Chapter 10 #4
Bareback bronc was up next, and Shyanna and Jensen were waiting, rigging in hand.
Jensen was third out, Shyanna eighth, so he’d be in the first three loaded.
She’d have to stand around for the second group, and she hated that.
It would only make her more nervous to have to wait.
The first rider was out and the second prepping in the chute when the chute boss yelled, “Strader!”
“Good luck, babe,” she called out to Jensen as he walked toward the chutes, the rowels on his spurs clanking.
He just turned, walked backward about five steps, and winked at her, a huge smile on his face.
She looked on as the handlers took his rigging and got everything ready while he stood and watched carefully, pulling on his glove and tying it on with a strip of latigo as they worked.
From his perch on the tubular steel chute walls, he looked down at the horse, put his hand on its neck, and stroked it.
The horse calmed momentarily until he lowered himself into the chute, and then the commotion began.
It rattled around inside its confines, tossing its head as much as it could in the ropes binding it and trying to bounce on its front hooves, while Jensen situated his hand just as he wanted it in the handle on the surcingle.
His vest was buckled, his hat cocked just right, his mouth guard in place, and the neck roll for his vest secured when she saw them tighten the flank strap.
Shyanna knew she was holding her breath, but she couldn’t help it.
Watching him prepare himself was terrifying to her, but it was exciting as hell.
He leaned back to check his rigging, wiggled just a little like he was looking for the perfect seat, and before she could blink, he nodded.
Ropes that had secured the horse’s neck to the chute gate fell, the gate itself popped open, and the horse named Lucifer shot out of the chute.
Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t help but critique his ride, and everything about it was perfect.
The horse was crazy wild, twisting and turning, and Jensen was meeting its every move, his spurs falling and raking perfectly, that free hand up in the air, rising and dropping with every buck.
When the buzzer sounded, the pickup riders moved into place, and Jensen grabbed the rigging with his free hand, released his hold on the surcingle’s handle, and let the pickup rider pull him off the horse to safety just as the second rider loosened the flanking strap.
Lucifer thundered into the holding area and disappeared.
The cheering was almost deafening, and then the announcer came over the speaker system: “Ladies and gentlemen, that was Jensen Strader with a score of ninety-one, pushing him into first place tonight.” Over to one side of the arena and in the lower stands, a group of girls in hats, low-cut blouses, and blinged-out belts shrieked and screamed, and people were cheering and pointing.
Jensen simply walked toward the exit and when he reached it, turned and waved to the crowd.
In that tiny slice of time, Shyanna didn’t want to ride bareback that evening.
She didn’t want to compete against him. Oh, she was pretty damn sure she couldn’t beat him, but if she happened to, she’d never forgive herself.
His ride had been amazing, one of the most amazing things she’d ever seen, and she wanted that picture to remain in her memory forever.
As soon as he stepped into the warm-up area, she ran to him and he grabbed her, lifted her off the ground, spun her around, and kissed her.
Shyanna didn’t give a damn who saw them, or who liked it or didn’t. None of that mattered. When he broke the kiss, she grinned up at him. “Jensen Dirk Strader, that was the most amazing thing I think I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“You know what that means, right?” he asked, breathless.
“No.”
“It means I’m going to bomb in the bull riding event,” he said, laughing.
They watched riders four, five, and six, and then, since they only had six chutes, they started with the first chute all over again.
As rider eight, she’d be in chute two. Jensen helped her with her neck roll, vest, helmet, mouth guard, and glove.
He checked her spurs, then took her face in his hands.
“Shy?” She nodded, truly unable to speak.
“I love you. You’re gonna do great, babe.
I just know it. Do your best. If you mess up, you’ll get to do it again tomorrow night, so don’t freak out.
Okay?” She nodded again, wishing she could tell him how she really felt about him, but knowing the mouth guard wouldn’t let her even if she could work up the courage.
“Owens!” the chute boss called out.
“Go get ’em, cowgirl,” Jensen whispered and kissed her mouth guard. That made her laugh.
The horse wasn’t particularly large, but he filled up the chute.
She ran through everything Jensen and Roger had taught her, how to place her hand in the handle, the position her feet should be in when she broke out of the gate, balance, all of it.
The guys seemed impatient, but she remembered what Roger had said: This is your moment.
Don’t let them rush you. Their job is to wrangle the animals and manage the chutes, NOT to tell the cowboys how to do their jobs.
