Page 118 of Homebound

My dad eyes the snarling bull in the chutes. “Diablo’s got a wicked spin though.”

“I know.”

“And an even more wicked kick.”

“I know, Pops. I’ll be fine.”

He nods, but his eyes keep darting to the thrashing black bull in the chute. One of the flank men shouts, “Woo doggy, that kick almost got ya, boy! Back off now, back off. Give ’em some space! Goddamn, Cowboy Killer, this one’s gonna get ya!”

They all chortle obnoxiously.

I might piss myself.

My heart jumps into my throat, and it feels like all the blood drains from my face. My dad shoots them a murderous glare before he tightens his grip around my shoulders.

“Hey,” he commands. “Don’t listen to them. You listen to me now. You’ve been practicing every day this summer. You’ve got everything it takes. Just remember those lessons.”

Suddenly, he tugs me close into his leather jacket, leading me in a quick two-step, and then spins me around right there in front of the chutes.

“Pops!” I shout as he twirls me, stumbling into his solid chest. “What are you doing?”

He continues leading me in a confident two-step, and I forgot how good of a dancer my dad is. “Just making sure you’re nice and loose. You might be dancing with that boy now, but don’t forget who taught you how. I love you always, darlin’.”

I gaze up into his shimmering brown eyes. “I’ll never forget who taught me how to dance.”

He kisses my cheek, his whiskers tickling my skin, and quickly walks away, almost like he can’t bear a longer goodbye. As his figure fades down the animal corrals, a tightness grips my throat.

My mom might never miss a Sunday night phone call, but my dad never missed a bedtime story, never forgot to pack my lunch, never missed the matching prom pictures, and never missed a rodeo. He cheered me on through every high and caught me at every low. If it weren’t for him, I don’t know where I’d be.

“Hey, Pops?” I call out, just as he’s about to round the corner by the horses.

He looks over his shoulder, the setting sun casting an orange halo around his hat. “Yeah, darlin’?”

I try to keep my voice steady. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world, getting you as a dad. You know that, right? You’re my reason for riding.”

He swallows hard and looks down at his boots. He pulls out a handkerchief from his jean pocket to wipe his eyes.

“You’re my reason for everything, darlin’. I still remember when you were just a girl, and anytime we’d have people over, you’d ask them to buck you around on their backs, piggy-back style. People always thought you were a little wild, but you’ve always been my crazy child. Now, stop making me cry like a fool and go kick ass in that arena.”

We don’t have time for long-winded goodbyes, so I salute him, swiping away the tears. I put my best smirk in place, confidence with a dash of fake arrogance. “Always, Pops. I’m your girl. What else do you think I’d do?”

“That you are. Raise hell, darlin’.” With a final nod, he strides away.

I’m my daddy’s girl through and through, which means I can handle Diablo. I will. This time is different. Now, I have people who need me to stay on. People I’m riding for. Specifically, two very important people.

Steeling my shoulders, I head to the chutes and turn to face off with the beast. The massive black bull snorts and smashes his hooves at the dirt, muscles rippling under his dark hide. The rodeo arena buzzes with the cheers from the crowd, the distant calls of cowboys, and the snarling bull.

“You sure you got this one, Cowboy Killer?” the flank man asks.

I bend down to get eye-level and glare right into Diablo’s fathomless black eyes. Doubt will get you killed in this sport, so I growl right in his huffing face, “Yeah, I got this one.”

After securing my helmet, I climb up onto the metal chutes, gripping the cool steel beneath my hands. I swing a leg over the rail and settle onto Diablo’s broad back, feeling his muscles tense beneath me.

He instantly tries to buck me off, but I grip the rope, thinking of Vienna, thinking of how desperately I want to stay on for my little girl. For Smiley. Pops. And Wyatt, always for my summer boy.

“Alright, folks!” the announcer shouts. “Give it up for the Cowboy Killer!”

The crowd goes wild, but all I’m thinking about are my people. No one else matters.