"It's okay. Go down again slow," Taggart said in the same calm, steady voice. "Good. Now, move up right into your hand. That's it."
Felicity could see Tommy wriggle forward cautiously.
The bull in the chute right below—her bull—snorted and kicked. She kept focused on Tommy.
"Ready," Taggart asked him.
Again Tommy nodded, one quick jerk. He let go of the rail and raised his arm, textbook perfect. Felicity could see the tension in his shoulders in the one moment of stillness before Jed pulled the gate and the bull exploded out of the chute.
It was over almost before it began. The bull spun sideways. Tommy slipped. His hand dropped. And he was on the ground and scrambling for the fence before Felicity could blink.
"Not bad for the first time," Taggart called. And then he looked at her.
She gulped.
"All right, Felicity," he said, his voice cool and professional. "Let's get you on this bull."
It was odd, she thought, how suddenly the world changed, shrank, and immediately everything around her became sharper, louder, clearer. The bull's back with its loose skin and rough hair. The pits in his one stubby horn. The smells of the resin on her rope and glove, of dirt and manure and chewing tobacco, of somebody's fruity bubble gum.
She was conscious of her knees wobbling. She sucked in a deep draught of air and hauled herself up to straddle the chute.
"Put on your glove," Taggart commanded.
She fished it out of her belt and pulled it on.
Taggart hauled himself up on the rail next to her. He was all business now. Steady. Firm. Dependable.
"Okay. Come on down." His voice had that same soothing tone he'd used with Tommy. Mindless, Felicity obeyed. She felt the loose warm hide of the bull spread beneath her. She felt the bite of the glove into the rope and instinctively rubbed it up and down, getting it warmer and tackier, the way real bull riders did. The way Dirk did with his cello bow.
Dirk.
You weren't supposed to think of anything irrelevant. You were supposed to stay focused, in tune. Taggart had said that. Felicity knew that.
And yet somehow the thought of Dirk gave her the edge she needed to clear everything else out of her head.
"I don't think about where to put my fingers," he'd said to her once when she was talking to him about a very difficult technical piece. "If I think about my fingers, I'll fumble all over the place. I'll hit the wrong notes altogether. I think about the music. I make music. I don't make notes."
"All set?" Taggart asked her. Her hand was wrapped. Her arm was up. Her calves clutched the sides of the bull.
I make music, Felicity thought. She smiled and drew in a breath. "Yes." Her voice was a whisper, but Jed heard her.
The gate swung open. Dirk fell away. Taggart fell away. Sam and Orrin Bacon and the rest of the world fell away.
It was just Felicity and the bull.
He gave a twist. A leap. A spin. She clung for one second. Two. Barely more. The world became a sea of color and motion, of power and thrust. Felicity clutched, meshed, balanced, swayed, flailed—was flung.
And then she had dirt in her mouth and her eyes, and felt the earth shaking beneath her as the bull's hooves barely missed her.
"Here!" Taggart yelled, and she scrambled toward him.
He hauled her up and onto the fence. "Okay?"
She lay half-over the fence, trembling, the world still spinning, all except the deep concern in his eyes just inches away.
"Okay," she said shakily. It had been like holding a tiger by the tail. Terrifying. Exhilarating. Awesome. She spat out a mouthful of dirt and grinned at him. "That's one," she said.
* * *
He admired her spirit, her determination, her grit.
He told his students he could teach them mechanics, but he couldn't teach them try. Felicity had try—in spades. She had everything he could ask for in a student—willingness, commitment, intensity.
He made up his mind to teach her the rest.
"That was a good move right there," he said when he critiqued her ride on the slow-motion video. "You were right where you were supposed to be." He forwarded the tape a few frames further. "See where your hand is here? You're starting to let it drop. When you do that, you pull yourself over to the side." He looked at Felicity.
She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Her braid was coming undone. She nodded, eyes intent on the video. He played the rest of the ride, including her spill face-first into the dirt. She grimaced, then laughed ruefully.
"You'll do better next time."