Take your time until you’re absolutely, positively sure you’re ready.
Would she ever be absolutely, positively ready?
She almost laughed―no way would that ever happen!
But everything was in place, the horse’s head was secured, her hand was where it was supposed to be, and there was nothing else to do but go.
She leaned back, made sure her feet were where she wanted them, and nodded.
The average-sized roan name Raleigh seemed to almost walk out of the chute, and then he exploded.
Shyanna had ridden some tough broncs, but this one was a maniac.
He tore around the arena and at some point, she decided that the best she could hope for was to hang on.
Just as she felt herself begin to slip, the buzzer sounded.
Grabbing the rigging with her free hand, she slipped her gloved one out of the handle and reached for the pickup rider as his partner loosened the flanking strap.
Her pickup carried her about eight feet and dropped her, feet first, onto the arena floor as her mount ran at top speed for the holding area.
And she couldn’t figure out what she was hearing.
Three steps and she realized the guys in the sound booth were playing Queen’s “We Will Rock You.” To her amazement, the crowd was stomping twice and clapping once in time with the music, singing along, and when she walked past the stands on her way to the holding area, women all over the arena began to scream and cheer.
Looking up at the back of the arena’s audience, she almost fainted.
There, on the mezzanine level, a group of people were holding a banner they’d made from a bedsheet, and it held a message that she knew she’d never forget.
Cowgirl up, ladies – Shyanna’s in the house!
So stunned that she lost track of where the exit was, she was stumbling toward it when Jensen met her at the gate and wrapped an arm around her.
He led her back to the warm-up area and started stripping gear off her, watching her face the whole time.
“Shy?” She just nodded. “Babe, did you know you’re crying? ”
Her mouth guard was spat onto the dirt. “What?” Her hands felt her face, felt the tears there, and she was shocked. “Why am I crying?” she asked Jensen, totally baffled.
“See those people out there cheering for you?” He pointed around the stands.
“That’s what it feels like to be loved, Shy.
They love you. You represent something bigger than you to them.
You represent equality and hope. Did you hear your score?
” She shook her head, still not completely understanding.
“Shy, you scored an eighty-two. You’re in third place tonight.
Third place. Do you understand what that means?
To you? To me? To these people in the stands? ”
Her whole body trembled as she whispered, “Get me out of here. Now.” She let him take her hand and lead her out of the building, out into the parking lot, and straight to his trailer. As soon as the door closed behind her, she did something she’d never done in her life.
Shyanna fell to her knees, sobbing. Something had broken loose inside her, something wild and sweet and hotter than all of hell’s fire.
She’d bested a group of men who hated her, who wanted her gone and didn’t want her stealing their thunder.
Instead of just stealing their thunder, she’d rained on their parade and brought a hailstorm down on them too.
They’d never forgive her and, at that very second, she didn’t give a flying fuck and a half.
A cool sensation touched the back of her neck, and she heard Jensen’s calm voice. “Shy, baby, sit down. You need to drink something and calm down. You’ve got so much adrenaline ripping through you that you’re shaking like crazy.”
It was true. She looked down at her own hands and realized she couldn’t hold a drink if her life depended on it.
Luckily, she didn’t have to―Jensen held the bottle for her and poured tiny splashes of ice-cold water into her mouth, letting her drink slowly until she could feel herself calming.
Still heaving in breaths, she closed her eyes and waited.
It took forever for her heart to calm and when it did, she turned to him. “Did I do okay?”
He burst out laughing. “Do okay? Shy, didn’t you hear me?
You scored an eighty-two! You were in third place when we left the arena.
I don’t know what’s happened with the rest of the riders―some of them may have done better―but that’s astounding for somebody who hasn’t done this in a long, long time, and never on a professional level.
It was amazing, baby, absolutely amazing. ”
“It’s too late in the season to take the event association-wide.”
“Doesn’t matter. Just keep going,” Jensen said, stroking her cheek.
“But I don’t want to beat you,” she whispered loudly.
“You won’t tonight, but keep that up and you probably will very soon, and I’ll be so proud that I’ll bust wide open. You’re a natural, Shyanna. I think this is what you were born to do.”
The bull riding event. It was four events away, after the bareback bronc riding finished, then the breakaway roping, saddle bronc, and barrel racing. It was always the highlight of the night, and she wondered if she’d make it until then without losing her shit.