Page 12 of Jack of All Trades
I follow the flow of people toward the main arena, a circular dirt ring surrounded by metal bleachers. The announcer's voice booms over loudspeakers, introducing the next competitor in what appears to be a calf-roping event.
I find a seat about halfway up the bleachers, not too close but not too far back either. From here, I have a good view of the entire arena and the chutes where the bulls and riders wait their turn.
My phone buzzes again:
*I see you. Blue jacket, third section, halfway up. I'm in the competitor area behind the chutes. White shirt, black hat.*
I scan the area he's described and spot him immediately. Even from this distance, Jack stands out. He's leaning against a fence,talking to another rider, his posture relaxed but alert. As if sensing my gaze, he looks up toward the bleachers and raises a hand in greeting.
I give a small wave back, then immediately feel silly. What am I doing here? I barely know this man.
But that's not entirely true, is it? After spending time together planning Rex's party, I know that Jack is thoughtful and organized. I know he kept his parents' home because it meant something to him. I know he notices small details. I know the rodeo means everything to him.
I know more about Jack Morrison than I care to admit.
The announcer's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Next up in the bull riding competition, from right here in Pine Haven, put your hands together for our local champion, Jack 'Steady Hand' Morrison!"
The crowd erupts in cheers, and I find myself sitting straighter, eyes fixed on the chute where Jack is now positioning himself on top of a massive black bull. His face is a mask of concentration as he wraps the rope around his hand, securing himself to the animal that's already shifting restlessly beneath him.
He's wearing protective gear, a vest and what looks like a helmet with a face guard, but it suddenly seems woefully inadequate for what he's about to do. The bull must weigh close to a ton, all muscle and fury, with horns that could easily gore a man.
My heart hammers against my ribs as Jack nods, signaling he's ready. The gate swings open, and the bull explodes into the arena, twisting and bucking with violence.
Jack moves with the animal, his body responding to each buck and spin with a strength that seems impossible given the circumstances. His free arm is raised above his head, his spinearched perfectly to maintain his balance. It's like watching a deadly dance, beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
The crowd counts aloud: "One! Two! Three!"
The bull makes a particularly vicious twist, nearly dislodging Jack, but he adjusts instantly, shifting his weight to stay centered.
"Four! Five! Six!"
Another violent buck sends Jack forward, but he recovers, his movements so perfectly timed it seems like he can predict what the bull will do before it happens.
"Seven! Eight!"
The buzzer sounds, and the crowd erupts. Jack has made the full eight seconds. He releases his grip on the rope and pushes off, flying through the air to land on his feet several yards away from the still-bucking bull. Rodeo clowns rush in to distract the animal as Jack jogs toward the fence, acknowledging the cheers with a wave of his hat.
I realize I've been holding my breath only when my lungs start to burn. As I exhale, I realize that I'm on my feet, clapping along with everyone else. I quickly sit back down, embarrassed by my reaction.
But the truth is, what I just witnessed was impressive. Terrifying and completely unnecessary, but impressive nonetheless. The power and control it must take to stay on a bull like that. I can't even imagine.
The announcer reads out Jack's score: 87 points, putting him in first place so far. The crowd cheers again, and I catch sight of Jack as he exits the arena, surrounded by well-wishers and other competitors slapping him on the back.
My phone buzzes:
*What did you think?*
I can almost hear the grin in his text. I overthink my response.
*Dangerous and foolish. But I can see why people watch.*
His reply comes quickly:
*High praise from Maya Torres. I'm honored. Meet me by the concession stand in 20? I need to get my gear sorted.*
I should say no. I should leave now, having satisfied my curiosity about rodeo. I should not agree to meet Jack Morrison for what could only be described as a... well, not a date. Definitely not a date.
*Ok. The one with the funnel cakes?*
