The Wildest Ride--A Novel

by Marcella Bell

  “Why bother, then? Just stay at your mom’s.”

  AJ laughed, “And endure the long line of friends’ daughters...”

  “How’s that any different than the long line of bunnies and club rats?”

  “Can’t sleep with friends’ daughters.”

  “Can’t sleep with anybody under Meredith Garza’s roof.”

  “More to the point.”

  Diablo laughed. “Like anybody wants a rodeo cowboy who lives with his mama and doesn’t know how to quit anyway.”

  “Better that than a slick-talking Devil in a black suit.”

  “As always, your humor reaches the height of sophistication.”

  “That’s your gig, man.” AJ winked. “I’m just a yokel.”

  “Right...”

  “Let’s grab breakfast. You can tell me your plan, and we can talk how best CityBoyz can spend the prize money.”

  “You haven’t won it yet, but I’ll let you buy me breakfast.”

  “It’s as good as done, and you know it. I’m the greatest bull rider there’s ever been.”

  3

  Lil stood one footed on top of a large rubber exercise ball in the center of the corral. She had been in the position for two minutes and counting. Piper, perched on the top bar of the corral, was doing the counting. She was also playing Cupcake Crush on her phone.

  That was fine with Lil. Sweat beaded along her hairline and dripped down her face and nose.

  Conversation was the last thing she needed.

  She had drawn her focus inward, resting it in the quiet center that even a thousand pounds of raging animal couldn’t shake. Her breathing was slow and even, her heartbeat steady. She was fluid and still at the same time, her standing leg faintly rolling along with the movements of the ball in order to remain centered on its top.

  Piper’s alarm went off, nearly startling the woman off her seat on the fence.

  Lil didn’t budge.

  “Time to switch legs!” Piper called out once she had found her own balance.

  Lil had returned from her morning training run before the sun had come up. She’d fed the farmyard animals, exercised Rory, and headed straight to the barn. It was past noon now, and she planned to stay in the barn, painstakingly scraping the rodeo rust off until well after sunset—just like she had every day for the past two weeks.

  It was the training program of a champion. She knew because it was what her granddad had taught her—the same training methods and wisdom he’d applied for years himself—and he had been a rodeo wunderkind in the arena. They only had a couple of grainy and short videos of it, but no one rode like her granddad. He’d been the best of the best—a king of the rodeo world—at least in the sliver of it where he’d been free to compete.

  Her granddad had been old-timer enough that trying to ride in the white rodeos as a Black and Native cowboy from Indian country would have been asking for trouble. And while he probably could have made a place for himself there, he’d never felt like he fit in at the Black rodeos. While he shared a skin tone and the experience of racism with the cowboys there, they didn’t share a recent lived history and Muscogee values.

  Gran walked into the stables as Lil began the slow transition from one foot to the other.

  Lowering her lifted leg, mostly relying on the unshakeable balance she had been born with—“a gift,” her granddad had called it—before she raised the other.

  She would stand there, moving only with the gentle sway of the ball, for another three minutes, same as always—just like her granddad taught her.

  Gran smiled. “Glad to see you’re not sittin’ on your laurels. Just got word that AJ Garza is delaying his retirement to try out.”

  Lil’s ankle wobbled on the ball. On a deep inhale, she steadied herself to remain on the ball and opened her eyes.

  “Where’d you hear that?” she asked, surefooted again. Or close. Her voice and leg were steady, but her pulse jumped.

  “I read it in a headline this morning.”

  Lil sighed, and Piper’s timer went off, once again startling the woman from her perch on the fence.

  Lil hopped down from the ball and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Gran, this is crazy.”

  Task completed, Piper climbed down from the fence, her khaki shorts and green khaki steel-toed calf boots looking more appropriate for a wildlife safari than the day on the ranch she was due to start. Lil mentally rolled her eyes. Like she did with everything else, Piper would do things her way, or no way at all.

  Brushing bits of fence and dust off her shorts, Piper asked, “Who’s AJ Garza?”

