Chapter Twenty-Nine
Trethan
I pulled up at the ranch George had directed me to, looking around the place with a frown on my face. It was clear that George hadn’t bought the place too long ago and renovations were still ongoing. A pile of timber sat off to the left side of the driveway, some of it new and some of it obviously torn from older buildings around the place. The house was freshly painted, as was the bright red barn behind it, but the shed to the right of the house was dilapidated and looked as though it could fall down at any moment. Three fences needed serious repairs, some of which surrounded dirt fields where I could see horses, off in the distance.
With the state of things, no animals should have been around there.
I got an uneasy feeling in my gut, wondering if maybe George had bitten off more than he could chew. Or more importantly, if he had any idea what he was doing.
But then, I saw Larry striding toward me from the barn. He must know what he was doing; he’d been on the circuit long enough. I was just used to the Lazy J, where John ran everything with the precision and attention of a military stable. Anyway, with the number of workmen scattered around the scene, I was sure that things would improve soon.
I didn’t have much of a choice in this, anyway. I told Vanessa I would get the money for her, and her face had been filled with hope when I told her about the plan. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have told her about it until I was able to hand over the money because if I failed, it was going to be such a letdown for both of us.
But I’d just been so excited about it. Anyway, what was the harm? I wondered. I am the king of the mechanical bull at this point, and riding a real bull couldn’t be all that different, could it?
“Good morning,” Larry said, reaching over to shake my hand in his firm, assessing grip. His eyes scanned my face, and after a moment, he scoffed and released my hand. “You’re cocky.” He walked around me, sizing me up. “I figured as much when George introduced me to you, but I didn’t realize how cocky you were. Overconfidence will get you killed.”
I rolled my eyes. “You haven’t even seen me ride yet,” I said. “Maybe I have a reason to be cocky.”
Larry raised an eyebrow at me. “George tells me that you’ve never even ridden a real live bull before,” he said.
“I haven’t,” I said defensively. “But it’s the same theory as riding a mechanical bull, isn’t it? You just have to find the rhythm of it, move with it. Don’t fight it. Only real difference is that when you get thrown, you have to get out of the way as quickly as you can. But I can learn that. I’m good at falling at this point. I haven’t gotten seriously bruised up in a while now.”
Larry laughed incredulously. “You really think that’s all it takes?” he asked. “Getting out of the way?” He shook his head and flapped his hands at me. “Get the hell out of here. I don’t have time for this. You’re going to break your damn neck, and that’s not the type of publicity George is looking for.”
“What, just like that?” I asked. I sneered at him. “You probably just think it’s too big of a challenge. Or maybe you’re afraid that I’m going to show you up. You’re so bitter about getting injured and not being able to compete anymore that you don’t want anyone else to be able to have that glory, is that it?”
Larry growled and grabbed me by my shirt, slamming me back against the truck, his face close to mine. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he snarled.
“What the heck is going on here?” George asked, coming out to the porch. He stalked down toward us. “Larry, let go of him.”
Larry dropped me to the ground roughly and backed up with his eyes still narrowed at me. I wanted to throw a punch or two. I practically frothed with anger, but I calmed myself down. I needed that prize money. Vanessa needed that prize money. And the only way to get it was if I got Larry to let me show him and George what I could do.
George turned toward me, a frown on his face. “I don’t know what the hell you said, kid, but don’t say it again if you want to have any part in this competition,” he told me.
“I’m not a kid,” I spat.
He only rolled his eyes in response to that and turned toward Larry. But Larry waved off whatever it was that George started to say and instead pointed a finger at me. “Riding a real bull is nothing like riding a mechanical bull,” he told me. “And if you think it’s the same thing, you’re going to get yourself killed.” He jerked his head. “Come with me.”
I glanced toward George and then followed Larry across the ranch, still marveling at the shoddy conditions of the place. We entered a dark barn, where I could hear kicking from a few of the stalls. Larry led me along and pointed toward one of the stalls. “That’s Ginger,” he said.
I walked closer and peered over the door to the stall, frowning down at the reddish-colored bull there. He wasn’t doing much, just lounging on the hay, but as I looked down at him, he tossed his head and stood.
The thing was massive, an incredible, muscular beast. It snorted, and I could practically feel the heat of its breath from where I was standing.
“Take a good, long look,” Larry told me. “Now, binding a bull’s testicles isn’t common practice anymore, but they’re still going to buck. And imagine the way it’s going to react to the crowd and the noise. He’s not gonna be happy, and you’ll be the closest thing to him. And you’ll be lying there on the ground, prostrate, after being thrown. Ginger charges at you.”
Larry caught my shoulder and pushed me roughly around to look at him. “You run, but you don’t run fast enough. You’re hurt, maybe, from the fall. Your shoulder took a hit, and you can’t lift your arm to climb up the walls at the edge of the ring. What do you think happens to you?”
I swallowed hard, imagining it.
“That’s right,” he said. Something flickered in his eyes, and he looked away, staring down at the bull. “I was the best rodeo rider in the world for a while,” he said. “And, I still got injured in a competition. It’s not about learning how to fall properly. It’s about respecting the bull and respecting the sport and knowing what your limits are.”
“Why didn’t you ever get back into competing?” I asked him curiously. “I mean, you healed up well enough to ride again, didn’t you?”
