Page 32 of The Wildest Ride

It couldn’t be that because that was absurd. Almost as absurd as the questions still flying at her.

“Are you his protégée?”

Thankfully there were journalists in the crowd more interested in her skills than her personal life.

“You’re the first female rough stock rider in a PBRA rodeo to score higher than 67. Do you see yourself as a pioneer?”

A voice in her head snorted at the question. To her way of thinking,pioneerswere the feckless sorts who left their homes and families to heed the siren call of the sea. Same as the folks that got scared away by a little dust.

She came from steadier stock than that.

The tide of questions had shifted, though.

“Where have you been hiding?”

“How long have you been riding rough stock events?”

“How tall are you?”

“How old are you?”

“How much do you weigh?”

“Now, y’all know you can’t ask a woman questions like that!” Sierra Quintanilla’s voice was citrus and vanilla, pure, unadulterated, orange Creamsicle, as she sidled up beside Lil, one jean jacket–clad arm coming to wrap around Lil’s shoulders, while the other drew her own mic into the intimate circle she’d created between the two of them. Smoothly, she steered Lil away from the crowd of reporters and greenies toward her hostess’s lounge that was set up between the arena exit and the stage.

Speaking to the cameraman that walked backward in front of them, his camera trained on rodeo’s number one queen and its fresh new female star.

“I’ve got high-scoring contestant Lil Sorrow with me now,” Sierra said, “just moments before the final ceremony of the night. Lil Sorrow—” she turned to Lil “—it’d be an understatement to call you the surprise star of the evening. Your story is straight out of the movies: a mysterious cowboy from the north blows everyone away on a bronc, only to turn out not to be a cowboy at all, but a cowgirl! What an upset! But now, we must know! Who are you? Where did you come from, and why haven’t we seen you around the circuit until now, because—and I don’t think it’s a lie to say this—there’re a lot of little girls out there who’ve been waiting for the likes of you!”

The women of the audience, watching the exchange on the jumbotron overhead with rapt attention, cheered at Sierra’s words, the sound a wave of high-pitched “hell yeah!”s that felt a little bit like a sugar rush in Lil’s veins.

Sierra’s energy was captivating—the sparkle she gave off nothing short of impressive. Her beauty was undeniable, her blunt bangs falling in a charming, eternally youthful fringe across her forehead beneath her hat. Thick, expertly dyed and curled hair tumbled out from beneath her hat around her shoulders and down her back. Her makeup was full and flawless, much like her figure—the opposite of Lil’s tiny muscular frame, in fact.

Sierra was tall with curves that eating all the sandwiches in the world wouldn’t have been able to give Lil. The rodeo queen wore jeans and cowboy boots, and a matching jean jacket. Beneath the jacket, her Western-style button-up boasted a classic red gingham pattern, mother-of-pearl snaps, and red piping.

She looked wholesome, all-American, and pretty. A hometown girl, sweet as apple pie, with a killer grin—everything a rodeo queen should be.

Lil had always admired women like Sierra, perfectly put together with their impenetrable smiles and ability to carry it all off without coming across as too matchy-matchy or kitschy.

There was a reason Sierra was the country’s top rodeo queen, and it wasn’t just that she looked beautiful in a Stetson. Her sharp gaze and smooth manner were those of a professional woman who knew her business at least as well as Lil knew hers in the arena. Maybe even better, since Sierra hadn’t taken any time off.

Unlike some of her peers growing up—those rider girls who saw themselves as somehow better than the queens—Lil had never underestimated or written off the work of the rodeo queens. They were responsible for managing the crowd, wooing and welcoming them when they started to turn ornery or feel left out and bored. Rodeo queens were the bright hostesses that personified the magic of the rodeo, sparking dreams just as much as the cowboys in the arena, with their rhinestones and big hair and bright white teeth.

Lil was better at riding bulls than wooing and welcoming, but that didn’t mean she didn’t see that each was necessary at the rodeo.

Perhaps that was why, where others had failed, for Sierra, Lil opened up.

“I can’t say I was thinking much about being a role model on the way out here—having been out of the game for the past few years, I was mostly just worried about putting in a good ride—but if I have inspired any other young women tonight, I am honored.”

The response set off another wave of high-pitched cheering through the arena.

Sierra slapped her knee. “You did that and more! You walked away with the high score of the night. Did you have any idea you would do so well?”

Lil shook her head. “Absolutely not. As I said, I came into this pretty rusty. I just hoped to qualify.”

“Well, if this is rusty, we can’t wait to see you warmed up!” Sierra waited for the crowd to quiet down before leaning in closer. “Now you said you’ve been ‘out of the game.’ That’s another understatement. We haven’t seen you anywhere around the PBRA, so tell us, where have you been all these years?”

Lil almost frowned at the question, getting the odd feeling that her age was being pointed out as a negative when she was barely twenty-seven years old, but shrugged it off as being overly sensitive. Smiling, she answered, “My rodeo days mostly ended in college, but I was fortunate to compete for the Indian National Finals Rodeo.”

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