  Lil answered, “Undefeated rodeo champion. He retired three years ago and has been on a farewell world tour in Europe ever since.”

  Piper eyed her from the corners of her huge grass-green eyes. “You sure know a lot about him...”

  Lil snorted. “He’s the greatest bull rider alive.” She added, “And he’s half-Black, too.” Lil couldn’t help the glow of pride that crept into her voice.

  AJ Garza had inspired a whole generation of riders like her, proving without a shadow of a doubt that grit could rule in the arena. He was a six-time Triple Crown winner, plus took top prizes at three additional PBRA world championships and had set a high score for a bull ride that had yet to be beat.

  Lil sighed to Gran, “This isn’t going to work. We’ve got to come up with something else. If AJ Garza’s involved, there’s no way I’m winning.”

  Gran shook her head. “Nonsense. You’ve beaten him tons of times.”

  “That’s at home, with you as my judge, on baby bulls they were paying us to break. Completely different. Nobody beats Garza in competition. That’s the whole reason he’s AJ Garza.”

  Gran tsked. “That’s not true—you regularly got higher scores in the Indian rodeos you rode in. Besides, you’ve got no choice. We’re going to lose Swallowtail otherwise.”

  Lil frowned. “That’s exactly why we need to stop this and come up with a real plan.”

  Gran gave her an arch look. “My plan is plenty real, young lady. You don’t have to win the buckle. You just have to get enough money for a down payment and a cushion to make those monthly payments. Remember how I used to tell you that there was always going to be another rodeo?”

  Lil mostly recalled that Gran had seen right through her adolescent attempts to use rodeo as an excuse to get out of doing homework, but she nodded.

  “Well, that’s not true anymore. Not for you, and not for the ranch.”

  “Gran. I’m not even going to make it in. Spending money on the entry fee and travel is wasteful when money’s as important as it is now.”

  Gran crossed her arms in front of her chest and cocked her head to the side. “If you thought you could change my mind, then why have you been practicing all this time?”

  Piper chimed in, “Up and at it pretty early, too.”

  Gran smiled. “‘Run to beat the sun and the day is yours.’”

  Lil’s answering smile was a small one, but enough to crack through the concrete of her face.

  The phrase had been one of her granddad’s favorites.

  Shaking the smile off, though, she said, “Change your mind? Never. Might’ve been hoping you’d come to your senses.” And because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “It was a better idea before AJ Garza.”

  “I never knew you to be afraid of riding with the boys before...”

  Lil’s eyes narrowed. “That’s low and obvious, Gran.”

  “Sure is.”

  They glared at one another until Tommy, entering the barn with a folded black bundle, coughed. “Hate to interrupt cousin Lilian making an ass of herself,” he said, “but I’ve got the thing, Gran.”

  Gran’s entire demeanor changed. Her attention zeroed in on the bundle and her shoulders lifted, chest filling
with air, eyes crinkling. She stretched her arms toward it. “Well, bring it over!”

  Tommy and the bundle made their way to stand at Gran’s right hand, a smug smile plastered on his face.

  Gran took the bundle and held it up.

  Then Lil’s breath caught in her throat as the bundle was revealed. “Gran...” she whispered.

  Gran raised an eyebrow. “Not bad if I do so say myself.”

  Lil’s expression didn’t falter though tears sprang up in her eyes. She cleared her throat before she asked, “When?”

  “Took it out the same day I showed you the flyer. You missed the commotion, holed up in the office as you were. Had Tommy get up in the attic and the damn fool fell while he was up there.”

  Tears threatening to turn her into a soup sandwich, Lil brought a hand up to cover her mouth. “I love it.”

  Gran went on, ignoring the sheen of tears as she knew her granddaughter would want, “I did the beading, replaced the ribbons, and took it in a bit for you.”

  Lil swiped escaping tears from her cheeks with the back of a dusty hand. “It’s perfect.”

  “You always cared about how you looked for competition.”

