“Yep.” He grinned, bounced a little, grabbed his tape. The chatter went on all around him, but he just did his thing. Got in the groove. He ducked his head, wrapped his riding hand, rocked from one hip to the other.
Beau was right there, that stocky, short body and too-big hat blocking a lot of everything else out. He could hear Ballbustersnort and stomp, getting ready just like he was. Turns to the left, head down on the second jump. He knew this. He went through it in his mind, his body swaying, his hand up like he was actually there. Balta had taught them all that, and as silly as it seemed from the outside, it helped.
“Come on, Bell.” AJ patted his shoulder. “It’s time.”
Sam nodded, climbing the rail and letting his feet drop on the bull’s sides. Letting the beast know he was there. Big fucker snorted, head slamming up then down, and he damn near shot across the chute. A bunch of hands caught his vest, but it was Beau who put a boot against the bull’s shoulder, letting the animal know that kind of thing wouldn’t be tolerated.
“Thanks, y’all. Gotta keep my face whole.” Shit, Beau liked his face.
“Got to keep it all, Poot.” Beau grinned at him while he got settled again, then set to pulling rope.
“Uh-huh.” Things went quiet like they did for him, his brain shutting the fuck up and letting his body do its thing.
The gate opened when he nodded, the bull spinning out like a whirlwind. His arm stretched to near snapping on the first buck. That well was sucking at him, dragging him down and he grunted, arms straining.
“Get your ass upright, Sammy!” That was Coke, hollering for him.
He kicked out and down with his leg, which pulled him right back up. Thank God.
Six. Seven. Eight. He reached for the buzzer, hooting when his hand popped out and he headed for the dirt.
Or Nate.
Whoops.
Nate grunted, but didn’t cuss him. Just sent him whirling off away from the bull as Nate got up and ran toward it.
He headed for the fence, body moving before his brain engaged. It was a good thing, too, because he felt the wind whoosh by him as the fucker kicked, hooves close enough to feel, almost.
Almost.
“Shit!” Coop shoved him as he hit the fence, and his boots went up and all the way over. The rails vibrated where the big old monster hit. Right where he’d been. He met Beau’s eyes across the way, gave the thumbs up.
The crowd went nuts, too, his average blinking on the screen. Ninety four and a quarter. Fuck. Fuck, yeah. That put him square in the lead for the event. He wouldn’t win the year, of course. That would be Beau. But the event average wasn’t nothin’ to sneeze at.
He pumped his fists a few times and hopped back down on the dirt. Taggart had roped the bull, got him out of the arena.
Beau was all smiles, beaming at him from the chutes, that wolf whistle plain as day. Dillon jogged over to slap his back, Coke handing him his rope.
“Good job, cowboy!” Coke was grinning ear to ear.
“Thanks, man!” He couldn’t stop grinning either, and he climbed up and over, feeling like a million bucks.
“Come on, Poot.” Beau waved one arm, calling him over. Yeah. Yeah, Beau rode first in the next section.
He bounced over, enjoying the hell out of the slaps on the back, the congratulations.
“You ready to ride, Boug?”
“I am.” Beau clapped him on the arm, grinning from ear to ear. “I bet that clinched the average.”
“Hope so. Now you take the season.” They’d be living in high cotton.
“You know it.” Beau nodded, mouth pressing into a straight line.
“I do. You drew Geronimo. You’ve got his number.”
“I do.” Beau bounced a little, then bent to a squat. He bounced a little more, shaking off the adrenaline.
