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CHAPTER SIX
MACK BACKED HIS truck into the parking spot and turned off the engine. He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with all the familiar rodeo smells coming through his open window. Dust rose in a halo around them from the dirt parking lot on the outskirts of the fairground. Cars lined up for as far as the eye could see. This was clearly a big-ticket event in this part of the world. A man in an Akubra—he’d learned that’s what they called the cowboy hats here—and chaps strolled by, leading a black horse. Judging by the deep Western saddle and the decorative breast collar, the horse and man were possibly off to partake in the barrel racing, which was due to start in half an hour.
Farther down the line of vehicles, a woman coaxed her horse down a float ramp; the gelding flighty and nervous, reared twice before she got him under control. He saw a couple of kids in the distance, each sucking on a cloud of bright-pink cotton candy. The roar of an enraged bull sounded somewhere in the distance, probably one of the bronco bulls being loaded into the yards for tonight. The bull ring would be in the centre of the fairground, it always took pride of place, no matter how big or small the rodeo was. And that was where he needed to be.
God, he’d missed this.
“Are we getting out?” Bindi’s voice beside him made him jump. He’d been so absorbed by being back at a rodeo, he’d forgotten she was there for a second.
“Yeah,” he drawled. “Just getting my bearings, that’s all.”
“Right.” Bindi flashed a dark-eyed glance his way, and he suddenly wanted to know what she was thinking. He wasn’t afraid to get back on a bull, if that’s what she thought. This was something he’d been looking forward to for two long years. “Where shall we start?” She unbuckled her seat belt and opened her door, waiting for him to do the same.
The two-hour drive to Cairns had been an uneventful one. Bindi had been waiting for him in the staff common room at six am on the dot. Most of the staff were already up and about, or soon would be. She’d climbed into the passenger seat without so much as a word. Every time he tried to start a conversation, she’d answered in monosyllables, unless it was a question about which direction to take next. Like she was intentionally shutting him down. After a few attempts to find out more about her, Mack had also descended into silence. It was fine by him if she didn’t want to talk, he could concentrate on thinking about his ride tonight. But that hadn’t stopped his gaze from straying sideways to take in her trim legs, encased in tight-fitting, blue denim, or wandering up to where the slight swell of her breasts were visible in lower-than-normal cut of her white, V-neck shirt which bared her smooth, brown shoulders, showing a hint of that scar. Bindi was one appealing woman. It was a pity she was giving off all those don’t-touch-me vibes. On another day, he might well have taken up that challenge and hit her with the full wattage of his Diaz charm. But he was here to ride a bull tonight, and so he didn’t take her standoffishness as the challenge he might normally have.
This time, he’d paid more attention to the passing countryside than he had on the way out to Stormcloud. He saw it through slightly different eyes, now that he’d ridden through it on horseback and experienced it firsthand. The flat plains stretched out all around them were dry and dusty, waiting for the rains he’d been told would come soon to spring everything to life again. But as they’d approached Cairns, the road sloped upward, taking them over a low mountain range, and it was almost like they’d crossed the threshold into a completely different land. On one side of the range, the trees were spindly and brown, although becoming denser, with more undergrowth. Then, all of a sudden, they were running down the other side, crossing a bridge, and the vegetation turned to jungle before his eyes, crowding in on the road, lush and bright green. When he’d driven through Cairns on his way to Stormcloud, he’d been vaguely aware that the town was set in the tropics, but now that he drove with clear eyes, this place was more like paradise, reminding him of his short holiday to Hawaii one time. How could these two places exist almost side by side? Stormcloud with all its red dirt and withered, brown grass, and this coastal rain forest, so rich and verdant?
“Do you want to check out any of the agricultural events?” Bindi turned to look at him hopefully, breaking his contemplations. Her hair was up in a loose ponytail today, instead of the more functional long plait he was used to. It suited her, softened her exotic features, made her seem younger and more vulnerable. Her nose stud sparkled in the morning sun, drawing his gaze. “I wouldn’t mind taking a look at the woodcutting,” she added. The faint sound of axes pounding into a block of wood drifted on the breeze, somewhere over to the left, near the main entrance, which they’d passed by on their way to find a park.
But he had only one thing on his mind. “I’d really like to look at the arena. Get acquainted with some of the bulls.” He was at a severe disadvantage coming to this meet. He was completely unfamiliar with any of the bulls, didn’t know which ones had the big reputations and which ones were considered the easy rides, like he would’ve if he’d been back on the PBR circuit in the US. He recognized a couple of the names of his other competitors on the list, but only because they’d come over to try their luck on the Aussie circuit when they’d crashed out in America.
When Mack had called the event coordinator to see if there were any spots on the list for a latecomer, the guy on the other end of the phone hadn’t hidden his surprise. They never normally got new riders once the season started, and definitely not this late in the draw. Mack had explained that he’d be joining the list properly next season, but wanted to try his hand while he had the chance, blow out some cobwebs and show the top runners a thing or two about style and stamina. His tongue-in-cheek arrogance had the desired effect, and the man had told him to come on down to Cairns, as there was a bull with his name on it, just waiting for him. He didn’t mention that he probably wouldn’t stay on to see out the whole season. But you never knew, if he did well in the early events, maybe he might stay the whole twelve months, like Dean wanted.
