Page 14 of Bull Riders Don't Swoon

Even though my brain shouts no, my heart can’t get on the same train. It’s hard to say no to Jamieson. Especially when he seems so excited about it.

“It sounds great, Jamie. Let’s do it!”

When my best friend whoops with excitement and beams that smile back at me, the one with full dimples that makes my skin tingle, I know I’m not getting out of this summer with my heart intact.

“Hey, Griff! Good to see ya!”

Mitchell, one of the longest-serving bullfighters on the circuit, smacks my shoulder in greeting.

“Hey Mitch! They let you back here again, did they? I thought you were gonna quit.”

He snorts. “If I do that, they might be forced to offer your grouchy ass more rodeos. I can’t let that happen.”

“Always a comedian, aren’t you?”

Mitch laughs as he sits beside me and tapes his ankles. “Gotta keep it light in here, sunshine. So, how’re things? I heard Jacksonis partially retired. Without him and Hunter, is it just you and Jamieson from Kissing Ridge now?”

“Yep. There’s a new crop of youngsters coming up soon, though. That’s something Jackson and Hunter are working on, too. Kind of like a rodeo skills camp or something.”

“That’s so, Jackson.” Mitch shakes his head with a fond smile. “So, you’re the only one left to keep Jamieson in line? You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Heh, yeah, but I’ve been doing it for years. Ever since we were naïve university kids. I’m used to it.”

Which is true. Ever since we met at rodeo practice and he took me for a beer after, I’ve been following Jamieson like a shadow. From keeping him safe at the bar to being his fake emergency call when he had to get out of a bad date, I’ve been there.

Without Hunter to follow him to the bar, someone needs to monitor him and tell him when to stop singing sea shanties. The guy seriously can’t read the room while singing. Which means it’s up to me. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.

Mitch tosses his tape into a duffle bag and stands with a slap to his thighs. “Well, see you out there, sunshine.”

Mitch has always been a role model to me. We both put ourselves into the paths of dangerous bulls to keep the riders safe as a job with zero hesitation. While most of us, I admit, are a little unhinged most days, Mitch has always been steady. He’s a guy I could picture at a desk job. Mitch is likeable and always put together, right down to his pressed button-up shirts. He says he loves this life, though, and I see it every time we work at an event together.

It took me a few years to be truthful to myself and admit that I wasn’t always happy being a bullfighter. Yes, it takes a skill that I seem to have, but knowing the way Jamieson is and not trusting anyone else to keep him safe, I accepted the offer to be a regular on the rodeo circuit with him. It’s easy enough to make sure I work the same rodeos as he competes in. For the few that I’m not working, I still go with him and give him my pre-ride report.

It keeps him calm and performing his best while he rides, and I sleep better, knowing he’s safe. I’d call that a win-win.

The music pounds through the ground as the announcers hype up the crowd for the bull riders. Jamieson already went through his pre-ride routine, and now I do mine.

It’s nothing as intricate as his. I simply take a moment to ask the universe to keep us all safe tonight, and I pat the scar on my calf to remind me how close I came to losing Jamieson.

Nothing intricate. No big chants or anything.

Just gratitude.

And an extra wish for Jamieson.

I’m exhausted and pissed off.

Every bull rider but one so far has been an asshole. Who stays in the ring and plays to the crowd just steps away from an angry bullwho would stomp you into the ground without a second thought? Have some damn thought of your safety, for fuck’s sake.

My throat burns from yelling at the assholes while almost taking a hoof to the head. Thankfully, there are only two more riders to go tonight, and Jamieson is up next.

My heart always lodges in my throat when I watch him in the bucking chute. His six-foot-two frame should never ride a bull with such grace, but that’s Jamieson for you. He always seems to do the unexpected.

He drew a solid bull. A strong bucker and if Jamieson keeps his form, they should score high and end in the money. His head nods, and the chute doors open. His bull doesn’t stray from its usual pattern, and he looks comfortable out there. I think he might even be smiling.

The buzzer sounds for his eight seconds, and I spring into action, waiting for his dismount or to lure the bull away. He hits the ground and stumble-runs towards me as Mitch draws the bull’s attention to the exit chute.

“All clear, Jamie.”

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