Mentally slapping myself, I resolved to pull it the fuck together just as I saw Bailey and her friend, Darcy, practising in a smaller corral out of sight of the crowds.
As Buckeye thundered down the centre of the corral, I marvelled at how Bailey had managed to build a rapport with him so quickly. It was remarkable how well they worked together, the horse clearly hanging on every signal she gave him.
‘Hey, Hestia!’ Darcy waved, trotting over as I approached the fence. ‘Whoa – you look awesome! You here by yourself?’
I nodded.
‘Lottie had guest stuff to do at the ranch, so she dropped me off. It’s all good though.’
‘Well, damn, cowgirl,’ Bailey said, recovering her breath as she came over, patting Buckeye’s neck. ‘That’s quite a statement. Sure you’re at the right place? The Jackson Collective’s over in town.’ She winked, pushing her hat back a little. I shrugged, suddenly wishing Dee were here, that we could buddy up on the alt vibes.
‘That’s next week,’ I said, feeling a jolt of excitement at the thought of creating Dee’s tattoo. ‘Call this a trial run.’
‘Well, honey, I sure appreciate it,’ Bailey smiled. ‘But I know you’re here for Jesse – he’s up real soon, just over there.’
She pointed to the bucking chute, where a gaggle of cowboys were gathered in a mass of denim and hats, a number of cute, mainly blonde, women among them.
‘How do you stand it?’ I asked them, gritting my teeth against the wave of anxiety taking over my gut. ‘The pressure, I mean?’
Darcy explained her own feelings, grounded in her trust of her horse, as Bailey considered me.
‘You’re nervous as all hell for him, aren’t ya?’
I met her gaze, seeing the unflinching realness in her green eyes, and nodded. ‘I’m ready to fucking throw up,’ I admitted.
Darcy and Bailey shared a look.
‘I’m not gonna lie to you, bull riding is . . . Well, it takes skill and experience to pull it off and walk away without too much bruising. But, honey, Jesse is pretty good. He’s grown up an awful lot since last year, too. All the shit with his mom has put things in perspective.’
I nodded, staring out at the chute.
‘It’s eight seconds, that’s all,’ Bailey added. ‘The whole thing’ll be over in thirty, from start to finish. He’ll be fine. Don’t fret.’
I wished them luck for their event and headed over to the chute, careful to avoid the main throng of cowboys – I was genuinely worried about distracting Jesse. Taking a few steps up into the seating next to the chute, I spotted two things in quick succession. The first was the bull, incomparably vast, with short, pointed horns currently attempting to fuck up the small steel pen surrounding it. Shouts and whoops from the cowboys surrounding it did nothing to calm my nerves, especially as at that moment, I saw Jesse.
He seemed relaxed, perched on top of a nearby gate, talking to two other guys. In full rodeo gear, from the Diamond Back jacket to the black leather chaps, he looked so at ease, so at home that some small trickle of relief dampened my fear. I stood for a moment, leaning on the back of the seat to get a better look, and the movement caught his eye.
He stopped talking mid-sentence, eyes flaring as he took me in. I gave him a small smile just as the other two men turned in my direction, one of them wolf-whistling before I had a chance to sit down. Resisting the urge to give him shit-eye, I turned away instead, moving down to a seat nearer the arena, out of their sight.
As the event began, my hands clasped together, I had to turn to deep breathing to get me through the first twenty minutes. The bulls were ferocious, comprised of pure, rippling muscle. As they tore out of the gates and threw themselves around, the cowboys on top resembled nothing more than rag dolls.
The first three riders did well, all staying on until the bell rang before jumping off to safety, the wranglers in the arena keeping the bulls at bay. With no one injured so far, my nerves dissipated slightly – until the bell rang for the fourth rider. Leaping off the bull and away from its head, he somehow caught the edge of its hoof mid-buck, clipping his head as he went down. He landed face first in the dirt and it took two wranglers to drag him out, dazed but awake. Even at this distance, I could see his helmet was badly cracked.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ I whispered, thankful that no one was sitting near enough to hear.
I gripped the edge of the seat either side of my legs, and as Jesse’s name was announced, my fingers turned white, nails digging into the hard plastic.
‘. . . He’s back from an extended break. Give it up for a Jackson favourite, Jesse Bennington!’
The scene before me wound right down to slow motion, only the curses and yelling from the chute filtering through as horns and hooves connected with metal. I couldn’t bring myself to look; I just stared straight ahead at the grooves in the dirt where the last cowboy had been dragged through.
Then, with a sound like a gunshot, the gate opened and the bull emerged, writhing in the air as Jesse sat astride. He was gripping a rope with his left hand, his right raised in the air. Hand to my throat, I forced myself to watch the green digits of the huge timer on the wall instead, begging them to reach eight seconds – begging anything, anyone listening to my thoughts to keep him safe.
The noise of the crowd built, cheers and roars growing in intensity as my heart thundered, the seven turning to eight. I gasped as the bell sounded and a moment later, Jesse let go and leapt – landing on his feet, well away from the bull.
The whole arena exploded. Everyone around me was on their feet as he punched the air, jumping onto the nearest gate to avoid the still whirling bull, now being herded back into its pen. Seconds later, as cowboy after cowboy patted him on the back, the announcer gave the score. The crowd roared again and Jesse whooped, shaking his head as he found himself in first place.
There were several other riders still to go, but I knew I couldn’t handle it. Shaking, I got up, walking as quickly as I could to the end of the row and back down the steps towards the back of the chute.
