by Drake, Laura
Buster sat bare-chested on the bench before his locker, buckling on his shoulder support. “Yep.” His back was covered in freckles, but it was broad and well-muscled. A rider’s back.
Tucker slammed his locker closed. “You gotta give the kid credit. He’s got stones.” He caught Buster’s eye. “Good luck today, cowboy.”
Buster’s smile was bright and goofy. “Thanks, Tuck.” The informal name came off his tongue like he was test-driving it.
“If you ride with your off hand, you are the man, dude,” another guy called.
The riders began an argument over Buster’s odds.
Tuck walked to where Cam sat. “Sorry we missed ya’ll. Nancy’s aunt called, and you know how it is. When women are wanting a hen convention, it’s safer to just go along.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Besides, I knew you wouldn’t be heartbroken to not spend your last night down at my house.”
Cam reached into his duffel for his liniment. He wasn’t getting into a discussion about this right now. Rehashing the ashes of his love life would get nowhere, and it would kill the sweet adrenaline buzz he had going.
Buster stepped into his field of vision, his hand extended. “Good luck tonight, Cam.”
“Thanks, kid.” He took it, but when Buster held on, he looked up.
“No, thank you, Cam.”
In spite of himself, a thrill of pride went through him. “You just needed a reminder of why you do this, that’s all.” Buster pumped his hand more times than necessary.
Once he extracted his hand, Buster wandered off.
“Well, things have changed, haven’t they?” Tuck stood eyeing him.
He unscrewed the cap on the liniment, squeezed out a glob, and slid his hand under the collar of his shirt to rub it on his shoulder. “Seeing how these are my last finals, it’s about time, don’t you think?” He tipped a chin at the young riders, who stood talking to Buster. “I’ve just come to realize what I’ve been too stubborn to see. I’m the old bull in the herd. Younger bulls are taking over the lead. And you know what?” He tossed the liniment back in his duffel and wiped his hand on the back of his jeans. “That’s as it should be.”
“You’re not getting a massage?”
Tuck didn’t miss much. “Nah. I think I’ll sit behind the chutes and watch the stands fill.” He smiled at Tuck’s dumbfounded expression. “And if I find a cameraman on the way, I may have something I want to say.” He picked up his equipment bag and Thermos, then walked away whistling.
CHAPTER
30
Katya swallowed heavily and set the kit beside her boot at the gate to the arena.
He’d rather go into the finals with his shoulder tight than have me touch him? If that were the case, Dusty could have done his massage. If Cam was stiff, it would delay his reaction time and he’d get hurt. Of all her nightmares about the finals, that one was the worst.
He didn’t get his tea. She’d had her Thermos in the training room, waiting to give it to him. She’d even practiced what she’d say: Thank you for your help with Buster. I know you may be mad at me, but I want you to know that I’m still rooting for you.
After spending time together every day of the break and every minute of the last week, it felt like she’d had an amputation and kept reaching for the part that was no longer there.
Cahill cold turkey is a bitch.
Her mind kept worrying at the impossible knot of their impasse, looking for a way around it. She hoped Cam wasn’t spending any amount of time doing the same or he was going to be distracted and get hurt for sure. Besides, that knot always ended at the brick-wall truth. She had no choice, and neither did Cam.
She also knew that rather than spending hours running over the bombed-out hulk of the past, she should be looking ahead. To the army.
You’d better start focusing on a nearer future than that, like the next two hours’ worth.
If she were improving as Dr. Heinz said, wouldn’t she feel different? Less afraid? Because she wasn’t. Even armed with Cam’s advice on dealing with fear, and a full pocket of Dusty’s candy bars, her knees had too much give. She stood at the gate, shaking like an overbred Chihuahua.
Peering through the slats, she didn’t see many empty seats. Of course, this was the finals. That meant the cowboys would face a full lineup of the toughest bulls in the world. There would be injuries; possibly bad ones. It was ludicrous to pray for a trauma-free night for the riders. But that didn’t stop her from looking to the roof of the arena and sending a heartfelt one up anyway. Overhead, the speakers blared out a song about enjoying pain. She winced at the irony. The songwriter obviously never shook in her boots.
