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She groaned. Thanks a lot, Merry.
“Don’t let anyone tell you that a woman can’t ride a bull. If you liked Muriel, you’re going to love to see what this rider can do. And you’re not going to believe who it is. Or maybe you would. Ladies and gentlemen, LeAnn ‘Killer’ Keller.”
Then there was no more time for fear, for thinking about Mick, Dylan, Muriel or anything else in her head. She nodded to the gate man, and off they went.
Oh shit!
LeAnn knew she only had to stay on for eight seconds. Eight seconds in the real world was nothing. It was a few heartbeats. It was a blink. Hell, it took longer than that to pour a cup of coffee. Right now, though, eight seconds seemed like forever. Whiplash made Apis look like Garth. This bull was pissed. All she could think of was that she couldn’t wreck on her first ride. Maybe she should have waited for the actual event. Maybe she should have waited for a seasoned bull. Or one that was smaller.
Whiplash’s hooves barely touched the ground. He jumped. He twisted. He bucked. He did everything possible to throw her off. LeAnn’s wrist hurt from gripping the rope so tight. Her other arm that was wildly trying to help her stay balanced felt like it was dislocated. She couldn’t touch the bull with it. She’d lose all her points.
Her thighs screamed at her as she fought hard to stay on. Her backbone ached as it slammed down on the bull not once, but twice. She could not stay on for a moment longer. She didn’t know if it had been eight seconds, six seconds, or just one long second. She hadn’t heard the buzzer over the roar of the crowd and the roaring in her own head. Then she was airborne.
At times like this, LeAnn wished she was a cat because she knew she wasn’t going to land on her feet. It always happened in slow motion, and she heard Trent’s voice tell her how to fall. Tucking her shoulders, she rolled as she hit the ground. Somehow, she used the momentum to get back up on her feet and threw her hands up in the air in victory. LeAnn knew she would feel the pain later. But right now, all that mattered was that she had done it.
Or had she?
Dylan was there helping her out of the arena. The bullfighters had done their job and had kept Whiplash far away from her.
“You lied to me,” Dylan said, his face tight with fury.
She had to take a step back from the emotions rolling off him. “I’m sorry,” LeAnn said.
“Are you all right?” Dylan growled.
“Yeah, just a little shaky,” she said, feeling guilty as hell.
“You scared the hell out of me.” He yanked her into his arms.
She sagged into him, clutching him hard. “I’m okay.”
“You could have been killed.”
“That’s a little dramatic,” she said, lifting her head up to look at him, but his eyes were far away. “I’m okay.”
Dylan snapped back from wherever he had gone. “I know. I know.” He gave a shaky sigh. “I’ve got to get better at this.”
“Did I do it?” she asked, feeling like she was out of her body looking down.
“You didn’t make the full eight,” Dylan said.
Disappointment stabbed her deep in the heart. Shit. She had wanted to come out with authority. “It would have gone over better if I had.”
“You had one hell of a ride, but that bull was too much for you.”
Stung, she glared up at him. But she didn’t see any condescension or criticism in his eyes. It was what it was. Okay, maybe Whiplash had been too much bull for her.
“Did Muriel stay on?”
“Yes.”
Shit again.
LeAnn deflated. It didn’t matter that Muriel probably had the easier bull, not at the moment anyway. “I wanted to beat Mick’s time,” she said softly.
“That was what this was about?” Dylan asked, his jaw dropping.
“Part of it,” she said. “Part of it was my own ego.”
