Chapter Nineteen
Axle
Yesterday, twenty-four new students rolled through the gates of the Raintree-Storm Rodeo Academy.
Twenty cowboys.
Four cowgirls.
And two of those girls are bull riders.
Now, that’s something that would’ve turned heads when I was a kid.
Hell, it still does.
There aren’t many female bull riders in the country.
Maybe fifteen or twenty who compete seriously.
The sport’s changing though. The Pbr’s been pushing hard to create opportunities through the Premier Women’s Rodeo, or PWR, and partnerships with organizations like Elite Lady Bull Riders.
More money. More visibility. Bigger stages.
About damn time.
The girls who show up wanting to ride bulls are a different breed entirely. Most boys grow up thinking they’re ten feet tall and bulletproof. The girls have to fight just to get a seat on the bull.
Which means by the time they get here, they’re already tougher than most of the boys. More focused. More disciplined. More coachable.
Don’t get me wrong; bull riding is brutal on anybody. The strength demands alone are insane. That’s why most women who want to compete in events other than barrels naturally do better in bronc riding, where technique and timing matter more than brute force.
But every now and then, a girl comes along who refuses to listen when somebody tells her she should ride something else.
Natalia Hernandez is one of those girls—fifteen years old, tiny, determined, and absolutely fearless.
I’m sitting on top of the arena fence while Royce gets her settled on Bram.
Bram is one of our mid-level practice bulls. He’s not mean, dirty, or overly aggressive. But he’s athletic, fast, and explosive—perfect for testing what a rider’s really got.
Natalia adjusts her glove, rolls her shoulder, and nods once.
I grin. “Relax, Nat.”
She looks up. “I am relaxed.”
“Kid, you’re vibrating,” I say.
She glares at me. “I’m not nervous. I’m excited.”
“Well, excited isn’t relaxed. He’s gonna feed off your energy.”
She takes a deep breath and holds it for five seconds before exhaling slowly.
I lean forward against the fence. “Now don’t try to look tough. Forget the audience is here. This is between you and the bull. Just focus on your fundamentals.”
Royce catches my eye. “You ready?” he asks her.
Natalia nods.
I watch her hand. I watch her posture. I watch her balance. She’s got skill. Real potential. But that alone won’t keep you seated when a thousand pounds of muscle decides it doesn’t want you sitting on its back. Heart does.
Royce swings the gate.
The chute flies open.
Bram explodes.
The bull launches into the arena like somebody lit a stick of dynamite under him.
Natalia snaps forward, but then recovers.
Good.
Really good.
I point. “Lift!”
Bram kicks.
She adjusts.
“That’s it!” I yell.
Another jump.
Another kick.
She’s finding a rhythm.
The students lining the fence start cheering.
“Come on, Natalia!”
“Ride him!”
Bram twists left.
She stays centered.
Damn. The kid can ride.
“Lift!”
Another jump.
“Breathe, Nat!”
Bram bucks harder.
“Post up!”
Five seconds … six. She’s still there.
Then I see it.
One tiny mistake. Her hips drift forward, and her weight shifts. Bram feels it and takes advantage. The bull launches upward, and his hindquarters kick toward the sky.
Natalia comes floating out of her seat. One second, she was riding. The next, she’s airborne.
“Oh hell,” I yell, my eyes meeting Royce’s as we both spring into action.
I don’t think. I move. Jumping from the fence before she hits the ground.
She flies nearly six feet before crashing upside down into the dirt.
The entire arena goes silent.
“Nat! You all right?”
Cody, another staff member, is a professional bullfighter. He breaks toward Bram, and I sprint toward Natalia.
She rolls onto her side. Trying to catch her breath.
Wind knocked clean out of her.
“Natalia, talk to me.”
She raises a thumb. “I’m good.”
Relief hits me, but then everything goes sideways.
Bram should’ve continued toward the opposite side of the arena. Instead, he slows, turns, and looks back.
Fuck.
My stomach drops.
The bullfighter notices it too. He waves his arms, yells, and tries to get the animal’s attention. For a moment, it works. Then Bram chooses a different course. The bull pivots and heads straight toward Natalia.
“Move!” I hear myself yell.
