Page 60 of The Wildest Ride

She was repeating herself, but he didn’t hold it against her. It was a lot, all at once.

“But Lil, I had no idea...” he began.

Her now-famous gray eyes darted to him, narrowing as they went. “Don’t you even think about it, Garza.”

“...that you were in love with me,” he finished.

The greenie squealed beside them, whipping his phone out to catch the interaction on film, the chorus of Lil’s screaming girl army like a full orchestra in the background.

Lil’s face turned red and she opened her mouth, undoubtedly to unload some words that might not be airable on the evening news, for which AJ was both eager and delighted, when she thought better of it, clamped her mouth shut, and made a mad dash back to her RV.

He shook his head after her, feeling lighter than he had before. The retreat would only fuel the belief that she carried a torch for him, but she’d have to learn that on her own.

Outside of the arena, Lil was like a Great Dane in a room full of mousetraps. On the back of a beast, though, she was all calm focus and silky control. Not so much as a hint of temper or reactivity. Those who rode by temper were erratic, muscling their victories out with brute force and deep spurs.

AJ felt for the draws of those riders. Especially the horses.

Unlike the last show, which had showcased a series of timed events, the OKC stop was an homage to saddle bronc riding, rough stock at its prettiest.

If there was one place in the rodeo where temper didn’t belong, it was the saddle bronc ride.

Whereas bareback riding was an exercise in taking a beating, saddle bronc riding was one in finesse. It was the only rough stock event that truly demanded style and grace alongside the ever-requisite strength, precision, and grit—it turned cowboys into dancers.

Like everything else that perfectly fused form and function, it was considered classic. By this point in his career, AJ had mastered all of the classics.

Saddle bronc riding evolved from breaking and training wild horses. To AJ, that translated into coaxing raw and untamed power to follow your lead. It was meeting wildness with the strength of your body and will and convincing it that where you wanted it to go would be good for both of you—uniting two wild spirits in a primal dance, movements complementary and synchronized, an encounter as old as humans on horses.

The event required perfect control balanced alongside the fluidity to constantly adjust and respond to the present moment. The prize was worth it if you could manage, though: man and horse temporarily one—a centaur for eight precious seconds.

It was his most treasured and strongest event.

Altering his plans in the face of the unforeseen teenyboppers, AJ followed Lil’s lead, returning to the first-place RV, confident the security of his position in the top spot was under no threat.

Two hours later, when AJ came back out, there were even more young women in the crowd.

Security escorted all twenty-five contestants, protecting them from the crowd of women as they made their way from the RVs to the arena.

Like everything else they did in the Closed Circuit, they walked in order of rank. Lil followed AJ, Hank followed Lil, and so on, all the way back to the last, a phalanx of cowboys on their way to the battlefield.

Behind him, Lil was quiet, her boots hitting the ground the only real sound coming off her. She took two steps for every one of AJ’s. They marched that way all the way to the arena, trudging in in single file.

As first-place rider, AJ opened the evening’s competition, riding right after “The Star-Spangled Banner” and the local girls’ riding club’s trick riding presentation.

When a greenie signaled, he mounted his bronc in the chute. Grabbing the thick bronc rein with his right hand at just the spot he liked it, he marked up his spurs and raised his left arm in the air, elbow slightly curved.

This time, he had a fiery draw, banging them both against the sides of the chute.

There would be no repeat of the last Closed Circuit bronc he’d ridden.

He tensed his thighs and the outer muscles of his shins, using the strength in his legs to hold his mark over the dig of his spurs. The gate swung open and man and horse leaped out.

AJ’s grip was uncompromising, his arm fully controlled. His lifted arm swayed in time with the horse’s bucking, touching neither man nor beast.

He followed the horse’s rhythm with his spurring, heels making contact each time the horse’s forelegs touched ground.

The seconds stretched into long measures of the body’s endurance, but AJ maintained. Eight seconds flashed the end of his ride and then the pickup men were at his side, taking control of the horse. He dismounted to the cheers of the audience and a score of 96, with a strange buzzing in his ears.

Returning to the gate, he found a good spot to watch Lil’s ride. What limited free space there was in the competitors’ staging area was filled with teen fans—more than he’d ever seen at a single event. They were in every space that wasn’t cowboy or greenie, a highly charged colony of fangirls.

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