Bulldozed (7 page)

Trey laughed and kissed the man back. “I knew good luck was coming my way!” he shouted at the bear. “And here you are!” The bear laughed with him and gave him another peck before releasing him. Trey dropped back into the ring and punched the air with both fists. When he raised his hands to take off his helmet, the fans shouted, “Keep it on!”

Remembering he was wearing a ridiculous wooly bull helmet with horns, he grinned in triumph and raised both hands in the air to wave at the audience while he ran back to the gate.

Dolly was there to give him a quick hug, although she just had to ask. “When a bear kisses a bull, is that bestiality or just animal husbandry?”

“How’d I do?” Trey ignored her pleasantry.

“You talking about the fetish sex or the points?”

“My score, what’s my score?” He peered up at the monitor. “Wow, 88.75. That might be a tad more than the ride was worth, but I knew I was feeling lucky.”

“Lucky? Are you crazy? That was a damn good ride, Trey. I thought they tied you onto the back of a freight train that bull was so rank.”

Embarrassed by her praise, Trey covered up by taking off his helmet. “I’m just grateful I made the whistle. The last four events, I was two for nine.”

“You made it look easy, but that was no walk in the park, asshole. When you know I would have been gone in under two seconds? You’re bullshitting me.”

“Aw, come on, Dolls, you know I’m not.” Now Trey felt bad about making light of his ride, considering her struggles. “Aren’t you up next?”

“Soon as that chute clears.” She pointed at a rider still making his wrap.

Trey stowed his helmet in his bag. He found his hat and put it on. “Come on. I’ll help you get ready.”

He grabbed her hand, and for a wonder, she left it in his, squeezing back. Silently, they waited together for Dolly’s bull to be brought up. When her bull was in the chute, they stepped up on the rails. Trey hung on to the back of Dolly’s vest as she climbed in and gingerly settled onto the bull’s back. He wanted to tell her to just plump down on the beast, but right before a ride wasn’t the time to give advice. He knew the bull would feel her lack of confidence, though. It was probably licking its lips and gloating over the prospect of bucking her off.

The bull reared up in the chute and Trey yanked Dolly up and pulled her over the railing. “Get a rope over his neck,” he yelled. The chute man nodded calmly. He was already threading a rope through the rails to keep the bull down.

“Let me get back in there.” Dolly shook herself out of Trey’s arms.

“Okay, don’t let him see you sweat,” Trey said. He held the back of her vest firmly as she lowered herself into the chute again.

The bull tried to buck, but the rope kept it down. The gateman pulled Dolly’s rope and held it for her. She concentrated on warming her rosin, sweeping her hand up and down the rope. When she was ready, the gateman handed her the tail of the rope. She wrapped the rope around her hand twice, carefully making sure her fingers were clamped closed over it.

“Ready?” Trey asked.

“Yeah.” Dolly inched herself closer to the hump.

“You can do it, Dolly.”

“Yeah.”

But she didn’t sound sure. And there was nothing more he could do for her. Trey bit his lip to keep quiet, knowing last-minute pointers would only hinder rather than help.

“Ladies and gentlemen, up next is Dolly Miller, and I want you to watch this rider carefully. Although there are some crazy girl bull riders out there, most of them compete in their own division on a pen of smaller bulls. Make no mistake, the riders in the lady’s division are not riding steers—those bulls are the real thing. Our Miss Dolly here won the gals’ division five years straight, if you’ll forgive the expression.” Miss Demeanor acknowledged the groans from the audience graciously. “Miss Dolly was so successful, all the other lady riders painted a bull’s-eye on her back. But winning there wasn’t enough of a challenge for her, because for two years now, Dolly’s been competing in the men’s division, where size
does
matter.” Miss Demeanor paused again for groans and laughter from the audience, fluttering her fingers to encourage them. “Thank you. Dolly has yet to stay on for the full eight seconds in the men’s division. What do you think, Jordan?”

Jordan answered, “Dolly Miller has no control over which bull she draws. That means the bull under her is as rank as any of them here this weekend. But make no mistake about it, this isn’t a contest of women against men, but rider against animal. Dolly is one gritty bull rider and has a great set of cojones for a girl. Today she’s mounted on Sledgehammer, as rank a bull as we’ll see this weekend. Let’s see if Dolly Miller can conquer the bovine arsenal of this animal.”

