The Wildest Ride--A Novel

by Marcella Bell

  He ran a hand down his face, letting out a loud breath.

  Things were getting complicated.

  This was why it was always a better idea to save the wildness inside of him for the bulls and broncs. Anywhere else, whether it was the top of a hill in Houston or a dingy hole-in-the-wall in Ardmore, and there were consequences.

  Brow furrowed, he returned to the article, forcing himself to start with the words, to read through the entire thing, before he let himself look at the rest of the pictures.

  But as he finished, reading the final line with a smug grin, Lil chose the moment to throw open the door of the second-place RV and dash down her stairs, dressed in full rodeo attire as if they were due to go on within the next hour, instead of eight.

  Her hair was braided and she wore no makeup or jewelry, which meant she was probably heading out to practice or ride or something else having to do with the actual work of rodeo, as opposed to the promotions work of the Closed Circuit reality rodeo.

  Taking her in, he at least had the answer to his question about her practice habits. Of course she practiced, there was no way a body could show up like she did, ride like she did, and not practice—that he’d even considered the alternative was crazy. She just practiced in the wee hours, when no one was around, the little sneak.

  But there were plenty of people around now. And buried in the why was a fantastic reason to grin.

  Lil stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed the crowd, which had gotten only louder since her door opened.

  “You’re a regular idol, Lil.” AJ’s smugness was heavy enough to crack through the pavement.

  She shot him a wary glance, her eyebrows drawn low and together as she opened her mouth.

  Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the greenie from before running over to greet her. “Can I help you with anything, Lil?” he asked, confident, if overly friendly.

  “No, no thanks,” she sputtered.

  AJ almost laughed. It looked like Lil was dealing with her own consequences this morning, and while it might sting a little that, fresh pressed and ready to go as she was, hers didn’t seem to have anything to do with him, the look on her face suggested that they were her particular brand of miserable.

  “Anything at all?” the kid asked again, face hopeful.

  Lil repeated, “Uh. No thanks. I think I’ll just go back inside.”

  “You’re not even going to ask what all this is about?” AJ asked lazily, gesturing to the mob of estrogen, which took his motion as a signal to get louder.

  She shook her head, already taking steps backward.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he said, grin growing to nothing short of shit eating. “I think you really might be interested in the source of all of this hullabaloo.”

  Cringing, Lil kept backing up. “I’m sure I can catch up in my RV.”

  Shaking his head slowly, AJ advanced on her, catching her delicate wrist in his hand.

  Their audience erupted at the contact—as he’d known they would.

  That his body would as well, his senses heightening, his attention zeroing in on the place where their skin touched, the incredibly tiny bones that went toe-to-toe with massive beasts, was a surprise. So was Lil’s quiet inhalation.

  At least she wasn’t as unaffected as she appeared. If the article was to be believed, which he didn’t for a minute, she was much more than unaffected.

  But while his body was ready to pick up where they’d left off the night before, his mind had a bit more insight as to how they’d gotten here in the first place now. And had, perhaps, even identified a course with which they might once again end up in the place where it seemed both his mind and body wanted to go.

  AJ nodded to the greenie. “Why don’t you read Lil Sorrow the article?”

  Eager to assist rodeo’s brightest new star, the redheaded greenie read the article aloud.

  “Like the cowboys of old, on the surface, Lil Sorrow is a woman of few words—outwardly as cool, calm, and collected as the flint her eyes call to mind. But boiling below lurks the passionate heart of a primal fighter—and lover—as fierce and free as the wild mustangs she’s here to catch. Lil Sorrow is pressing the limits of the sport as we know it—and, if she’s lucky, she just might catch a dream-come-true love along the way.”

  The greenie paused to offer them a sly playground smile before continuing.

