Chapter 11
Maggie
Nervousness twists like wire in my gut. It’s completely out of place as I stand behind the chute Jones is slowly lowering into. Cowboys prep his rigging around a bull that looks set to explode.
“Grab as many shots here now as you can. Then the next bull he draws, I want you in the arena for action shots.” Levi is pointing out to the large dirt arena.
The danger zone.
“Um, okay. I didn’t think I was supposed to be out there?”
“Logan and his crew will cover you, but Jones needs this. This could be his last chance to make a team.”
Because he’s one of the oldest bull riders? Because he won’t cut it if he doesn’t make a team? I wish these cowboys would be more specific. I have no idea how literal he is or isn’t being, and it’s driving me crazy.
I don’t need your charity.
Hadley’s words fly into my mind.
People who say that are usually the ones who are in desperate need of help. Just too stubborn to admit it.
Pride is a ruinous thing.
I know I’ve asked him this before and he’s declined, but circuit photography is my job. It is also at my discretion who I shoot. Right now, the one cowboy I want everyone paying attention to is Hadley Jones.
Something tells me he’s had to fight for everything in this sport. It’s about time someone gave him a helping hand.
I take shots of him strapping down before getting a few of him testing the rope.
He nods his head furiously and the gate pulls.
It isn’t until copper bursts over my tongue that I realize I’m biting down on my lip, and my lungs burn. I can’t move from the spot. Feet on the second highest rail, I lean forward, my grip tightening around my camera.
The bull spins, taking Hadley with him.
Hadley lays into him with the spurs, arm held high as he moves in rhythm with the animal.
Spluttering through a strangled inhale, I raise the camera and shoot him in action from this high vantage point.
The clock ticks over.
Six seconds.
Seven seconds.
Eight!
The crowd, which has been so silent you could hear a twig snap, turns thunderous. Hadley disconnects from the bull and leaps off one side. The bull bucks on without him until Logan and his crew have him rustled back to the intake gate.
Hadley is climbing the rails over by the crowd. Reaching the top, he holds his hands in the air and the crowd roars. He squats, pushing off the rail, and backflips in the air.
He lands on both feet, punching the air before he tosses his hat into the crowd. A young boy rushes it back to him, sticking through the arena railing. Hadley kneels on one knee, talking to him briefly before the little boy grins with a double thumbs-up and returns to his parents.
My face hurts from the ridiculous smile stretching it.
“. . . Maggie.”
Levi pulls me back to reality. I move along the chutes to the next rider, snapping images. Somehow, my mind is stuck replaying what happiness and triumph look like on Hadley Jones.
As if tonight couldn’t get any better, Knox bucks off, only making three seconds. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. But I snapped some great shots of him strapping down and a few of Spencer and Brady stretching and joking around.
The atmosphere behind the chutes is pumping, cowboys going through their routines. The camaraderie is so amazing to see. They’re not competing against one another—despite the fact they kind of are—they’re simply encouraging each other, talking shop, wishing each other luck . . .
“Maggie, Logan can take you out now.” Levi nods to the bullfighter standing at his side.
Out.
Into the arena.
To the danger zone. Under the spotlight, where the entire crowd can see me.
“Oh sure.” I give Levi a tight smile.
He nods. “Logan’s got you. You’ll be safe. Worst case, climb the rails, okay?”
“Okay.” Two very shaky syllables spill from my lips. Logan crooks an arm as he slides to a stop beside me.
“Ma’am.” The painted-on grin widens.
“Logan, I—”
He leans in and winks at me. “I got you, boo.”
Good lord. I huff a strangled laugh.
We walk through the intake gate and make our way to the right of the chutes, and my heart rate spikes. Electricity ignites through my veins.
I’m nowhere near a bull and my heart is trying its best to escape through my ribs. My hands shake as I fumble with my camera, staying on the spot where Logan has planted me. He claims it’s the safest patch of dirt in this arena.
“Alrighty, ladies and gents . . .” the announcer drawls. “The bull that brought you all here tonight, with one of our most seasoned riders. This is a beast of an animal. And with a strike rate that’s never been broken, put your hands up for TER-MIN-A-TOR!”
“Oh shit,” I rasp.
A stone lodges in my throat as I squat in the dirt, wanting to find the best angle for Hadley. I can see him through the rails, strapping down. Rubbing his grip up and down the rope. He looks good. I repeat the words over and over.
Two men hover by the return gate. One has a phone held up, no doubt about to record the ride. The other holds a tablet, which I’m guessing contains names, scores, and such on it.
The rock music puncturing the night air ramps up as the gate pulls.
An enormous grey bull bursts from the chute. Hadley is seated, arm high, as he spurs the bull round to the right.
Good.
Right side.
This is good.
The clock ticks over the chutes to the right above the two scouts.
The animal snorts, diving as his back legs fly into the air.
Shit. Photos!
I suck in a breath, my aching lungs stretching for the first time in the last few seconds that felt more like a lifetime. Terminator dives and drives his hind legs aloft again. Hadley leans back, jawline set, arm high, the flex in his forearms and biceps strained to perfection.
Click.
I wait until he spurs him sideways and . . . click.
I flick my gaze to the countdown clock.
Six seconds.
Hold on, Hadley.
The bull cranks up the pace, throwing Hadley off his seat.
I press the shoot button capturing the airborne cowboy before he plummets back down to the bull’s back.