The lights went down, and JB Denny’s deep, familiar voice filled the arena. “Welcome ya’ll, to the World Finals! The toughest riders and the rankest bulls in the world have converged on Las Vegas to prove who is best.” The crowd roared. “This isn’t the rodeo. The guys in the arena aren’t clowns. This is bull riding! This is the P—B—R!”
She put her fingers in her ears, but even knowing the flash-bangs were coming didn’t stop her from jumping.
How the hell are you going to handle Kandahar, where incoming aren’t choreographed? That shrink is a hack.
The finals and the moment of her truth had begun.
The riders were introduced amid blowtorch flames and percussion. When the spots rose high above the arena floor to introduce the Coolest Hand of them all, she squeezed her eyes shut to keep from looking for him. The world dished out enough painful images. No need to inflict the one of Cam at his finest on herself—what she couldn’t have—in Technicolor.
When the lights came up, she checked the equipment one last time, then glanced to where Doc Cody stood on the catwalk above the chutes. He pantomimed eating. She pulled a Butterfinger out of her pocket and showed it to him. When he wagged his finger at her, she sighed, unwrapped the candy bar and took a bite. A sugar-rush was not going to help her nerves, but…
“Cam, can I get a quick interview?” a female voice called.
Katya whipped around; Cam walked down the steps to the chutes, chaps flapping. He didn’t limp, but she knew from the line of his jaw that his knee was hurting. And his Thermos of tea is in the damned training room!
You could run…
By the time she got back, he’d be lost in the crush of riders on the catwalk. Besides, she knew her duty; she couldn’t leave her post.
Lisa Bentley, microphone in hand trailed by a cameraman, waited at the bottom of the stairs.
“You bet. In fact, I’ve been looking for you.”
The woman’s look of disbelief morphed to professional perky the second the camera lights came on. “I’m here with two-time world champion Cam Cahill. With all the young guns coming up, what do you think of your chances in the finals this year, Cam?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t plan on winning, ma’am. But I’m sure every other man here would tell you the same.” His blue eyes looked straight into the camera. “I wanted to let the fans know. This is my last finals. I’m retiring at the end of the week.”
A flash-bang went off in Katya’s chest. Ask him what’s next for him!
“Wow, that was sudden. I think we all knew you were coming to the end of your career, but still, that’s a shock.”
“I guess I just realized it’s time to let some of those young guns you talked about have their day.”
“Have you thought about what’s next for you? Are you planning to remain involved in the sport?”
“Yes, I intend to offer my expertise as a bull riding coach. I’m hoping to be able to pass on some of the knowledge I’ve learned over the years.”
The warm ball of pride that expanded her chest exploded on her face as a grin. He was going to make a great coach. He’d have a good life.
“What made you decide to do this now, Cam?”
He hesitated the span of three heartbeats. “I guess I just realized that I can’t grab the good stuff that’s next if I�
��m holding tight to what’s already passed. It’s time to let go.”
The ball in her chest became a blowtorch that burned her heart to cinders. Had he been talking to her?
“Well, we certainly wish you the best of luck, in the finals and in the future. We’ll all be rooting for you, Cam.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and, without a glance around, turned to climb the stairs. He did it slower than he had on the way down. His pain hurt her in places massage wouldn’t reach.
Katya turned back to the gate.
You should have brought his tea. You knew you’d see him.
She’d been distracted by the last-minute craziness before an event, and her post for the evening. Idiot.
She spent the first four rides clinging to the fence slats, willing the riders to stay on. They didn’t, but they did manage to scurry to safety.
Tommy Seaver was the fifth and she backed up when he opened the gate and exited the arena to the crowd’s applause.
“Good try, Tommy.” She looked him over to be sure he was uninjured. “If that bull wouldn’t have hipped himself in the gate, you’d have ridden him, sure.”
“Thanks, Smitty. I’ll get the next one.”
