Chapter 2
Knox
Oklahoma
The crowd roars with laughter after the rodeo clown finishes his act. It’s one I’ve seen a hundred times but still chuckle at.
“Lawton, Oklahoma, y’all are great,” the clown says, walking back to his barrel.
“Hey, Knox, don’t be a pussy!” Trey yells at me from two chutes down. His navy blue chaps swing around his legs.
“You just worry about keeping your hand shut,” I holler back, standing above my bull.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the chutes are loaded for the final section of bull riding. ARE YOU READY!?” the announcer hypes up the crowd.
“Fifty dollars to whoever places higher?”
Seems like Trey just can’t help himself tonight.
I raise a single brow at him. “You’re on. You sure you got an extra fifty bucks? I only accept cash.”
Trey has been my traveling partner for the last two years. I’d seen him around at some rodeos and he was improving steadily. One day he asked to hop a ride from one rodeo to the next and I thought, Sure why not. What could it hurt? He seems like a nice kid.
He. Never. Left.
Trey’s like a stray dog I fed and now can’t get rid of.
He moved in with me a month later. All jokes aside, he has become my best friend.
Though a few years younger and still on the wild side, he’s as loyal as they come.
Since getting in with me, he’s riding better and even made the finals last year.
Trey hollers something back, but I’ve zoned out—or rather, in.
I take a deep breath. It’s the final section, and no one has covered a bull.
I have a new bull I know nothing about. He doesn’t even have a name yet, just a brand, “025.” I’m guessing he’s a four-year-old.
That wouldn’t put him in his prime yet, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be easy to ride.
Six guys before me. I take another deep breath, repeating my usual affirmations.
Whatever it takes, keep moving. I came to win. I deserve to win. Over and over in my head.
Three guys before me. I pull my helmet over my head and snap the chin piece in place. Sliding my glove onto my right hand, I have someone behind the chutes pull it back so it’s tight before I pull athletic tape out of my vest pocket and start wrapping my wrist with it to hold my glove in place.
One guy before me. I climb into the chute and tell the guy pulling my rope to pull it tight.
I run my gloved hand up and down the tail of the rope in a quick jerking motion to heat up the rosin—a mixture of pine sap, soap, and glycerine—until it’s good and sticky.
I can smell the familiar scent of the hot rosin mixed with the smell of dusty ol’ bulls.
The announcer and clown talk over the mic and the crowd cheers as the guy before me calls for his bull, but I can’t make out a word they’re saying, nor do I care. I’m completely in the zone.
“Whatever it takes, keep moving. I came to fucking win,” I say and let out a growl as if to become just as animalistic as the 1,500-pound beast I’m about to tie my hand to.
I see the latch men move to my chute as I slide my hand in the handle of my rope.
CLANK! KABOOM!
My bull kicks up in the box. I see an arm fly out to catch me, but it’s too late.
My head crashes into the slide gate. Before I can grab something solid or get caught by the guy spotting me, he kicks up again, sending my head into the slide.
I feel my ankle twist and my knees bounce off every rung of the chute before I finally catch the top rung of the chute and pull my knees up. I hold my position.
As soon as he settles, I look up at the flank man. “Well, that felt fucking good. Nice to see you chute broke him before you brought him to town.”
He looks at me pissed at first, then realizes who I am. We’ve been friends for a long time—two of his sons are close to me in age. “Sorry, Knox, we’ll massage his neck with a rope, that will keep him calm. You want this one, you’ll win on him.”
I want to tell him I can’t win shit if he kills me in the chute, but I keep my mouth shut.
They get a rope over his head and lightly run it back and forth around his neck. Most guys here would get scared and try for the re-ride bull. Not me, it’s personal now.
I can hear the announcer in the background.
“They’ll get this bull calmed down folks, and it’ll be worth the wait.
This is four-time National Finals qualifier Knox Ward, a home state boy from right here in Oklahoma.
He finished fourth in the world last year and has already started this year out strong! ”
The crowd cheers as I get my breathing under control and warm my rope back up.
Putting my hand back in the handle, I tell the guy, “Pull . . . pull . . . pull.” Taking the tail of my bull rope from him, I run it over the top of my hand and around it, then run the tail back over my palm.
