Николас Спаркс - The Longest Ride

Once in my room, I undressed and crawled into bed. Moonlight streamed through the windows, turning the room silver. I could hear the rolling sound of the waves, soothing in its monotony, and after a few minutes, I felt myself drifting off.

Sometime later, and though I thought at first that I was imagining it, I heard the door open. I had always been a light sleeper – even more so since the war – and though only shadows were visible at first, I knew it was Ruth. Disoriented, I sat up in the bed as she stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She was wearing a robe, and as she approached the bed, she undid the knot in a single fluid motion and the robe slipped to the floor.

A moment later, she was in the bed. As she slid toward me, her skin seemed to radiate a crackling electricity. Our mouths came together and I felt her tongue push against my own as my fingers traced through her hair and down her back. We knew enough not to make a sound, the silence making everything even more exciting, and I rolled her onto her back. I kissed her cheek and trailed feverish kisses across and down her neck and then back to her mouth, lost in her beauty and in the moment.

We made love, then made love again an hour later. In between, I spooned her against my body, whispering into her ear how much I loved her and that there would never be another. Through it all, Ruth said little, but in her eyes and her touch I felt the echo of my words. Just before dawn, she kissed me tenderly and slipped back into her robe. As she opened the door, she turned to face me.

“I love you, too, Ira,” she whispered. And with that, she was gone.

I lay in bed awake until the sky began to lighten, reliving the hours we’d just spent together. I wondered whether Ruth was sleeping or whether she, too, was lying awake. I wondered whether she was thinking of me. Through the window, I watched the sun rise as if being heaved from the ocean, and in all my life, I have never witnessed a more spectacular dawn. I did not leave my room when I heard low voices in the kitchen, her parents trying not to wake me. Finally I heard Ruth come into the kitchen, and still I waited for a little while before putting on my clothes and opening the door.

Ruth’s mother stood at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee, while Ruth and her father were at the table. Ruth’s mother turned to me with a smile.

“Sleep well?”

I did my best not to look at Ruth, but from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw the tiniest of smiles flash across her lips.

“Like a dream,” I answered.

12

Luke

At Knoxville’s arena, where Luke had last ridden six years ago, the bleachers were already nearly full. Luke was in the chute, experiencing the familiar rush of adrenaline, the world suddenly compressed. Only vaguely could he hear the announcer laying out the highs and lows of his career, even when the crowd grew silent.

Luke didn’t feel ready. His hands had trembled earlier, and he could feel the fear bubbling up, making it hard to concentrate. Beneath him, a bull named Crosshairs thrashed and reared, forcing him to focus on the immediate. The rope beneath the bull was held taut by other cowboys, and Luke adjusted his wrap. It was the same suicide wrap he’d used for as long as he’d been riding, the one he’d used on Big Ugly Critter. As he finished adjusting the wrap, Crosshairs wedged his leg against the rails, leaning hard. The cowboys who’d helped tighten the rope pushed back against the bull. Crosshairs shifted and Luke quickly jammed his leg into position. He oriented himself, and as soon as he was ready, he said simply, “Let’s go.”

The chute gate swung open and the bull lunged forward with a savage buck, his head plunging down, hind legs reaching for the sky. Luke worked on staying centered, his arm held out as Crosshairs began to spin to the left. Luke cut with him, anticipating the move, and the bull bucked again before suddenly shifting direction. That move Luke didn’t anticipate and he went off center, his balance shifting slightly, but even then he stayed on. His forearms strained as he tried to right himself, holding on with everything he had. Crosshairs bucked once more and began to spin again just as the buzzer sounded. Luke reached for the wrap, freeing himself in the same instant he leapt from the bull. He landed on all fours and got quickly to his feet, heading toward the arena fence without turning around. When he reached the top, Crosshairs was already on his way out of the arena. Luke took a seat on the rails, waiting for his score as the adrenaline slowly drained from his system. The crowd roared when it was announced that he’d scored an 81 – not good enough for the top four, but good enough to keep him in contention.

Yet even after he’d recovered, he spent a few minutes unsure whether he’d be able to ride again, the fear coming back hard. The next bull sensed his tension, and in the second round, he was tossed only halfway into the ride. While in the air, he felt a surge of panic. He landed on one knee and felt something twist sharply before he toppled to the side. He went dizzy for a second, but he was operating on instinct by then and again escaped without harm.

His first score was barely enough to keep him in the top fifteen, and in the short go, the final round, he rode again, finishing ninth overall.

Afterward, he didn’t wait around. After texting his mom, he started the truck and peeled out of the parking lot, making it back to the ranch a little after four a.m. Seeing the lights on in the main house, he surmised that his mom had either risen early or, more likely, hadn’t gone to bed.

He texted her again after turning off the engine, not expecting a reply.

As usual, he didn’t get one.

In the morning, after two hours of fitful sleep, Luke hobbled into the farmhouse just as his mom was finishing up at the stove. Eggs over medium, sausage links, and pancakes, the flavorful aroma filling the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, reaching for a cup. He hid the limp as best he could as he moved to the coffeepot, thinking he’d end up needing a lot more than a cup or two to wash down the ibuprofen he clutched in his hand.

His mom studied him as he poured. “You’re hurt,” she said, sounding less angry than he’d expected. More concerned.

“It’s not too bad,” he said, leaning on the counter, trying not to wince. “My knee swelled up a bit on the drive home, that’s all. It just needs to loosen up.”

She brought her lips together, obviously wondering whether she should believe him, before finally nodding. “Okay,” she said, and after shifting the frying pan to a cold burner, she enveloped him in a hug, the first in weeks. The embrace lasted a beat longer than usual, as if she were trying to make up for lost time. When she pulled back, he noticed the bags under her eyes and he knew she was operating on as little sleep as he was. She patted him on the chest. “Go ahead and have a seat,” she said. “I’ll bring over your breakfast.”

He moved slowly, taking care not to spill his coffee. By the time he’d straightened his leg beneath the table in an attempt to get comfortable, his mom had set the plate in front of him. She put the coffeepot on the table, then took a seat beside him. Her plate had exactly half the amount of food she’d put on his.

“I knew you’d be late getting in, so I went ahead and fed the animals and checked the cattle this morning.”

That she didn’t admit to waiting up didn’t surprise him, nor would she complain about it.

“Thanks,” he said. “How many people came by yesterday?”

“Maybe two hundred, but it rained a while in the afternoon, so there’ll probably be more people today.”

“Do I need to restock?”

She nodded. “José got some of it done before he went home, but we probably need some more pumpkins.”