, that bull still weighs fifteen hundred pounds. You told me so yourself. And he still wants to throw you off his back. And maybe stomp your guts in.”
Behind the steering wheel, Jackson let out a cheer before adding, “This might be a case where the Daddy needs to listen to his Little! Our girl has a point. That’s a fact, cowpoke.”
Mina studied Slater for a moment, trying to read his reaction. He just chuckled and shook his head.
“I’ll be fine. I used to do this for a living.”
“Yeah. Used to being the key phrase here,” Jackson said.
Nothing more was said about it as they pulled into the arena and parked.
But Mina’s stomach was in knots, and she feared what the night would bring.
* * *
It was evening when Mina took her seat.
Her Daddies had allowed her to go down and see them for a few moments but then gave her strict orders to get away from the chute and to the safety of the stands. She’d thought about asking why they were down there if it was so dangerous, but decided to hold that comment.
She felt jittery. How dangerous was this? There was no way it could be safe, she knew. But surely the professionals took steps to mitigate the risk. People’s lives were on the line.
Jackson had bought her a big soda and a box of popcorn before sending her up to the stands, but now, with her stomach in knots the way it was, she could barely enjoy the treats. She just wanted this to be over. She needed both her Daddies safe.
Wasn’t there another way to save Big Cedar? Why did Slater have to be so stubborn?
She drew a deep breath, tried to relax, and sat there waiting impatiently for it to end.
It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Down in the arena, in the tight chute, Slater sat atop the snorting bull.
He could feel the energy radiating off the magnificent beast. It was about to give him one hell of a ride. How long that ride would last, well… that remained to be seen.
In reality, Slater knew it would only be seconds. He prayed at least eight. Normally, eight seconds ticks off the clock so fast you can barely count them. But when you’re holding on for dear life, trying not to be launched into the air, it was an eternity.
He pulled on the rope and made sure it was tight.
“How you feeling, brother?” Jackson asked. He was standing on the other side of the wooden chute, his feet on the second slat, making him tower even taller than he was.
“Like I’m crazy.”
“Well, you are crazy. Damn crazy to be doing this again.” Jackson paused. “You sure you want to? There’s still time to climb down off that thing.”
The bull snorted, as if saying Jackson’s idea was probably for the best.
Slater ignored the animal.
“I’m going to see this through. And the next one. And the one after that. All the way down the line until I have the money the town needs.”
Jackson sighed. “Nothing I can say will change your mind, huh?”
“Nope.”
“Then just promise me you’ll be careful.”
Slater looked to see the concern in his friend’s eyes. “I’ll be as careful as I can be. You have my word on that.”
He didn’t have to say that the best laid plans of cowboys went out the window the second a bull started twisting and turning. But he didn’t need to. Jackson knew.
“Thirty seconds,” the chute boss called out. “You ready, son?”
“Ready,” Slater yelled back.
Slater heard the sound of the announcer’s voice filling the arena, announcing him. His stomach flipped a nervous somersault, and he tried to tell himself to calm down, but it was no use. How could one be calm in a situation like that? Anyway, it was the adrenaline that kept you moving. And moving kept you alive. He didn’t need to be too calm.
“You get to those pickup men as soon as you can,” Jackson said, referring to the cowboys who waited in the arena, eager to help a rider stay clear of the bull once he was flung off.
The rodeo clown would do his job, too, drawing the attention of the angry animal.
If they all worked together, everyone would get out of there alive. In theory, at least.
“I’ve done this before, remember?” Slater said with a grin.
“Don’t make me?—”
Slater assume he was threatening to spank his butt yet again, but the roar of the crowd drowned out whatever he’d said. Evidently, the announcer had stirred them up in anticipation of his ride, and the atmosphere was primed and ready for action.
“Ten seconds,” the chute boss called out.
Slater counted them down in his mind. Then, he looked at the boss, nodded, and waited.
A second later, the buzzer sounded and the gate opened.
The bull charged out like a demon fleeing hell.
Slater would have yelled, “Oh, shit!” or something to that effect, but he couldn’t even speak. He held on tight to the rope, for that was all he had. The animal kicked its back legs. It huffed and snorted before turning two frenzied circles. It stamped forward and then stopped, bucking five hard times in rapid succession.
The arena flew by in a dizzying blur. Slater knew that somewhere, his sweet little girl was watching. He prayed she wasn’t too scared. Maybe she’d even enjoy it. Perhaps she’d think of him as a hero.
That’s what every cowboy wanted, right? They did this to chase fame and glory. They all harbored dreams of being legends.
And they were just plumb crazy, he figured.
But he couldn’t worry about any of that right now. All that mattered was staying on. The rest could be sorted out later.
Slater lost track of how many times the bull turned. Somehow, though, he stayed on for longer than he’d anticipated. Of course, there was a chance that it was only two or three seconds, but in its intensity, it seemed like forever. He didn’t think so, though. He’d done this enough to know he’d most likely bumped eight seconds or was darn near it.
Had the buzzer gone off? He didn’t remember hearing it. But then again, thanks to the helmet he wore, the sound of the bull snorting and thrashing, and the cheering of the elated crowd, he couldn’t hear much.
Then, he felt his grip starting to loosen. His hand hurt and his fingers ached. Weakness set in and he knew he was about to fall. One of the first rules of bull riding was to exit on your own terms, if it all possible.
So, he let go, threw himself free, and despite the torquing, hulking animal, managed to land gracefully on his feet.
The pickup men and clowns rushed into action, and a moment later, the bull was being herded back toward the pin.
Slater put his hands on his knees, bent down, and took deep breaths to fill his lungs with precious air. A sheen of sweat glazed his forehead and he wanted that damn helmet off.
The crowd, though, was going wild, everyone on their feet, whooping and hollering, cowboys and cowgirls alike waving their hats in the air.
That’s when he looked at the clock.
9.3 seconds.
Damn.
Slater grinned.
“I still got it!” he said as Jackson ran up to him. “Damnit, brother, I still got it!”
The men hugged.
Slater still had it indeed.