I close my hand and take one more deep breath as I slide up to my rope, grit my teeth, and nod my head.
The gate flies open and everything becomes a blur, but at the same time, I can see everything, feel everything. My mind is running a hundred different scenarios at once.
Then I feel the first kick. I stick my chest out and lift on my rope. The bull comes into a rear and I climb up over his hump, driving forward with my legs. He kicks again and I feel him in the left lead, so I lower my free arm and tilt my head to the left.
He rears and kicks. I match him perfectly. When I feel him stutter step, I stick my chest out again and raise my free arm slightly. He rears higher than before. I climb out over him, pushing a little more on the handle of my rope, then we’re floating in the air. Time stops.
I feel the next kick coming, and I know it’s going to be a big one. Gritting my teeth, I set my hips lifting on my rope and pull my knees up. His front feet hit the dirt, still in his left lead. Lowering my free arm, I keep my shoulders square.
He does this three more times around to the left before I finally hear the whistle blow.
I ride him one more jump before I grab the tail of my rope with my free hand, then all at the same time, I yank on the tail and rotate my hips to the right.
He kicks, flinging me off like I’m getting ejected from an airplane.
I look down.
Yikes.
I got some airtime on this dismount. I stick both heels in the dirt and stumble forward onto my hands and knees. I jump up and run to the bucking chute so I’m out of the way of the bullfighters and safe from getting run over.
“How about 90 points?!” the announcer roars.
The crowd erupts.
I smile and start giving the surrounding guys high fives.
“Good bull ride!” I hear.
“Way to be a hand!” someone yells.
“You’re one sticky dude!”
Guys all around me are excited about the ride and score.
That was one wild four-year-old.
I walk back to the chutes. I high five the returning bull fighters as I pick up my rope out of the arena dirt.
Climbing over the chute where Trey is standing over his bull, I challenge him. “Your turn.”
“Shit, they loaded your ass. You do make it look pretty though; I’ll give you that,” Trey says with a lopsided grin, flipping his blond hair out of his eyes.
I roll my eyes at him. “Shut up and ride your bull so you can pay me my $50.”
The gate opens, and the next kid is immediately bucked off. The bull runs around the arena trying to hook anything and everything.
Trey looks at me. “He sure is an angry feller.”
“Just focus and get in the chute. You joke around too much.” I wave my hand, motioning for him to get to work.
Trey has a black and white spotted bull I rode last year in San Antonio. He’s just a good bull, should be one or two jumps out, then go in either direction. About 83-85 points.
Trey slides up and nods. The bull kicks out two jumps, turns back to the right, into his hand.
He rides him like it’s just another day in the office.
Pulling his tail, Trey steps off, sticking the dismount before walking to the fence, and waits for the bull to leave the arena.
Once the bull has left, he gives the crowd a dramatic bow. Always one to show off.
“86 points for the cowboy!” the announcer calls over the mic as Trey walks behind the chutes.
“Look who got loaded now.” I laugh in response to his glare.
“Oh, fuck off. Go do your interview so we can get out of here.”
“On the plus side, we’re the only two qualified rides. It’s going to be a good payday.”
Trey perks up like a little kid getting offered a cookie at that news. “Really? Hell yeah. To the bar we go!”
“Nah, man, I’m good.” I outgrew the bar scene years ago. I’ve never been a big drinker, and I’d rather get some sleep or hit the gym. Trey knows this but still tries anyway.
“Oh, come on, old man. Live a little. You can go to the gym tomorrow.”
“Fine, but you’re coming with me,” I tell him.
“Deal!”
I do a quick TV interview as the winner of the event, then we pack our bags and head to the after party.
Trey orders a bucket of beer and I order a Pendleton Whiskey and Coke. The bar is packed, but we manage to snag a spot at a standing table between the pool tables and the dance floor. A live band is playing an old George Strait song, and the dance floor is full of couples swing dancing.
I grab a pool cue and crack my neck as I make my way to the table.
Man, I’m going to feel those hits on the bucking chute tomorrow. I’m not as young as I used to be.
Trey grabs a cue as I rack them and break. When I stand, there’s a dark-haired woman in a miniskirt next to me, her tits hanging all but out.
“I hear you won the bull riding?” she purrs.
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” I try to walk around her.