Larry stared at me for a moment. Then, his mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “It took two years of daily physical therapy to learn how to move the left side of my body again,” he said. “I still have no feeling in my left hand.”
I blinked, gaining a new respect for the man.
“Come on,” he said, turning and stalking deeper into the barn. There was a mechanical bull there in the back of it, and Larry gestured toward it. “George seems to think you’re something special,” he said. “And for that matter, so do you. So why don’t you show me what you can do?”
“I thought riding a real bull was different from riding a mechanical bull,” I said. “If I’m going to be riding a real bull during the competition, don’t I need to practice on one of those?”
“You do,” he agreed. “But I’m not putting you on a real bull without seeing what you can do on a mechanical bull first. The last thing I need is for you to get gored on your first ride. I don’t want to get my truck all bloody taking you to the hospital.”
That was fair enough, I figured.
I hopped on the mechanical bull, and Larry tsked. “Your form is all wrong,” he said. “I can tell you’ve never even ridden bareback on a horse. Jesus, we’ve got a lot to work on.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I snapped, starting to get annoyed at how discouraging he was.
I thought I caught a hint of a smile there, but it disappeared as he stepped forwards. “Sit farther forward, for a start,” he said. “You’re not in a saddle. There’s no reason for you to be back that far. And sit up. Your weight should be in your thighs, not down on your butt like that. Think of when you’re riding a horse, if you were just bouncing on your ass, you’d be in for a pretty unpleasant ride. It’s the same principle here.”
“Like this?” I asked.
“Yeah, something like that,” Larry said, sounding almost disinterested as he went to start the bull.
We only got through a couple bucks at a relatively easy level before Larry shut the thing off with a noise of disgust. “You’re doing it all wrong,” he said, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest.
With a growl, I got down off the bull, moving off to the side and standing with my arms folded. Larry got up on the bull and nodded at me. “Go on,” he said.
I sneered at him and cranked the dial up so that the bull would be going full speed right from the start. But that didn’t seem to faze Larry, who rode the thing with practiced ease.
“See the difference?” he called.
I scowled, but nodded shortly, watching him. After a few more rotations, I shut off the bull. Larry rode it until it stilled and then looked over at me.
“You’re clinging to the thing,” he said. “Which works when you’re at the bar, I’m sure. But that’s not the way you ride. You’ve got to keep your hand up, like this. You’ll be disqualified if you touch either your leg or the bull during the competition. Trick is to let it relax and move with the bull’s movement. As you drop forward, let your arm go up. As the bull settles back, let your arm come down a bit. Not all the way down, though.”
I nodded stiffly and got back up on the bull. As soon as one arm was up in the air, the thing became a lot more difficult to stay on top of as it bucked and whirled. It wasn’t even going at its highest speed, and I still came flying off, hitting the ground hard in surprise.
“I knew this was a mistake,” Larry muttered under his breath.
I got up, feeling winded. “Come on, that was my first try,” I told him. “Coach me. Quit just giving me negative comments about my performance.”
“Fine,” he said. “Get on.” I did, and he came over and moved my legs. “There,” he said. “Hold on with your legs, not your arms. Keep your toes pointed in. If you dig in with your heels, you’re only going to spur the bull to buck harder.”
I nodded and went for another round, but again, I went flying quickly after Larry started it. He made a frustrated noise and cranked the intensity down even further as I climbed back on the thing. We kept going like that for another hour, until I was bruised and sore — but starting to make some progress.
As I pulled myself up off the floor one more time, Larry finally nodded. “Come on,” he said, gesturing for me to follow him. I did, frowning when I saw the live bull in the pen leading into one of the arenas. Was he really going to have me ride a live bull for the first time after I’d already taken such a beating that day? I wondered. But it appeared that he was.
“Get on,” he said, nodding toward the animal.
I did as he said, not even bothering to question him at that point. I was exhausted, but I wanted to prove that I could do this. I clung to the idea that he wouldn’t have me out there if he didn’t think I could do this. He was reluctant to let me injure myself; that would reflect badly on the new school.
A horn sounded, and a couple guys pulled the gate open in front of us. The bull ran straight out into the ring, bucking in a mostly front-to-back motion rather than whirling like the mechanical bull did.
It was incredible, feeling such a powerful beast in between my legs like that. I struggled to stay on top of him. It was exhilarating, like winning a fight or like-
My train of thought broke as I found myself unexpectedly flying through the air. I’d leaned a little too far forward when the bull went down, and I couldn’t keep hold with my legs as the bull went back onto its hind legs. I rolled through the fall and stayed there in a crouch for a moment. Then, suddenly it clicked: the beast was turning toward me, a look of murder in its eyes. This was no mechanical bull.
I ran as fast as I could toward the edge of the ring, jumping high on the fence and scrambling out of the thing’s reach. The handlers got the thing back under control. I sat there for a long moment, trying to catch my breath, feeling my heart hammering as adrenaline coursed through me.
“You did better than I thought you would,” Larry said from outside the ring, his arms folded across his chest. “That wasn’t anything impressive, of course. You only made it three seconds, and that’s five seconds short of what you need in competition. But I guess it’s a starting point.” He spat off to the side and then turned on his heel, stalking off.
I stared after him and then looked back toward the bull. I was going to need to practice hard if I wanted to bring home the prize money. But as an image of Vanessa swam into my mind’s eye, I knew that the bruises would all be worth it.