“It wasn’t that bad.”
The fact that he starts with that sentence tells me it was absolutely that bad. I plant my hands on my knees and wait.
He sighs dramatically. “I was coaching one of the bull riding students on a practice bull. She lasted about six seconds.”
“She?”
He grins. “Yep. Got a couple strong females this class.” The pride in his voice is impossible to miss.
I nod. “Okay. Then what?”
“The bull threw her, and the kid landed hard. It took her a few seconds to get to her feet. During that time, the bull circled back.”
My stomach drops.
“And you stepped in,” I surmise.
He shrugs. “Somebody had to.”
“Axle, aren’t there clowns or something for that?”
“Clowns?”
“Yeah, clowns.”
He grins. “This isn’t a real rodeo, Doc. Barrel men are entertainers who offer comic relief for the crowd, using a padded barrel. But bullfighters are the pros who protect fallen riders.”
I smirk. “Thanks for the rodeo lesson,” I say. “Were there not any bullfighters for that?”
“Yeah, but like I said, the bull circled back. Cody tried to redirect him but …”
“But you stepped between an angry bull and a teenager.”
“That’s part of the job.”
I stare at him.
He stares right back.
“And?”
“And I took a hoof to my side, just below my right pec.”
My eyes narrow. “A hoof to your ribs at full speed?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re telling me it wasn’t bad?”
“It wasn’t.”
“Okay, let’s see. Shirt off.”
His grin returns. “You’re always telling me to take my clothes off.”
I groan. “Axle.”
“What?”