The smile she gave him nearly melted him in his boots. He steeled himself. "All right, guys … and girl—" he grinned at her "—let's go."
She did do better next time. They were using pretty mellow bulls by rodeo standards. But any bull could give you a thumping, and Felicity lasted almost four seconds on the brindle bull she got on later that afternoon.
"You kept your arm up this time. But there, see where you stopped gripping with your calves?" He pointed. She nodded. The tape rolled on, showing her flying off and landing hard on her shoulder in the dirt. "That's what happens," he said matter-of-factly. "Back to work."
He wouldn't have blamed her if she'd called it quits. But when the cowboys limped out of the room minutes later, headed for the barn, Felicity limped with them.
* * *
Becky was impressed. She'd scarcely believed it when Ms. Albright got out of the car that morning wearing jeans and boots and a hat.
Becky knew she had the expression on her face that her grandpa said would catch lots of flies. She couldn't help it.
She'd been tempted to run back into the house and call Susannah right then, but she didn't want to miss a moment. She'd stayed right by Ms. Albright all day long. She hadn't gone to play at Susannah's that afternoon. She hadn't even gone down to Bozeman to spend the day with her grandparents, though they came up to get her. "I can't," she said. "I gotta stay here."
And watch. Supervise. Pray.
She didn't even stop to think that God might not be listening to a troublemaker like her. He couldn't be leading her on. He couldn't! He wouldn't bring Ms. Albright all the way out here just to grind her into the dirt before Becky's and Taggart's very eyes.
Would He?
Not the God Becky was praying to.
She'd worried quite a bit this past week, because her dad hadn't been exactly easy to get along with. He'd even yelled at her about staying out of his love life and minding her p's and q's.
Susannah said that was normal, but it hadn't felt normal to Becky. Now she thought that maybe Susannah knew what she was talking about.
Except that her father and Ms. Albright didn't seem to be all that happy to see each other. Was that normal? Becky wasn't sure.
She was sure, though, that Ms. Albright would be an okay mom. She decided that after the second bull ride.
"You okay?" Becky asked worriedly when Ms. Albright came limping back to the bleachers where she sat. "You're bleeding." She pointed to a scrape on Ms. Albright's chin.
"Am I?" Ms. Albright dabbed at the cut with her finger, then opened the water jug Taggart had sitting on the bleachers, poured a little water onto a tissue and washed the scrape. Then she fished in her knapsack, rooted around, and pulled out a Band-Aid.
Becky stared.
Misinterpreting the look, Ms. Albright hesitated, "You think it's sissy to put on a Band-Aid?"
Becky shook her head. "I like Band-Aids."
"Will you put it on for me?"
Becky took the Band-Aid and peeled off the paper covering. Then gravely, carefully, she covered the scrape with the sterile pad and smoothed the ends of the Band-Aid down flat.
"There," she said, studying Ms. Albright's chin with satisfaction. She smiled and looked up into her teacher's eyes. Ms. Albright smiled right back.
"Do you like carrots?" Becky asked suddenly.
Ms. Albright blinked, then wrinkled her nose. "Hate 'em."
B
ecky beamed. It was like they were sharing a secret, Becky thought.
She hoped they were.
* * *
By the time they had ridden their third bull, had listened to Taggart critique every ride, and then had gone back over what they'd learned, Felicity thought she might never get up out of her chair.
Every muscle in her body hurt. Every bone. Every sinew. Every ligament. Every brain cell, too, she was sure—provided she had any left.
"That's it, then," Taggart said at last. "See you tomorrow morning. 8:30."
There was a slow scraping of chairs, a few muffled mutters and groans. She was comforted to see that she wasn't the only one easing herself stiffly out of her chair. She pulled on her jacket, picked up her knapsack and headed for the door.
"Felicity." Taggart's voice stopped her. She turned. "I'll call Orrin tonight and tell him you've done it."
"I haven't done it."
"You've done enough. You don't have to ride eight seconds. For God's sake, pros don't always ride the full eight seconds!"
"Pros don't ride bulls like the ones I've been on, either." Though God knew they were rank enough for her. "I have to do it once," she said firmly. "Just once."
