The Wildest Ride--A Novel

by Marcella Bell

  In the Closed Circuit, there were more reasons than money to run ahead of the pack.

  Above the fleet, the sky was the kind of dark that only five thirty in the morning could achieve, and AJ was the first contestant on site.

  He stood ten feet from the vehicle that would be his for the first leg of the tour, an oversized duffel bag hanging over one shoulder. Around him, greenies hauled black tubs with yellow lids from truck beds to storage compartments beneath the RVs while the green-shirted folks on the media-team side scuttled around taking photos and shooting video.

  AJ hadn’t always been an early riser—it was something that Henry had drilled into him over their twenty-four-year relationship—but now he considered it one of the things that gave him an edge.

  Taking in the pristine RV in front of him, luxury in every way, though slightly smaller than the one parked in front of it, he realized he wasn’t quite ready to give up that edge yet.

  In fact, he was going to drop his bag off and go on a quick run.

  Contestants weren’t expected to check in until eight, and the caravan wouldn’t be hitting the road until nine—plenty of time.

  As he reached into his pocket for the keys they’d mailed him, a light switched on in the first-place RV. Lil Sorrow walked out of what AJ guessed was the bathroom, head tilted to the side, drying her long hair with the towel in her hands. The thin white tank top she wore emphasized her slender, toned frame.

  After taking what seemed like too long to dry her hair, she shook the towel out and did a quick hotel-style three-fold like she was going to hang it up all nice and pretty.

  Obviously uptight, AJ thought, shaking his head with a smirk. That, or she was keeping the place nice because she knew she wouldn’t be there long. Maybe bareback bronc just happened to be her one event.

  As if she sensed she was being watched, Lil Sorrow’s head whipped in AJ’s direction. Their eyes met, and something like genuine horror flashed across her face before her arm shot out to flip the blinds closed on a glare.

  For a second, AJ didn’t move, feeling almost guilty, like he’d been caught peeping or something. He shook himself to clear the sensation. She had been fully clothed.

  AJ ran a hand down his face, once again thrown off by Lil Sorrow. Who was she? She came out of nowhere but rode like a seasoned pro—and had an attitude to go along with it.

  As AJ’s thoughts settled, his mind began processing other details of the scene. She had come out of the shower in her trailer. That meant she had beaten him to the site.

  Hell, a shower this early probably meant she had beaten him to a morning run, too.

  AJ made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat, unlocked the door to the second-place RV, and stepped inside. The woman was really starting to become a thorn in his side.

  10

  The drive from Houston to Dallas had been one of the smoothest rides AJ had ever taken. He’d never have thought it, but RVing wasn’t a bad way to travel.

  Yet another thing the old folks were right about.

  Thoughts like that wove through his consciousness the same way stray gray hairs showed up in his stubble.

  The signs he wasn’t getting any younger.

  Fortunately, with age came good sense. He was past both the age and income bracket where he should have to tolerate discomfort.

  And Winnie, as he’d begun calling the RV, was damn comfortable to drive.

  The driver’s seat sat high and plush with the kind of view that made you feel like the king of the road. Adjustable armrests and an ideally positioned steering wheel meant long stretches of driving remained gentle on the shoulders, elbows, and wrists. He appreciated that on a day when he had an event, particularly as tonight’s rodeo was dedicated to roping and wrestling.

  The Closed Circuit officially kicked off with a demonstration of the basic ranch skills that were the seeds of rodeo: steer wrestling and tie-down roping. But to make sure the folks of Dallas didn’t go home feeling like they’d been cheated out of a real show, the Closed Circuit was upping the ante.

  Every cowboy was going to do both events in the classic rodeo style. For wrestling, that meant cowboy in the box, calf behind the rope, hazer helping out. For roping, it would be just cowboy and calf.

  After that, things got creative. For the second round of wrestling, each cowboy would have to do it without a hazer. For the second round of roping, the Closed Circuit had created a ranch simulation with one cowboy, seven calves, and one goal: rope your mark just like you’d have to out on the range.

  Contestants would be given two hours for practice in the arena before the space was cleared out to prepare for the show, but there would be no time to practice with multiple calves.

  The exercise was a first, like just about everything else about the Closed Circuit, so nobody had an advantage on that front—but any cowboy that had ever worked a real ranch damn sure had a leg up.

  AJ hadn’t worked on a ranch a single day in his life.

  Although he’d finally shed his gym rat label after his third championship, the rub hadn’t become any less applicable. AJ might be the greatest rodeo cowboy in a generation, but he’d learned everything he knew in a downtown Houston gym.

  As the son of two teachers, rodeo wasn’t exactly in his blood.

  Well, that wasn’t quite true. His father came from multiple proud Tejano lines—all of them Texans longer than Texas.

  There’d been more than a few cowboys in that ancestry.

  But his mom had been born and raised in Houston’s third ward, as her parents had been before her. There hadn’t been a cowboy or a farmer in that family line since 1865.

  And if things hadn’t gone so wrong with his dad, he’d never have discovered rodeo himself. Blessings disguised as tragedies.

