But as he watched the exit door swing shut behind her, Ryder Stone realized the terrible truth of the night.
He had won the eight seconds. But he had lost the ride.
CHAPTER 6: THE MATH OF BETRAYAL
I. The Devil on the Line
The phone rang on Tuesday morning.
It wasn't Ryder’s cracked screen. It was the landline in the barn office—a dusty, yellowed receiver that hadn't rung for anything other than a telemarketer or a feed delivery in ten years.
Ryder was in the barn, "supervising." Which meant he was sitting on a bale of straw, watching Cole muck out stalls, and trying to ignore the way his leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat.
Cole was outside with the tractor.
Ryder stared at the phone. It rang again. A shrill, mechanical scream.
He crutched over to the desk. He picked it up.
"Stone Ranch," he answered, his voice rough.
"Is this Ryder Stone?"
The voice was slick. Texan. It sounded like money.
Ryder stiffened. "Who's asking?"
"This is Davis. FromRed River Energy. We've been trying to reach your agent, but the emails are bouncing."
Ryder felt a jolt of adrenaline that was sharper than any painkiller.Red River Energy.They were the biggest sponsor in the circuit. They put their logo on the chests of kings.
"I'm between agents right now," Ryder said, keeping his voice steady. "What can I do for you, Davis?"
"We heard about the wreck in Vegas," Davis said. "Nasty business. But we also heard rumors. People say you’re a fast healer. People say you’re tough."
"People talk," Ryder said.
"Here's the deal, Ryder. We have a spot open on the team. The Tulsa Invitational is in four weeks. We need a headliner. Someone with name recognition. Someone with a story. 'The Comeback Kid.' You ride in Tulsa, you cover one bull, and we sign you to a two-year contract. Six figures. Plus a truck."
Ryder gripped the desk. The room tilted.
Four weeks.
His femur was held together by titanium screws. His muscle was still atrophied. He couldn't even walk without crutches, let alone ride two thousand pounds of dynamite.
But six figures. A truck. A way out of the guest room. A way out of Oakhaven. A way to stop being the "cripple" and start being the "King" again.
"Tulsa," Ryder said.
"Can you be ready?" Davis asked. "Honest answer, son. If you show up and fall off in the chute, the deal is dead."
Ryder looked down at his cast. He looked at the crutches leaning against the desk.
Then he looked at the wall, where an old calendar hung. Four weeks. Twenty-eight days.
Bone takes six weeks to knit. Muscle takes twelve.
But Ryder Stone wasn't made of biology. He was made of will.