If she did, there would be no question in anyone's mind that she had ridden a bull. If she didn't… No, that didn't bear thinking about. She wasn't going to have gone through this for nothing.
"You don't—"
"Good night, Taggart. I'll see you tomorrow."
* * *
When tomorrow came, Taggart was willing to bet, she'd hardly be able to move her eyeballs. He half expected that she wouldn't show up. After all, she wasn't really trying to learn to ride a bull; she was just there to prove a point, and as far as he was concerned, she'd proved it.
But when he came around the corner of the barn the next morning, there she was.
She still had a bandage on her chin, and when she moved, it looked as if she was giving it some thought beforehand. But she was there.
He said, "Back again?"
She said, "And ready to go."
He gave them a pep talk first thing, then reviewed fundamentals. He talked to them about role models and showed a couple of brief video clips of some of the best bull riders in the business today.
"Learn from them," he said. "Watch them. Remember, it isn't the style you want to imitate. It's the mechanics. And the try. Go on now. The bulls are ready. But remember what I told you. It not only works in bull riding, it works in life."
Felicity, sitting in the front row, muttered something under her breath.
Taggart frowned. "What?"
She didn't answer, just lifted her gaze and stared challengingly up at him. Everyone else got up and left.
Some of them rode better than yesterday. Some rode worse. Felicity hit the ground on the second spin. She stumbled getting to her feet and fell again. The bull kicked her in the back.
Taggart heard the sound on the protective vest she wore. He shut his eyes and felt the bottom of his stomach drop. Felicity made it to the fence and scrambled over. Taggart breathed again. He was sweating and it wasn't even hot.
At noon Orrin Bacon showed up. He pulled into the yard in his dark green truck and sat for a minute, looking over the group as they ate hot dogs and bratwursts that Taggart's mother and Tess had fixed. He looked smug and supremely pleased until his gaze fell on Felicity. Then the satisfied smile disappeared.
He got out of his truck and crossed the yard. Felicity, who had been eating with a couple of the college boys, saw him and stiffened. Taggart saw her excuse herself and go to meet Orrin Bacon. It didn't take a genius to guess at the content of the conversation. Orrin asked a question. Felicity answered. Orrin's satisfied smile reappeared.
Felicity turned and came toward him. "We're not done yet, are we?"
Taggart wished he dared say yes. She looked like a stiff wind would blow her away. He didn't see where she was getting the strength. But he owed her honesty. "Not quite. Though from here on out, it's up to you. We're done with the critiquing. We've only got the jackpot left to do."
"What's that?"
"Anybody who wants to enter throws five bucks in the pot. We draw bulls and the guys ride. Just like a rodeo. Winner takes the pot. Two pots, actually, one for the beginners, one for the advanced. They don't have to be the full eight seconds. Just the best ride."
"Guys?" Felicity asked, eyes narrowing.
"Students," Taggart amended.
"So I can enter?"
"You could, but—"
"Good. I will." She gave Orrin a smile of her own.
"Who does the scoring?" Orrin asked.
"Noah," Taggart said. "And my dad." Sometimes he did it himself, but he didn't figure that would cut much ice with Orrin.
Orrin nodded. "All right, little lady. One more chance."
* * *
"Hey, Felicity drew Sunfish!"
"He ain't no beginner's bull!"
"Who put Sunfish in that round?"
"Whoa, wish I had 'im. That's half your points right there!"
"Gotta stick on 'im, though. Won't be easy."
"I can do it," Felicity said in a voice so small that not one of them heard her. It didn't matter. Not as long as she heard herself. "I can do it," she said again.
"You can do it," a small voice echoed beside her.
Felicity looked down. Becky stood looking up at her, eyes as green as Taggart's imploring and supporting her. Felicity smiled faintly. "You think so?"
Becky nodded, then reached out a hand and squeezed Felicity's fingers hard. "I know you can, Ms. Albright. If you want, I'll lend you my lucky spurs."
A weight seemed to lift off Felicity's shoulders. She smiled again, this time inside as well as out. "Thank you, Becky. I'd like that very much."
