He glances up. His brown hat tilts up.
No helmet.
God, has nobody told him how this will end? My heart hammers.
“Sure, sweetheart.”
I force a smile and flick the flash off before snapping him in action strapping down. These few will look incredible in sepia. The speckled bull under the denim-clad cowboy... His brown hat as he looks down over his hand is just?—
His head nods in rapid succession and the chute gate flies open. This time, I watch as he rides with purpose, poise, and strategy as the bull spins, ducks, and turns back. The digital clock at the end of the chutes flicks over to eight seconds, and he tugs his hand free and practically leaps off the back of the bull.
Landing on his feet, he jogs for the rails as two bullfighters distract the animal, guiding it toward the gate leading back to the holding pens.
“Next chute, Maggie,” one of the cowboys says as he climbs down and makes for the rails holding a huge cream-colored bull.
The guy in the black hat with the attitude stands by the chute, his head bowed. He’s praying?
Good luck to him.
“Are you okay with pictures?” I interrupt his prayer or whatever.
He throws me a glare. At this rate, I’ll have enough to start my own Ye Ole Glare Shoppe. “Sorry, but I have to ask.”
“Now?”
“Yup.” I pop the P and let him stew before he mounts the rails. I wait until he’s over the rail and settling onto the giant cream animal and then follow up the rail where the cowboys have left me space.
“Ten seconds, Maggie.” The words come from a disembodied voice beneath a hat, his hands busy holding the bull rope taut as the guy on the bull rubs his hand up and down it hard and fast. I snap a couple of takes on his hand, then zoom out for the whole cowboy. His black hat snaps down. Then just like that, he’s out the gate.
He’s vicious.
Taking every thundering twist and turn in his stride as he spurs the bull with his outside leg, his hand high in the air.
“Oh shoot,” a voice drawls from below me.
“Hey!” a man barks.
I turn back to see a bull rider stalking for the chute I’m perched on.
I hesitate for a second, not game to climb down. After a beat, I slide my camera to my side and make my way down. As my feet hit the dirt, he rips his helmet from his head. It bounces when it meets the ground.
“What the actual fuck were you thinking?”
I back up to the chute, but set my shoulders back as I take him in.
His brown hair is a mess. His chocolate brown eyes are homed in on me and burning. The square angle of his jaw is set in a grinding action as he keeps coming, not stopping when he’s in my space. My back hits the rails.
He towers over me. “Well?”
“I—”
“Let it go, Jones,” the older guy with the clipboard growls from two chutes down, pointing said clipboard at the man towering over me.
“You know what you just did?” The cowboy rips at his vest and the Velcro gives way under his ropey forearm. “What you damn well cost me?”
I swallow the stone that rose with his proximity. The scent of man, dirt, sweat, and animal is overwhelming. Pursing my lips, I try to steady each breath. “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
His head tilts as he snarls, “Fuck.”
