Page 8 of Rough Stock
The bull broke out of the chute and took a high-diving twist, but Jensen was ready. The pressure on his wrist was almost unbearable, but he only had to endure it for seven more seconds. Twisting and turning, Oscar did everything possible to dislodge his rider, but Jensen remembered the mantra his rodeo coach had given them in college:Stuck like glue and eyes to the sky. In his mind, he repeated that over and over, unwilling to let go or give up, and when he heard the buzzer sound, he knew he’d made it. As soon as he relaxed his hand, he sailed off the bull, landed on his ass in the dust, and scrambled up, climbing the chute rungs before the bull had a chance to charge him. One of the rodeo clowns rolled a barrel toward Oscar and the big lunk wheeled and headed out through the exit gate.
“And the judges say it’s a ninety-two! JensenStrader is the high scorer so far thanks to Oscar. BuckWheaton’s at number two with an eighty-eight point ride on Hardhead, and StanMarkham at three with his eighty-seven point ride on Avalanche. Up next, rider eight, BartCarlson on a bull we call MightyMouse, and he’s…” Jensen let the rest of the announcements drift away as he stripped off his gear. After he’d deposited it all in his trunk, he walked to the back wall of the staging area, leaned back against it, and slid down to crouching with his back against the cinderblocks, eyes closed and hands over his face. His workday was over, and he was more than glad.
“That was an impressive ride,” a female voice said, and he pulled his hands away from his face and opened his eyes to find Shyanna standing there, grinning. “Very impressive.”
“Thanks. I’m just glad it’s over and I don’t have any broken bones,” Jensen said quietly.
“Sticking around for the bitter end?” she asked.
“You know, I don’t think so. It’s been a long day. I think I’m going to my trailer to just relax, maybe have a beer,” he said as he stood, letting his back slide up the wall. “Hey, Bart,” he called to the rider coming out of the arena, “nice ride.”
“Thanks, bud. Yours was incredible,” the man called back.
“What did you get?”
“Eighty-four.”
“That’s great!” Jensen told him with a smile. “Keep going. You’ll get an even higher score tomorrow.”
“Hope so. See ya later,” Bart called back as he looked through the line of equipment trunks for his own.
Jensen pivoted toward the arena rear exit. He’d assumed Shyanna had walked away but he heard her say, “Guess I’ll see you later.”
Turning, he smiled. “You’re welcome to come have a beer with me.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Sure! Come on. I’ve got to gather up my laundry. Hope that’s okay.”
She snorted out a laugh. “Yeah. I’ve gotta do that too, especially since Mr.Fumblefingers showered me with soft drink.”
Jensen chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so! Come have a beer first.”
“Okay.” She walked along beside him in silence and when they got to his trailer, he opened the door for her. Glancing around, she cooed, “Oh, this is nice.”
“I bet yours is too. It’s about the same size, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yeah, but the guy who had it before me trashed it. I couldn’t afford a nice one, so I’ve had to work on it a little at a time to get it back in shape. I’m about halfway finished, but at least I have a shower and a working sink and toilet,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink.
“That’s a good thing,” he said in agreement, then opened the refrigerator door and held it. “Okay, I’ve got a couple different kinds of beer in here. Take your pick.”
“Just give me one of whatever you’re having,” Shyanna told him, so he pulled two out and popped the tops.
“Have a seat.” Remembering his manners, he waited until she’d settled in on the sofa before he sat down in the booth across the walkway. “Hey, I didn’t notice?who are your sponsors?”
One glance told him it was a sore subject. “I don’t have any.”
“None?” She shook her head as she dipped it in embarrassment, and Jensen felt bad. “You do have your card, right?” he asked, referring to her membership into the country’s big professional cowboy association. The USPCA was one of their sanctioned associations.
“Yeah. Got it several years ago. Only had my permit one season,” she answered, then grinned. “Actually, I qualified in my first three rodeos after I got my permit.”
Jensen was shocked. It usually took rookies a year or two. “Wow. That’s quite an accomplishment.” He took a couple more sips before he said, “I need to help you get a couple of sponsors. If you could do that, you could get a lot farther and get some new equipment and stuff.” They sipped without chatting for a few minutes before Jensen finally threw out, “I think you should get into rough stock events. That’s where the money is.”
Shyanna shook her head. “It’s bad enough that I’m into roping. If I took up rough stock, I’m afraid somebody mightshoot me. Besides, I’ve tried, and they always claim an overage and cut me.”
“At least try steer wrestling. I think you could do that easily,” he said, then took another draw off his bottle.
“I used to do a little of it in community college. Matter of fact, I rode saddle bronc and bull in school,” she said before pressing the bottle to her lips again. “I just don’t have anywhere to practice or the animals to practice on.”
