Читать книгу No Hero Like Him - Elaine Grant - Страница 9

T HE HEAT FROM A TON OF animal sinew and hide rose beneath Seth Morgan’s thighs as he hovered over the cramped bull chute. The dust of the rodeo arena filled his nostrils. The roar of a thousand eager fans in the stands echoed off the stadium walls.

Rotten.

He’d drawn a bull named Rotten for the final go-round. And from all he’d heard, the name fit.

Seth braced himself on the rails, waiting for the cowboy hanging over the side to pull the rope tight around the animal’s girth, and then he eased down onto the bull’s broad hindquarters. This huge yellow bull, a descendant of the notorious Bodacious, was gaining a reputation for tossing riders, as well as having a tendency for vicious retaliation afterward.

For a lot of riders, drawing Rotten was their worst nightmare. To Seth, he was just another bull that needed riding, and nobody had managed to do that—yet. An eight-second dance with this partner could score more than ninety points. Enough to give Seth the win today and ramp up his earnings to third, or maybe second place, in the overall standings. Yeah, he was ready for this ride!

Seth wrapped the rope taut around his gloved hand, then shifted forward, rope hand tight against his crotch. He popped in his mouthpiece, clamped his teeth hard and nodded to the gatekeepers.

The gate swung wide. With a wild snort and bellow, Rotten exploded into the arena, jackhammering his front feet into the ground with bone-jarring jolts. Bull snot flew in wide arcs as the animal launched into another gyrating buck, then whipped into a spin to the right. Perfect, Seth thought. Piece of cake. What he loved best in the world, this unbridled exhilaration.

One second…two…three… This bull was turning out to be easy. Why could nobody ride him?

Four… Stupid question. When Seth didn’t fly off his back in those first few seconds, Rotten changed tactics. Rocketing off the ground, he whirled in the opposite direction, throwing Seth off balance. Known as an “eliminator,” Rotten hated to lose as much as the cowboy on his back did. Smart, strong and unpredictable, the animal gauged his opponent and acted accordingly.

Seth slipped farther to the side. Only a split second to respond or land, as the announcers often quipped, like a “yard dart” on the hard arena dirt. Clenching the rope so fiercely it hurt, Seth released his leg grip long enough to shift back to center. Chin down, shoulder in, focus on the withers. Anticipate!

Five… Rotten ducked hard, jerking Seth forward toward the bull’s head. One whack from those massive horns could be fatal. Unlike some of the younger cowboys, Seth rode without a helmet. His daddy and brothers would laugh him out of the arena if he came out of the chute wearing anything but his Resistol on his head. But a look at that swinging horn a foot away made him think again. Too late now.

Six… Seth pushed his fist hard against the rope around his riding hand to stay upright, away from the horns. Sweat soaked his shirt under the protective vest. Fighting to keep his free hand up to avoid any disqualifying contact with the bull, he forced himself erect.

Seven… Which apparently infuriated Rotten. The monster twisted like a corkscrew, throwing those massive horns at Seth. A contortion brought the wide head around so that one wild, red eye met Seth’s with a chilling defiance.

Rotten plunged forward again. Seth felt his hand slip on the sticky rope. No way! One second to go. Sometimes you had to let loose and ride. Go for broke. Let your body and mind do what it did best. Seth shook off the stiffness of apprehension and spurred hard in rhythm with the bull’s gyrations. The crowd went wild. If his teeth hadn’t been clenched around his mouthpiece, Seth would have grinned.

Eight! The buzzer sounded. Seth had covered all three of his bulls for the event, earning a qualified score each time. He would move to first place on the leaderboard with this ride. Another event title, another buckle and a lot more money.

Elated, he reached to snatch the loose end of the rope and free his hand.

But Rotten wasn’t finished. The bull plunged to his knees with a bellow. Now, when Seth needed it free, his glove stuck to the rosined rope. The animal rolled. With another hard yank, Seth freed his hand. But not in time.

A horn caught the side of his face. He heard the crunch of bone against bone, tasted blood mixed with arena dirt. He threw his arms up as if he could stop the steamroller mashing him into the arena floor, cracking ribs, crushing his left leg…suffocating him.

Then, as if the sun had been momentarily eclipsed, Seth saw daylight again. And heard noise. And felt horrific pain. His instincts told him to get up, run. But, helpless on the ground, his leg bent at a grotesque angle, his body wouldn’t obey. Four massive black hooves shook the ground around his head.

He couldn’t breathe. Rotten whirled, lowered his huge horns and lunged toward him. Seth braced for the worst.

Then a bullfighter threw himself in front of the animal. “Rotten. Rotten! Here!” he yelled.

He grabbed Rotten by the horns and swung the bull’s head, shifting his momentum. Another bullfighter threw himself on top of Seth, risking his own life to save him. By the time the bull took off for the catch pen, the sports-medicine crew had surrounded Seth, holding him still, asking him questions he couldn’t answer. Then everything went black….