When Jordan stopped speaking, the song “Free Fallin’” came over the loudspeakers, and Dolly’s head whipped up. Sledgehammer spooked, lunging forward in the chute and banging its head into the wall. Then it slammed against the side of the chute, trying to pin Dolly’s knee, but Trey pulled Dolly up and over the rail with one hand, wrapping his other arm around her to lift her legs to safety.

When he set her down, Dolly growled and kicked at the rail. “That fucking song! Like they’re so sure I’m gonna fall off.”

“Take it easy, Dolly. You know how they like to joke around when a cowboy’s in a slump. Couple weeks ago they were playing it for me,” Trey said. “Ignore it and make your ride.”

The DJ segued into “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey, and Dolly’s lips twisted into a smile. “That’s more like it.”

The chute man worked a padded bar between the animal and the fence. Sledgehammer snorted and moved reluctantly away from the fence. Again Trey helped Dolly onto the bull’s back while keeping a firm grip on her vest. The chute man handed the tail end of the rope up to her, and she redid her wrap.

Trey could feel her tension through her vest. “I’ve already picked out my sequined bra, Dolls. You can do this.”

“Thanks, Trey,” Dolly said without looking up. She squirmed forward on the bull, gave her gloved hand a final pound, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

When the gate swung open, the bull stumbled almost to its knees going into the arena, buying an extra second for Dolly, before it gathered itself to jump up stiff-legged. Sledgehammer jerked its head down and dragged Dolly forward. Dolly barely managed to keep from slapping with her free arm, and leaned back too far to counter. She let out a shrill grunt, straining to hang on as her fingers started to slip. Then the bull took a huge jump forward and her hand popped out of the rope.

The crowd groaned in disappointment as Jordan kept pace with the action. “And that bull has got Dolly stretched on the end of her arm and slid her back so she’s sitting in the rumble seat. She lost her rope and Sledgehammer launches her off the back! Another buck-off for Dolly Miller, but she put out a mighty good effort. Let’s hear it for her. There’s no give-up in that tough lady.”

Dolly got to her feet and slapped the dust off her jeans, staring up at the replay on the monitor while completely ignoring the bull bucking and kicking. The bullfighters lured it to the gate, and Dolly stomped out of the arena without even glancing at the crowd or acknowledging the polite applause.

“She bucked off at only 2.6 seconds. What a downer for Dolly Miller,” Miss Demeanor announced. “Better luck next time, dear, we’re all rooting for you.”

Trey jumped when Smoke’s voice sounded close to his ear.

“Guess you’re safe from that dreaded sequined bra,” Smoke said, “so far at least.”

Trey said, “You know, I’d have done it, and gladly too, if she could’ve stayed on.”

“Yeah, I know.” Smoke’s voice was soft enough that Trey almost missed it. “You’re good to your friends.”

Trey turned around to see if Smoke was making fun of him as usual, but he was already on his way backstage, heading toward the locker room. Trey unzipped his vest and jumped down from the fence. He went down the long hallway to find Dolly. Outside the women’s locker room, Alex was leaning against the wall like a guard dog. “Don’t go in there, Trey.”

“I wasn’t going to. I’m no lady,” he pointed out. “How’s she doing?”

“Not real happy right now.” Frowning, Alex rubbed her temples. “Can you really help her ride better?”

“I could if she’d let me.”

“You fall off sometimes. Didn’t you just come through a little buck-off streak yourself?”

“One of many. Yeah, I can feel her pain.”

“Very funny.” Alex scowled up at him.

“Everyone falls off sometimes, Alex, even Smoke. You can’t ride them all, but you can ride a lot more than Dolly’s doing.”

“If she doesn’t catch a break soon, it’ll be all over for her,” Alex said bleakly. “She’s too stubborn to go back to the girls’ division. It would be too embarrassing.”

A sudden flash of insight hit. “Is that why you retired from barrel racing?”

“I thought it might be easier for her if both our lives weren’t so caught up in this,” Alex said. “There’s more to life than rodeo.”

“There is?”

“Don’t yank my chain right now, Trey.”

“Sorry. I hope Dolly appreciates your sacrifice.”

“Don’t you dare tell her that’s why I quit. I’d rather she thought I’m a complete wuss afraid of an ugly old bruise than I did it for her!” Anger flared in Alex’s eyes.

“I won’t,” Trey promised. “I just thought when you broke your leg six months ago, maybe you were a little too spooked to ride again.”