  Lil grinned and pulled her grandmother into a hug, and whispered a quiet “thanks” into the top of her short gray hair.

  Gran smiled. “You’re welcome, caterpillar. Time to go show off your colors.”

  Lil gave a sly grin. “And win some money.”

  Gran chuckled along with her nod, “And win some money.”

  Lil reached for the vest.

  Eyeballing her granddaughter’s hands, Gran kept hold of it, opting instead to turn it slowly so Lil could see the whole thing.

  The design was simple: a black leather vest with fresh darts sewn into the back so she could wear it without looking like a child in an adult-sized costume.

  Dusty and grayed, permanently, she knew from the experience of having tried to buff and polish it for her granddad, it was thick and tough, intended to protect, but soft, ever willing to bend in for a hug, just like her granddad.

  The back, though, that had become a thing of magnificent beauty, born again and anew through the addition of thousands of microbeads, sewn by hand to create the iridescent black, cream, blue, and rust-colored spots of a black swallowtail butterfly—Oklahoma’s state butterfly, and the source of the nickname her granddad had given her and their ranch—Swallowtail.

  He said she rode like a little butterfly landing on a flower, unconcerned and lovely.

  Gran had replaced her granddad’s old ribbons with new ones in colors that matched her incredible beadwork. The ribbons were sewn across the breasts on either side of the vest, as well as let to dangle freely.

  The vest had been her granddad’s favorite one to wear to gatherings and rodeos. The beading, a skill she learned early in her marriage to make her new husband proud, was all Gran.

  By offering it to her, her grandmother was giving her something of him to take along, a way for him to ride with her. By adding the beading and new ribbons, though, Gran had given herself, as well. As always, they would be with her.

  “Thank you.” She sighed.

  “You’re welcome, dear girl. I’ve got one more nearly done for you—the old brown one. Did a bison theme on that one—to remind you that you’re too stubborn to lose.” She cackled at her own joke before slapping a hand on Lil’s back. “Now get back to practice, girl. You got a whole lot more to be doing than just standing on top of a ball.”

  4

  Two more weeks of “a lot more,” and an eight-hour drive later, Lil stood outside the main gate of Houston’s Blue Ribbon Arena.

  She was battered and bruised—her wrists and right shoulder taped, her stomach churning.

  She felt better than she had in years.

  Cameras, people, and cowboys flowed in a sea all around her in varied currents, pulling in every direction.

  Tailgaters filled the parking lot with grills, folding chairs, and dueling country music stations. Reporters had stationed themselves everywhere, territorial, wearing logos from ESPN, ESPN2, Fox Sports, as well as all the local stations.

  Lil had never been to a rodeo with so much television coverage.

  Reporters with microphones roped likely-looking cowboys wearing safety-pinned contestant numbers into interviews, as if the place wasn’t crawling with hundreds more just like them.

  When released, the cowboys went back to prowling around like wild dogs with nothing to do. The reporters went back to roping.

  The qualifier kicked off in two hours. That gave her two hours to sign in and pick up her competitor number, before heading back to her car to gear up. She’d left the ranch with enough time to spare but not with so much that she would have a lot to kill. Less time for nerves to build.

  For the qualifier, she wore her granddad’s black vest, a pair of black jeans, her faded old black boots, and her junior champion buckle, the first one she ever won.

  The buckle was at Gran’s insistence—for luck.

  Lil wondered if that made the T-shirt something old, then?

  Now that she was out of Gran’s sight, she could roll her eyes. The other kids were going to make fun of her—no buckle at all was better than wearing a youth buckle.

  She had freshened the shaved sides of her head before the sun was up that morning, giving herself lightning fade lines on either side of her head for flair. The long curly hair in the middle was tightly braided into a fishtail braid that started at her hairline and ended in the middle of her back. Without a single strand out of place, the braid was a perfect replica of the fish bones it was named after. It’d only taken three tries.

  Lil skipped on wearing a hat until it was required. Cowboy hats made her look like a fifteen-year-old boy playing dress-up.

