Page 59 of Buckin' Around

I double down on tightening my grip in the rope, taking more time than usual. For the first time in a long time, my gut churns.

It’s not only me and my life literally riding on this.

Not any more.

Grip solid and head mostly in the game, I nod to the chute cowboy.

The gate flies open.

Terminator is spinning in the dirt before the next heartbeat falls.

The crowd is a blur as man and beast rotate right, over and over. He is yet to throw a buck, and the clock is flipping up those red numbers fast.

I spur him on, driving him ‘round clockwise, hoping this ride doesn’t change course and throw me off, literally, as my body tenses and holds the action. It would be a disaster if Terminator spun back the other way. Every muscle is ratcheted firm to hold in one direction.

Another lap ‘round, and I start to relax.

My seat is settled to his back, my spur leg working him in a frenzy. So much so, they should rename him Tornado.

A snort loosens spittle and snot from his muzzle.

His shoulder slips.

My gut plummets.

I’m falling forward as Terminator’s head meets the dirt.

Using every ounce of strength I have, I haul my weight upright. The bull’s hind legs kick out and I lean back, into the motion.

His head is up.

The buzzer screams over the arena.

I waste no time ripping my hand free and jumping clear of the two ton that could have very well crushed me.

The crowd goes nuts, cheering as I jog for the fence.

Glancing back, I see Logan and his motley crew have Terminator trotting for the return gate. I take the brief opportunity to release a pent-up sigh before scaling the rails.

It’s only when I look down do I see Riley and Ivy sitting in the third row from the front. The grin that splits my face is ridiculous.

It slips when I see her horrified expression.

The crowd is still cheering as I climb down the fence. With my feet on solid ground, I lean on the fence. “Riley!”

Her gaze doesn’t leave me for a beat. She rises, hugging Ivy to her chest as she excuses herself and navigates the rows of seats.

My hands hang as my heart flings against my ribs.

We’re mere feet apart. But separated by the arena fencing and rows of people, we may as well be miles from each other.

I tug at the helmet straps and lose it from my head. When I look back up, Riley and Ivy are gone.

I tap out a text and send it.

Riley, where did you go?

No reply.