* * *
Taggart wanted to punch Orrin Bacon in the face.
He sat there at the top of the bleachers, fat and complacent, like some smug toad about to eat a bug. And Felicity was down behind the chutes, preparing to be the bug.
"Sunfish! For God's sake, who put Sunfish's name in the beginner's draw?"
"Oh, dear. I'm afraid I did," his mother said. "I didn't know you had a bull called Sunfish. I thought you meant Sun-bonnet. You know, that nice little Angus bull?"
Taggart knew. It didn't help. He couldn't change things now. Everybody knew about Sunfish. Half of the guys envied Felicity for drawing him. The other half were glad it had been her and not them.
Taggart went back behind the chutes, uncertain what to say. He didn't want to spook her any more than she undoubtedly already was. The first riders were already going. He didn't pay any attention. He looked around for Felicity.
She was standing off in a corner by herself, not looking at the bulls or at the cowboys riding. She was in the midst of mayhem and yet seemed totally by herself. In a zone. He understood. He'd been there himself, looking for that center somewhere deep inside to hang on to.
Just then, she seemed to snap back to the present and look around. Her face was pale, but composed. It was a strong face, he thought now. Her bones were fine, but not frail. There was nothing ethereal or insubstantial about her.
"Felicity?"
She looked at him, seeing him for the first time.
He gave her a grave smile. "You can do it. Knock 'em dead."
* * *
When Sunfish blew out of the chute, he nearly ripped her arm right off. She didn't know how she managed to stay aboard, but she did. Maybe it was providence. Maybe it was grace. Maybe it was the extra suicide wrap one of the boys showed her how to take around her hand.
Whatever it was, she didn't ride pretty, but she rode.
She was whipped and spun, snatched and flung. But her calves stayed hard against Sunfish's sides. Her fingers stayed wrapped in the rope, and her overhead hand stayed high. She made a ride that was full of the clashes of cymbals and the pounding of drums. But in the end, it was music, not notes.
She heard yells and exhor
tations, cheers and shouts. Then she heard the loud blare of a truck horn that went on and on.
The buzzer! she thought. The buzzer! I've made it.
And then she couldn't figure out how to get off.
Wasn't that always the way? Nine times out of ten you got thrown off without wanting to, without even trying. And now, when you wanted—needed—to, you were stuck!
She wiggled her hand, trying desperately to free it, to shake off that last wrap. It held fast. She dropped her other hand, wanting to use it to free herself. But just as Taggart had said it would, brought down low, it threw her off-balance, caused her to slip sideways into the well of the twisting bull.
Jerked and snapped, flung and plunged, she slipped, slid, fell—but still couldn't let go. The bull's hooves caught her legs. Her arm was whipped and yanked, her body trapped. She saw Mace Nichols, who'd been doing the bull fighting, trying to move in close enough to free her. Jed and Taggart appeared out of nowhere, running, yelling, trying to move in, too. Desperately Felicity tried once more to wriggle free of the rope.
Suddenly Mace was next to her, shouldering his way in, catching hold of the bull with one hand and sliding his arm beneath her trapped one, levering it up and breaking the press of her weight against her hand hold.
Free, Felicity thought, free at last!
She fell to the dirt, stunned. Taggart bent over her. His face was ashen. "Are you all right?"
She knew he didn't mean that literally. He meant, Are you alive?
She was. Barely. She managed a smile. "Tell Orrin I know how to ride a bull."
* * *
The EMTs said she had some pretty impressive bruises. They said she had whiplash and that she was lucky she hadn't dislocated her shoulder and it wouldn't hurt to have an X ray just to check on her head.
They might have meant to see if she was concussed, but Felicity suspected they thought she was nuts and that had simply been a polite way of saying so. Maybe she was, but she was satisfied, too.
She was sitting on the table at the back of the classroom where they had taken her on a stretcher to poke and prod and check her over while the rest of the bull riding was still going on. But the minute they finished with her and opened the door, Orrin came directly in to see her.
The Cowboy and the Kid Page 16