he caught a glimpse of Lexie. She was standing on a rail, helping to fasten the flank strap on her bull. The strap, made of soft cotton, went around the bull’s haunches—not over his genitals as many people believed. It wasn’t painful, but the slight pressure was annoying enough to make the bull kick higher. Shane would add the bull rope himself, with a small bell attached to give it weight, just before he mounted.
Lexie had finished attaching the strap and had climbed down from the rails. For an instant, Shane was tempted to go and talk to her, to let her know that he’d broken with Brock. But that would have to wait. Right now there could be nothing on his mind but the ride.
There were three bucking chutes that opened onto the arena. Once the first one was empty, Whirlwind would be herded into it to await his turn. The silver-gray bull was already restless, banging his horns against the rails and back-kicking in the confined space, trying to dislodge the flank strap. A good sign. With luck, Whirlwind would be mad enough to buck like crazy.
Now all Shane needed to do was ride him for eight bone-jarring seconds. But before that would come the hardest part of all—the waiting.
The announcer’s voice echoed in the hollow space above the crowd. Then the gate swung open and the first bull was out for a quick buck-off, barely two seconds into the ride. The three bullfighters sprang into action and shooed the big animal back through the exit gate.
With the second bull being readied and mounted, Whirlwind was let into the bucking chute. By now, Lexie was nearby, hovering over her bull like a mother hen over her chick. Her eyes met Shane’s as he climbed onto the rails with his bull rope in hand and mouthpiece in place. She swiftly looked away.
By the time the second bull had been ridden for seventy-seven points, Shane’s rope had been threaded under and around Whirlwind’s chest, using a hook to bring up the loose end. The tail of the rope had been threaded through the handle, waiting to be pulled and tightened just before the ride. Shane was braced on the rails, ready to mount, when word came down the line. There was a problem in the third chute. Whirlwind would be bucking next.
Shane lowered himself onto the bull’s back. While a member of the crew pulled the rope tight, Shane rubbed it hard to make the rosin tacky and less likely to slip. As Whirlwind tossed his head and tried to slam the sides of the chute, the announcer’s voice blared above the noise of the crowd.
“And now, ladies and gents, we have a change in the program. Coming out of Chute Number One is a rookie bull from the Alamo Canyon Ranch, ridden by Shane Tully, currently number nineteen in world standings. Let’s give a big PBR welcome to . . . Whirlwind!”
Shane locked his gloved hand under the rope handle, palm up. He could feel the tension in the powerful body beneath him, feel the rippling muscles, the pent-up fury, on the very edge of explosion.
He nodded.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LEXIE FORGOT TO BREATHE AS THE GATE SWUNG OPEN. WHIRLWIND exploded into the arena with a twisting leap that looked as if he had invisible wings. He hit the ground with the force of a pile driver, raising dust clouds as he took off again, leaping, kicking, and spinning like a tornado.
Shane rode over his gripping hand, with his back erect and his free arm pumping the air with each jump. His legs, anchored by his spurs, gripped the massive body, his balance shifting with the rhythm of the bull’s moves. Three seconds . . . four. . . Lexie was dry-mouthed. Was he going to end Whirlwind’s buck-off streak?
Come on, Whirlwind, buck him off! She spoke the words in her mind, but her heart was with the rider as Whirlwind went into his blinding spin. Five seconds . . . six . . . Then it came—that subtle change in direction that had sent all the other cowboys flying. But Shane was ready for it. He shifted his weight to accommodate the change. Seven . . . eight. The whistle shattered the air. Shane released his hold on the rope, sprang clear—a perfect landing—and sprinted for safety.
The crowd broke into cheers as the three bullfighters moved in. Still bucking, Whirlwind charged one, then another until a flick of the roper’s lariat