“And I took second.” Trey puffs his chest and smiles at her from across the table.
Good, he can have her. I have zero interest.
I move away, but she clearly isn’t taking the hint. “You should buy me a drink, and we can hit the dance floor. Maybe later you can show me if you can go for longer than 8 seconds.” She giggles.
Yeah, pass. “I’m good, thank you. I’ll be leaving after this drink anyhow.” My tone is friendly but firm—I’m not interested.
“He thinks he’s a hardass. He doesn’t like fun; I’m the fun one. I’m also the one with all the dance moves.” Trey flips his cowboy hat to impress the girl as he moves to step around me toward her.
I lean over to him. “Dude, she’s just a buckle bunny.”
He looks at her, then back at me. “Well, I used to show bunnies in FFA, and I was great at it. I wouldn’t mind showing this one some of my winning moves, if you know what I mean.” He winks at me, then walks up to the girl and introduces himself.
I see him wrap his arm around her shoulders as they head for the bar.
I chuckle. Damn kids these days.
Without a pool competitor, I decide to make a lap to see if there are any familiar faces at the bar. That’s when I see a man on crutches trying to hold his beer and crutch his way around.
Jack Lockwood. What on earth is he doing here?
Jack is an old family friend and last I heard, lived in Colorado.
“Hey, you broke old blacksmith, would you like a hand?”
Jack wobbles around to face me. “Hey, Knox! Good bull ride tonight.”
“Thanks, Jack. What did you do? Bust the bull rope back out?”
“Hell no.” He laughs. “A horse broke it. Always love when clients don’t work with their horses.”
Isn’t that the truth? I like to say I’m a parttime farrier. I don’t really need the income, but I’ve known how to shoe a horse since I was a kid, so I’ve always thought of it as a good backup gig.
“I hear ya. I’m just thankful I still ride well enough that I don’t need to be bent over slapping on iron all day.”
Jack laughs. “Lucky bastard, keep at it and you’ll be back at the big show for the fifth time.”
“That’s the plan. So, what’re you doing down here? Thought you were in Colorado these days.” I take a sip of my drink.
Jack leans one crutch on the railing next to us so he can drink his beer. “Oh, I am, but since I broke my leg, I figured I’d head to the stockyards with the boys for a few days. When we heard Lawton’s Extreme Bulls was tonight, we decided to hop over here on the way down.”
“Well, hopping is all you’ll be doing for a while.” I grin.
“Hilarious.” He squints at me. “Hey, are you busy the next few weeks? I know April and May are your slow months.”
“I’ve got a few weeks off. What’s up?”
“Well, I’ve got some clients who need horses shod. I’d pay for your fuel and you can stay in the apartment above my barn if you would cover for me.”
I take a drink to give myself a second to think through my schedule. I know I don’t have any rodeos coming up soon and I’m not against helping Jack out.
I’d be breaking colts and probably putting shoes on at the local ranch I day work at, anyway.
Plus, I know he’d do the same for me—he’s supported me and helped me out a lot over the years.
“Yeah, I could do that. A little hard labor will only make me want to win that much more at the next rodeo,” I joke.
“Atta kid. Thank you, Knox. I’ll call you Monday; I’ll be headed back north and we can work out the details, but the sooner you can head west the better.”
“Yessir. I can drive out Monday or Tuesday. Good seeing ya. I’m going to head out before it gets too rowdy here.” I set my empty glass down on the railing.
“You, too, and congratulations on the win!”
Turning toward the door, I see Trey with his arm around the buckle bunny at the bar, and I chuckle.
No way he’s going to the gym tomorrow.
Good thing we drove separately tonight.
It’s a three-hour drive back to Savanna, Oklahoma. I don’t mind it, though. I’ve never had an issue being alone. I actually prefer it. Chasing women, alcohol, or drugs doesn’t do it for me. I prefer to stay focused on my goals.
Chasing a gold buckle is what I live for.
I’ve come close a few times, finishing third and fourth in the world.
Now at thirty, older for a bull rider at my level, I have to stay fit to prolong my career.
I feel like I’ve gained wisdom I didn’t have when I was twenty-two at my first National Finals and I know this will be my year.
Maybe shoeing a few horses first will be the perfect reset before the summer run.