Chapter 9
9
L ila stepped out of the vehicle, her boots sinking slightly into the soft dirt of the Jackson Hole Rodeo grounds. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the arena, where rows of weathered bleachers buzzed with excited spectators. The air was thick with the scent of hot dogs and popcorn mixed with the unmistakable musk of livestock.
“Wow, look at the crowd,” she said.
Capri looped her arm through Lila’s as they walked toward the entrance. “Looks like fun!”
“Smells like manure,” Charlie Grace added with a laugh, her eyes scanning the colorful banners flapping in the breeze.
They passed through the gates, and immediately, the chaotic noise of the rodeo engulfed them—the announcer’s booming voice over the loudspeakers, children shouting, and the clatter of hooves in the distance. Music blared from hidden speakers, as several men on horses maneuvered around the arena.
“Look at that, Lila! He’s massive!” Charlie Grace pointed to the left, where a large bull was being corralled by a few cowboys.
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that,” Lila replied, squinting against the sun. “Let’s find a good spot before the bull riding starts.”
They navigated through groups of people, the ground vibrating underfoot with the energy of the event. The trio found seats high up in the bleachers, giving them a perfect view of the arena.
“This is going to be amazing,” Capri murmured, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. “I love rodeos.”
“You love the cowboys,” Charlie Grace teased.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Capri responded, her voice tinged with teasing. “Men in tight jeans.”
As they settled in, the smell of sawdust became more pronounced, mixing with the tangy scent of barbecue from a nearby vendor.
The announcer’s voice boomed through the loudspeakers, inviting everyone to stand for the opening ceremony. The arena immediately quieted down, anticipation hanging in the air.
Suddenly, the gates swung open, and a female rider burst into the arena at a gallop, carrying the United States flag. The flag billowed magnificently behind her as she guided her horse in a swift, graceful lap around the perimeter of the arena. The horse, a stunning specimen with a glossy coat, moved with precision and pride, its hooves kicking up clouds of dust in perfect rhythm.
The crowd immediately placed their hands over hearts, some holding their cowboy hats against their chests, as the rider directed her horse through elegant loops and swift turns, showcasing both the animal’s training and her own riding prowess. The flag waved dramatically, catching the light of the afternoon sun.
Lila joined the crowd as everyone sang the national anthem. To her right, a gray-haired man bellowed the words as tears formed in his eyes. She nudged Charlie Grace with her elbow and pointed him out.
Charlie Grace leaned close. “I never tire of this part.”
As the rider completed the circuit around the arena, she slowed her horse to a trot, passing in front of the grandstand where the cheers crescendo. With one final salute—a tip of her hat—the rider exited through the gates, leaving a lasting impression as the rodeo officially began.
“Did I ever tell you guys about the year Camille was bound and determined she wanted to grow up and be a cowgirl? She begged for a horse,” Lila told them. “Which I couldn’t afford, of course.”
Charlie Grace chuckled. “I remember. So, you brought her out to the ranch and let her ride. For hours.”
“And hours,” Lila said, completing her friend’s comment. “Thank goodness she grew out of that phase. It wasn’t long before she turned in her cowboy hat and rodeo dreams for that old guitar Clancy gave her. She stood on the back patio and plunked that thing, pretending to be a music star.”
“The next Reba McEntire?” Charlie Grace asked.
Lila shook her head. “Avril Lavigne.”
They turned their attention to the gate as a rider entered the arena. The cowgirl quickly accelerated her horse towards the first of three barrels arranged in a triangular pattern. Approaching the first barrel, she expertly pulled on the reins, guiding her horse into a sharp, tight turn around the barrel. The horse pivoted on its hind legs, almost hugging the barrel with its body.
Next, the rider urged her horse into a swift sprint towards the second barrel. As they reached it, she leaned deeply into the turn, her body nearly parallel to the ground, maintaining a delicate balance as her horse executed another rapid, close turn. The precision required was immense, as any misstep could knock over the barrel, resulting in penalties.
With two barrels done, they dashed towards the third, the dust kicking up beneath the horse’s hooves. The final turn mirrored the first two, but with added urgency, as this marked the final stretch. The rider and her horse whipped around the third barrel with impressive coordination and burst toward the finish line in a full, exhilarating sprint.
The crowd cheered.
Several more barrel racers made their runs. When the event finished, Charlie Grace pointed in the direction of the concession stand. “You girls want a hot dog?”
“Yes, I’m starving.” Capri dug in her back pocket for her wallet.
Charlie Grace shook her head. “I got it.” She turned to Lila. “You want something?”
“I’d donate my next child for something cold to drink.”
That brought a laugh from Capri. “By the way, don’t bother getting a slice of their pizza. Last year, Reva said it tasted like a Western Horsemen catalog.”
“Noted,” Charlie Grace said, descending the stairs.
Capri held up a finger. “Wait, I’ll come, too. You can’t carry all that by yourself.” She raced to follow her friend, leaving Lila alone in the stands.
The first bull rider burst into the arena, clinging to a twisting, bucking beast. The crowd roared, and she joined in, swept up in the excitement.
“Go! Hold tight!” she shouted, standing up, her hands clenched in excitement.