“No doubt. Why don’t you go have Dusty ice your hand? You don’t want it swollen tomorrow.” She stepped aside to let him by.
JB Denny’s voice pulled her back to the action. “Here’s the ride everyone’s been waiting for. Buster Deacon was the hot rookie on tour until a bad wreck on Bone Dancer sidelined him six weeks ago.”
From where she stood, she could only catch a glimpse of Buster’s profile as he lowered himself into the chute. Intently focused, he looked determined. Brave.
“He damaged his shoulder and it should have ended his season right there. But Deacon has stepped up to try to do the impossible. He’s going to attempt to ride a finals-caliber bull with his left hand. There’s been a lot of speculation on whether he can do it, or if he’s plumb crazy. Well folks, we’re about to find out. Either way, this cowboy deserves a big round of applause.”
The crowd jumped to its feet, their approval shaking the rafters.
“Just to make it tougher, he’s drawn Mighty Mouse, a two-time PBR Bull of the Year. The Mouse has been on tour a long time, and he may have lost a step, but I can tell you he’s come here to prove that he can still bring the goods. I know, because that’s my bull.”
Katya wiped her sweaty palms on the pockets of her jeans. All she could see now were the riders around the top of the chute. Cam stood on the side, pulling Buster’s rope. His lips moved next to Buster’s ear as he handed the rope over. Probably giving advice, though she’d bet the men right beside him couldn’t have heard; the crowd’s noise was deafening.
Suspense coiled in air gone dense and it was hard to breathe.
She scanned the crowd and found Buster’s parents, two rows up in the riders’ family section. Tom had his hat off, waving it over his head, yelling. Maydelle stood, hands clasped as if she were praying.
Katya knew when the gate opened because the noise hit the exposed skin of her forearms and face like a concussion grenade. Crossing fingers on both hands, she stepped to the fence and peered through the slats.
The black-and-white spotted bull hit the dirt with a four-hoof thump, then started spinning. Mighty Mouse was small, but made up for it with speed.
Buster never settled. He leaned to the inside, then shifted his hips too far to the outside. The bull went round so fast its spots blurred to gray and Buster was pulled to the inside of the spin.
Muscles taut, Katya twisted right, then left, trying to help him balance. If he fell off to the inside, the bull would be spinning right on top of him.
Even with the pulsing roar of the fans, she could hear the cowboys on the back of the chutes, pounding the metal slats, screaming encouragement.
Buster hung ninety degrees off the bull’s side when the buzzer sounded. He let go, but his hand stayed locked in the rope. As the bull spun, the centrifugal force pulled him horizontal, two feet off the ground. The bullfighters did their best to distract Mighty Mouse, but they couldn’t get close with Buster’s spurs passing their faces every rotation.
Katya grabbed the trauma kit and put her hand on the gate latch. Her lungs heaved, and her heart banged her ribs so hard it hurt.
Please God. Not this redhead. Not again.
God must have heard, because in that instant, Buster’s hand popped out of the rope. The force threw him across the arena to land fifteen feet from the bull facedown in the dirt.
In an eye blink, he was up and running for the fence, but he needn’t have bothered. The second the rider was off, Mighty Mouse stopped spinning. Staid as a milk cow, tail flicking, he sauntered out of the arena.
“Now how’s that for talent, Las Vegas!” JB Denny’s voice boomed over the screaming crowd.
Buster hopped on the fence. The brace wouldn’t allow him to raise his bad arm, so he took off his hat and spun it into the crowd. Tom and Maydelle ran to meet him. Tom pumped his hand while Maydelle held her son and cried.
JB had to shout into the mic to be heard. “It may not have been pretty, but it still counts for a score. Buster Deacon bests the bull for eighty-one points!”
The crowd loved him. Katya loved him.
She put a hand over her heart, clenching her dog tags under her thin shirt. “Thank you, God.”
Cowboys thundered down the catwalk stairs to meet Buster when he came past her through the gate. They pounded him on the back and shoulders in congratulations, all talking at once. And Cam was right in the middle of the crowd.
She watched the celebration, choking on conflicted emotion. How could a broken heart feel so full?