She tries, but she’s still dazed and struggling to suck air back into her lungs. She attempts to stand, but she’s not moving fast enough as Bram closes the distance.
Thirty feet.
Twenty.
Ten.
There’s no time and no other options. Driven by instinct and adrenaline, I position myself between them. One second, I’m running; the next, I’m standing in front of a thousand-pound bull as Natalia finally gets her feet underneath her.
I shove her backward as Bram reaches us.
“Go!”
The bull spins faster than I expect. I see his hips rotate. See those back legs loading up. And then—
Wham.
Pain bursts across my chest. The impact feels like being hit by a truck. Everything fades away. The arena. The students. The noise. For one split second, there’s only white light and pain. Then I’m flying. My boots leave the ground. I hit the dirt hard enough to bounce. Air rushes out of my lungs.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t move.
A second later, I’m staring up at the Wyoming sky, wondering why the hell the clouds look blurry.
Somewhere nearby, people are yelling. I hear Royce’s voice. I hear the bullfighter. I hear students screaming.
Bram is finally redirected away from us, and my lungs start working again.
Barely.
I suck in a careful breath. Then another. Every rib on the right side of my body protests.
Royce appears above me. “You okay, Ax?”
“Nope.”
He snorts. “Bet not.”
I roll onto one elbow, and pain slices through my chest.
“Just got my bell rung,” I choke out.
“Bell rung? That bull damn near stomped a hole through you.”
“It was a tap,” I say as I sit up and wipe the dust off my hands onto my jeans.
Royce stares at me. “A tap?”
“Yep. A little love tap.”
He offers me his hand, and I take it. I regret it right away. Everything aches, and Royce notices me wince.
I straighten slowly.
Then look for Natalia.
She’s standing near the fence, surrounded by students. The second she sees me, she hurries over. Her eyes are huge.
“Shit. Are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m fine.”
“You got kicked because of me.”
“Just another day at the office, kid,” I say as I walk it off and she follows.
“Now let’s talk about why you got bucked off. You let your hip drift out of position, which caused your weight to shift forward. Bram felt it and took advantage.”
Her mouth falls open.
I grin.
That’s what I wanted—to break the tension and get her attention off me. Guilt is no cowboy’s—or cowgirl’s—friend. Shit happens in the arena. And it’s nobody’s fault.
“You rode great. Just got a little loose at the end.”
She blinks. “What?”
“You heard me.”
I point toward Bram. “You made it six seconds on that bull. Probably six and a half.”
A smile begins to appear. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Six and a half ain’t eight,” she mutters.
There it is. That drive for perfection.
Heart.
I can practically watch the wheels turning as she relives every twist and spin in her head.
“My hips got forward.”
I nod. “Yep.”
“I was trying to post up.”
“I know. But you pulled your chin too far up. Next time, keep it even with your shoulders so you don’t lose your center.”
“Even with my shoulders. Got it.”
I point at her. “See? You’re already learning.”
She smiles.
I love seeing that. Watching kids realize they are in the right place. They belong here. Seeing the dream become real.
“You’ve got talent, Natalia. You’re gonna tear up the PWR one day.”
Her eyes shine. “You think?”
“I know. Now that you’ve impressed everybody, go clean up and get some lunch.”
A laugh escapes her.
Then she jogs toward the fence, and I look over to Royce.
“You ready to eat?”
He folds his arms. “We’re going to the clinic first.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“You got kicked by a bull, Ax. We’re going to let the doctor check you out.”
“A small bull.”
“Bram weighs eleven hundred pounds,” he says.
“Exactly. A small bull. And it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
Royce pinches the bridge of his nose.
It’s the truth. The pain is now just a dull ache. Enough to be annoying, but not concerning.
I start walking toward the gate.
“Axle, you’re going to the damn clinic.”
I glare at him. “I’m going to get food.”
He glares right back, and then the asshole smiles. “You can walk to the clinic, or I can call Momma. Your choice.”
I freeze.
Fucking traitor.
“Fine.”
He throws an arm across my shoulders.
I curse under my breath as pain shoots through my ribs. “Ow.”
“There it is,” he says. “I bet you cracked a rib.”
“I bruised a rib.”
I’m pretty sure I just bruised a rib. Nothing to worry about.
Probably.