completing eight-second rides had dropped dramatically in recent years. Some bulls were downright unrideable, and it wouldn’t surprise Cole if this was one of those.
“Bad bull,” Rosalind told the little boy in the red T-shirt and brown overalls. “You stay away.”
Cole contemplated the fencepost in front of him for a long time. He’d stayed away, all right. Practically run away from anything to do with cattle, even though it was in his blood. He’d grown up on a ranch, got his start bullfighting on a ranch, spent his whole life doing what he loved best, until…
Yeah, until last year.
He glanced up at the bull huffing and puffing at the far corner of the enclosure and imagined those wide, red-ringed eyes up close.
It wasn’t bulls that scared him. It was fate, swooping down out of nowhere to grab one life and send the soul of another spiraling into an abyss.
Everyone said it was best to get back in the saddle after a fall, but he hadn’t gotten around to that. He doubted he ever would, because what if something he did led to another meaningless death?
Something on the breeze mocked him.
Maybe you are just scared.
He grimaced and went back to hammering. Missing twice for every hit, cursing every time.
The dust trail of an approaching vehicle came down the drive, and he wondered who was coming now.
Mine! Mate!
He jumped to his feet as he recognized the battered little Mitsubishi Janna was so proud of.
Janna! Janna!
his soul sang as she pulled in.
Part of him wanted to run straight to her and pull her into his arms; the other wanted to run for the hills. What if that inner voice got out of control again? What if he went too far and hurt her one day?
Would never hurt my mate,
the voice growled back.
She got out of the car and looked around briefly before turning exactly in his direction. It was as if she’d sensed him the way he’d sensed her coming down the drive. She was a good quarter mile away, but even so, that feeling of standing barefoot in a mountain meadow trickled slowly into his soul.
She’d come to see him! His heart thumped inside his chest. She wanted him. Maybe even needed him the way he needed her.
Rosalind had once boarded a fancy Arabian mare with a long, glossy mane for a week, and the way it pranced around the paddock put all the other horses to shame. That’s what Janna looked like, gliding across the way. Never mind the dust, the beat-up cars, and peeling paint of the barn: she rose above it all, shining like a jewel amidst pebbles. Making the whole place classier just by being in it, the way she did at the saloon. But she fit in at the same time, like a princess who’d been mixed up with a cowgirl at birth and had grown up working a ranch.
He entertained himself with silly notions like that as she started up his way. It was a good, long way, and that was fine with him, because he could relish the moment longer, watching her smile, her springy step, her easy, flowing gait.
Heya, Janna,
he’d say when she got closer and try to play it cool.
Heya, Cole,
she’d answer and maybe even tilt her chin up for a kiss.
But neither one of them got around to saying anything, because when Janna was still a couple of hundred yards away, another voice screeched.
“Johnny! No!”
Both of them spun toward the stock pens, where someone was running. Pointing. Yelling.
“Stop! Oh my God, stop!”
A second person was climbing the split-rail fence and yelling, too. “Johnny! Johnny!”
It took him precious seconds to zoom in on the spot they gestured toward. A little blur of red in the dirt of the pens. A little kid.
“Johnny!” a woman screamed, but the kid just ran on. More voices joined the first two, and a dog started to bark.
“Moo!” the kid cried in glee. Just a little guy in overalls, having a great time outfoxing his parents, who clung to the fence and waved at him madly as he ran on. “Moo!”
The bull in the far corner of the paddock perked up its ears. Its nostrils
“Bad bull,” Rosalind told the little boy in the red T-shirt and brown overalls. “You stay away.”
Cole contemplated the fencepost in front of him for a long time. He’d stayed away, all right. Practically run away from anything to do with cattle, even though it was in his blood. He’d grown up on a ranch, got his start bullfighting on a ranch, spent his whole life doing what he loved best, until…
Yeah, until last year.
He glanced up at the bull huffing and puffing at the far corner of the enclosure and imagined those wide, red-ringed eyes up close.
It wasn’t bulls that scared him. It was fate, swooping down out of nowhere to grab one life and send the soul of another spiraling into an abyss.
Everyone said it was best to get back in the saddle after a fall, but he hadn’t gotten around to that. He doubted he ever would, because what if something he did led to another meaningless death?
Something on the breeze mocked him.
Maybe you are just scared.
He grimaced and went back to hammering. Missing twice for every hit, cursing every time.
The dust trail of an approaching vehicle came down the drive, and he wondered who was coming now.
Mine! Mate!
He jumped to his feet as he recognized the battered little Mitsubishi Janna was so proud of.
Janna! Janna!
his soul sang as she pulled in.
Part of him wanted to run straight to her and pull her into his arms; the other wanted to run for the hills. What if that inner voice got out of control again? What if he went too far and hurt her one day?
Would never hurt my mate,
the voice growled back.
She got out of the car and looked around briefly before turning exactly in his direction. It was as if she’d sensed him the way he’d sensed her coming down the drive. She was a good quarter mile away, but even so, that feeling of standing barefoot in a mountain meadow trickled slowly into his soul.
She’d come to see him! His heart thumped inside his chest. She wanted him. Maybe even needed him the way he needed her.
Rosalind had once boarded a fancy Arabian mare with a long, glossy mane for a week, and the way it pranced around the paddock put all the other horses to shame. That’s what Janna looked like, gliding across the way. Never mind the dust, the beat-up cars, and peeling paint of the barn: she rose above it all, shining like a jewel amidst pebbles. Making the whole place classier just by being in it, the way she did at the saloon. But she fit in at the same time, like a princess who’d been mixed up with a cowgirl at birth and had grown up working a ranch.
He entertained himself with silly notions like that as she started up his way. It was a good, long way, and that was fine with him, because he could relish the moment longer, watching her smile, her springy step, her easy, flowing gait.
Heya, Janna,
he’d say when she got closer and try to play it cool.
Heya, Cole,
she’d answer and maybe even tilt her chin up for a kiss.
But neither one of them got around to saying anything, because when Janna was still a couple of hundred yards away, another voice screeched.
“Johnny! No!”
Both of them spun toward the stock pens, where someone was running. Pointing. Yelling.
“Stop! Oh my God, stop!”
A second person was climbing the split-rail fence and yelling, too. “Johnny! Johnny!”
It took him precious seconds to zoom in on the spot they gestured toward. A little blur of red in the dirt of the pens. A little kid.
“Johnny!” a woman screamed, but the kid just ran on. More voices joined the first two, and a dog started to bark.
“Moo!” the kid cried in glee. Just a little guy in overalls, having a great time outfoxing his parents, who clung to the fence and waved at him madly as he ran on. “Moo!”
The bull in the far corner of the paddock perked up its ears. Its nostrils
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