  Ahead of him in the caravan—the driving order of which reflected the Closed Circuit standings—Lil Sorrow’s RV signaled and turned left onto the off-ramp. They’d arrive at the arena in another fifteen minutes.

  * * *

  Two and a half hours later, AJ lay in the soft dirt of the arena grounds, grinning like a fool. The calf he’d been practicing with gave a moo, and he quickly untied her. The greenie timing him called out three-point-nine seconds, and his grin stretched wider. Six attempts, and all of them under four seconds—that meant a certain shorty’s days in that first-place RV were numbered...

  Around him, other contestants practiced to a symphony of shouted advice. As usual, a few coaches had approached AJ, but, as usual, he’d declined their assistance.

  He worked with The Old Man, or alone.

  It wasn’t just because he was loyal, though that was true, as well. He’d just learned a long time ago not to trust every helping hand that came his way, and he’d learned it just like he learned everything else: the hard way, at the rodeo.

  Whether it was cowboys trying to sabotage the competition or sweet little bunnies that wanted to get a little closer to his money, jackals had been sniffing around him since back in the days when he’d still been called an up-and-comer.

  It was hard to keep your money a secret when you made it in front of audiences of thousands. He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Rodeo had saved his life.

  After his dad moved out, he’d been a wreck. Literally. He’d wanted to wreck everything, and he had.

  He started with his bike. Red, with chrome accents, it had thick, high-tread tires and straight handlebars. It was a grown-up bike, not just a kid’s neighborhood bike, but also a bike he could take with him when they went camping in the desert. In his head, he’d named it Stallion, though at twelve, he’d never have in a million years admitted that out loud. He and his dad had spent his whole birthday putting it together, and he hadn’t resented a second of the time. He took it with them camping two years in a row. The second time, at thirteen and with no idea what was coming, he’d ridden the
bike out farther than he’d ever gone from camp.

  He’d brought a flashlight and a telescope. He’d used only the telescope. The moonlight had been enough to ride by. He made it back to camp to find his mom and dad sitting at opposite sides of the fire, looking up at the stars. They’d smiled and asked what he’d seen. He’d told them the constellations he’d seen, and when they got home, they told him they were getting a divorce.

  A week after that, he found the tallest hill in Houston that also had railroad tracks at its base. The requirements were oddly specific, but so was his intent. He waited for two hours and then let go. The train’s horn had been shrill and urgent, but not enough to save the bike.

  A light tap on his shoulder shook him from the memory. A young man in a green shirt stood above him, shifting his weight from side to side.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Garza. Practice time is over. We’ve got to clear the arena now.”

  AJ rose to his feet, head swiveling around. The arena had cleared out to just him and a handful of staff while he’d been lost in thought.

  He shook his head to clear it, but it didn’t bring an accounting of the lollygagged time back—more signs of age.

  As he followed the staffer out of the arena, it occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Lil Sorrow come in at all during the practice window. AJ had been the first in and, unintentionally this time, the last out.

  Lil Sorrow was probably one of those who thought prepractice was bad luck.

  AJ hoped not. That type was common but usually didn’t have stamina. AJ was surprised by the disappointment he felt at the thought. He hadn’t realized how much he was looking forward to the competition.

  But anybody who thought they could do two months straight of intense rodeo and beat AJ Garza doing it was going to need a whole lot of stamina.

  Rubbing his shoulder, he walked back to the RVs thinking through the rest of his afternoon: a shave, a shower, and a hot meal. The shower might be cramped, and the meal might be something microwaved, but the whole setup was still cushy compared to what most cowboys were used to on the real rodeo circuit.

  He and The Old Man had slept in the truck and eaten microwaved Chef Boyardee in mini-marts many a night in his early days.

  That’d been a long time ago, though—back when D was still in college and before AJ’d won his first big prize. A lifetime ago now.

  These days he could afford hotels and restaurants. Or, rather, he could during his last days as a pro.

  These days he was retired. Closed Circuit or not, he had to remember that.

  And when he wrapped this up, he was going to go back to Houston and settle down.

  The lie fell flat even to his own mind. No wonder it didn’t work on anyone he considered family.

  He didn’t even have a home to stay in.

  Houston might be where his mother was, where her life and her students were, her school, her house—everything in her life besides him—but he was just a passerby there, a visitor whose real life was spent on the road.

  And while she’d always have a place for him at her house, at thirty-six years old, he sure as hell wasn’t going to move back in with his mama.

  No matter how much she badgered him.

  He’d meant it when he’d said he’d probably find a place near the gym. It didn’t need to be fancy, just a place to crash after coaching. That was the only thing about his future he was sure about. If he wasn’t going to ride anymore, he was going to have a hand in shaping the next generation of champions.

  And if that happened to be in his image, then so much the better. Was that very different from any other man?

  If he’d been more inclined to think ahead, he might have found a steadier career, as Diablo had, but rodeo had hooked AJ young, leaving no room for anything else. Like any other professional calling, a man wanted to leave his mark.

  As far as callings went, rodeo hadn’t done him wrong.

  He’d made good money—enough to buy his mom a house and enough to retire comfortably at thirty-six—and, unlike most, his body was still in good shape. The only crutch it’d left him with, in his eyes, was a long stretch of life ahead of him with nothing much to do with it. What else was there to do when rodeo had been all he’d ever wanted to do?

