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“Why do I get the feeling that Mick is going to get my foot up his ass sooner rather than later?” Dylan asked.
“He warned me about having you as a coach the other day. He said you caused Johnny Montana’s death.”
Dylan closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the headrest. He wondered why she hadn’t brought up Johnny before now. “A lot of people believe that.”
“I didn’t know you were coaching him. That must have been horrible for you when he died.” She squeezed his hand in sympathy.
“It was horrible for a lot of people,” Dylan said.
“I asked Dolly about it. I would have asked you, but this week has been crazy, and I didn’t want to distract you from your ride with Fever Dream.”
Shrugging, Dylan opened his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the movie of Johnny’s last wreck that his mind played over and over again on the insides of his eyelids. “It’s always there, so it’s not much of a distraction.”
“Was it hard to take on another student?”
“It was harder that it was you,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“Don’t be. You’re a different rider than Johnny was. You have different bulls available to you than he did.”
“I knew it,” she said, thumping her hand on the steering wheel. “You’re giving us weak-ass bulls.”
“I’m recommending bulls that are suited to your riding skills. Do you think you could have ridden Fever Dream?” Dylan watched her as she stewed over that.
“I would have liked the chance to try. I’ve got to ride a bigger bull sometime.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “But like I’ve been saying, you need to work up to it. Get more practice in on the smaller bulls.”
“It’s hard to wait,” she said. “I feel like I’m ready.”
“Johnny felt like he was ready too,” Dylan said. “And it might have been what killed him.” He had picked a bull that would show what he was made of, much in the same way Dylan had picked Fever Dream.
“Everybody wrecks. That’s why I always wear the chest protector and helmet. The sport was a lot more deadly when we didn’t wear those things.”
“The gear doesn’t mean squat if you land wrong or the bull lands on you. Johnny hit his head just right and snapped his neck.”
“Then it wasn’t your fault,” she said.
Dylan shrugged. “You second-guess yourself. Was there something I could’ve told him to make the landing any easier? Could he have stayed on the bull, and not have fallen off if I had been a better trainer? Should I have recommended that he pick another bull?” Dylan blew out a breath. “Logic and emotion don’t have a place when it comes to something like this.” He thought back on his own parents’ decision to keep him safe by sending him to his uncle’s farm. “His parents haven’t forgiven me.”
LeAnn squeezed his hand. “It’s so unfair that they’re taking their grief out on you. If they need someone to blame, why don’t they blame the damned bull?”
“They did. They bought the bull for ten thousand dollars and then shot it.”
LeAnn shuddered. “I hope it brought them peace.”
“It wasn’t the bull’s fault either. I mean it was, but that’s what bulls are trained to do—buck and fuss. Johnny wouldn’t have wanted them to kill the bull, but I guess it was better the bull got shot instead of me.” He tried for a smile, but failed.
“Out of all the rides that go on throughout all of the rodeos in this country, someone dying on a bull is about as common as that same person dying in a car crash. At least that’s how I look at it,” LeAnn said. “I’m more in danger when I get behind the wheel of the Winnebago after a hard day of riding.”
Dylan leaned his head back and gave her a more realistic smile. “Yeah, but the Winnebago isn’t trying to eject you from the driver seat by blowing doughnuts on the highway.”
“No, but the other drivers can be just as crazy as a bull.”
“True. But that’s not going to stop me from worrying about you. I care about you, and it kills me that I might have to watch you get hurt. But I know that you’re going to do this with or without me. I’m a good coach and I can make you a better rider. So, I push my feelings aside when you’re out on the bull…even though it makes me want to puke with anxiety.”
LeAnn sagged in her seat. “I wish I could make it easier.”
