Chapter 4
W alking back into that dressing room after Branch’s little outburst had been tough, but I planted a cocky grin on my face and strode in like I owned it, rolling my eyes and shrugging.
Frankie took me over and introduced me to the Brazilians.
Loads of fans didn’t like how they dominated the sport, but I thought the competition was good.
You can’t claim to be the best in the world, unless you were riding against the best. And these guys?
Some of them have lived and breathed this sport since birth.
The bulls they learned to ride on back in Brazil were rank as hell, and it made them better riders right off the bat.
They were young, fit, and it was no surprise that they dominated so much.
They spoke in rapid Portuguese, some of which I could keep up with, enough that I could reply haltingly in return, but they still seemed to appreciate it.
Anything I missed, Frankie caught me up on.
Still, as it got closer to show time, the more nervous I got.
I bounced around, pulling on my gear to do the walk on.
I didn’t have many sponsorship patches, even though arguably my daddy’s company sponsored me by default.
I tried not to dip into that money, even though it was rightfully mine.
But I figured this wasn’t a job you were in for a long time.
You either ended up injured out or dead.
I wanted to have enough money squirrelled away in case it was the former.
And so I’d have money for a nice funeral if it was the latter.
I still used it to pay entrance fees and medical bills, so I wasn’t as hard off as a lot of rookies on the circuit, scrabbling to make an impression and get some dollars.
I braided my hair tight to my head and let Frankie help strap on my chaps.
I slid on my flak vest, and pulled on my hat, shoving it low on my head. At a casual glance, you wouldn’t know I was a woman. I was just your normal wiry bull rider.
Frankie came to stand in front of me, his hands resting on my shoulders. “You good?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. I left the rest of my gear in the locker, walking over to brush my rope.
It was the small rituals that you gathered on the way up that really made you feel like you belonged.
The fact they put these fencing panels in the locker room showed how much this small ritual meant to a lot of riders.
I blocked out the rest of the riders as I thought about my bull for the night, Lancelot .
He wasn’t super high ranking, but he got good air and liked to do sudden shifts in direction.
He’d get a good ride score if I could stick the eight seconds.
I tried to run over every scenario in my head, but bull riding wasn’t a thinking person's game. Obviously. If you were a thinker, you’d definitely take one look at the matchup between man and beast and say, “Screw this shit.”
No, when it came down to riding bulls, it was all muscle memory. You didn’t think. You reacted. Excellent reaction times were what separated the mediocre from the greats in this sport.
A guy in Wranglers that were a size too small came and collected us, ready to parade us onto the stage at the center of the arena.
We all stood huddled at the entrance gate, waiting for our names to be called as lasers and smoke machines made the darkness more interesting.
I tried not to pay too much attention, keeping myself calm and in my own head so I didn’t run out of there screaming.
Name after name got called up, and when the announcer called Branch, I lifted my head to watch him stride out, waving to the fans, his dimples deep and his smile wide and disarming.
“This young rider was runner up for Rookie of the year two years ago, and he looks set to climb his way right to the top of the standings this year, folks.” The crowd went crazy, and I might have been a little paranoid that the pitch of the crowd seemed to be mostly women.
“He came runner up to this rider, Dylan Montaigne, 2018’s Rookie of the year, and a real contender for the finals this year, folks.”
It had occurred to me that I’d run into Dylan here.
After all, I’d googled him after our night and knew he was well and truly a rising star in the sport.
I just figured he wouldn’t remember me. It was a year ago and that guy would get pussy thrown at him like a cream pie at a clown. Straight for the face.
Apparently, I’d been wrong.
“T.M. Moore,” the announcer called. “This young rider has just come up from the minor competition. She also happens to be the first woman to ride in the WbrP competition.”
The arena literally went completely silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Fucking announcer just had to out me like that, and when I shook his hand, I could see the faint shadow of disapproval in his eyes.
Ah, one of those.
It was okay, I would prove them all wrong in the best possible way.
I walked over and stood beside Dylan, who shot me a quick smile. Then the announcer moved on, working his way through the rest of the riders.
Dylan leaned toward me. “You know how to make an impression,” he laughed, and I gave him a tight smile.
Didn’t matter what the crowd thought. It just mattered what happened between me and my bull. Finally the announcer was done, and they brought out someone truly horrendous to butcher the national anthem. Then it was back into the locker rooms to finish gearing up and get my head back in the game.
This was it. My moment.
