Chapter 11
“God damn it. I can’t believe it,” Max mumbled to himself in the upstairs hallway.
“Jimmy, we’ve got to get our fucking shit together and get rid of them.
They’re killing my business,” he groused, pissed as hell that everyone was watching her and not coming to him for pills as fast as he’d thought they would.
“Just shut up and watch. You might learn something.” Jimmy’s statement left Max glaring at him. “In the meantime, don’t tell me what you’re up to. I don’t want to know. If anybody asks me, I want to be able to say I don’t know.”
“Ignorance is bliss?” Max asked and laughed. “Okay, you just pretend you don’t know. Go with that. I’ve gotta get busy. I’ve got a lot of product to move tonight. They’d better not fuck up the bull riding time or I’m gonna be pissed as hell.”
“Whatever,” Jimmy answered and wandered down the concourse in the direction of the association’s check-in office.
Whatever? He won’t be saying that for long, Max thought. When that money came rolling in, everybody would be happy.
Well, most everybody.
“You coming?” Jensen asked as he readied for the saddle bronc event.
“Yeah. Be right there.” Shyanna headed into the restroom. They’d each managed to devour a corn dog apiece and swallow a huge cup of soft drink. Jensen went back to look at the list again, then headed downstairs to the warm-up area.
Twenty minutes later, he was sitting astride one of the saddle broncs, and it was a big gelding.
Really big. Part Belgian or Percheron, he suspected, which was common in those events.
He knew Shyanna was watching from the alley, but he tried to put her out of his mind.
He had to concentrate. Saddle bronc was a lot harder than bareback, or at least he thought so.
And twenty-two minutes later, he was picking himself up out of the dust and limping back to the staging area. He’d come down hard on his right ankle and it wasn’t feeling at all like it should. “You okay?” Shyanna asked as he limped up.
“Yeah, I think so. I should probably go put it up before the bull riding though, at least for a few minutes. Think I’ll go back here to the locker room,” he said. “You coming?”
“Be right there,” she said, and he could tell she was looking somewhere down the alleyway, but he wasn’t sure where or at what.
When he sat down in the locker room on a bench, Brian was there, gathering up his dirty clothes. He’d showered and it looked like he was leaving. “You finished for the night?”
“Yup,” he said, picking up his boots in one hand and his bag in the other. “You need some ice for that?”
“Nah,” Jensen said, looking at his ankle. Even though it hurt, it wasn’t swelling, and that was a good sign. “But thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Good luck on the bulls. You did real good with the broncs tonight.”
Jensen nodded. “Thank you. Yeah, I was really lucky.”
“Lucky?” Brian asked and snorted. “No luck. Hard work and skill.” As he walked away he called back, “Catch up with you later.”
“Yeah. See ya.” Jensen lay back on the hard bench and tried to relax a little. Thoughts of that fateful ride slid through his mind, and he forced them down. He couldn’t keep thinking about that. It was time to move forward.
By the time the bull riding event came up, his ankle had quit hurting and he was ready. Shyanna was too, and Jensen stepped around where he could peek out and look up into the stadium. Sure enough, there were clusters of women everywhere, all waiting for his girlfriend to ride.
His girlfriend. I’ve got a girlfriend! he almost laughed. And she’s a cowboy. That left him chuckling aloud. “What’s so funny?”
He looked up to find her bent over him, staring down into his face. “I’ve got a girlfriend who’s a cowboy,” he said, still laughing.
“Then I reckon I’ll be right back. Gotta make a trip to the urinal,” she joked. He started to say something, but she sat down on the bench, barely missing his head, and her expression turned serious. “You ready?”
“What’s going on?”
“Barrel racing’s about halfway through. What slot are you?”
“I’m sixth out. You?”
Shyanna smiled. “I’m second out.”
“Oh-ho! Got a good slot! Then we’d better get down there,” Jensen said, sitting up and pulling on his sock and boot. He tied a piece of latigo around the boot like he always did, then slipped on that spur. He set the other spur, got everything in place, and headed to the staging area.
The last barrel racer was finishing up when they stepped into the warm-up area.
They and several other competitors were busy doing deep side lunges to loosen up, and several had their rigging out, looking it over and rosining up their ropes, loops, and gloves.
Shyanna and Jensen had taken care of all that earlier, but he was concerned about the newness of her rigging.
Before they’d had time to do a lot, the chute boss bellowed, “Adams! Owens!”
