wants you to know that she wouldn’t sell you a mangy, three-legged dog.”
The connection went silent for an instant. Then Brock’s laughter boomed through the phone. “Those Champions have always had it in for me. The old man would’ve spat in my eye if he’d dared. And he’s passed his venom down to his daughters. But I’m not giving up, and neither should you. One way or another, we’re going to get our hands on that bull.”
After the call ended, Shane wandered aimlessly along the crowded midway, past the booths selling barbecue, hot dogs, cotton candy, funnel cakes, and fried ice cream, past the souvenir stands, and the carnival rides. From the arena beyond the gate, he could hear the rodeo—the cheers of the crowd and the blare of the announcer’s voice. He already had his ticket, a pricey first-row spot where he could get a good look at the bulls. But the drama of the past half hour and the phone call to Brock had left him on edge. He needed time to unwind before taking his seat.
At least Brock had taken Lexie’s refusal in stride. Even after ten years on the Tolman Ranch, Shane couldn’t predict how the boss would react. Brock could be kind and generous—as he’d been when he’d taken in a scrawny, homeless teenager, put him to work, and, when Shane had shown the drive and the talent, given him the chance to ride bulls. Everything Shane had and was, he owed to Brock Tolman; and he’d repaid the man the only way he could—with his loyalty.
But Brock could also be cold and ruthless, especially when it was the only way to get what he wanted. A lifetime aficionado of bull riding, Brock had retired on his investments almost a dozen years ago with enough money to stock his ranch with the quality bucking bulls he bought, bred, and delivered by the trailer load to big rodeo events.
But there was one thing Brock had never possessed—a bull with true star power, a bull with the heart and fight to stand beside champions like Blueberry Wine, Little Yellow Jacket, Bushwacker, and Bodacious.
Did Whirlwind have that kind of potential?
That’s what Shane was here to find out.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, with the sunset fading behind him and a cold beer in his belly, Shane presented his ticket at the gate, picked up a printed program, and made his way to the front row. The lights had come on above the arena, glaring bright against the deepening sky. Dust motes glittered like specks of gold in the air. Insects swarmed and fluttered overhead. The day had been hot enough to melt asphalt, but with the sun gone, the air was pleasantly cool.
The barrel racing event was just winding down, the barrels being cleared away and the winners receiving their trophies. Bull riding would be next. Shane’s seat gave him a good view of the chutes at the end of the arena. The first two bulls of the ten that would buck tonight were being moved into place behind the gates.
A glance at the program confirmed that neither of the starters would be Whirlwind. He was scheduled last, which made sense. The fact that he’d been unridden in twenty-three consecutive outs had already gained him some celebrity. No one would be leaving the stands early.
Shane scanned the list of riders. He recognized about half the names from his own days in the PRCA. The others were new, probably young hopefuls.
The safety crew had entered the arena—a mounted roper and three men known as bullfighters. Dressed in loose-fitting athletic gear to cover their protective vests, the bullfighters were the unsung heroes of the sport. It was their job to distract the bull and help the downed rider get away. In the old days, this dangerous work had been done by clowns. Clown makeup was still an option, but the bullfighters were serious athletes as well as trained paramedics. Countless riders owed their lives to these men.
A hush fell over the crowd as the loudspeaker introduced the next event. Shane took a small but powerful pair of binoculars from his pocket and trained them on the bucking chutes. Behind the first gate he recognized the black bull that Lexie had brought to the rodeo. And there was Lexie on the fence, all in blue, keeping out of the way as the rider, wearing fringed chaps, a helmet with a face mask, a protective vest, and a glove on his left hand,