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“Glad you all approve.” Lyric winked at him. “Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of alone time later.”
How was he supposed to go ride a bronc now? Somehow, he’d have to get his focus back because he had to go in there and kick Luke’s ass in front of this whole town. With his score, of course.
Silas shook his hand on his way past. “Good luck.”
Aiden clapped him on the back. “Give ’em hell.”
He’d give ’em hell all right. One person in particular.
“We’ll be watching from the stands,” Lyric reminded him. She brushed one more kiss across his lips and then backed away.
“I’ll look for you up there.” This ride would mean something entirely different from all the others he’d ever taken.Thatch gave his friends one more wave and then met up with Kirby at the back entrance where the riders were gathering.
“Where have you been?” his trainer demanded. “I should probably give you a pep talk or something.”
“I won’t need a pep talk today.” He had all the motivation he’d need gathering like a storm inside of him. “This will be my best ride to date. I can promise you that.” He wouldn’t accept anything less.
“Okay, then.” Kirby nudged him into the tunnel. “You’re up last.”
Thatch didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. “Fine.” It didn’t matter where he fell in the lineup or who went before him. He would give this everything he had.
They found a place at the fence where they could watch. The first two riders were bucked off short of eight seconds. “Damn. Those are some angry broncs today.”
“Wild Bill can hold his own against these guys,” Kirby assured him. “Trust me. You’ve been training on one of the best. They won’t throw anything at you that you haven’t seen before.”
For the most part, Thatch trusted him, but there were some good riders out today. At least three of the guys in the lineup had scored over eighty.
When the announcer introduced Luke Copeland, some cheered in the crowd. Thatch watched the man climb up onto the fence, full of swagger and confidence. Right out of the gate, Luke was in control, boots at the mark out position, free hand high over his head. He had strength and good spurring action, but, in Thatch’s estimation, Luke hadn’t been doing any yoga.
“He’s good,” Kirby muttered. “That’s your competition, kid.”
“I can beat him.” He wanted to beat him for Lyric, and Thatch always rose to the occasion.
Luke held on the full eight seconds and then let the bronc throw him, landing on his knees with his arms raised in showmanship. The crowd really went for that, hooting and whistling, and the judge rewarded the performance with a score of eighty-five.
“Damn. That’s a good score. Remember, this is your first competition,” Kirby said gruffly. “So even a score above eighty would be good.”
“A score above eighty isn’t good enough.” He needed a score above eighty-five. Thatch walked to the bench where he’d stashed his gear earlier that day and started to dress. Chaps, protective vest. Cowboy hat, of course. White today, which seemed fitting in contrast with Luke’s black one. While the second-to-last rider was finishing up, Thatch made his way to the chute.
He climbed up onto the fence and scanned the crowds. He had a lot of support today.There.Lyric waved at him from about twenty rows up and to his left. All his friends waved, and then his family, too, who were seated ten rows below them. His mom proudly pumped a sign she’d made into the air.THAT’S MY BRONC RIDER!He had to laugh. It didn’t matter if he was playing football or lacrosse or bronc riding, she was always his biggest supporter.
His eyes found Lyric again. She’d been through so much to be here. For him. With him. He couldn’t let her down.
“Rider ready?” The handler waited for him to slide into the saddle.
With a nod, Thatch took the rope and found his balance with the horse shifting underneath him.
“On your signal.” The man looked at him, waiting.
This was it. For one second, Thatch closed his eyes and found the breathing technique Lyric had taught him, and then, without another thought, he gave another nod.
They threw open the gate.
Crowd noise droned around him as he got his boots on the mark.Forward, easy.He found the bronc’s rhythm, keeping his arm raised, working the spurs for points. Everything blurred into a surreal haze, faces passing by him in a fog. Feeling the animal’s movements, he anticipated every buck and lurch and turn, staying fluid and loose, and he even managed to remove his hat and wave it to the crowd.
Cheers rose around him, but he blocked them out, placing his hat back on his head and staying focused and centered. Two more seconds. That was all he needed.
The bronc kicked and spun, lurching Thatch’s body left.