“Wish me luck,” she whispered as she grabbed everything and turned to leave.
“Already done. Love you, beautiful,” Jensen called after her. She just turned and winked at him, then headed to the chute, pulling on her vest, neck roll, helmet, and mouth guard as she went.
Jensen stepped farther up to the steel barrier panel at the front of the warm-up area and watched closely.
His only thought was to make sure they didn’t do anything they shouldn’t with her, or that they skipped something they should do.
She knew how it was supposed to go, but she was nervous too, and that made her vulnerable.
But as he watched, everything seemed in good order.
The first bull broke from the chute. As soon as he did, Shyanna stepped off the tubular steel rungs with one foot in the middle of the bull’s back, then moved that foot to the rungs on the other side and gradually let herself down in the chute.
He knew she was a nervous wreck, but anyone else would think she was a seasoned veteran. Shyanna had a presence, a confidence, that set her apart, and it was one of the things he loved about her. He climbed up the rungs of the barrier and stood almost at the top to watch. And then the gate opened.
The bull did a crazy twist as soon as it left the chute and he could tell she was in trouble and off balance. She managed to hang on for four seconds, but she landed hard and the bull turned on her almost instantly.
Between her and that twenty-five hundred pounds of beef stepped a rodeo clown with giant foam gloves on.
He waved them in the air and the bull took off the other direction.
In seconds, it was back in the holding area and Shyanna was on her way to the staging area.
But the women in the crowd were going wild anyway, and she turned and waved to them all, then did something he knew would become her signature.
She blew them a kiss, throwing her arm wide, and the place came apart.
Never in his life had he loved anyone so much, or been as proud as he was right then.
She limped into the staging area, brushing dust from her jeans, and he ran to meet her at the back of the warm-up area. “God, babe, that was awesome!”
She stared at him and her mouth dropped open. Her tone mocking, she said, “Are you kidding me? I didn’t make my eight seconds.”
The grin slashed across his face was huge. “Doesn’t matter. Awesome, Shy. Really awesome.”
“You know, you’re crazier’n a starvin’ calf on milkin’ day,” she said, shaking her head, but she was laughing at the same time.
“Boy, get ready. I saw that bull you’re riding.
I think his name is The Destroyer,” she said, laughing so hard she could barely speak.
“Yore fixin’ to get yore ass handed to ya. Hope it feels good in your palm.”
“Don’t you worry about me, baby. I’m gonna cowgirl up!” Jensen said, laughing too. “The Destroyer is gonna get my full attention.”
“Strader!” the chute boss yelled.
“Oops. Gotta go. Love ya, babe,” he tossed out as he took off at a run to the far end of the chutes, pulling on equipment as he went.
Holy fuck. I know why they named him The Destroyer, he thought when he saw the bull. The son of a bitch was huge, not to mention that he had the craziest eyes Jensen had ever seen. Hope my folks have some life insurance on me. I think they’re gonna need it.
The rider in the fifth chute was almost ready to go, and when he nodded and the gate swung open, Jensen climbed up to prepare for mounting.
The bull snuffled, bellowed, and kicked around a bit, and Jensen watched him closely.
He was careful where he put his feet, because the animal could gore him in the ankle or calf with a horn if he wasn’t paying attention.
He settled in, wrapped the rope just right, leaned back, and nodded to the chute handler.
He was surprised right off the bat. Big and scary as the bull was, its movements were very sluggish and predictable, and Jensen had no trouble making the eight seconds.
When he landed in the dirt, he scrambled for the barrier while the rodeo clowns took care of shooing the bull away.
That was when he heard his score. “Rodeo fans, that was Jensen Strader with an eighty-one.” No doubt―his score was lower because, even though he’d given a good ride, the bull hadn’t performed as well as some of the others, not doing enough twisting or jumping erratically enough to please the judges.
He waved to the crowd as he went and noticed the row of girls bouncing so their boobs would jiggle.
Oh, well, if I didn’t get the highest score, at least there’s that!
he laughed to himself, knowing full well they did that to every cowboy who walked past.
“I know why they call him The Destroyer,” he said as he headed back to the staging area and met up with Shyanna. “Because he destroys riders’ scores.”
“Looks like it. But it was still a good ride. You’re in second place. It’s a tough night. Only you and one other rider managed to get their eight. Everybody else got popped,” Shyanna told him.