“And now, the ride you’ve all been waiting for. The final ride of the night, and folks, this is for all of the proverbial marbles, and I ain’t kidding. Now this young man, Dean Longstrider, he’s got a lot on this ride. He had the highest score on Thursday night. He had the highest score on Saturday night, and folks, if he gets a score of 92 or better, he’ll win this purse, and this purse is nothing to sneeze at. No sir, it’s not. This purse has been generously doubled by our good sponsors at Franklin’s Chevrolet and it’s up to twenty thousand semolians, and you don’t need me to tell you, that’s a lot of semolians.”
It was a lot of semolians, especially for an amateur night in Cody, Wyoming.
Marisol whipped her apron off as the event announcer, Rocky, rattled on, filling the time between the bull riders. “I’ll be right back, Mama! Dean’s about to ride.”
“Did you clean the range?”
“Yes, Mama, everything is cleaned and the money box is counted up. I’ll be right back!”
Marisol flew from her mother’s food truck and under the packed bleachers to the tall fence around the arena. The chute gates were on the opposite side and her heart jumped to her throat as she waited for the sound of the buzzer that would mark the beginning of Dean’s ride. He was going to win the purse. Everybody knew it. Nobody could ride a bull like Dean Longstrider. Not even his uncle Rory, and Rory was a legend on the pro circuit.
Marisol grew up watching young men risk their necks and their lives on the backs of raging bulls. Her father, Ernesto, was a bull fighter and had been saving the lives of those young men for over twenty years. When she asked him if he’d ever seen anybody sit a bull like Dean, Ernesto had admitted that he couldn’t think of a single cowboy. Her heart had swelled with pride for her friend as she nodded in her head in agreement.
“He’s the best,” she’d gushed. “I think he’s the greatest I’ve ever seen.”
“He’s not the best. Not yet. Boy still has a long way to go to prove himself.” At her crestfallen face, Ernesto had added, “But he’ll get there. He’s got the talent, anyway.”
The gate suddenly crashed open and the giant red bull leapt into the arena. It did a hard twist in mid-air and slammed to the ground with a bone-breaking thud. Its hooves barely hit the dirt before it was dancing again, jumping and twisting and kicking its hind legs out as hard as it could. Dean sat astride the bull with perfect form, his spine straight and left arm extended high over his head.
“Three...four...five…” Marisol counted under her breath, fingers clutching the chain link fence. Until she started watching Dean, she never understood how long eight seconds truly lasted. But Dean’s grip was strong, and though the bull did its best to fling him away, the buzzer sounded to the sound of the crowd roaring its approval of the ride. Marisol erupted into loud cheers, clapping and shouting Dean’s name with the rest of them.
She was so excited for Dean that it took her a moment to realize that something wasn’t right. Her father darted out and got hold of the rope around the bull’s girth, but even after the bull stopped kicking, Dean wasn’t jumping free.
“Uh oh, it looks like our cowboy is in a little bit of trouble. Let’s all give a big cheer or our bull fighter Ernie! Cheer loud and help him get Dean out of there.”
Marisol swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. The bull kicked around, giving her a view of the left side where Dean’s leg was tangled in the rope. The animal was beyond furious now, ignoring all of Ernie’s attempts to distract it while his partner, Burt, dodged forward to get Dean untangled.
“Looks like our cowboy is stuck, folks. Give him another cheer! Let him know we’re here for him!” Rocky’s job was to keep talking, keep the crowd upbeat while the professionals got the bull under control, but Marisol wished he would shut up. She’d seen this same thing countless times and she knew as long as her father was in the arena, the cowboys would be safe, but Dean wasn’t like the other cowboys. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t even breathe, until the rope came free and Dean flung himself away from the raging bull.
The bull fighters moved quickly, Burt putting himself between Dean and the bull, and Ernie acting as human bait, taunting the bull until it charged him. Ernie dove out of the way at the last second, but the bull kept running right on back to its pen.
“Burt and Ernie, everybody! And let’s give it up for our young cowboy, Dean Longstrider, who just got a score of 94 from our judges. Not only the best ride of the night, this is the best ride of the whole event! He’s one smiling cowboy tonight, folks.”
Dean took off his hat, walking in a small circle, and waved to the cheering crowd. As he turned towards her, she jumped up and down, waving and cheering. She didn’t think he would see her, but his smile widened and then he was running out of the arena, and Rocky was inviting everybody to remain in their seats for the fireworks show.
That was Marisol’s signal to return to the food truck where her mother, Anna, was just locking up.
“Mari, go find your father. His ribs were bothering him all day and he probably needs your help.”
