straddled the chute, lowered himself onto the bull’s back and waited for help pulling the rope tight.
Shane was here to watch bulls, he reminded himself. Still, for a moment, he kept the binoculars focused on Lexie, admiring her unconscious grace as she waited in tense anticipation for the gate to open. He wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. But after today’s encounter, he’d be lucky to get within a dozen yards of the woman.
Pulling his attention back to the event, Shane checked the program again. The rider was a friend—an experienced cowboy and a good man, with a wife and new baby to support. As the announcer’s voice boomed out the rider’s name and the name of the bull, he silently wished them both a good ride and a high score.
“Out of chute number one, ladies and gentlemen, we have Cory Jarman on Renegade!”
The gate swung open. The black bull exploded into the arena. As he leaped, kicked, and spun, putting on a spectacular show, the rider gripped the handhold on the rope. His right arm remained high and free, pumping with the bull’s motion. His blunted spurs dug into the bull’s loose hide. Good job, Cory, Shane thought as the eight-second whistle sounded. The combined score for bull and rider should be well into the eighties.
Then something went wrong. With Renegade still bucking wildly, Cory slid off the left side, twisting his gloved hand in the bull rope. Caught fast, he was dragged along by one arm against a spinning, jumping monster determined to shake him loose.
The bullfighters had leaped into action. Two of them sprang in front of the bull, trying to distract him and slow him down while the third man moved in close to support Cory and try to work his hand free.
In a scene that Shane would remember as a slow-motion nightmare, a sudden twisting move by the bull ripped the glove off Cory’s hand. Before the bullfighter could yank him to safety, Cory’s legs gave way. He slid under the pounding hooves. Each second it took for the bullfighters to drive Renegade off the rider and out the exit chute seemed to pass like an eternity. When the gate closed behind the black bull, Cory lay crumpled in the dust, barely moving as the paramedics rushed out to stabilize him, ease him onto a transport board, and carry him out of the arena. Moments later, the wail of an ambulance siren confirmed that he was seriously hurt.
Damn! Rotten luck. He could be out for the season. And with a young family to support.
Even with the improvements in safety gear, injuries were a given in this dangerous sport. Veteran bull riders wore scars like medals and carried memories of the bones they’d broken—limbs, ribs, backs, and shoulders. Shane had known riders to wrap fractured bones with duct tape so they could stay in competition, enduring awful pain for the sake of that eight-second ride and the chance for prize money.
The show would go on. The next bull was already in the chute, waiting to buck. But Shane couldn’t help worrying about his friend. And he couldn’t help thinking about Lexie and how she’d watched her brother die in the arena less than a year ago. The wreck that she’d just witnessed had probably brought it all back. That she was here now, with her family’s bulls, showed what a tough woman she was.
He trained his binoculars on her, sharpening the focus. She was still on the fence, her spine rigid, her mouth set in a firm line, as if she were fighting tears. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Shane watched the next eight bulls, including the brindle and the white, spotted animal that Lexie had brought to the competition. The Alamo Canyon bulls were the best of the lot, showing their Oscar-linked bloodline mixed with the feisty heritage of the British White Park cattle, removed to America during World War II for safekeeping.
Unfortunately, both bulls bucked off their young riders out of the gate. If Whirlwind did the same, there’d be only the briefest chance for Shane to see how he performed.
Whirlwind would be next. The rider’s name rang a bell, though Shane didn’t know him. Jay Walking Bird had a decent record in the PRCA. He had a chance to do what Shane wanted—stay on the bull long enough to put on a good show.
Even without the binoculars, Shane had no trouble seeing the bull in the chute. Still riderless, he was slamming sideways against