“Eight seconds, that’s all he needs,” the gray-haired man next to her explained, his eyes fixed on the rider.
The buzzer sounded, and the rider was thrown off, landing in the dirt with a thud that drew a collective gasp from the spectators. Two rodeo clowns rushed to his side, but he got up, dusted himself off, and raised his hat to the cheering crowd.
Lila winced sympathetically. “That’s got to hurt.”
“Yeah, but you gotta admire the courage,” the old man replied, his admiration evident as he lifted his worn cowboy hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve.
Lila leaned forward, absorbing the sights and sounds of the rodeo as the next rider prepared for his turn.
Lila’s heart pounded in sync with the crowd’s rising excitement as a bull, its muscles rippling under a sleek coat, charged into the arena. The rider, a figure of sheer determination, clung on for dear life, his hand wrapped tight in the rope, his body swaying with each violent jerk of the bull.
She felt herself drawn into the visceral struggle between man and beast, her hands clutching the bleacher’s edge. The air was electric, the crowd’s cheers swelling into a thunderous crescendo, echoing the fury of the ride.
Suddenly, the bull stumbled. A collective gasp sliced through the noise. Lila watched, heart in her throat, as the rider was thrown clear, rolling away from the thrashing bull, unharmed yet shaken. The bull, however, was not so fortunate; it limped, favoring one leg, pain evident in its movements.
The arena fell into a concerned hush, the excitement quickly turning to worry. Murmurs of concern rippled through the stands, and Lila found herself whispering hopes for its recovery.
Claims that rodeo animal injuries were common were debunked by extensive studies. PRCA rodeos had a high safety rating with less than one percent of livestock exposures resulting in any form of injury. Still, there were those rare occasions, and this appeared to be one of them.
The bull stumbled and went down, falling hard into the dirt. The cowboy rushed across the arena in the direction of the chutes. “We need a vet,” he shouted.
Lila bolted up from her seat. “I have to help!”
Without thinking the decision through, Lila bolted from her seat and rushed down the stands, determined to help. She raced for the gate, leaped over the barrier, and then made her way to the injured animal, now being tended to by a small group of rodeo staff. “I’m Doc Tillman’s vet assistant—in Thunder Mountain,” she declared upon approach. “Let me help.”
Never did she stop to consider how absurd her offer might appear to the men gathered. Nor did she consider that the bull might rise at any moment and thrash around, perhaps injuring her and the others.
One of the men extended a hand. “I’m Bill—the official rodeo vet. Glad for the assistance.” He motioned to the others. “Stand back. Safety first.”
He gestured towards a nearby bag. “Grab that bottle of ace and a syringe.”
Lila complied and did as she was instructed. Without being asked, she began filling the syringe with liquid. “How much acepromazine?”
Bill gave her an appreciative nod. “Start small,” he advised, specifying the number of milliliters. “We can always administer more if needed.”
Once the tranquilizer had been administered, Lila knelt by the bull, watching as Bill assessed its injury—an ankle that was visibly swelling. She looked up to coordinate with Bill on whether he might need a nose twitch for further restraint when a guy clad in jeans and a blue button-down shirt, stepped in front of her, blocking her view.
Lila firmly rose to her feet. “Excuse me.”
He turned his back to her as he bent and slid his hand down the injured leg. “I doubt it’s broken. Just needs a little ice and rest.”
Lila stepped forward, insistent. “The bull needs to be stabilized before moving. We should strap his leg and check for fractures with a portable X-ray.”
The intruder held up open palms, clearly annoyed. “That’s overkill, in my opinion. But sure, X-ray it.”
He glared at Lila before turning this attention to Bill. “Just offering my opinion. I’m a certified large animal vet.”
“Look, we don’t have time for egos.” Her voice remained steady and commanding as she looked him directly in the eyes. “This animal is in pain.”
Bill tilted his head in Lila’s direction. “I’m afraid I have to side with her. We can’t assume the leg’s not broken. But we’re going to have to take the animal off-site for the X-ray since we don’t have a portable at our disposal.”
The guy rubbed at his right ear lobe and begrudgingly stepped aside. Lila moved back to the bull, carefully strapping its leg with the help of the rodeo staff.
Once the sedated animal was loaded into a waiting hauler, she turned to find the guy was gone. Good riddance, she thought as she headed back to the stands.
“Wow! What was the deal down there?” Charlie Grace asked as she handed Lila a hot dog. “Hope your food is not cold.”
Lila gave them a brief rundown of what had occurred in the arena. “The bull likely suffered a transverse fracture. Hard to diagnose because they tend to be stable breaks. If an X-ray confirms my suspicion, with proper treatment, the animal should be fine.”
“Ooh…listen to you, talking all professional and veterinarian-like.” Capri teased as she unwrapped a straw and shoved it into her plastic cup of Coca-Cola. “So, who was that hot guy down there?”
Lila shrugged. “I don’t know. Some veterinarian. Probably a tourist here on vacation. But he was an a…” She stopped mid-sentence. “He was a jerk.” She peeled the wrapping from her hot dog and took a bite. “Argued against my assessment—which by the way, the rodeo vet agreed with.”
Capri chuckled. “Never bet against Lila when it comes to animals.”
Charlie Graced nodded in agreement. “Or anything else, really.”