Lynette Eason - Rodeo Rescuer

* * *

Seth watched Mia Addison entertain the crowd with the two dogs who traveled with her wherever she went. They were great for filling up the downtime that happened between rides and events. Adults loved her show as much as the kids. Seth let his gaze wander the area. Where was Tonya? She’d said she’d be right behind him.

Tonya Waters. The woman who’d started to come to mind more often than not. He’d thought he’d seen her slip into the supply room and had planned to grab a private moment to ask her out. Only he’d found another man following her.

Someone who’d scared her enough to send her into hiding. Just as he’d been about to open the door to the storage room and call out to her, she’d opened it herself. The sheer terror that had stared back at him for that brief moment before she realized it was him stayed with him and he planned to ask her about it as soon as he could.

He drew in a steadying breath and climbed the gate, balancing himself on the top rail. Soon he’d throw his legs over and drop onto the bull who pranced and snorted. He glanced up. Still no Tonya.

He’d noticed her from the moment he’d met her, but she’d belonged to someone else. Now she was single again, her boyfriend killed in a freak bullfighting accident. He’d heard through the grapevine that Tonya still blamed herself a year later. The sadness in her eyes drew him, made him want to offer comfort. Which was crazy. His eyes scanned the area again. His already tense muscles bunched harder. Had the guy who’d frightened her gone back to find her? Where was she?

As though in answer to his silent question, Tonya stepped into the arena, rolling her barrel. She wore loose-fitting clothes that would enable her to move freely and quickly. Underneath the brightly colored shirt, she wore a vest. The vest and the barrel would protect her—somewhat—if the bull came after her.

Seth shuddered to think of it, but she was a professional. She did her job so he could do his. He swung his legs over the rail fencing and settled himself on the back of the bull. Then he gathered the rosined rope near the bull’s neck.

“You ready for this?” Jake Foster, one of Seth’s good friends and another bull rider, asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Jake, Seth Starke, Daniel Sanders and Monty Addison, Mia’s brother, had been the four buckaroos. Until Daniel had died. Now it was the three of them, and while they fiercely competed against one another for the prize money, they were best friends who still mourned the loss of Daniel.

“We going out for drinks after this?” Jake asked.

“You know I don’t drink.”

“Come on, man. You know the strongest thing I’m talking about is a root beer.”

Seth gave a low chuckle. He did know that. Jake was a recovering alcoholic and had been clean for five years. “We’ll see how this ride goes.”

“I’ll even drive.”

Seth snorted. “No way I’m getting in your trash heap.” The man literally had garbage stacked to the ceiling in the backseat of his king cab. Drink cups, food wrappers, magazines and old newspapers. It had become a joke among the friends. No one would ride in Jake’s truck for fear of getting lost amid the trash. Seth suspected the man did that on purpose. Sure saved him on gas money when he rode with someone else.

“I’ll clean it out just for you.”

“Right.”

“Seriously, I’ll—”

“It’s okay, Jake. You don’t have to try and take my mind off this ride. I need to focus.”

“I know.” His pal shut up and helped Seth settle in. Seth passed the rope between his pinkie and ring finger, then over the top of his hand across the back and around again to thread it under where it crossed his palm. Then he moved the rope between his middle and index fingers and clamped down hard.

He was ready.

No, he wasn’t.

Fear flared. “Do you ever think about Daniel before you ride?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Every time,” Jake said. He’d watched his friend die just as Seth had. Then six months later, Seth had fallen and been horribly injured. He knew Jake had to wonder if he was next.

“Where’s Monty?”

“He was on the computer in the break room last time I saw him. The orders are rolling in.” Monty and several of the other buckaroos ran a side business selling Western wear through an online store. “Don’t worry—he’ll be here. Like you said...you just focus on staying on.”

“Right.” Focus would be a good thing. Staying on would be even better.

For Seth the flashes of falling off the bull six months ago wouldn’t fade. He’d been back riding now for two months, training and working. And each time he got on one of the beasts, the images from the past came forward to taunt him. Focus.

Mia and her well-trained dogs ran from the arena to the resounding cheers and applause of the entertained audience. Mia used dogs, while Tonya defied death walking a high wire and being shot out of a cannon. Mia would be back in about fifteen seconds to help Tonya bull-fight.

The clock ticked. Mia returned in a flash of color and renewed applause. She moved opposite of Tonya and waited on the other side of the gate.

A third bullfighter, Rhett Jamison, grasped the rope he’d use to pull open the gate when Seth gave him the signal. Tonya met his gaze then gave him a slow nod. The timekeeper held the stopwatch next to Seth’s head. He’d press the button as soon as the gate opened. His muscles bunched and he forced them to relax. He’d have to move with the bull, not fight him. He nodded to Rhett.

Rhett pulled the rope and the gate opened. The bull shot out and went into his rocking north-and-south bucking motion. Seth kept his free arm up, his stomach tight, his weight centered over the hand that gripped the rope, muscled legs clamped against the beast’s sides.

Eight seconds. Just do it for eight seconds.

He knew what he was doing. The ride felt right. Good. The fear fled. Exhilaration filled him. He let his body flow with the movement. Time slowed; the roar of the crowd faded. It was just him and the bull.

The bell sounded. Elation zipped through him. He’d done it again. He’d stayed on. The rope slipped. He frowned and felt himself falling. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Wha—?

Seth was on the ground, his lungs straining for air. The past rushed back to hit him and he steeled himself for the pain, for the bull to trample him. He tried to breathe, to roll, and couldn’t move.

A hoof hit his newly healed leg. Pain ricocheted through him and blackness descended.

* * *

“Seth,” Tonya whispered even as she, Rhett and Mia went into action. Mia moved, flapping her arms. The bull turned in her direction and galloped toward her. She ran for the barrel, then dived inside. The bull stopped and turned back to focus on Seth and the men who’d already jumped into the arena to grab him. But there was no way they’d get him over the fence in time if the bull charged.

Tonya raced forward, her brain whirling. She had to buy the men time. She yelled and snagged her horn from her pocket. A fierce blow loud enough to hurt her ears confused the animal. He stopped and turned to look at her for a brief second.

Then ignored her and charged back toward Seth. The men almost had him over the fence.

Tonya dashed over to slap the bull on his hindquarters, then dart off to the right since he had his head lowered and to the left. The animal roared, pivoted in the direction she’d anticipated he would. It bought her some time, but not much. He finally came after her. Mia, who’d climbed from the safety of her barrel, waved her hands and yelled, but the bull had Tonya in his sights and wasn’t being distracted.