The buzzer pieces the air with its nasal tone, and the crowd are on their feet for Hadley for the second time tonight.
“Yes!” I jump back up to my feet.
Hadley’s still strapped to the back of the bull. His gaze tracks to me instantly, fear flooding his dark eyes.
I raise the camera to snap another sneaky sho—
“Move!” Logan is hauling me toward the rail.
I’m jostled, hugging my camera as we make the rail. The animal launches toward us, Hadley now hanging from his side.
“No!” Fear snakes down my spine. Stunned and motionless, it isn’t until the bull is almost on me, Hadley gripping his hung-up hand, yelling at me to move, that I scramble up the rails.
I look to Logan.
He flies in by Hadley’s side, moving with the bull as Hadley starts to weaken, his body being tossed with every duck and turn.
Logan has him out a second later, and the two remaining bullfighters guide Terminator back to the return gate.
Hadley stands, head hanging, in the center of the arena. Logan is talking to him as he pats him on the back. Hadley’s holding his rope arm as he removes his helmet and raises it in the air. The crowd cheers ecstatically.
The very first man to ride Terminator.
Despite the dramatic dismount, he did it.
Waving to the crowd, he glances at me before walking back to the return gate. I’ve never been so happy for someone else in my life.
And it had to be a bull rider.
The exact type of man I swore I’d never befriend. But that’s exactly what happened. Somewhere along this gritty, lonely circuit, Hadley Jones and I became friends.
Snuggled up on my bunk in Betsy, I sift through the photos from tonight. It’s well past midnight, and I should really catch some sleep. But Hadley will need his bedroll and bag, and I don’t want to leave it out for some lowlife to steal . . . So, I’m still up.
That’s what friends are for, right?
I yawn, covering my mouth as I delete another bunch of images not up to spec.
A soft knock rattles the van, and I look up with bleary eyes to find a black cowboy hat, brown eyes, and a wide smile. He slips the hat from his head, nodding in way of hello.
“Hey, Hadley.”
“Busy still?”
“Yeah, I need to send these to the circuit people and—”
I stop mid-sentence, remembering Levi’s under-the-radar plan to supply extra images to the Pbr scouts. I roll my lips tighter and morph it into a half smile.
“Sorry, you want me to leave you be?” He turns his hat in his hands, dark eyes pinning me where I stand.
Damn, looking like that, it’s hard to believe friendship is all we got from weeks of the circuit.
“No, of course not. Let me help you set up your stuff.”
I slip off the bunk and tug at the oversized bedroll he brought. It’s currently wedged between my bunk and the small kitchenette, after I used it as a seat earlier to eat my dinner on.
“Here, Maggie.” He steps into the van, having to duck. He looks ridiculously big in this tiny space. Half bent over, he grabs the bedroll with one arm and pulls it free like it was never stuck, his arm alive with the movement.
My mouth hangs before I can catch it.
He slides the bedroll out of the van and tosses it on the ground like it weighs nothing.
“Um, do you need your bag, too?” I wrap my cardigan around my chest, now very aware I’m braless and it’s cooler outside than I thought.
“Yeah, please.” He’s busy rolling out his bed right in front of my van door.
Okay . . . But what if I need to get out?
I hand him the bag, and my cardigan falls open, exposing my white T-shirt. That I’m fast realizing was a bad choice.
“Thanks,” he rasps, hand closing over mine as he takes the weight of the bag.
“Sure thing.” I swallow.
Shit. I need to get it together.
“Well, night, Maggie.”
A little breathily, I reply, “Night, Hadley.”
He slides the door closed and through it I can hear him unzip his bag or maybe his bedroll . . .
Nope. We’re not thinking about Hadley or his bedroll. I spin on my heel and jump onto my bunk. The entire van rocks with the movement. Shit. Shit.
Packing away my laptop and camera, I lay down in my bed, snuggling into the blankets. The last image I see is the smiling, happy, triumphant face of Hadley Jones.
Finally, he’s had a break.
If anyone on this earth deserves one, it’s him.
Here’s to making sure that break sticks.
Sitting up, I fling my laptop open and email the shots of Hadley and Terminator to Levi.
I’m not sleeping on that one.
Not this time.
Patters on Betsy’s roof wake me, along with a pale milky light.
It’s raining . . .
It’s raining.
I sit up, tossing my blankets off. Wincing, I slide the van door open, trying my hardest to be quiet. The misty rain hits my face the second the door breaks from the van.
Oh damn.
It’s wet out here.
I glance down to find Hadley still cocooned up in his bedroll right in front of my van door.
A smile—one I have no idea the meaning behind—grows on my face.
I wrap my cardigan around my body and pull on my jeans.
Sneaking past the sleeping cowboy, I pad to the small canteen that’s already open for the rodeo folk and grab two coffees and a few pastries.
Deciding to grab something more substantial for the only man in the world to ride the Terminator, I add a wrapped-up savory something to the pile and carry my load through the rain on a disposable tray, covering it the best I can with my cardigan.
I drop onto Betsy’s side step, not bothering to close the door against the halfhearted rain.
I peel back the top of his bedroll to find scruffy dark hair that meets stubble. Corded shoulders and neck . . . and bare chest. A groan slips from him as the wet air hits his face.
I suck in a breath, trying to steady my frantic heartbeat, and whisper, “Morning, Terminator Tamer. Hungry?”