  “Both sides of her head are shaved, her fresh fades accented by lightning bolts on either side. Her long fishtail braid reaches down the middle of her back, and even without knowing she rides bulls better than most men, it’s already clear she’s cooler than I’ll ever be. About a foot shorter than your average rodeo cowboy, it’s more than her pretty features and femininity that throw off the scent of rodeo around her. With her tailored clothing, often black, always at the front edge of fashion, she initially looks more like a television personality than a real cowboy—but you’d be mistaken to believe the impression. In fact, though you’d never know it, the slight figure rocking the rodeo world, utterly redefining what a champion looks like, is one of the most traditional riders the PBRA has seen in a decade. With her thick, straight eyebrows, and naturally curling lashes that perfectly frame the mystery of her storm-gray half-moon eyes. She’s certainly the prettiest.”

  Lil’s eyes bulged as the greenie continued reading.

  “A born and bred rancher, Lil is the old-fashioned real deal, having learned the tricks of roping and riding working the family land—but her story goes deeper than that. She’s no mere ringer, though—the girl comes from good stock, the granddaughter of INFR champion Herman ‘The Horsefly’ Island. A bad start early in his PBRA crossover meant Herman never fully achieved his dream of being the first major crossover from the INFR to the PBRA, but now, nearly three decades later, his granddaughter is here to get the job done. But for the first woman to reach rough stock riding heights, a PBRA buckle isn’t enough—not when her one shot to show the world that girls can ride as well as the boys also happens to be the final tour for the legendary AJ Garza. ‘The stars just aligned,’ she says with a faint blush and a private laugh, referring to the surprise announcement that Garza would be entering the competition. ‘I’ve followed him since he first appeared on the scene. I love him... The opportunity to be up close and personal is a dream come true. All that said, though, obviously I’m going to try to beat him,’ she adds with a twinkle in her usual gaze. Her words are all the more intoxicating, delivered as they are by a voice that sounds like an old-fashioned mixed by a bartender with nothing to prove.”

  A sound bubbled out of Lil’s mouth that AJ would’ve called a croak, momentarily interrupting the greenie, who picked back up with the final paragraph of the article.

  “Well, this reporter, for one, couldn’t be happier for her or for the world of rodeo—she’s the best new thing the sport has had to offer since they added bareback broncs to the roster. Watch out, rodeo, watch out, world, and mostly, watch out, Garza. Your days on top are numbered.”

  The warmth he felt hearing the words read out loud could only be described as wicked.

  Proudly, the greenie concluded,

  “Because in the end, my money is on Lil, who winked on her way out, tossing over her shoulder as if it explained everything, ‘Skill is sexy,’ and even though I’m happily married and old enough to be her father, heat rushes to my face and I know she’s right. Skill is sexy, and she’s got it in spades. And judging from the famous kiss we all saw, Mr. Garza sees it, too.”

  Lil grimaced, but AJ urged the greenie on. “Keep reading.” The kid took a deep breath and went on.

  “In the realm of rodeo, more famous for clinging to images of a mythologized Wild West that never quite was than for breaking new ground, she’s just what the doctor ordered. A breath of fresh country air. Unsurprisingly, it has taken a woman to get the job done, reminding us every time she en
ters the arena what the heart and soul of rodeo is really about: man pitting himself—or, in this case, woman pitting herself—against the greatest forces that nature has to offer. Whether they be a three-thousand pound man killer, or the most dangerous beast of all: love.”

  AJ smiled as the greenie finished reading the article, the young man’s voice going syrupy along with the author’s final sentiment.

  “He’s not wrong, you know,” AJ said through the Cheshire cat grin stretched across his face. “Even if he gets a bit sentimental toward the end.”

  Lil’s mouth had dropped open, her skin going a shade somewhere between ashen gray and brownish green.

  AJ added idly, “About you being pretty, I mean.”

  A squeak emerged from the back of Lil’s throat, sounding as if it were coming from far away.

  AJ’s mood was improving by the minute.

  Head shaking, in too loud a voice, Lil insisted, “That’s not what I said.”

