Page 145 of Jump Back On

Now this? If Austin thought running all of his problems off was a winning strategy, well, he was about to be very disappointed. Then again, there was a good chance quite a few of us wouldn't be walking by the time tonight's event was over. Fuck! Maybe his idea was a hell of a lot better than I'd realized.

"Damn it, we're all going to get trashed," I told Dad.

"These guys..." Dad looked at the men in the area. "Any of you worked with these alternate bullfighters?"

"Nope," Jake said. "Only one of them has actually been used."

I glanced over, trying to read his face even with his attention locked on my dad. How did Jake know that? Then again, how was it Jake seemed to know everything? And why had Mr. Merrill made such a point of calling him out, not J.D. - who I was usually with - or Ty, or Wes, or anyone else?

Was it just because Jake had been beside me and had paid my fine? That had been my initial thought, but I was starting to second-guess myself. Mr. Merrill and Jake clearly had some beef between them. Jake always seemed to know too much. And me? I had questions, but here was not the place.

So instead, I asked, "What else do we need to know, Jake?"

He glanced over to me, and his grey eyes held mine. "It's gonna be a long night. A few of us are gonna get hurt. These three have never worked together, although they've all worked the Touring Pro shows. They came out of the bullfighter competitions, though. PBR's contracted with them to keep them on call. Means they're usually watching from the stands."

"So, not ready," Ty said. "Because we all know how sitting for a week really shows when we climb back on."

"Which means we need to get our own asses clear of the bulls. Up the wall, into the chutes, or anywhere else," Jake told the guys. "Make sure you spread that around. We all need to have a few exit plans mapped out before we even strap in."

"Can do," Ty agreed before turning back to his gear.

And like it was a signal, the other guys did the same. That meant this was my chance, so I moved to Jake's shoulder. Dad was on my other side, looking intently at my rope, almost like he was checking to make sure the fibers were good.

"So," I said to Jake, "you know anything about why Mr. Merrill all but threatened me a bit ago?"

"When?" Jake asked, looking up.

"Gimme that glove," Dad demanded. "Or another. Her rope's not done."

"Shit," Jake chuckled, reaching into his own bag to pull one out and toss it over. "There ya go, Dean." Then he looked at me. "What did Mr. Merrill say?"

"That the PBR has a reputation to uphold, that I should pay attention to my scores, basically, and that I don't belong here. Sales are down, and this is a business. That sort of shit."

Jake's eyes scanned mine. "Cody, you're riding hurt."

I twitched, the change in subject too fast for me to keep up with. "Ok? What does that have to do with Mr. Merrill?"

"You're riding hurt, the bullfighters have been sidelined, and the PBR has all the excuses it needs." He clasped my good arm. "I'm saying they're not trying to chase you off. They're fucking trying to break you."

"So stay on the bull," Dad said calmly from my other side.

"That's your daughter I'm talking about!" Jake snapped.

Dad just pulled his hand down my rope, getting it good and sticky. "Yep. See, that's the thing, boy. Codyismy daughter. Mine, and I was always a crazy motherfucker. Made a real name for myself, too. Not because I rode half as good as she does, but because I knew the two rules of bull riding."

"Rule one," I said, "Just hold on."

"And rule two?" Dad asked.

"When you can't hold on, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, then jump back on."

"Which means," Dad told Jake, "that we don't quit. Not when it's hard, not when it hurts, and not when people are trying to tell us we shouldn't do something. The only time we get to quit is because we just don't wanna do it no more, and you look at her, boy. You look at my little girl. Does she look like shewantsto give this up?"

Jake turned to put his back against the panel, then crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a very long and very thorough look. "Nope. She looks like a bull rider."

"Yeah," Dad said. "'Cuz she is."

Now I just had to prove it. Damn, I really hoped I could, but Disco Breakout was not going to make this easy.

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