  It was bad enough she was compact and muscular everywhere a woman ought to be soft and round—she didn’t need a hat to make her look any more like an underage male.

  She didn’t wear jewelry or makeup for practical reasons: makeup could drip into your eyes, and jewelry could get ripped out. Her only accessory was her rope, but that was fine. The vest was loud enough.

  She left her riding gear in the car. Even at a “rodeo like no other” one typically didn’t need to be in costume at the registration table.

  The noise level increased the closer to the entrance she got, but she became a part of it. Rodeo was like riding a bike, something you never forgot—a symphony made up of the unintelligible stream of intercom announcements, the staccato bursts of words you wouldn’t want your grandma to hear you say, clinking spurs, spit hitting solid ground, and bravado—and all of it punctuated by the muffled stampede of a thousand cowboy boots pounding dirt and pavement.

  It could have been the sound of her own heartbeat.

  Lil closed her eyes, a feral grin spreading across her face. She breathed deep. It was good to be home.

  A reporter tapped her shoulder, killing the moment.

  “You’re a contestant?” the woman shouted to be heard over the blare. She had a Houston 5 badge on, salon blond hair, and shrewd brown eyes. “You look young. What’s your story? Why are you competing tonight? You think you’ll make it?” The woman fired questions faster than Lil could blink while her cameraman filmed.

  The woman was at least a head taller than Lil, but as Lil was five-foot-two, most adults were.

  Lil opened her mouth to reply. “I—”

  “You getting this, Don? The kid’s eighteen if he’s a day.”

  Don grunted his confirmation as Lil started to correct the woman. Before any sound came out, though, the woman returned to the camera with, “We’re outside the arena at the PBRA Closed Circuit rodeo. Dubbed the first-ever reality rodeo show, it’s poised to change the way the world rodeos! Tonight, hundreds of young hopefuls try out for their opportunity to travel with the
Closed Circuit for the next month in a tournament-style rough stock rodeo—as well as their shot at winning one million dollars! We’ve got one such hopeful with us now. Tell us, young man, what’s your name, and how do you think you’ll do out there tonight?”

  The woman shoved the mic in front of Lil’s mouth, and Lil found herself replying without thinking, “Lil, and I’m just looking to get a good ride out there tonight.”

  The mic zipped back to the reporter’s very red lips, and Lil was instantly forgotten as the woman wrapped her segment.

  Free once more to make her way to registration, Lil gave a nod to the cameraman and headed off. She could worry about correcting people if she made it into the competition. If not, it wouldn’t matter if people thought she was a young man.

  She made it another six feet before another woman with a camera caught her. This one was shorter, her brown hair cut into a sharp chin-length bob. She wore thick black-framed glasses and a bright green PBRA Closed Circuit Staff T-shirt. Holding her own camera, she had the aura of an intern.

  Lil spotted a WTF bracelet, and her eyes narrowed. A social media intern.

  “Hi there,” the girl chirped brightly. “You look like you’re trying out? I’m getting quick bios and shots of the cowboys trying out tonight. Mind if I take a few minutes?” she asked.

  Lil shook her head. “No...”

  The young woman smiled. “Great! First off, where’re ya coming from?”

  Lil answered, “Muskogee.”

  The intern smiled an icebreaker kind of smile and said, “A real live Okie from Muskogee!”

  Lil returned the smile like she hadn’t heard that line at every rodeo she’d ever been to in her life and said, “That’s right.”

  “One of the unique features of the Closed Circuit is its open qualifier. That means even complete novices can try out.” The young woman eyed her. “Have you ever competed in a major PBRA event before?”

  Lil heaved a mental sigh at the girl’s odd specificity, but her smile didn’t waver. “I have not. I was a junior champion and competed professionally in the Indian rodeo circuit...” She regretted the words before they were out but couldn’t take them back. It was the worst thing she could have said. She looked like she was trying to prove something. Her granddad had always said silence was the best response. Your words couldn’t make a fool of you if you didn’t say them.