“A tiny little old broken leg wouldn’t scare me off,” Alex snapped. “I don’t want her to get hurt trying. I figured if I quit, Dolly wouldn’t feel so… so competitive.”

“You have more buckles than her?”

“A shitload. And I don’t want her to kill herself trying to match me. I love that bitch.” Alex dashed a tear away while still being careful of her mascara. “Trey, can you really help her? I mean, I don’t know if you can coach a stubborn-ass, muleheaded—”

“Sure I can, if she’ll listen, but how in the hell are you gonna make—”

“Let’s get back out to the arena. If Dolly sees us jawing here when she comes out, she’ll know we’re talking about her.” Alex led the way back to the ring and leaned casually on the fence by the rider’s gate where Dolly would pass when she came out of the locker room. The misery in Alex’s face when she tried to smile made him ache for her and for Dolly. “Catch you later, Trey.” Alex dug out a tissue, and Trey walked away while she carefully patted her eyes. She hated crying in front of anyone, even on joyful occasions.

A burst of laughter at the chute caught Trey’s attention. He went through the gate and up onto the ramp behind the chute. “What’s going on?” he asked a flank-strap man.

“You’ll see” was the only answer he got. A few of the old-timers crowded around the nearest chute, preventing any glimpse of whatever was happening, but somehow Trey had a feeling Smoke was at the bottom of it. When one of the old-timers stepped away, sure enough, Trey caught sight of Smoke’s black hat with the showy silver conchos as he traded with the cowboy holding out his helmet.

The laughter calmed down during the serious business of making the wrap, and the men shifted again, enough for Trey to catch a glimpse of snow white chaps with gleaming blue fringe, the flashy kind of thing Smoke would go for and only he could carry off. A matching blue bandana was wrapped around his neck over his black safety vest.

The crowd jumped to their feet cheering when the opening riffs of Smoke’s theme song, “Back in Black,” started.

Stating the obvious, Miss Demeanor told the crowd the next rider up was Smoke Carter. “We’re talking about the man from A-town, Austin, Texas. He is mounted on Chiller. This bull is very athletic, giving up big kicks and jumps, but as I’m sure a lot of you lucky boys know, Smoke Carter is one of the best riders on the gay circuit. Work it, girl!”

Jordan Lee spoke up. “He’s covered this bull before, but Chiller is so strong and powerful, he’s not going to let Smoke have it all his own way. This guy rides with so much passion, I think Smoke Carter can put it together for the win.”

Smoke gave the nod and the gate swung open. The bull charged out, plunging its head down and kicking its rump high in the air. Smoke leaned back, free hand in the air, and Trey could see only bare skin, distracting him from the ride. No shirt sleeve? What the fuck?

The bull started spinning away from Smoke’s hand to the right with three huge jumps into the air, jolting Smoke forward with each landing. Somehow Smoke managed to avoid slapping with his free arm, even though he was nearly pulled down over the bull’s head.

Trey gasped when the bull suddenly lunged forward, covering almost fifteen feet in one jump. Instantly upon landing, the bull pushed back hard and changed direction, spinning to the left this time. Smoke handled it all perfectly, his movements lithe, his pelvis thrusting forward as he adjusted his balance with every jump.

Chiller spun like a hurricane and with as much power, throwing in a huge, twisting belly roll while high in the air on the last kick. Smoke broke forward at the hips, his hips swiveling to follow the bull when it landed on its front feet and went into a swooping turn. The buzzer sounded and Smoke swung his leg over and let go of the rope.

The bull jumped again and turned in midair, catching Smoke’s leg in passing and sending him spinning in a circle, but Smoke landed on his feet like a cat. Trey caught the flash of his teeth behind the face mask of his helmet. Smoke was almost as famous for his get-offs as his rides, as if there was no part of this game he couldn’t control.

But even Smoke didn’t stand around smirking when there was an angry bull in the ring. With all due respect to the bull, Smoke ran to the shark cage in the middle of the arena and jumped up on it to allow the bullfighters to chase the bull out of the gate.

Once the arena was clear, he put on a show.

At first Trey gaped in horror, but then he busted up laughing when he saw what all the secrecy that morning had been about.

The arena DJ must have been in on it, because suddenly the Poxy Boggards blared out over the loudspeakers singing “I Wear No Pants.” The song was very appropriate, because Smoke wasn’t. Wearing pants, that is.