“Yes, Mama.”
She bolted before the fireworks ended, making it all the way to the pens before the crowd began to disperse. She didn’t see her father anywhere, but she did spot Dean and his brothers, Ralph and Waldo. Unsurprisingly, he was surrounded by a crowd of fans, pushing for his autograph. “It’s not worth much now,” she heard one of the cowboys say, “but it may be worth a cup of coffee in a few years.”
Most of the fans were young men—kids dreaming of the day they could climb on top of the biggest, meanest beast they could find—but not all of them. Ralph and Waldo each had their arm around a pretty cowgirl, and as Marisol approached, Dean mimicked them, pulling a statuesque cowgirl close to his side.
Marisol stopped in her tracks, her mouth going dry. Of course, she knew that there were plenty of girls who made it a habit to get as close to the cowboys as possible. Her mother had names for those girls, and none of them were very nice. It shouldn’t be a surprise to her that Dean got along with those girls. She hesitated, unsure if she should congratulate him as planned or scurry off before he noticed her to find her father.
Deciding on the latter, she half-turned, but Dean stopped her with a shout, “Hey! Marisol!”
She turned back to him, unable to stop her smile as he hurried over to her. “Hey, I was just about to come looking for you,” he said, pulling her into a quick hug.
“I can’t stay, I just wanted to say congratulations. That was a hell of a ride.”
“Did you see it?”
“Of course. You know I never miss seeing you ride.”
“What did you think?”
Marisol laughed. “I think you won twenty thousand dollars!”
“Who’s your little friend, Dean?” The blonde took Dean by the arm and smiled down at Marisol.
“Oh, this is Marisol. She’s Ernie’s daughter and she probably knows more about riding bulls than anybody else around here. Everybody wants to know what my secret is.” He nodded at her, his smile big enough and warm enough to make her forget the interloper for a moment. “Mari, this is Cady. She’s an old friend from way back.”
Marisol offered her hand, even as her stomach twisted into a hot knot. “It’s nice to meet you, Cady.”
“Mari! Come and help your old man.” Ernesto leaned heavily on the stock gate and even from a distance of twenty feet, she could see him favoring his right side. She threw a quick farewell to Dean and happily took advantage of the excuse to get away from him and his old friend.
“We need to get these ribs wrapped,” Marisol said as she draped his arm over her shoulders. Almost as tall as her father and weighing nearly twice as much as his beanpole frame, it wasn’t difficult to support him across the arena. She couldn’t resist looking over her shoulder to catch one final glimpse, but Dean already had his back turned to her, his arm comfortably around Cady’s petite waist.
She didn’t think about Cady again until much later that night, once she was tucked in her own bed. Her mind was free to wander, and it went back to Dean and Cady again and again. It did no good to compare herself to the other woman, but she couldn’t help but note all the ways they were direct opposites. Cady was tall, probably nearly six feet, and willowy with a flawless complexion and clear blue eyes. Marisol was a good six inches shorter and probably thirty inches more around. Her muddy brown eyes didn’t twinkle like Cady’s, and her curly brown hair was usually tangled, not straight and shiny.
Marisol rubbed her hands down her breasts and over her plump stomach and wide hips. She’d started filling out at an early age, and by the time she hit high school, her body was shaped by natural, generous curves and the many long hours she worked with her parents, traveling from rodeo to rodeo. If Dean liked girls like Cady, it was no wonder that he never tried to be more than just Marisol’s friend.
Not that her parents would ever allow her to be more than Dean’s friend. They had a hard enough time letting her talk to him about bulls and his rides. “He might know how to ride a bull, but never forget he’s a Longstrider,” her mom had told her, more than once. He hadn’t only inherited his uncle’s legacy as a bull rider, but his father’s legacy as a bear shifter. Nobody said the words out loud, but it was a well-known secret; a secret Marisol longed to ask him about nearly every single day. Curiosity ate at her. How often did he shift? What was it like? Were his brothers bears as well?
But those questions joined the rest in the pile of forbidden inquiries that also included Do you ever think about kissing me? and Would you like to go for a drive?
Her phone buzzed, letting her know a text had arrived. Her curious frowned transformed into a smile when she saw Dean’s name.
R U busy tomorrow night?
She quickly typed out her response. No plans after the rodeo.
Grab a bite with me?
Yes.
Great. Get some sleep, beautiful.
She smiled, her jealousy over Cady forgotten. Maybe she couldn’t be his girl, but his friendship still meant a lot to her. She would miss him when he moved up to the pro circuit. Good night, cowboy.