Whirlwind - Janet Dailey Page 0,8

the gate, shaking his blunted horns.

Rank. That was the word for a bull with a lot of fight in him. And rank was the word for Whirlwind.

Jay Walking Bird lowered himself onto the bull’s back, bracing himself while a man outside the chute pulled his rope to tighten it around the bull’s body. This was a dangerous time. A bull could slam a rider’s leg against the inside of the chute, hard enough to break bone. Shane knew this because it had happened to him last year. He’d ridden the beast anyway, in terrible pain, and racked up a score of 88.6, his best ever. The men used a long wooden wedge against the side of the chute to hold the bull steady while the rider made the final adjustments in the rope and gripped the handhold.

At Walking Bird’s nod, the gate swung open. Whirlwind blasted out. Dynamite on four legs was the description that struck Shane’s mind. He could see how the bull had gotten his name.

Shane tended to lump bucking bulls into three categories—leapers, kickers, and spinners. Whirlwind combined high kicks and leaps with a blinding spin that churned up dust clouds around him.

Bushwacker . . . Cochise, maybe . . . even Bodacious. Shane searched his memory for bulls with that kind of power. Whirlwind was smaller than those monsters, maybe 1700 pounds. But he owned that arena.

His hindquarters kicked so high that his body was almost vertical. Still, Walking Bird hung on, gripping the rope with his right hand. Three seconds . . . four seconds. The bull came down spinning to the left like a tornado as he kept on bucking. Five seconds . . . Six . . . Abruptly, to Shane’s amazement, Whirlwind made a subtle shift of direction. Walking Bird, who’d been leaning away from his hand, had no time to adjust. Pulled into the spin, he went flying off the right side, just short of the eight-second whistle. Only the quick action of a bullfighter, throwing himself almost onto the bull’s horns, saved the rider from being trampled. Tossed into the air, the bullfighter landed hard and came up limping. By then, Walking Bird had scrambled up the fence, and Whirlwind was roped and headed out the gate.

Good show. Shane glanced up at the posted score. Forty-five points for the bull, zero for the rider. Cory’s high score had given him first place.

And knowing about Whirlwind’s spin-and-switch trick would come in handy for Shane if he happened to draw the bull in PBR competition.

Lexie was gone from the fence. Shane knew better than to look for her. He’d only be wasting his time. There was no way she’d want to talk to him.

He would call Brock later with a report on Whirlwind’s performance. But first he wanted to drive to the hospital, find out how Cory was doing, and let him know that he’d won the event—and the needed prize money.

Without waiting for the awards, he left his seat, made his way out of the arena, and headed for his truck.

* * *

The four bulls had been returned to the holding pen behind the rodeo arena. As usual, they were given time to eat and settle down before being loaded for the drive back to the ranch.

“If you don’t mind keeping an eye on them, I’d like to take the truck and go to the hospital,” Lexie told Ruben. “Cory and his wife are friends from school. I don’t want to leave town without checking on him.”

“No problem. I’ll get some rest. We can load when you get back. I’ll help you unhitch the trailer.”

Leaving the foreman dozing in a lounge chair by the trailer, Lexie exited the fairgrounds and followed the signs that marked the way to the hospital. Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she battled the emotions she’d held in check since Cory Jarman’s injury. The wreck—as such incidents were called—had happened right in front of her. As Renegade’s hooves had trampled the young rider, the indelible memory of her brother’s death had crushed her with fresh weight. She’d strangled the scream in her throat, willing herself to remain in place, rigid and stoic, showing no emotion. That was a rule of the sport—no matter what was happening in the arena—or inside your head—you cowboyed up and put on a brave face.

It shouldn’t trouble her that Cory had been hurt by one of her bulls. Riders assumed the risk, and bulls were praised for following their nature.