Chapter TenHome on the Range
Jo trounced Maddie Vale in her last round of barrel racing, and I whooped and shouted like an idiot to support my girl.
The sounds echo across the arena, drawing amused looks from nearby spectators, but I don't give a damn.
Jo earned that victory fair and square, and after what Maddie pulled earlier, watching her get beat by a superior rider feels like justice served with a side of sweet revenge.
Jo grins as she exits the arena. Her cheeks are flushed with the pride of victory. Her eyes sparkle with the kind of satisfaction that comes from proving your worth when someone tries to tear you down.
"Fifteen-point-eight!" Buck shouts. "Ladies and gentlemen, that's a new arena record for Jolene Callahan!"
The crowd erupts, and I find myself hollering again, this time joined by half the stands. Jo raises her hand in acknowledgment, but her eyes find mine amid the chaos. The triumphant grin she aims at me is the sweetest thing I've ever seen.
But now, it's time for one of my best events.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Buck hollers through the PA, "it's time for a fan favorite event. Bull riding!"
The eight-second countdown that could make or break my weekend. I experience the familiar pre-ride nerves as I check my gear one final time. The bull rope feels solid in my hands, the rosin sticky against my palm.
"First up, Clay McKendrick from Montana, riding your favorite bull---Tornado Alley!"
I nod to the gate crew and settle onto the massive black beast's back. Tornado Alley shifts beneath me, two thousand pounds of muscle and bad attitude just waiting to launch me into orbit. I wrap the rope around my hand, testing the grip.
"You got this, cowboy!" Jo shouts through the crowd noise, and I glance up to see her pressed against the rail.
That new arena record she achieved makes her glow from head to toe.
The sight of her cheering for me...it shoots a jolt of determination through my veins that's stronger than any adrenaline rush.
I settle deeper into the rope, feeling Tornado's muscles bunch beneath me. The bull's reputation precedes him---he's sent more cowboys to the dirt than a bucking bronc convention, but that just makes the challenge sweeter.
"Ready?" the gate man calls out.
I nod once, sharp and decisive. "Turn him loose."
The gate swings open and Tornado Alley explodes out of the chute like a black hurricane. The first buck nearly rattles my teeth loose, but I clamp down with my legs and let my free arm find its rhythm. One Mississippi, two Mississippi...
The world becomes a blur of spinning dirt and sky as Tornado Alley twists his massive frame, trying every trick in his considerable playbook.
A sharp right spin followed by a bone-jarring drop that would've unseated me six months ago.
But I'm not the same rider I was back then.
I've got more than ranch bills driving me now.
Five Mississippi, six Mississippi...
Tornado changes tactics, bucking straight up before slamming back down with enough force to make my spine compress. My vision blurs for a split second, but I recover, finding my center again as the crowd roars somewhere beyond the dust cloud we're kicking up.
Seven Mississippi...
One more second. Just one more. Tornado Alley twists violently beneath me, his massive head swinging around as if he's trying to find me, to knock me loose with those horns. I lean back, compensating for the movement, my free arm windmilling to keep my balance.
Eight Mississippi!
The buzzer sounds just as the bull executes a perfect spin that finally breaks my grip.
I'm airborne for a heart-stopping second before I hit the dirt hard, rolling away from those lethal hooves as the bullfighters rush in to distract Tornado Alley.
My lungs burn as dust fills my throat, but I'm scrambling to my feet with a grin splitting my face.
I made it. I fucking made it! Eight seconds on one of the toughest bulls in the circuit.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Clay McKendrick stays on for the full eight seconds!" Buck's voice reverberates through the arena, and he seems almost more excited than I am. Even the crowd leaps to their feet. "Let's see those scores!"
I dust myself off, my heart still hammering in my chest as I look up at the scoreboard. The judges' numbers flash across the screen: 87.5. Not my best, but damn solid considering Tornado Alley's reputation.
"That's good enough to put McKendrick in first place!" Buck announces, and the throng erupts again.
I tip my hat to the crowd, but my eyes are searching for Jo. I find her jumping up and down by the rail, her face lit up with pure joy. She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts something I can't hear over the noise, but the way she's beaming makes my chest swell with pride.
