Dillon didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. Rightnow he was hoping he could laugh about this. He’d seen Coke get mad and go after a bull more than once. His feet moved before he could stop them, though, and he found himself out in front of the cage, too far from his barrel to do any good. The bull ducked down and caught Coke right in the breadbasket, the son of a bitch going flying, hitting the ground with a dull thud and that bull was on him, hooves flying. Coke stood up, blood pouring down his face, and went back at the bull again, snarling at Nate when the man tried to help.
The crowd was going crazy, David and Ace in the box, mouths hanging open.
And Coke went at the bull again.
Snapping his own mouth shut, Dillon dove for the cage when Coke and Ballbuster came his way, Adam Taggart’s horse a solid wall there all of a sudden. Damn that Coke, he was gonna be sore as hell. Assuming he didn’t get broken again, of course.Asshole.
Adam got the bull roped about the time Nate waded in, with or without Coke’s say-so. Coke stood there, breathing hard, blood pouring down his face.
The gate closed behind Ballbuster about the time David started talking, telling the crowd what a nut Coke was, how that bull had really gotten to him. Dillon rolled off the cage and went to slap Coke on the butt, making sure his mic was off.
“You lost your mind?”
Coke spat blood, tried to mop his face, a flap of skin kinda…dangling. “Don’t. I’m still pissed.”
“Okay. Here comes Doc. I’ll take us into break.” The music started up, David hollering in his ear, and Dillon went to work, doing a running jump to his barrel and standing on top.
Doc led Coke back, the man talking ninety miles a minute, cussing Coke for being an idiot.
His sound man started playing some old-fashioned funk and Dillon made himself get with it and get down, moving his butt, waving his arms to get the crowd with him. They followed along, hooting and hollering, shaking signs at him. The tension eased up and they got with it, Coke not coming out from the back.
Shit. He hoped to hell the man hadn’t hurt his neck or back. That would make him furious. Scared. Shaking it off, Dillon let it go, the next bull flying out of the chute, business as usual.
The bulls were on fire, taking out Sam, and then getting Donny next before heading for the camera man. That had Nate storming to the back during one of his commercial breaks, the steam nearly visible as it came out of the bullfighter’s ears.
Dillon desperately wanted to know how Coke was, but commercials were his golden time, and he knew the crowd didn’t give a shit what he was worried about. “Give me the music for the gymnastic thing, Rob,” he murmured, starting off with a little front flip.
The crowd was into it, clapping as he shook it, popping his ass and riding the pony. When Nate came back out, Coke was right there, stitches black and nasty above one eye and down one cheek.
The music faded away, and Dillon allowed himself to study Coke from across the arena, almost missing it when David asked him what he thought they needed to do to turn the night around.
Cueing his mic, Dillon chuckled. “We need someone to ride a bull, man. You know? You guys remember how to do that?”
One hand down, one up, and Dillon did his best bull rider impression.
The crowd laughed and he thought he saw Packer Stevensflip him off as the guy pushed his hat down farther over those huge bat ears. Packer rode that bull, though, didn’t he? He did the last two seconds hanging half off the side, but he did it.
The hat went flying and the man bounced over to him, grinning like a fool. “You see that, mate?”
He clapped Packer on the back, nodding and grinning. “You did good, buddy. Way to fire it up.”
“Too right. I stuck ‘im.”
He turned his mic on. “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!”
Packer and the crowd—at least some of them—hollered back. “Oi, oi, oi!”
Packer nodded to Nate, got a pat and his rope from Coke, and he went to give away a leather bomber jacket and a pair of tickets to the Final weekend.
It really was just another night at the office.
Hopefully, when it was all said and done tonight, he could make sure that Coke’s day ended better than it had started.
Chapter Eleven
“Coke, I need to take you for X-rays on those ribs, man.” Doc tugged on Coke’s arm and he shook his head, growling as that made his stitches pull.
“Nope.”
