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“But it’s not just the rush,” Shane said. “There’s a purity about it, almost a love—just you and that bull, enemies and comrades, both of you giving it all you’ve got. Both of you fighting to win. There’s nothing like it.”
Lexie didn’t reply. Maybe he’d said too much—or maybe he’d sounded crazy, trying to tell her how it felt, being on a bull. It was probably just as well that they’d reached the gated enclosure where the bulls were kept.
The security guard recognized Shane and let them through. The overhead lights had been dimmed, but he could see that most of the pens were full. The bulls were drowsing, most of them on their feet, a few lying down. The peaceful scent of fresh hay, warm bodies, and grassy manure lay over them like a soft blanket. In the stillness, Shane could hear the animals breathing, the sound broken by an occasional snort or the shifting of a massive body against steel rails.
“Whirlwind is over this way,” Lexie said, moving toward the far corner. Following her, Shane caught sight of the mottled gray bull, moving restlessly in his solitary pen. At their approach, he snorted and tossed his head. His horns, blunted to regulation but still long, clattered against the rails of the pen.
“Oh, dear.” Lexie sighed. “I was afraid of this. He’s not happy. He doesn’t like being alone in a strange place.”
“You don’t want him happy,” Shane said. “You want him mad and cranky and ready to buck the living daylights out of any cowboy who climbs on his back.”
“I guess you don’t yet know who the rider will be, do you?” she asked. “From what I understand, the drawing won’t take place till tomorrow.”
“That’s right.” Shane took a deep breath. It was time to reveal the secret he’d been hiding. “But I do know who’ll be riding him. I pulled a few strings, called in a favor.”
Who? Her expressive blue eyes asked the question.
“It’ll be me, Lexie,” he said. “I’ll be riding Whirlwind tomorrow.”
* * *
For an instant, Lexie felt as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Then reason began to creep in. Why not Shane? He was an experienced rider—among the top twenty in the rankings. It would be in his best interest to make himself, and Whirlwind, look good.
But there was doubt, too. Shane was working for Brock Tolman, the devil incarnate. What if this was some sort of scheme to make Whirlwind look bad, so that her family might be more inclined to sell him? Or worse, what if Tolman was out to punish the Champions by hurting the bull in some way? How could she trust Tolman’s fair-haired boy with her precious bull?
“Don’t worry, Lexie.” Shane spoke to her fear. “I have too much respect for you, your bull, and myself, to pull any dirty tricks. It’ll just be me and Whirlwind out there, both of us doing our damnedest for eight seconds.”
Lexie forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Then I’ll just have to trust you. But I’ll be cheering for Whirlwind to dump you in the dirt.”
“Understood.” Shane grinned. “Meanwhile, I’ll make good on my promise to show you around the place. Come on.”
Hi
s hand rested lightly on the small of her back as he guided her past the bucking chutes and down a long hallway going off to one side, under the arena seats. Conscious of the warm contact, she walked beside him, past offices, storage and locker rooms, to the well-equipped medical room at the end where doctors and therapists worked with injured riders. Even at this hour, there were people here—cowboys on exercise machines, medical staff stocking supplies, and others working late to ready the place for tomorrow. Everyone seemed to know Shane. They greeted him as a friend and wished Lexie good luck with her bull when he introduced her.
Along the hallway, the walls were hung with framed photos of great riders and bulls. Lexie pointed one out. “There’s Oscar. He was Whirlwind’s great-, great-, however many greats, grandfather.”
“I know. I did my homework. Most of these pictures you’ll recognize, I’m sure.”
“Yes, I do my homework, too.” Lexie had devoured magazines, videos, and Web sites devoted to the sport of bull riding and breeding. Most of the great bulls in the pictures—Pearl Harbor, Asteroid, Little Yellow Jacket, Blueberry Wine, Red Rock, and others—were gone now. But their descendants were bucking today, all over the country. The science of bull genetics—the breeding of select cows and bulls to produce superb bucking animals—had come to rule the sport. It was all about bloodlines.
“I’ve always thought Whirlwind was extraordinary,” Lexie said. “But when I look at those bulls out there in the pens, they’re all extraordinary. They’re all amazing.”
“That’s true,” Shane said. “There are no average bulls in the PBR. And with selective breeding, they’re getting bigger, smarter, and more athletic. But now and again you get a bull with that extra spark of greatness—like Sweet Pro’s Bruiser, or Smooth Operator, or Cochise. Whether Whirlwind is one of those bulls remains to be seen. Brock believes he is.”
“So what does Brock plan to do about that, now that I’ve told him we won’t sell?”
“Brock tends to keep his plans to himself,” Shane said. “But when he goes after something, he usually gets it. You might keep that in mind.”
Lexie went rigid. She took a step away from him. Until now, she’d been warming toward the handsome bull rider. But his words about Brock Tolman brought reality crashing in on her. Shane Tully was one of the enemy. She couldn’t let herself forget that.
She had set out with him to learn more about Brock’s plans. But what he’d told her didn’t help. It only made her want to get away.
“Thank you for the tour, but I’ve seen enough,” she said. “It’s time I got cleaned up and rested for tomorrow. I’ll be fine walking back to my truck. No need for an escort.”
“I need to go back anyway.” Shane fell into step beside her. “My invitation to spend the night still stands. And I promise not to lay an ungentlemanly hand on you.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine in the motel,” Lexie said. “After talking to that nice woman, I can’t believe the place is as bad as you say it is. I just need to get my duffel out of the truck.”