"Not bad for a rancher boy," Brock Sterling's voice interrupts my celebration makes my jaw clench. He's leaning against the fence, arms crossed, that trademark smirk firmly in place. "Course, you still got to outlast the rest of us."
I resist the urge to tell him exactly where he can shove his commentary. Instead, I simply nod toward the chutes where the next rider is getting ready. "Guess we'll see about that, Sterling."
"Guess we will." His gaze narrows as he watches Jo wending her way toward us. "Funny how your scores have been improving ever since you started playing house with Queen Jolene over there. Makes a man wonder if you're getting some extra...coaching."
His caustic tone makes my blood boil. But before I can snarl an epithet at Brock, Jo appears at my side. She's still glowing from her own victory. When she slides her arm around my waist, I can't help smiling just like she is.
"Congratulations on the ride, honey," Jo says loud enough for Sterling to hear. Then she rises onto her tiptoes to press a quick kiss on my cheek.
"Thanks, darlin'," I reply, pulling her closer and relishing the way Sterling's jaw tightens. "Your turn to celebrate. That record's gonna be tough to beat."
"Speaking of beating things," Brock turns to face me directly. "Don't expect your scores today to be repeated. This was a fluke, McKendrick."
I shrug off his taunts. "How 'bout I buy you a beer, Brock? No hard feelings."
His nostrils flare just like the bull I rode a few minutes ago. But he says nothing. Only glares at me. After a few seconds, Brock stalks off in the other direction.
"You're the king of the cowboys, Clay McKendrick," Jo says loud enough for Sterling to hear it while he walks away. "You were amazing, and I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks, darlin'," I tug her closer and plant a firm kiss on her lips.
Is it my imagination, or has Jo been acting like she genuinely wants to be my fiancée? No time to ask her about that, though. It's time for bronc riding, one of my favorite events.
"Yee-hah!" Buck almost screeches. "Are you ready for more, ladies and gents? First up, Clay McKendrick, riding Black Thunder!"
A hush falls over the arena as I settle into the chute, and the crowd waits in anticipation.
The silence is electric. The bronc beneath me, Blackout, is all coiled energy and attitude, his muscles twitching as if he can't wait to fly out of the chute either.
This is what I live for---the moment right before the gate opens when everything else fades away except the horse and the clock.
"Show 'em what Montana boys are made of!" Jo calls out from the rail, and I catch her eye just long enough to see her cross her fingers. The gesture is so endearingly superstitious that I can't help but grin.
I adjust my grip on Blackout's rein, feeling the familiar weight of the horse between my legs. Black Thunder shifts restlessly, and I can tell he's going to be a handful. Good. I've never been one to back down from a challenge.
"Ready when you are, cowboy," the gate man says.
I nod once. "Let 'er rip."
The gate swings open and the bronc explodes from the chute like he's been shot from a cannon.
His first jump nearly sends me sailing over his head, but I recover, and my body finds a rhythm that comes from years of practice and more than a few hard landings.
Blackout twists beneath me, his powerful hindquarters launching skyward in a move that has unseated better cowboys than me.
I lean back, countering his momentum, my spurs marking the point of each jump as required.
This ain't my first rodeo, and Black Thunder seems determined to make me earn every second.
The crowd's roar fades to white noise as I focus entirely on staying centered.
Four seconds in, and the bastard changes tactics, spinning hard to the left before launching into a series of stiff-legged jumps that rattle my teeth.
My free arm pumps for balance as I spur forward on each jump, keeping time with his rhythm. Six seconds down, two to go.
Black Thunder saves the best for last, executing a perfect sunfish that would make a rodeo photographer weep with joy. His body arcs through the air like a crescent moon, and for a heart-stopping moment I'm damn near vertical, clinging to nothing but leather and determination.
The buzzer sounds just as I feel my grip starting to slip. Eight seconds. I bail off to the left, hitting the dirt with a satisfying thud as the pickup men corral Black Thunder away from the action.
"Eighty-nine point five!" Buck hollers as the scores flash on the board. "That puts Clay McKendrick in first place in both bull riding and saddle bronc!"
The crowd goes wild as Jo blows kisses to me from the stands.
Fake relationship my ass.