Chapter 32
Maggie
It’s been weeks since Hadley made it back to the circuit. Between spending my weekdays at the ranch and touring for the circuit with him, he’s now a constant part of my days.
And nights.
Tonight, I stand on the rails behind the chutes in Kennedy, Saskatchewan. Knox’s home territory. And he isn’t shy about it, taking every chance he can to remind Hadley his absence for three weeks has affected the overall team score. I know Hadley is frustrated. He needs a good ride. A win, even, to climb the leaderboard.
For any chance of winning the championship, he needs to ride well, consistently to the last event. The bull in the chute below me kicks up a stink, and I snap a shot of his tantrum if only to highlight the risk and danger these cowboys take every weekend for their sport. For those eight seconds that have them coming back every week, all year.
The articles have been well received, but a little depth never hurts.
After my disaster of a start with Knox, I have changed things up, highlighting the towns that host the events every week sowe can pull more site traffic with local keywords as well as everything rodeo and cowboy related.
And it’s worked. There’s more and more people visiting the PBR site and supporting the athletes all over social media and in-person at events. The crowds are growing bigger every fortnight.
I did it . . . I made a difference.
Not the difference I’m sure Cap was talking about, but it’s a start. Now, knowing it’s all about the angle you take, I feel confident I can make a difference in other places. Other industries. Other communities.
“Alright, ladies and gents. Hold. Your. Breath!” the announcer hollers. The crowd is on the edge of their seats. As they should be.
Spencer settles over the top of the tantrum thrower. His helmet pulled down, he readjusts the strap over his chin and starts his strap-down technique. Hadley leans over the chute, working the strap as he slides it around the bull, lining it up for Spence. The tang of warm rosin blooms as he tugs his hand up and down in a rapid, continuous motion.
I snap a shot, in-the-moment focus. I’d call it “Calm Before the Storm.”
Preparation before performance . . .
A moment later, his head nods.
The gate flies open. The bull is all spin, no buck, and Spence is dumped off on the third rotation, rolling away on the dirt instinctively.
Logan and the two other bullfighters close in.
The bull takes the bait, following the bright colors and agile antics of the three men.
Spencer pulls himself up from the dirt and rushes for the chutes as he rips the helmet from his head. I’m still holding my breath when he walks through the return chute. It’s becoming ahabit the further into the year we travel. The better I get to know these cowboys.
The leaderboard remains unchanged.
Knox is up next.
Chute four.
I climb down and head for it. I need some prep shots of Kade. So far, all I have are action images. Levi is helping him with his gear as I approach.
“Here to make me famous, too?” Knox says, the smirk on his face turning the sentiment over in my stomach like putrid sediment.
“You do a good enough job of that yourself. Besides, I’m here to do mine.”
He huffs an incredulous sound as Levi gives him the ‘shut it’ glare.
“Play nice, children, or else,” the arena manager warns.
Knox gives me a filthy look before climbing the chutes to strap down on none other than Terminator.
Ah, now I understand. The only cowboy to ride this bull to the eight is Hadley. That’s got to sting. The pressure must be eating at him. I meant what I said before, I’m here to do a professional job. So I climb the rails after the bull rider and snap away as he goes through his process.