Thanks to his win in Anaheim, Cam had the last ride of the night. Gripping the fence at the back of the catwalk, he flexed to squat, until his knee crunched with an iron band of pain. He settled for stretching his back instead.
With a clang, the chute to his left opened and the bull and rider lunged out. He was up next. Adrenaline zipped through him. He pictured a blue web of electricity hovering just over his skin, giving him superpowers. Juvenile maybe, but his force-field visualization had worked his entire career. His muscles were stronger. He felt younger. He was invincible.
Cool Hand Cahill was in the building. He’d ride anything they put under him.
He pulled at his riding glove, making sure it was tight.
The buzzer sounded, dumping more adrenaline into his blood. He took the step to the chute, where his bull waited. He’d drawn Patient Maker, a huge brindled Brahma that had bucked him off in Baltimore.
He climbed and straddled the chute, shaking the slip knot out of the rope he’d put on the bull a few minutes before as it stood in the aisle, waiting to advance. He handed the tail of the rope to Tuck, touched his boot to the bull’s back, just so he wouldn’t be startled, then lowered himself. The Brahma had a huge hump, making his rope placement farther back than he’d like.
As the bull turned his head to look into the arena he leaned against the back of the chute, trapping Cam’s bad knee. He hissed air through his teeth. “Somebody grab the bull stick. This dude is squeezing me.” He slipped his mouth guard in, then scrubbed his palm up and down the rope to activate the stickum.
Jody lowered the heavy red plastic two-by-four between the bull’s shoulder and the chute, giving Cam a pocket of room.
Tuck stepped onto the chute slat before pulling Cam’s rope the standard three times. He bounced the rope off the back of his hand to test it. “One more, Tuck.” He pulled again on his glove, then eased it into the handle of his rope, only peripherally aware of the announcer reeling off his accomplishments and the noise of the crowd. When Tuck handed him the rope, he took a wrap around the back of his hand, twisted it, and laid it in his palm.
Tuck leaned over the chute and yelled over the noise. “He’s going to take a steep jump out, then duck out from under you. He could go either way, but be sure you�
�re sitting back, or you’re going over his head.”
Cam closed his fingers over the rope, pounding them closed with his fist.
“And for God’s sake, haul ass for the fence, after. This sucker’s mean enough to have a squeeze chute in hell.”
Cam listened, then pushed all that to the back of his mind. He pushed his hat down on his head, and sidled up on his rope, looking for a good foothold.
This wasn’t the bull’s first event and it knew when the gate was fixing to open. It lunged forward. Someone grabbed the back of Cam’s flak vest to keep him from going face-first into the padded bar at the front of the chute.
His senses sharpened with his focus. He heard the whistle of the short breaths he took in and out of his nose, his heartbeat a trip-hammer in his ears. The muscles of his jaw strained, clamping down on his mouth guard. He focused on the flakes of sawdust in the tuft of hair between the bull’s horns. The adrenaline screamed power through his body. This bull didn’t have a chance.
The hump seemed massive between his thighs. He felt the bull’s muscles tense as he set his feet.
Keep your eyes on his head. Keep your feet moving. Stay up for that first jump.
Run fast.
He took one last gulping breath. “Buck him!”
The gate man clicked the latch. The bull lunged.
CHAPTER
31
Katya waited to hear the crowd roar that would signal the beginning of Cam’s ride. She kept her eyes on the sponsor’s sign on the opposite end of the arena, even though the writing seemed to swell and shrink with the cadence of her breath. Her knees shook like aspen trunks in the wind. Her hands were their fluttering leaves.
Please, God. One more time. You owe me.
She’d gladly bargain. God could take her life right now if he’d keep Cam safe.
She had to look. The crowd erupted as the huge humpbacked bull burst from the chute, bucking like it wanted to kick the lights out. The crowd saw it coming; the arena hushed. The bull reached vertical, then overbalanced. They went over slow, so slow she had time to see the red tissues inside the bull’s distended nostrils and the surprise in its white-rimmed eye.