Where most of the cowboys had been relaxed for the afternoon, when we made it back to the dressing room it became a hive of activity. Beau and Frankie were back there, having what looked to be an intense conversation. I narrowed my eyes at them, and when Frankie spotted me, he grinned broadly.
When he wandered back over to me, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders again, and I frowned.
Not that I didn’t like the comfort. If I didn’t think I would lose any and all respect, I’d make him sit down and crawl into his lap and hug him to me, like I sometimes did on the road while we were watching movies.
Sometimes bad bathroom sex didn’t constitute actual human contact. Go figure.
But usually, he was more discreet about his affections at events like this. When I looked back at Beau, I saw his eyes were narrowed at the contact too, and Branch looked like he wanted to tear Frankie off me.
Don’t know what his problem was, but if it irritated him, I was happy to stay where I was. “How’d it go?” Frankie asked, leaning closer so his breath tickled my ear. A small shiver raced across my skin, my core clenching and I swallowed hard. What the fuck?
I stepped out his very confusing embrace and over to my bag. “It went about as good as you think it would. Crickets.”
Frankie handed me my helmet. I was up fifteenth, smack bang in the middle of the field, and I was kind of happy about it.
No pressure. I walked to the back of the chutes, sitting on the rails so I could watch the other competitors.
Frankie sat up beside me, and before I knew it, Beau was on my other side.
He gave me a soft look, his eyes taking in my grin, the flush of my cheeks. “You never had any doubt you’d be here one day, did you? Even after everything?” I looked over at him, and nudged his shoulder with mine.
“Never.”
His smile turned into a wide grin that was always like a punch in the guts.
Even when we were kids. That grin was the reason I’d given him my first kiss.
“Me either, you know. When I heard about a girl in the regional comps, I liked to pretend it was you. When I heard of a kid called Moore coming up, I briefly wondered. I remembered it was your mama’s maiden name.
But I dismissed it, because we’d heard nothing from you.
I thought maybe you’d taken up some other crazy sport in California like swimming with sharks or free climbing or something, and forgotten all about rodeo and bulls. ”
I scoffed, wincing a little as the rider in the chute got shoved around by a pissed off bull. “Never, Beau. This is what I live for,” I said, my eyes catching his.
There was a well of emotion in that expression. “I know. I remember how you were when we were kids. Fearless. Wild. You set your mind on bulls when you were ten and no one was never gonna dissuade you.”
Giving into an instinct that was so old it was ingrained, I rested my head on his shoulder. “Didn’t stop Branch from tryin’.”
I felt more than heard Beau’s laugh. “Branch knew deep down he couldn’t cage you to keep you safe, but he's as stubborn as you and was determined to try. Fat lot of good it did him.” Beau shook his head.
“I just came over to offer you my services as a physiotherapist. I do it for a couple of the guys, Dylan and Branch. Keeps costs down.”
Paying a physiotherapist after my shoulder dislocation had cost a bucket.
Worse, it had kept me off the road and stuck in a hotel for a couple of weeks.
Otherwise we did one or two sessions and then lived with the pain.
When a bull rider was injured, we hemorrhaged money.
Having a touring physio would be amazing.
“I’ll take you up on that, Beau. It would be a great help. ”
He flashed that smile one more time, then he jumped off the rails. “We’ll catch up and you can give me the highlight reel of your injuries. Skip Hank tomorrow and I’ll strap you myself.”
He turned, and I reached out, grabbing his muscular forearm. Woo, Beau worked out. I ignored the thrill of inappropriate attraction, instead looking down into his earnest face. “Thank you.”
He tipped his hat and wandered off into the crowd. I ignored Frankie’s searching look, watching as Dylan climbed onto his bull. So far, only two bulls had been ridden. Not a great night, but it meant that if I stuck it for the eight I could have a real chance at prize money.
Dylan was ready, nodding to the gate man and then the bull was bursting out of there like a steam train.
I swallowed hard watching him ride. He was fucking beautiful.
His body moved with the bull like he was part of it, making it look almost effortless, throwing his arm around and spurring to get extra difficulty points.
Finally the buzzer went, and he reached down to loosen the bull rope, scrabbling off the bull, his legs already windmilling into a run before he’d even hit the dirt.
He ran up to the rails where I stood, jumping up and grinning.
He threw me a wink and then turned to the crowd who were going nuts. They loved him.
He was the poster child for the fastest growing sport in the USA. Young, fit, attractive and best of all, he could ride bulls like no one's business. Honestly, if it made me hot, I could only imagine what it did to the buckle bunnies.
I slapped his back, and wondered how the hell I wasn’t going to ride him into the sunset.