As Violet hauled Delon off Pepper Belly, she felt Cadillac’s hind feet skid. The rain had turned the arena into a mud-pocked lake, but there was plenty of sand mixed with the native clay, leaving only a few treacherous spots along the fences. Instead of dropping to the ground, Delon slung a leg over Cadillac’s rump and let Violet carry him back to the bucking chute.
“As you know, folks, half of the cowboy’s score is for how well he spurs the horse,” the announcer explained. “The other half is how hard the horse bucks, and since Pepper Belly didn’t hold up her end of the deal, he’ll have the option for a re-ride.”
Delon grimaced, knocking water from the brim of his hat, but nodded at the judges. Violet had a limited amount of sympathy. Between the stiff protective vest and his chaps, only the sleeves of his shirt and the butt of his jeans were wet. Unlike Violet. Despite her slicker, her back was soaked from the rain that trickled off the brim of her hat and inside her collar. She could feel specks of it on her cheeks and taste the grit between her teeth. Her boots, chaps, and calves were caked with the stuff, splattered from under Cadillac’s hooves as they chased bucking horses that kicked more mud in their faces.
“What’s in the re-ride pen?” Delon asked.
“Blue Duck.”
Delon eyed the arena, churned into a foot of slop in front of the chutes. “Is he gonna fire in this mess?”
“Why do you think we call him Duck?”
As Delon grabbed the top rail of the chute and hauled himself over without touching the soupy mud, Violet looked west. A streak of light glowed along the horizon, the lowering sun peeking under the back edge of the storm.
“We’ll hold you until the bull riding. The rain will be done by then.”
As she predicted, the rain stopped midway through the rodeo. The fans who’d stuck it out huddled in clusters under the cover of the grandstand. They cheered mightily when, after being introduced, Joe tiptoed three steps into the arena, then jumped as high as he could and splashed down into a huge puddle.
“Might as well get it over with,” he told Hank, who followed suit, grinning like a baboon.
“We’re bucking Delon’s re-ride first,” Violet reminded them.
They both backed off to lean on the fence to the side of the first chute. Violet joined Cole in the middle of the arena. The rain had washed every particle of dust from the air, leaving nothing to dull the edges of the scene playing out under the lights. The hollow clank of bells as the bull riders tied ropes onto their bulls. The steel-gray gleam of Blue Duck’s rump, shifting as Delon settled down on his back. The glitter of the horse’s eye from beneath a tangle of jet-black mane when he shoved his nose up and over the top rail of the chute. The smell of mud, wet horse, and musty rubber slicker.
The metallic bang of the latch as Delon nodded and the gate swung wide. Blue Duck didn’t tiptoe through the mud—he blasted, grunting as fountains of water sprayed from beneath his hooves. Delon was the eye of the storm, steady and calm, heels snapping into the horse’s neck an instant before hooves met mud, chaps flashing under the lights. Just as the eight-second whistle blew, they reached the fence. Blue Duck threw on the brakes, intending to roll back on his hocks, but he hit one of the slick spots. His rear hooves skidded, momentum carrying his butt up under his shoulders until he was vertical.
For an instant he hung there, at the edge of his balance. Violet gasped along with the crowd, sure the horse would fall straight over backward, onto Delon. Blue Duck twisted midair and flopped onto his side. When the horse scrambled to his feet, Delon was still aboard, but cocked off to the left, both hands clamped around the handle of the rigging. Blue Duck bolted, Cole in close pursuit and Violet only a few strides behind. Delon’s rigging slipped, dropping him even farther onto the horse’s side, his head dangerously exposed to the rapidly approaching posts.
Violet had to keep Blue Duck off the fence. She kicked hard, driving Cadillac into the rapidly closing gap as Cole stood out in his left stirrup, grabbing for Delon’s arm but missing. Cadillac plowed through the mud, his nose coming even with the roan’s flank. Almost there…
Delon’s hand popped out of the rigging and he fell—directly into her path. She had no time to react. Cadillac’s forelegs slammed into Delon’s body, drove him into the mud, pummeled by steel-shod hooves packing the force of a thousand pounds of horseflesh. Violet heard the shrieks from the fans as Cadillac stumbled, slipped, and fell, vaulting her over the front of the saddle. The side of her head hit first, then her shoulder. She braced for the impact of Cadillac’s massive body rolling over her, but it didn’t come. She’d been thrown clear.
She lay where she’d fallen, stunned. Wow. Stars. She stayed perfectly still, waiting for them to clear, trying to assess how much damage had been done.
Hands cupped her face, urgent but careful. “Violet? Can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes. Joe’s face wobbled, wavered, then came into focus, only inches from hers. She pulled in a careful breath. Wiggled her fingers. Then her toes. “I’m okay.”
“You’re sure? You went down pretty hard.”
“Yeah, but the landing strip is really squishy.”
Joe laughed, but it was shaky, and either her vision was still wobbly or his fingers were trembling when he scraped mud from her cheek and held it up for her inspection. “And a free facial to boot.”
Cole splattered up behind Joe and vaulted off his horse, eyes glittering, jaw clenched. “Anything broken?”
Violet shook her head and her vision blurred, then cleared.
Cole fisted his reins in his hand, glaring at her. “What the hell were you trying to do?”
Joe was on his feet and in Cole’s face before Violet could open her mouth. He planted a hand in the middle of Cole’s chest and shoved. “Back off, asshole.”
Cole lifted a hand to return the shove but they were interrupted by the arrival of the emergency medical technicians, slogging through mud. The tall, lanky one started to peel off and head their direction, but Cole cut him off, grabbing the largest of the bags he was lugging. Violet shoved into a seated position and winced at the twinge in her neck. Delon was on his hands and one knee, a cluster of cowboys hunched around him. His left leg was extended, as if too painful to bend.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Please don’t let it be serious. Not now. Not when he was so close to a world title he could see his reflection in the gold buckle. Joe crouched beside Violet again. She let him wipe mud from her neck and shirt as she watched the EMTs quiz Delon, poking and prodding, heads bent low to hear his answers to their questions. Finally they hooked their hands under Delon’s armpits and eased him to his feet. He didn’t put any weight on the left leg.
They took one tentative step. Then another. On the third, Delon’s uninjured knee buckled. He clamped his arm across his ribs, face contorted, the noise he made part groan, part gurgle. Fear shot ice into Violet’s veins when he folded, crumpling like a broken puppet. The techs lowered him to the ground and knelt over him, movements urgent, faces grim. As they worked, a single, plaintive voice echoed across the hushed arena.
“Daddeeee!”