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I huffed out a breath. I pinned my number, well Mickey’s number, to my chest, and stepped out of the trailer. I stuck to the shadowy areas of the arena, and headed to the back of the chutes. I kept my head down, not even acknowledging the other riders as they paced and talked shit about drinking beer and getting laid at the bar later on. Because everyone wanted to ride a bull rider, right?
My height wasn’t so out of place, because riders in general weren’t too tall. They were usually 6’1, like Branch, or under, and I was tall for a girl.
“Next up we have a local boy. Branch Watson. We gotta watch this kid, Earl, because if I’ve ever seen a contender for goin’ pro, it’s Branch,” the announcer said over the PA.
“I agree, Tom. This boy has been riding bulls since he was in diapers. What he doesn't know about riding bulls probably ain’t worth knowin’,” Earl fired back.
They’d say that shit about me too, if I had a dick.
People bustled around the chute, there were at least four at all times, as Branch settled in. I had to watch, stepping out of my darkened corner for a second, seeing Branch sitting atop that ball of muscle and meanness.
He slammed his hat down on his head a bit better, and nodded to the latch guy. The bull bursts out of the gate in a twirling, twister of fury.
“Vickery,” someone yells, but I don’t take my eyes off Branch as he rides the bull like he's on the coin slot pony in front of the grocery store. So much damn natural talent. Fuck, I hated him.
“Vickery,” someone yells again, and my eyes snap back to the Chute Boss when I realize he’s calling for me. I’m Mickey Vickery, for today at least.
I raise my hand and the overweight and obviously stressed man waves me over.
“Your bull has been stalled. Get your rope on him.”
I’d fixed my rope already. The joy of being the daughter of a stock contractor was that I knew these bulls, these athletes on four legs, just as good, if not better than anyone. When girls were going crazy over the cowboys, I was always judging and appreciating the performance of the bull.Black Hurricanewas one of ours, sired byDark Storm. I’d watched him be trained, knew his moves, knew how he liked to spin, and what direction he liked to do it in.
I had this.
I tilted my hat lower as I stepped up to the chutes and a grizzled old cowboy helped me secure my rope overBlack Hurricane’sshoulders, pulling it tight. Hurricane didn’t mind. He knew it wasn’t time yet. He’d been around long enough to know he had to save it for the arena.
The crowd was going wild and I thanked the cowboy for his help. I saw Branch walking back, a grin on his too pretty face that gave him dimples as deep as wells.
I hid behind the chutes unashamedly. The bulls got corralled through into their chutes and my heart started to thud hard against my ribs.
This was it. A small, sane part of my subconscious told me that it wasn’t too late to back out now. No one knew it was me. I wouldn’t lose face.
Instead of running away, I squared my shoulders and slammed my helmet down on my head, obscuring my face. I tugged my vest, checking that it was strapped on tight.
I headed to chute one, my turn was coming up. My destiny fucking awaited, and I was going to take it with both hands and my head held high.
I climbed up on the chute, running my foot over Hurricane’s back to let him know I was coming. I settled in, and a hand behind me grabbed my vest.
I didn’t look over my shoulder at them. I knew they were there to grab me up in case the bull did something crazy. They’d yank me out of there before I got crushed, if they needed to. As if he knew the direction of my thoughts, Hurricane kicked around in the chute, testing the metal. Hands dragged me up until I could get my feet back on the rails. Hurricane settled back down and I slid back on, running my hand over the rope to warm the rosin. I did the loop and nodded to the rope guy to pull tight.
He did, and I made the mistake of looking up to thank him. I met a pair of familiar warm whiskey eyes. Beau, Branch’s long time best friend. My friend. Fuck.
He reared back in shock as recognition rocked through him, and I knew if he opened his mouth, I was fucked.
“Go!” I yelled at the gate man, and then it was eight seconds to fly or fall.
Hurricaneburst out of the chutes, twisting to the left. I leaned into the movement, trying not to get sucked into the well. But Daddy bred his bulls well, and the strain on my arm was insane as I struggled to get my seat. I knew in another two rotations,Hurricanewould stop and try and throw me forward. ButHurricanedecided to fucking adlib today, rapidly changing direction and throwing me off the side.
I hit the ground with a thud, the wind getting knocked out of me even as hooves flew around my head. I scrambled to my feet, butHurricanedecided he was being ornery and had me in his sights. He ran after me, ignoring the bullfighters and charging after me. His giant head caught me in the ass and he flipped me like a rag doll. I knew how to fall, but I would never forget the faces of the crowd as I shot six feet in the air over the back of an enraged bull. I even saw Beau and Branch’s faces on the way down, the horrified expressions would have been comical if I wasn’t about to be severely injured.
Leaving my body loose, I still felt a pain in my shoulder as I landed hard on it in the sand. The clowns corralledHurricaneback through the gate, and then Branch and Beau were over the fence, running toward me.
I just laid there, staring at the sky. I’d done it. I’d fucking done it.
When the faces of Beau and Branch crowded out the sky, I tuned back into the roar of the crowd and their voices.
“Fucking hell, Nugget. Are you okay?” Beau yelled over the sound. Branch grabbed my helmet and pulled it off.