With all the odds stacked against him, he did have one thing going in his favor; he was pretty much a complete unknown on this circuit, which might work to his advantage. They wouldn’t see him coming until it was too late. He’d never admit it to any other living soul, but he was aiming for top prize tonight. If he’d said that to any of his brothers, or even his father, they would’ve laughed him out of town. And they might be right. Mack hadn’t ridden competitively in two years. What on earth made him think he could just jump on the back of a bull and take up right where he left off? But Mack had a feeling. A good feeling that things were going to go his way tonight.
“No problem, it’s this way.” Bindi jumped out of the car, placed her hat on her head, and gave him a flat stare. For a split second, he considered changing his mind and asking to see the woodcutting, just to see that bright spark come back into her eyes. Just to spend some time with her, when she wasn’t glowering at him. But that wasn’t why he was here.
He locked his vehicle and followed Bindi as she weaved through the throng of tightly packed cars. The crowds increased as they got closer to the arena. Mack could feel the buzz in the air. The drone of an announcer’s voice filled the air, as he called the start of the barrel races, and the crowd surged, eager to get a good view. A set of bleachers hugged one side of the metal barriers, and this was where most of the spectators were headed. He followed Bindi’s tan Akubra and blue jeans through the throng of people, until they came up against the metal railings marking out the arena. She rested her chin on the top rail, and watched the horse and rider in the middle intently. Mack did the same, rising on the balls of his feet in anticipation, but instead of focussing on the action inside, he checked out the lay of the land. A row of tents and awnings adorned the opposite side of the arena behind the railings; this would be the food vendors and market stalls. Mack’s gaze caught on the neat row of pens farther around to the left. The bull pens. A set of heavy, slab-sided metal gates guarded the entry to the pens, waiting for the command to be opened and let loose a whirlwind of angry bull.
Mack was also interested in the state of the ring. This would be where he’d ride later tonight. The ground would be well and truly churned up by earlier events like the barrel racing, and the bareback bronco riding, but that was a good thing, as it’d break up the earth and soften the landing. Not that he was going to fall, not tonight. The original soil looked to be some sort of sandy loam, which was also good, as it wouldn’t pack down too hard. The organizers had then topped it with another few feet of fresh sand. It was a good-size ring, bigger than most he was used to in the US, which would give the clowns more room to maneuver, to direct the bull away from him if he did happen to land on his ass.
“I’m hungry,” Bindi said. They hadn’t had a proper breakfast before they left, he’d been in so much of a hurry, they’d only had time to stop past the kitchen and swipe a single muffin each. “Do you want to get something to eat?” She tipped back her hat and squinted her brown eyes against the bright sunshine.
After a moment’s consideration, he replied, “Nope. I’ll eat a little later. I’m going to introduce myself to some of the boys over there.” He nodded in the direction of the bull pens to a group of men milling in the shade of a temporary tarpaulin. He thought he recognized Billy Scadden, who’d ridden in the PBR four years ago, then disappeared from the circuit. Perhaps it was time to go and announce his presence.
“Oh, right. Okay.” Bindi tried, but didn’t quite succeed in hiding the disappointment on her face.
Shit, why did he suddenly feel like the villain?
“How about we meet up back here for lunch? You can show me the best places to eat. Let’s say midday?”
“Sure, whatever. I’m going to watch the woodcutting, see you later.”
Mack wasn’t sure exactly what Bindi had expected from this trip. Perhaps she thought he’d need her to hold his hand. Or perhaps she thought this was some kind of mini holiday. But neither of those things was true for him. He could see it in the way she narrowed her eyes at him, that she was still worried he might come down with another dizzy spell. But he was fine. Perfectly fine.
He watched Bindi turn and weave her way through the crowd, her neat curves swaying nicely in those tight, blue jeans. Then he noticed the appreciative glances some of the other men threw her way and something in his chest tightened. He almost called her back, changed his mind and told her he’d go with her. But she disappeared into the crush of humanity, and the moment was lost. He needed to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t here for Bindi. He was here to ride.
Of its own accord, his gaze strayed in the direction Bindi had disappeared, and he cursed his own weakness.
* * *
Mack’s pulse thrummed through him, and his breathing sounded like a mini tornado to his own ears. He was the twelfth rider in tonight’s lineup, and next up to ride. He’d drawn a bull named Sugar Baby, but he had no idea whether the bull was ornery or not, as the name meant nothing to him.
He stood on the bottom rung at the back of the bullpen and observed the rider before him give the nod to open the gates. His heart rate accelerated as he watched the bull explode from the pen, launching himself many feet into the air. For a second Mack was astride that bull along with the other rider, feeling every twist, turn and jerk. His guts squeezed at the thought, and a spasm of vertigo threatened to overtake him. He suddenly felt ill and grappled for the top railing, as a memory of the fence rearing up and the sickening crack as his skull hit the wood, unfolded in his mind.
No.
He ground his teeth together, forcing his breathing to slow. He wasn’t going to let this beat him. The first ride after the accident was always going to be a watershed for him, but he was determined to get this over with so he could move onward. And upwards.
