Beau’s temple. In a few seconds, he’d know if he’d been blowing hot air when he’d sparred with McLean. Satisfied with his grip, he crouched low and forced the muscles around the base of his spine to relax, then he signaled the gateman.
Gus exploded from the chute, twisting right as he kicked his back legs out. Beau survived the buck and Gus allowed him half a second to regain his balance before a series of kicks thrust Beau forward and he almost kissed the bull’s horns. Beau ignored the burning fire spreading through his muscles as he squeezed his thighs against the animal’s girth.
The dance went on…twist, stomp, kick. Twist, stomp, kick. Gus spun left then right in quick succession, almost ripping Beau’s shoulder from its socket. Sheer determination and fear of being trampled kept him from flying off. The buzzer sounded and the bullfighters waved their hands in an attempt to catch Gus’s attention.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Beau launched himself into the air. He hit the ground hard, the oxygen in his lungs bursting from his mouth like a six-pack belch. He didn’t check on Gus—a one-second glance might mean the difference between making it to the rails…or not.
Ignoring the sharp twinge in his left ankle, Beau rolled to his feet and sprinted for safety. The mask on his helmet obscured the barrier, making it difficult to judge the distance. When his boot hit the bottom rung, a hand crossed his line of vision and a hard yank helped him over the top of the gate just as Gus rammed his head into the rails, the impact rattling the metal.
“Holy smokes! What a ride by Beau Adams!”
Applause thundered through the arena, and the ear-piercing racket of boots stomping on metal bleachers brought a smile to Beau’s face as he removed his mask.
“Eighty-six is the score to beat!” The JumboTron replayed the bull ride.
“Congratulations, Beau.”
Beau spun at the sound of the familiar voice. His cousin, Tuf Hart, stood a foot away, the corner of his mouth lifting in a cautious smile. “Tuf!” Beau clasped his cousin’s hand and pulled him close for a chest bump and a stiff one-armed hug.
Tuf looked tired. Worn out. Maybe even a little beaten down. He’d left the Marines and returned to the States almost two years ago but had kept his distance from the family. Beau knew for a fact that his cousins Ace and Colt were upset with their baby brother for not returning to the ranch. Beau snagged Tuf’s shirtsleeve and pulled him away from the chutes.
“Do you know how worried the family is about you?”
His cousin’s gaze dropped to the tips of his boots.
“Fine. I won’t pry. Just tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m getting there.”
What the hell kind of answer was that? “Where’ve you been all this time?”
“I’d rather not say.”
The youngest Hart had missed all the family weddings and good news. He bet Tuf hadn’t heard that Ace and Flynn’s first child was due around Thanksgiving or that Tuf’s sister, Dinah, had married Austin Wright and they were expecting a baby next summer.
“Man, you gotta know your mom misses you.”
Tuf removed his hat and shoved his fingers through his short brown hair. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
The twenty-eight-year-old standing before Beau was a stranger, not the cousin he remembered. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Aunt Sarah—”
“I can’t talk right now.” Tuf made a move to pass, but Beau blocked his path.
Didn’t Tuf care that his mother had suffered an angina attack this past May and that the ranch had hit upon tough times? As a member of the family, Tuf should have known his mother had been forced to take Thunder Ranch in a new direction. Aunt Sarah had sold off most of the cattle, leased a sizable chunk of grazing land and had secured a hefty bank loan that Ace had cosigned.
“Call your mom and let her hear your voice.”
The muscle along Tuf’s jaw pulsed but he held his tongue.
Had something happened to his cousin in Afghanistan? The Tuf Beau had grown up with would never have shut out his family.
“Tell my mom I’m in Maryland and that I’m okay.” His cousin walked off and joined the other bareback riders preparing for their event.
What was so important in Maryland that it prevented his cousin from returning to Thunder Ranch? Beau figured if Tuf had traveled this far west to compete in a rodeo he must be homesick. Hopefully, Tuf would come to his senses soon and haul his backside to Montana before Aunt Sarah dragged him home by his ear. Forgetting about his cousin, Beau focused on the Thunder Ranch bulls, eager to view their performances and he didn’t want to miss Bushwhacker tossing McLean on his head.
“Next up is Pete Davis from Simpleton, North Dakota, riding Back Bender from the Thunder Ranch outside Roundup, Montana.” The crowd applauded. “Back Bender’s a young bull but he’s got energy and lots of gas. This bull goes all-out for eight seconds and then some.”
The announcer summed up Back Bender pretty well. The bull never ran out of kick—it was as if electricity flowed through the animal’s veins instead of blood. When the gate opened, Back Bender erupted from the chute with a fierce kick before turning into a tight spin, then coming out of it with a double kick, which sent Davis flying at the three-second mark.
The bullfighters rushed in, but Back Bender continued to kick and the fans cheered in appreciation. Beau shook his head in wonder. The dang animal loved to buck.
“Like I said, folks, Back Bender’s tough to ride and his brother, Bushwhacker is nastier. Turn your attention to chute number three for the final bull ride of the day.”
Beau scaled the rails for a better view of the brown-and-red bull. Bushwhacker kicked the chute, warning those around him that he meant business.
“Bushwhacker also hails from Thunder Ranch and this bull loves to ambush cowboys. He lulls a rider into thinking he’ll make it to eight then tosses him into the dirt. Bushwhacker is undefeated this season. Let’s see if Rusty McLean from Spokane, Washington, can outsmart this bull.”
McLean adjusted the bull rope, his movements jerky and uneven. The boastful cowboy was nervous—he should be. He had a fifty-fifty chance of being the star of the day or going home the biggest loser.
C’mon, Bushwhacker. Show everyone why you’re the best.
McLean signaled the gateman and Bushwhacker exploded into the arena. The bull’s first buck was brutal—his signature move. He kicked both back legs out while twisting his hindquarters. Too bad for McLean. Bushwhacker’s raw power unseated him, and the cowboy catapulted over the bull’s head. McLean stumbled to his feet as the bullfighters intercepted Bushwhacker and escorted him from the arena. Staggering into the cowboy-ready area, McLean flung his bull rope and cussed.
“Better luck next time,” Beau taunted.
The cowboy spit at the ground and stomped off.
