Page 14 of Eight Seconds to Fly

I stepped out his very confusing embrace and over to my bag. “It went about as good as you think it would. Crickets.”

Frankie handed me my helmet. I was up fifteenth, smack bang in the middle of the field, and I was kind of happy about it. No pressure. I walked to the back of the chutes, sitting on the rails so I could watch the other competitors. Frankie sat up beside me, and before I knew it, Beau was on my other side.

He gave me a soft look, his eyes taking in my grin, the flush of my cheeks. “You never had any doubt you’d be here one day, did you? Even after everything?” I looked over at him, and nudged his shoulder with mine.

“Never.”

His smile turned into a wide grin that was always like a punch in the guts. Even when we were kids. That grin was the reason I’d given him my first kiss. “Me either, you know. When I heard about a girl in the regional comps, I liked to pretend it was you. When I heard of a kid called Moore coming up, I briefly wondered. I remembered it was your mama’s maiden name. But I dismissed it, because we’d heard nothing from you. I thought maybe you’d taken up some other crazy sport in California like swimming with sharks or free climbing or something, and forgotten all about rodeo and bulls.”

I scoffed, wincing a little as the rider in the chute got shoved around by a pissed off bull. “Never, Beau. This is what I live for,” I said, my eyes catching his.

There was a well of emotion in that expression. “I know. I remember how you were when we were kids. Fearless. Wild. You set your mind on bulls when you were ten and no one was never gonna dissuade you.”

Giving into an instinct that was so old it was ingrained, I rested my head on his shoulder. “Didn’t stop Branch from tryin’.”

I felt more than heard Beau’s laugh. “Branch knew deep down he couldn’t cage you to keep you safe, but he's as stubborn as you and was determined to try. Fat lot of good it did him.” Beau shook his head. “I just came over to offer you my services as a physiotherapist. I do it for a couple of the guys, Dylan and Branch. Keeps costs down.”

Paying a physiotherapist after my shoulder dislocation had cost a bucket. Worse, it had kept me off the road and stuck in a hotel for a couple of weeks. Otherwise we did one or two sessions and then lived with the pain. When a bull rider was injured, we hemorrhaged money. Having a touring physio would be amazing. “I’ll take you up on that, Beau. It would be a great help.”

He flashed that smile one more time, then he jumped off the rails. “We’ll catch up and you can give me the highlight reel of your injuries. Skip Hank tomorrow and I’ll strap you myself.”

He turned, and I reached out, grabbing his muscular forearm. Woo, Beau worked out. I ignored the thrill of inappropriate attraction, instead looking down into his earnest face. “Thank you.”

He tipped his hat and wandered off into the crowd. I ignored Frankie’s searching look, watching as Dylan climbed onto his bull. So far, only two bulls had been ridden. Not a great night, but it meant that if I stuck it for the eight I could have a real chance at prize money.

Dylan was ready, nodding to the gate man and then the bull was bursting out of there like a steam train. I swallowed hard watching him ride. He was fucking beautiful. His body moved with the bull like he was part of it, making it look almost effortless, throwing his arm around and spurring to get extra difficulty points.

Finally the buzzer went, and he reached down to loosen the bull rope, scrabbling off the bull, his legs already windmilling into a run before he’d even hit the dirt. He ran up to the rails where I stood, jumping up and grinning. He threw me a wink and then turned to the crowd who were going nuts. They loved him.

He was the poster child for the fastest growing sport in the USA. Young, fit, attractive and best of all, he could ride bulls like no one's business. Honestly, if it made me hot, I could only imagine what it did to the buckle bunnies.

I slapped his back, and wondered how the hell I wasn’t going to ride him into the sunset.

5

Ayoung guy was holding my vest, and he seemed unsure about where to put his hands. Like if he slipped a little too far down and rubbed my boob, I’d call him out on it. I looked over at him, but didn’t say anything. I’d track him down later, word him up that I’d rather he brush my tit then let me get smashed at the bottom of the chute under 1600 pounds of prime rib.

I ignored him, running my gloved hand over the rope to make it hot and sticky, before doing the intricate loop. I let another guy pull it tight then flipped it back over, holding it good. I slid my ass forward, so my hand was basically between my thighs. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, quickly prayed to Mama and Daddy to keep me safe.

Resting my hand on the gate, I nodded to the gateman.

The bull burst from the chute and I rolled with it. That first second meant everything. There was no thinking, no planning, no trying to judge how the bull would react. You had to grip your thighs, pop your hips, and keep your freehand well and truly away from that damn cow. My thighs gripped and I held on for dear life, but whenLancelotdropped low, I knew I was in trouble. I shifted too far to the left, and it was time to bail. You knew the moment that there was no coming back, and it was no longer about riding but getting the fuck out of there without getting your head trampled. I pulled the tail of my rope, feeling it slacken and then I dove off the side of that bull. I hit the ground hard, making my sore shoulder flare with pain, and then I was on my feet running for the rails. I looked up and slapped the sponsorship sign. 6.43. So damn close.

There was only a smattering of applause as I walked out of the arena. I was used to it, but still, this was not how nine year old me thought my first major ride would go. In my dreams, I rode the eight and there was thunderous applause and Branch and Beau would rush out onto the dirt and kiss me.

The thought made me smile and I lifted my hand and waved to the silent crowd. I walked through the exit and a woman dressed in a white suit jacket over tight jeans ambled over with a camera.

“T.M.” she shouts. “Good ride,Lancelotspinning away from your hand, and just shifted your seat.”

“Yeah, he’s a good bull,” I said as I smiled and nodded, because I don’t know what I was supposed to reply to that. I was panting hard, because even though I was only on that bull for a few seconds, the physical toll was huge.

“First woman in the WBRP. A lot of pressure right? What are you looking to prove?”

I looked hard at the pretty blonde commentator, who was probably picked more for her looks than her skills. There was a shrewdness in her eyes, but no hostility. I shook my head. “I’m not here to prove anything. I just wanna do what I love, and have fun doing it.”

A small smile curled her lips as she nodded. “You gotta admit though, you being here certainly shakes things up.” She was full on smiling at me now, and I couldn’t help but grin back.

“Maybe it's time for a shake up for the toughest sport on dirt.”

---