Two To Wrangle (Hotel Rodeo #2)(44)

He gave a curt nod to Guilherme Alvaro. The three-time champion Brazilian bull rider had a five-hundred-point lead which made him virtually unbeatable, but Zac still hoped to end this night in the money—even riding with a broken wrist. He’d already borrowed a right hand glove, now he just had to tape his busted up wrist.

“Zac.”

He looked up to find his former best buddy, Ty Morgan, standing beside the chutes. They had once been the best of friends but things had gone south when Ty’s marriage broke up. His ex, Delaney, had blamed Zac and tried to force Ty to choose between them. Being none too fond of ultimatums, Ty had walked. Delaney filed for divorce. Ty didn’t fight it but the whole ordeal still soured the friendship. Eight years later, they were all once more on speaking terms, but they’d probably never get back what they’d had.

“Ty? You’re back? Thought you were in Oklahoma.”

“Nope. There wasn’t any reason to linger after putting Tom to rest. I’ve never missed the finals and neither did he. He’d have wanted me to be here. I was glad to hear you made the short round.”

“Only by the skin of my teeth,” Zac replied. “I’m number fifteen. This is my last shot but Alvaro’s so far ahead he doesn’t even have to cover his bull. Damn Brazilians are almost unbeatable. They’ve kicked our American asses in this sport for too damned long.”

“It’s changed a lot since the old days,” Ty said. “Hell, we used to do it just for the rush. Winning a c-spot for making the whistle was only a bonus.”

“Sure has changed,” Zac said. “Now there’s a half million in the pot. I could retire with that kinda money.”

Ty looked surprised. “Are you saying you’re thinking about it?”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Don’t know how much longer I could go on—even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. The joke’s on me though. Ten years ago I wasn’t ready to hunker down to ranching, and now that I am, it’s all gone to shit.”

“You need money?” Ty asked.

Zac snorted. “When does a bull rider not need money? My place is a wreck, but I’m getting too old for this shit and each time the healin’ seems to take a little longer. I can’t fix my place without money and I can’t get the money unless I win. So here I am. Speaking of which, could you give me a hand taping my wrist?”

“Your riding hand? What’s wrong with it?” Ty asked.

“I f*cked it up last night. I’m pretty sure it’s broken. I can’t grip worth a shit.”

“How are you going to ride?”

“Gonna have to swap hands.”

“Ever ridden right-handed before?” Ty asked, tearing the tape with his teeth.

“I’ve tried a couple times.” Zac shrugged. “Never made the whistle but there’s always a first time, right? Every bull’s a different story. I need this, Ty. I can’t afford to go home empty-handed.”

Ty grunted acknowledgment and wrapped the wrist, finishing as the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the preshow. “Good luck, Zac. I gotta get back to Monica now.”

“Tom’s daughter?” Zac asked. “She’s here?”

“Yup. She surprised the hell out of me too. Just wait ’til you get an eyeful of her. She’s rocking the hell out of the cowgirl look.”

Zac eyed his friend appraisingly. “What’s up with you and her, Ty? If I didn’t know better I’d think you had it bad.”

Ty hesitated as if to speak and then turned away with a shake of his head.

The preshow had begun, an elaborate pyrotechnic extravaganza with shooting flames and a pounding hard rock beat. The crowd went wild when the cowboys appeared, all fifteen of them entering through circles of flames like they were some kind of superheroes.

There was a time when he’d lived for this kind of adoration, the cheering crowds, the fans . . . the buckle bunnies, but even all that had grown tiresome. Now he was just plain tired. A few minutes later, as he climbed over his bull’s chute, thirty-four suddenly felt ancient.

The announcer introduced the first bull and rider, a cowboy named Grayson Dunwoody on a bull named X-Treme Vortex. Zac looked on from the next chute as the rider gave his nod and the gate swung free. The bull’s superiority was clear from the start. He exploded from the gate kicking and bucking, his every movement whipping the rider’s body. Barely three seconds in, Dunwoody began to falter. Anticipating, the team of bullfighters moved in. The bull’s next buck tossed him to the ground like a sack of shit.

Zac’s younger brother Kade had interposed himself between the animal and the fallen rider, while two others flanked the bull, one on either side. Waving and yelling, the three men distracted the manically bucking animal while the rider scrambled from the danger zone. The bull spun and charged. Kade narrowly avoided getting a horn in the ass. The bull stared down the arena and snorted a stream of snot, then trotted back into the holding pens.

“No ride for that cowboy,” the announcer said. “Let’s see if Zac McDaniel’s gonna cover his bull tonight.” He elaborated on Zac’s injury from the night before but by now Zac had tuned out everything but the bull beneath him.

Stepping onto his bull, he lowered himself gingerly onto its back. Cursing his clumsiness, he fumbled to make his wrap. He didn’t have time to f*ck around, but swapping hands was awkward as hell and Super Spin Cycle was a twitchy sonofabitch in the chute. The bull snorted and shifted his impatience. Seconds later, Zac looked up, raised his left hand, and gave his nod to the chute boss.