Whirlwind - Janet Dailey Page 0,30
upper-body strength. His wife and baby are with her folks in Ajo for now. Evidently, she’s not taking things too well. Neither is Cory. Can’t say I blame either of them.”
“What will they do, Shane? I’ve known Cory most of his life. All he ever wanted was to ride bulls. It’s like there’s no Plan B.” She paused, looking up at him. “What would you do if it happened to you? Have you ever thought about it?”
Shane took a moment to watch the moon, its rim a sliver of gold, rising over the Sandia Mountains. “Getting hurt comes with the job. You know that,” he said. “Every bull rider I know is walking around with scars and broken bones. But the other thing—getting disabled or killed—sure we think about it. But it doesn’t stop us from living. A lot of the guys have families. You’ll see their wives and kids in the stands when they compete. Life becomes more precious when you lay it on the line every week.”
“That sounds like something Jack would have said.”
Shane could sense the tension in her voice. He remembered how she’d seen her brother die in the arena—falling under the bull’s hooves as the bullfighters tried frantically to divert the beast. Shane had been there, too, watching the awful scene from the chutes. Maybe he should have kept his damn fool mouth shut about laying one’s life on the line.
“How about you?” she asked. “Do you have a Plan B? Would you ever give it up and stop competing?”
“Only if there was no way I couldn’t get on a bull anymore. It’s life at a level most people never experience—like riding a lightning bolt across the sky. The sheer terror of it—and the way it feels to face that terror and win—it’s a high that no drug can touch.”
“I know. Jack felt the same way,” Lexie said in a quiet voice. “My dad wanted him to quit and run the ranch. Jack wouldn’t hear of it. He had to have that rush.”
“But it’s not just the rush,” Shane said. “There’s a purity about it, almost a love—just you and that bull, enemies and comrades, both of you giving it all you’ve got. Both of you fighting to win. There’s nothing like it.”
Lexie didn’t reply. Maybe he’d said too much—or maybe he’d sounded crazy, trying to tell her how it felt, being on a bull. It was probably just as well that they’d reached the gated enclosure where the bulls were kept.
The security guard recognized Shane and let them through. The overhead lights had been dimmed, but he could see that most of the pens were full. The bulls were drowsing, most of them on their feet, a few lying down. The peaceful scent of fresh hay, warm bodies, and grassy manure lay over them like a soft blanket. In the stillness, Shane could hear the animals breathing, the sound broken by an occasional snort or the shifting of a massive body against steel rails.
“Whirlwind is over this way,” Lexie said, moving toward the far corner. Following her, Shane caught sight of the mottled gray bull, moving restlessly in his solitary pen. At their approach, he snorted and tossed his head. His horns, blunted to regulation but still long, clattered against the rails of the pen.
“Oh, dear.” Lexie sighed. “I was afraid of this. He’s not happy. He doesn’t like being alone in a strange place.”
“You don’t want him happy,” Shane said. “You want him mad and cranky and ready to buck the living daylights out of any cowboy who climbs on his back.”
“I guess you don’t yet know who the rider will be, do you?” she asked. “From what I understand, the drawing won’t take place till tomorrow.”
“That’s right.” Shane took a deep breath. It was time to reveal the secret he’d been hiding. “But I do know who’ll be riding him. I pulled a few strings, called in a favor.”
Who? Her expressive blue eyes asked the question.
“It’ll be me, Lexie,” he said. “I’ll be riding Whirlwind tomorrow.”
* * *
For an instant, Lexie felt as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Then reason began to creep in. Why not Shane? He was an experienced rider—among the top twenty in the rankings. It would be in his best interest to make himself, and Whirlwind, look good.
But there was doubt, too. Shane was working for Brock Tolman, the devil incarnate. What if this was some sort of scheme to make Whirlwind look