  It was obvious it came as an absolute surprise to her that her words might be misrepresented in print. That it did was one of the few signs of just how green she really was.

  Audiences always fixated on sex—especially reporters.

  The greenie piped in proudly, “You went viral!”

  “Oh no.” Lil’s lips came together, lush and full, as distracting naked as they’d been stained red, while she brought her hand to her forehead.

  “You’re internet famous now,” AJ said cheerfully.

  Eyes closing, she moaned, the miserable sound nothing like those he’d heard the night before.

  His mind’s willful return to the sights and sounds of the previous evening, despite the fact that in reality they’d amounted to little more than heavy petting in the end, wasn’t the kind of relived experience of youth he was looking for when he’d had the idea to ride for CityBoyz, however.

  “For all the wrong reasons,” she muttered to herself, under the noise of the greenie clapping beside her. “This is terrible. I didn’t say that.”

  She was repeating herself, but he didn’t hold it against her. It was a lot, all at once.

  “But Lil, I had no idea...” he began.

  Her now-famous gray eyes darted to him, narrowing as they went. “Don’t you even think about it, Garza.”

  “...that you were in love with me,” he finished.

  The greenie squealed beside them, whipping his phone out to catch the interaction on film, the chorus of Lil’s screaming girl army like a full orchestra in the background.

  Lil’s face turned red and she opened her mouth, undoubtedly to unload some words that might not be airable on the evening news, for which AJ was both eager and delighted, when she thought better of it, clamped her mouth shut, and made a mad dash back to her RV.

  He shook his head after her, feeling lighter than he had before. The retreat would only fuel the belief that she carried a torch for him, but she’d have to learn that on her own.

  Outside of the arena, Lil was like a Great Dane in a room full of mousetraps. On the back of a beast, though, she was all calm focus and silky control. Not so much as a hint of temper or reactivity. Those who rode by temper were erratic, muscling their victories out with brute force and deep spurs.

  AJ felt for the draws of those riders. Especially the horses.

  Unlike the last show, which had showcased a series of timed events, the OKC stop was an homage to saddle bronc riding, rough stock at its prettiest.

  If there was one place in the rodeo where temper didn’t belong, it was the saddle bronc ride.

  Whereas bareback riding was an exercise in taking a beating, saddle bronc riding was one in finesse. It was the only rough stock event that truly demanded style and grace alongside the ever-requisite strength, precision, and grit—it turned cowboys into dancers.

  Like everything else that perfectly fused form and function, it was considered classic. By this point in his career, AJ had mastered all of the classics.

  Saddle bronc riding evolved from breaking and training wild horses. To AJ, that translated into coaxing raw and untamed power to follow your lead. It was meeting wildness with the strength of your body and will and convincing it that where you wanted it to go would be good for both of you—uniting two wild spirits in a primal dance, movements complementary and synchronized, an encounter as old as humans on horses.

  The event required perfect control balanced alongside the fluidity to constantly adjust and respond to the present moment. The prize was worth it if you could manage, though: man and horse temporarily one—a centaur for eight precious seconds.

  It was his most treasured and strongest event.

  Altering his plans in the face of the unforeseen teenyboppers, AJ followed Lil’s lead, returning to the first-place RV, confident the security of his position in the top spot was under no threat.

  Two hours later, when AJ came back out, there were even more young women in the crowd.

  Security escorted all twenty-five contestants, protecting them from the crowd of women as they made their way from the RVs to the arena.

  Like everything else they did in the Closed Circuit, they walked in order of rank. Lil followed AJ, Hank followed Lil, and so on, all the way back to the last, a phalanx of cowboys on their way to the battlefield.

  Behind him, Lil was quiet, her boots hitting the ground the only real sound coming off her. She took two steps for every one of AJ’s. They marched that way all the way to the arena, trudging in in single file.

