Page 15 of The Wildest Ride

Gran smiled. “You’re welcome, caterpillar. Time to go show off your colors.”

Lil gave a sly grin. “And win some money.”

Gran chuckled along with her nod, “And win some money.”

Lil reached for the vest.

Eyeballing her granddaughter’s hands, Gran kept hold of it, opting instead to turn it slowly so Lil could see the whole thing.

The design was simple: a black leather vest with fresh darts sewn into the back so she could wear it without looking like a child in an adult-sized costume.

Dusty and grayed, permanently, she knew from the experience of having tried to buff and polish it for her granddad, it was thick and tough, intended to protect, but soft, ever willing to bend in for a hug, just like her granddad.

The back, though, that had become a thing of magnificent beauty, born again and anew through the addition of thousands of microbeads, sewn by hand to create the iridescent black, cream, blue, and rust-colored spots of a black swallowtail butterfly—Oklahoma’s state butterfly, and the source of the nickname her granddad had given her and their ranch—Swallowtail.

He said she rode like a little butterfly landing on a flower, unconcerned and lovely.

Gran had replaced her granddad’s old ribbons with new ones in colors that matched her incredible beadwork. The ribbons were sewn across the breasts on either side of the vest, as well as let to dangle freely.

The vest had been her granddad’s favorite one to wear to gatherings and rodeos. The beading, a skill she learned early in her marriage to make her new husband proud, was all Gran.

By offering it to her, her grandmother was giving her something of him to take along, a way for him to ride with her. By adding the beading and new ribbons, though, Gran had given herself, as well. As always, they would be with her.

“Thank you.” She sighed.

“You’re welcome, dear girl. I’ve got one more nearly done for you—the old brown one. Did a bison theme on that one—to remind you that you’re too stubborn to lose.” She cackled at her own joke before slapping a hand on Lil’s back. “Now get back to practice, girl. You got a whole lot more to be doing than just standing on top of a ball.”

4

Two more weeks of “a lot more,” and an eight-hour drive later, Lil stood outside the main gate of Houston’s Blue Ribbon Arena.

She was battered and bruised—her wrists and right shoulder taped, her stomach churning.

She felt better than she had in years.

Cameras, people, and cowboys flowed in a sea all around her in varied currents, pulling in every direction.

Tailgaters filled the parking lot with grills, folding chairs, and dueling country music stations. Reporters had stationed themselves everywhere, territorial, wearing logos from ESPN, ESPN2, Fox Sports, as well as all the local stations.

Lil had never been to a rodeo with so much television coverage.

Reporters with microphones roped likely-looking cowboys wearing safety-pinned contestant numbers into interviews, as if the place wasn’t crawling with hundreds more just like them.

When released, the cowboys went back to prowling around like wild dogs with nothing to do. The reporters went back to roping.

The qualifier kicked off in two hours. That gave her two hours to sign in and pick up her competitor number, before heading back to her car to gear up. She’d left the ranch with enough time to spare but not with so much that she would have a lot to kill. Less time for nerves to build.

For the qualifier, she wore her granddad’s black vest, a pair of black jeans, her faded old black boots, and her junior champion buckle, the first one she ever won.

The buckle was at Gran’s insistence—for luck.

Lil wondered if that made the T-shirt something old, then?

Now that she was out of Gran’s sight, she could roll her eyes. The other kids were going to make fun of her—no buckle at all was better than wearing a youth buckle.

She had freshened the shaved sides of her head before the sun was up that morning, giving herself lightning fade lines on either side of her head for flair. The long curly hair in the middle was tightly braided into a fishtail braid that started at her hairline and ended in the middle of her back. Without a single strand out of place, the braid was a perfect replica of the fish bones it was named after. It’d only taken three tries.

Lil skipped on wearing a hat until it was required. Cowboy hats made her look like a fifteen-year-old boy playing dress-up.

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