Page 15 of Wild, Wild Cowboy

“Not if you don’t give them a reason to. Despite how it looks in the arena, these horses aren’t wild. They were trained for this. Starting when they’re two or three years old, they learn towear the surcingle and a dummy weight. Bucking feels natural to them and they get rewarded for that because after they buck a few times, the dummy falls off. These horses are athletes. They know their job.”

Hannah gave his cheek a tentative pat and he snuffled her. She laughed. “And their job is to buck off the rider?”

“Their job is to buck off the rider,” I agreed. “It’s the rider’s job to stay on. The score is a result of how long and how well they do that together. Both the horse and rider earn scores on a scale of zero to fifty, for a combined score up to one hundred. For the cowboy, they’re judged on control and technique. The horse, though…” I grinned. “The horse earns points for bad behavior. The meaner the bronc, the higher the score.”

“Is Cactus mean?” she asked, rubbing his cheek. “He doesn’t seem mean.”

“He’s not so mean anymore. We had a few rides together a couple years back, when he was younger, stronger, and meaner.” I gave him an affectionate tickle under his jaw. “We had some good times together, didn’t we, boy?”

“You remember a horse from an eight-second ride a couple years ago?”

“Every horse. Every ride.”

She looked at me for a long moment, her expression soft. “Well, how about that. The wild, wild cowboy is sentimental.”

I laughed and took her elbow to move her along to the next horse. “Cowboying is a hard, dirty life. You need sentiment to spruce it up a bit. Now, this here is Barracuda. I rode him, too. Most of the horses you see here today have been around awhile. They don’t do the big, hard competitions anymore. Eventually they’ll retire, hopefully to a pasture or training facility.”

I moseyed over to a brown-and-white Paint mare and rubbed her nose. “Hey, pretty girl.”

Hannah took notice of the name on the stall and served me a look. “Navajo Princess? Really?”

“The whole cowboy-versus-Native lore still runs deep here. They probably meant it as a compliment.” I paused, considering. The Hales had arrived in Aspen Springs, dirty and penniless, a decade after it had been taken from the Arapaho tribe who had lived there for ten thousand years. We might not have done it ourselves, but we sure had benefitted from it. There wasn’t a speck of land in this country that didn’t have a similar history. That was the kind of debt that could never be fully repaid, but the very least we could do was stop romanticizing it. “I can see how it wouldn’t be taken as such, though.”

We moved on to a bay I didn’t know, but gave him pets too, just to be fair about it. Horses had a tendency to notice injustice and not take kindly to it. There was something about the look in his eye that struck me, so I checked his name and looked up his stats on my phone.

“He’s a young one. If he proves himself, he’ll work his way up to the bigger rodeos. Same sire as Hurricane Red.”

“Hurricane Red?” Hannah looked at me quizzically.

“My last ride.” I rubbed his brother’s nose. “He’d clear a solid three feet of air before every buck. We won that round, you know.”

Hannah pushed her glasses up, blinking at me. “How? How could you win after—” She stopped abruptly.

“After he stomped me?” I supplied with a smirk. “I stayed on for all eight seconds. Whatever happens after the buzzer sounds doesn’t count.”

“Is Hurricane Red here?” she asked, looking around like he might materialize out of thin air.

I hooted. “You wouldn’t find Hurricane Red in a small rodeo like this, honey. They save him for the big rides. He’ll go downin history as one of the greatest broncs of all times, you mark my words.”

“Won’t see him anywhere no more,” a familiar voice cut in, and I turned to see Will Stevenson, another bronc rider. “How you been, Zack?”

“Hey, Will.” We did that half-handshake, half-hug thing and ended up clapping each other on the back. “They tell me I’m doing great, and they wouldn’t lie about that, would they? This is Hannah Bell. She’s putting on a charity rodeo for the Aspen Springs library. Thought I would take her to one so she could see what it was all about.”

Will smiled at her, though the look he sent me was quizzical. “Nice to meet you, Hannah. I’m Will. Zack and I have been through a lot of rodeos together.”

“What did you mean about not seeing Hurricane Red anymore?” I asked. “Did they retire him?” That would surprise me. He was at the top of his game and running me over hadn’t hurt him any.

Will shook his head. “Nah. He’s too young for that. But he’s out of the rodeo circuit now. That accident of yours wrecked his mind up good. He won’t get in the chute anymore. Can’t drag him, can’t force him, can’t bribe him. Word is, he’s going to auction.”

Auction.

The word hit me like a sucker punch.

I knew what auction meant for a horse like Hurricane Red. He’d been trained to buck any rider off his back and convincing him to try something new would be damn near impossible. He was gelded, so keeping him for stud wasn’t an option, either.

But he was a big warmblood, a cross between a Clydesdale and a quarter horse. There was a lot of meat on his bones.

Hurricane Red was going to slaughter.

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