  As first-place rider, AJ opened the evening’s competition, riding right after “The Star-Spangled Banner” and the local girls’ riding club’s trick riding presentation.

  When a greenie signaled, he mounted his bronc in the chute. Grabbing the thick bronc rein with his right hand at just the spot he liked it, he marked up his spurs and raised his left arm in the air, elbow slightly curved.

  This time, he had a fiery draw, banging them both against the sides of the chute.

  There would be no repeat of the last Closed Circuit bronc he’d ridden.

  He tensed his thighs and the outer muscles of his shins, using the strength in his legs to hold his mark over the dig of his spurs. The gate swung open and man and horse leaped out.

  AJ’s grip was uncompromising, his arm fully controlled. His lifted arm swayed in time with the horse’s bucking, touching neither man nor beast.

  He followed the horse’s rhythm with his spurring, heels making contact each time the horse’s forelegs touched ground.

  The seconds stretched into long measures of the body’s endurance, but AJ maintained. Eight seconds flashed the end of his ride and then the pickup men were at his side, taking control of the horse. He dismounted to the cheers of the audience and a score of 96, with a strange buzzing in his ears.

  Returning to the gate, he found a good spot to watch Lil’s ride. What limited free space there was in the competitors’ staging area was filled with teen fans—more than he’d ever seen at a single event. They were in every space that wasn’t cowboy or greenie, a highly charged colony of fangirls.

  AJ shuddered. They were going to eat Lil up, but only after serving her on a silver pedestal.

  Steeling himself, he wove through them to find a space near the chute.

  Lil shot out, well marked, her form exceptional, as usual.

  She and her bronco hit their sweet spot instantly—bucking and spurring in time like choreographed dancers.

  She rode in a way that turned frenzied seconds into lazy, smooth stretches of time, more akin to hours passing on the porch than urgent struggles for survival.

  The buzzer rang, the pickup men rode out, and Lil hopped free, having made the saddle bronc ride look like an evening at the ballet.

  Her ride earned 98 points, a new PBRA record, and the stadium went nuts, and amidst the deafening noise, one thing was absolutely clear: sh
e might have “loved” him as a teen, but she loved beating him as a woman even more.

  17

  Lil woke in the second-place RV still buzzing from her ride the night before. The entire world might think she was nothing more than a lovesick superfan chasing after AJ Garza, but she was still riding the best she ever had in her life.

  Thinking about him, she wondered what he was doing before chastising herself for the direction of the thought, which proved she was exactly the lovesick superfan the world thought she was.

  At seven in the morning he was probably sleeping—which was entirely beside the point since it shouldn’t matter to her what AJ was doing at all, especially now that her feature piece had so grossly misrepresented her feelings toward him.

  Though how she would describe her feelings, or their relationship, she didn’t have an answer to. They’d kissed and more, going further and faster than she had with anyone else before, and they treated each other more like teammates than competitors, but they were by no means something more. And how did she reconcile that with the part of her that had never been casual physically?

  Her actual words in the interview had been, “I love seeing him in the arena. The chance to watch him in action, the opportunity to be up close and personal to an idol, is a dream come true.” She’d been expressing the sentiments of a longtime admirer rather than a desperate ring hunter. And while he might be handsome, and as amazing in the arena as she’d unfortunately gushed, and capable of magic when his hands and lips got involved, he certainly wasn’t what she was looking for when it came to a relationship.

  So why all the easy touching? Why kiss him like kissing didn’t mean something? a counter voice protested.

  None of their kisses had been meaningless, and it would take both a liar and a fool to convince anyone of that. She had watched AJ rise to the top of the sport that was her whole life, doing it his way, as her granddad had taught her to do. It was normal that the fact that he was handsome and charming and intelligent would nudge that longtime admiration in a stronger direction. What wasn’t normal was the way it was impacting her. She’d never been one to budge an inch once she’d made her mind up, not even in the face of all the nudging—and cajoling and begging—in the world.