  Arriving at his RV, he decided to eat first, tossing one of the frozen dinners the competition provided in the microwave. It was fresher than he’d expected but hit the spot only because it was food.

  In the bathroom, the RV’s mirror and sink were fine for shaving, but the shower was too small for a man his size. The water hitting the top of his shoulders and sliding down his back, however, was still a hot, slick massage he appreciated.

  AJ took longer in the shower than he should have, but the water stayed warm.

  He was really starting to fall in love with the RV. He could just get one of these and live in the gym’s parking lot.

  The thought had a certain amount of rich-guy-next-door appeal. Whether parents would be real keen on leaving their children at a facility that boasted the desirable amenity of a single man living in a trailer in the parking lot was, however, questionable.

  A knock on his door drew him out of his thoughts. He turned off the water and hollered, “Just a minute,” before wrapping a towel around his waist.

  Lil Sorrow stood on the other side, arms crossed in front of her chest. The mulish cast of her face widened to alarm as her gray eyes swept down from AJ’s face to take in his bare chest and towel-clad body. Cheeks reddening, she looked away, and AJ fought the urge to let the towel slip a little lower, just to see what she’d do. Nothing too prurient, of course, this was still rodeo after all, but enough to throw her off balance. His need to throw her off balance seemed to grow every time he tried and failed.

  Standing this close, her skin looked more baby soft and creamy than it had before, her cheeks silky brown and perfectly smooth—and blushing. He was staring at her, he realized with a start.

  Straightening abruptly as he cleared his throat, AJ asked, “What’s up?”

  Looking at his feet, she mumbled, “Saw DeRoy messing around over here earlier. Thought I’d let you know.”

  AJ laughed, startling them both. “Don’t worry about him. Hank’s always up to something. He’s been up to something for eighteen years. It’s always harmless and always within the rules.”

  She gave a curt nod and then turned and left without another word, and AJ found he was a little disappointed to realize that, despite the blush, there’d been no pretense or ulterior motive to her visit. She’d said her piece and left.

  Without so much as a goodbye.

  He shook his head, clicking his tongue at her back. Some people just didn’t prioritize manners.

  And AJ had always heard how friendly people from Oklahoma were—just went to show you couldn’t believe everything you heard.

  Alone again, he unwrapped the towel and slid on a pair of boxer briefs. Over those, a pair of dark wash blue jeans and a fitted bright red Western-style button up. He wore fancy shirts for promos and photoshoots but stuck to solid colors for events. He was the flash. His clothes merely accentuated it.

  His belt was dark brown, as were his boots because his mama taught him right. His hat was plain brown leather and also simple. Again, he saved the artistry for the performance.

  Finally, he chapped up and grabbed his rope.

  It was time to go make some money for CityBoyz.

  The RVs were parked in the employee parking lot of the arena, a key card–accessible section at the farthest edge of the farthest corner of the lot. They were also assigned a security guard. It was a funny thing to have an out-of-shape guy with a badge guarding fifty honed and grown men, but AJ figured that was the whole reality TV thing.

  All the contestants were scheduled for a media day tomorrow, and the following day, the first skills challenge of the competition
would take place. Each of the skills challenges was broadcast live as well as recorded for the internet audience, but otherwise performed in front of skeleton crews of media, site stage, greenies, and contestants. The goal of the skills challenges was to show that the Closed Circuit cowboys, unlike other rodeos, were made of more than just showing off in the arena. Closed Circuit challenges were meant to prove that the winning cowboy had the try: in the arena and out on the range, too.

  The first set of challenges each took place in a rural town located somewhere along the tour route. When they were down to the final three, the Closed Circuit would announce the final surprise challenges, each based on the final three cowboys that were going through to the finale.

  For this first challenge, though, they’d be roping wild mustangs in Ardmore, Oklahoma.

  But that was for another day. Before that, and before tomorrow’s media day, was the wrestling and roping he was headed to.

  The volume of the noise grew as AJ neared the arena. So did the size of the crowd.

  There were more buckle bunnies around tonight than there had been in Houston, which was a surprise. Only the most serious buckle bunnies actually followed the rodeo. Most just made sure to be in attendance wearing their best when the rodeo came to town—a fact that AJ had greatly appreciated, coming of age as a rising rodeo star.

  He’d appreciated it traveling around the world, too.

  The Old Man had always been clear about how he felt about things, though, so he wouldn’t be sampling while he rode for CityBoyz. It was a commitment he would have made without The Old Man even having to ask, but because he had, AJ was doubly honor bound.

  AJ pulled his hat lower as he made his way through the crowd. It was easier to navigate when his face wasn’t so obvious. Face obscured, men noticed him only enough to get out of the way. Women still noticed him for more than that, but they didn’t recognize him, and that made all the difference.

  Near the gates, Lil Sorrow had somehow found three feet of space outside the box within which to pace, nerves written all over her. She wore another beaded ribbon vest. This one dark brown with three different shades of brown ribbon. Rather than an abstract pattern, the beading of this one created a picture of a buffalo standing against a sunset silhouette.