Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(111)

Jackie laughed and playfully smacked her son’s shoulder. “He’s got you pegged, Ry-Ry.”

Ryan stood, lifted his mom to her feet and squeezed her in a bear hug. “See ya after. Cheer loud for me.”

“You know it. Be safe, okay?”

“Love you too, Mom.”

Ava slipped on her press pass and entered the restricted area with Chase and Ryan.
Chase loved the buzz around the chutes, but he also felt the odd man out because he wasn’t competing. Ryan knew quite a few of the guys. He flitted between chatting up bronc riders to leaning over the fence and talking to timed event competitors. The barrel racers weren’t on their horses yet, or Ryan would’ve been on that side of the chutes, charming the ladies.
He and Taz watched the action in the arena without speaking beyond the occasional remark on the performance. When the Dodge truck drove onto the dirt to drop off the barrels, they headed behind the chutes.
The roster had twenty bull riding competitors. Taz had drawn fourth, Ryan twelfth. He and Ryan helped Taz and watched as the bull landed hard on its front hooves and Taz sailed ass over teakettle until his body smacked into the ground and bounced before stopping.
Taz wasn’t moving. The bullfighters watched over him until medical professionals arrived.
Ryan’s eyes were huge as he faced Chase. “He’s gonna be fine, right?”

“He’s tough. They’re getting him fixed up. See? He’s on his feet.”

The kid jumped down a level before Chase caught him by the shirtsleeve. “No need for you to head over there. They’ll shoo you out. And Taz will bitch about you wanting to hold his hand anyway.”

Ryan nodded. Blew out a distressed breath. Squinted at the scoreboard to see who was up next. Then Ryan went into that quiet time before a ride. Some guys called it psyching themselves up. Others called it getting in the zone. Chase found those minutes leading up to climbing on a bull the hardest. One he was on and getting a good wrap on his hand, he went through a mental checklist. Once the gate opened, he focused on keeping his seat, staying on, spurring and making that buzzer.
So he paced right along with Ryan. Until they stopped, stared at each other foolishly and smiled.
“Come on, kid, you’re up next. Show me whatcha got.”

Ryan’s bull was a mean bastard. First it wouldn’t get up. Then it decided to fight. Chase held the bull rope as Ryan got a fast wrap. Taz held on to the back of Ryan’s vest until Ryan shouted, “Go!” and the gate opened.
The bull had a showy style, leaping and twisting like a marlin on a hook. Ryan’s hat went flying, but the kid held on.
Chase curled his hands around the wooden rail and muttered, “Almost, come on,” and the buzzer went off.
As Ryan reached to release his rope, the acrobatic bull jerked its head, catching Ryan in the face with a horn. Ryan fell back far enough that when the bull’s rear legs left the ground, the momentum ejected the kid sideways. He slammed into the solid metal gate head first, and then his body crumpled to the ground.
Confusion reigned in the arena when the bull charged a bullfighter. Then the barrel man. The pickup men cornered the angry animal and dragged it out with ropes.
He looked back, expecting to see Ryan on his feet, but he hadn’t moved. What the hell?
Distorted noise echoed through the loudspeaker system, the words garbled and grating.
Get up.
Chase wasn’t sure if he’d said the words aloud. His vision became a pinpoint focus on a too-still Ryan lying in the dirt.
Then the bullfighters and medical team erected a human tent around Ryan and he couldn’t see a damn thing.
Get up kid. Come on. Shake if off. Don’t scare your mama like this. Jesus. Don’t scare me like this.