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“You’ve won buckles in barrel racing. I think you’re looking for new challenges.”
New challenges. New start. New everything.
“I think you could take first in the bronc category this year,” Dylan said.
Hope filled her up, pushing out the grief. Her stats were good. She had busted her ass, determined to win and was on the right track, even if she had been slipping in rankings lately. LeAnn could let this thing with Mick screw her up or she could do what she should have done three years ago and put on her big girl panties and woman up to the challenge.
“You really think so?”
“Of course, you can,” he said.
It was nice to get the positive reinforcement. Her parents wanted her to quit the rodeo. Dolly wanted her to stop bronc riding and devote all her time to barrel racing until everyone forgot Killer Keller was a fuckup.
“You had it all, when you were winning the barrel-racing events,” Dolly said, thinking she was helping.
She hadn’t been.
“You haven’t won the bronc event yet. What makes you think you’re going to?” her father would ask.
“You’re spending too much time on the broncs,” her mother would chime in. “If you don’t start winning some events, you’re not going to be able to afford gas.”
That wasn’t strictly true. She still had some savings from her big wins from previous years. Unfortunately, the pandemic had put a huge dent in her finances. No rodeos meant no prize money. LeAnn had coasted for a few years, but this year was literally a go-big or go-home moment for her. And it looked like she’d be going home to Paris, Texas, at the end of the rodeo season this year.
Panic seized her at that thought. She did not want to go home. Not at the end of the season. Not when she’d failed to live her dream.
“I feel like my life is so out of control right now. I can’t win an event. My parents are on my case because of the bronc riding, and my sisters and I are together twenty-four seven in a Winnebago. At least when the season ends, they’ll go home and maybe I can catch a break.”
“What are you going to do in the off-season?”
“I need some space. I’ve got a couple of friends who could use some help on their ranches. I may go to a rodeo school to get more training. I definitely need more practice on broncs. I’ve let Mick and my social life get in the way of my career. I’ve got no one to blame for my latest bad scores, but myself.”
“The season ain’t over yet, Killer.”
LeAnn gripped the end of the bar hard enough to make her knuckles turn white. “I want to win that bronc category so bad I can taste it.”
“I’ve seen you ride. You can do anything that you want to do.”
She had to take a few minutes to process that. Dylan seemed content to watch her work through this. And she was content to let him hold her hand while she noticed the slight stubble on his strong jawline. She wondered idly if it would tickle her neck or be scratchy. Her breathing quickened.
“You’re good for my ego,” she said, looking away, feeling shy and self-conscious all of a sudden.
Some of the men in the Men’s Professional Rodeo Circuit of America weren’t as supportive as Dylan. LeAnn didn’t know why it was any of their business. The men had their own organization and the women had theirs. Aside from doing joint events every now and then, they had separate athletes, both two-legged and four-legged, separate rankings, and for the most part, different fans. The men’s group also had a bigger budget and got more television time, but LeAnn didn’t care. She liked competing against her peers in a more local setting. It felt more real. She wasn’t a TV star. She was a rodeo queen, and damned proud of it.
“Women have no business on broncs,” Mick had told her a few weeks ago. LeAnn wondered if that had been the beginning of the end. Or if it had been over long before that.
“It’s boring to watch,” another male bull rider had agreed with him when they had been hanging out at another generic bar after a rodeo that both organizations had promoted.
“It’s a novelty,” another one had chimed in. “It won’t even be an event next year.”
“I still beat your score,” LeAnn had told him, speaking up for the first time in defense of herself and her sport. What had taken her so long?
That had led to a lot of spluttering and mansplaining.
“You had an easier horse.”
“You get our rejects.”
“The judges go easier on the women.”
