Bad wreck: A seriously painful buck off, commonly followed by getting horned or stomped.
A week after their brief honeymoon, Rhett went back on the road.
During his time off, he gave Tara a brief education about the rules and scoring of the PBR so that she could better understand and follow his progress.
She already knew that a professional bull ride was an eight-second endurance effort between the bull rider and a strong, massive bull determined to buck him off. The rider had to last those eight seconds with one hand in the air the whole time in order to earn a score.
She learned that the clock started the second that the bull’s hip or shoulder broke the plane of the gate, and the clock stopped when the rider’s hand came out of his rope, involuntarily or intentionally. If the rider touched anything with his free hand—his body, the bull, or the ground—it stopped the clock.
And she learned that each ride was worth up to one hundred points: fifty points awarded to the bull and fifty points to the rider if he managed to last for the full eight seconds. So if the rider scored fifty points and the bull scored fifty points it was credited to the rider as a 100-point ride. The bulls themselves were in competition for points and standings. The bulls received a score anywhere from zero to fifty points after every ride or attempted ride, whether or not the rider was able to make it to the eight-second buzzer.
A panel of PBR judges scored both the bulls and the riders. The bulls received points for how difficult they were to ride. A rider was judged on how much control he exhibited in the ride. What fascinated Tara was that while Rhett wasn’t particularly controlled in his personal life, on the back of a bull, his precision, strength, and agility gave him supreme control. This year, all his years of work had culminated in top-notch skill.
At each event leading up to the finals, he scored points and made money.
“So you’ve already made a lot of money this season,” she’d said. “Even if you don’t end up winning the world finals, you’ve still had a great year so far.”
“Best year yet. If I’m careful and invest right. I’m trusting you to help me with that,” he said. “I’ve never paid much attention to money.”
“That’s because you’ve always had money,” she said, pleased to be invited to help him with his finances. “You’ll have to trim back on those twenty-dollar tips. I love how generous you are, but Julie comes first.”
“Yes, ma’am . . . oops, sorry about the ‘ma’am’ . . . yes, my queen.”
She’d laughed then and ruffled his hair.
The time between their July wedding and the court review hearing at the end of September crawled by.
Time with an infant was a roller coaster of emotions. Tara swung from joy and elation to exhaustion and a feeling of being overwhelmed. Instead of taking his travel trailer on the road, Rhett parked it and flew to each event, giving him more time with Tara and Julie. Ridge would fly his private jet to El Paso to drop him off and pick him up. It was nice to have family help. Without Ridge carting him to El Paso and back, he couldn’t have done all that flying.
During the week, when Rhett blew back into town, things were great. He thrilled to the ups and downs of parenthood, knew how to relax and enjoy the ride. Showed Tara a few tricks.
His enthusiasm and fluid personality helped her realize she did not always have to be in total control. It was okay for the house to be messy and for her to spend the day in her pajamas if that’s how things turned out. His ability to turn any mundane task into fun was one of the things she admired most about him.
When he was home, he insisted that she indulge in self-care. He would draw her a bubble bath in his big jetted soaker tub. Letting her linger while he rocked Julie in his lap, lightly bouncing her with his knees in a gentle version of giddy-up horsey.
He planned outings. A trip to the stables to introduce Julie to the horses, a stroller ride through the Cupid park, meet-ups with Kaia and Ridge and their kids at the ice cream parlor, giving Julie her first taste of vanilla ice cream.
When they stayed in, Rhett would pump music through the house, playing a variety of tunes from Nat King Cole to George Strait, Arctic Monkeys to Mozart. He had more eclectic tastes than she’d first thought. Digging up Bessie Smith, Buddy Holly, and Cole Porter records from a trunk in the attic and playing them on an old record player that had once belonged to his mother. He’d dance Julie around the room until she chuffed and grinned and flapped her little arms like a baby bird trying to take flight.
Many times, they spent the day burrowed in bed, Julie sandwiched between them. Counting her fingers and toes, playing This Little Piggy Went to Market. They lightly tickled the bottoms of her feet, blew raspberries against her bare belly, and played peek-a-boo.
Yes, when Rhett was home, life was good.
But he left every Thursday morning to catch a plane to his next event, and he did not return until late Sunday evening. Giving her just three short days with him each week.
The rest of the time, the responsibilities of single parenthood pushed her limits. If it hadn’t been for her family, she didn’t know how she would have managed.
While he was gone, she did her best to stay occupied. Which wasn’t hard to do since Julie required a lot of care. She did things with the baby to stimulate her development—range-of-motion exercises, stretching, massage. And Julie thrived.
Her family was great about getting her out of the house. Kaia invited her and Julie over for lunch on Sundays after church, and her parents came over every Thursday night to watch Julie, insisting she have mommy’s night out with her sisters or friends. It helped to ease her loneliness, but she didn’t stop missing Rhett. Without him in it, the small bungalow felt empty and oversized.
On Wednesdays, she continued to volunteer at the WIC clinic, and that’s when Rhett got to spend his alone time with Julie. Father and daughter bonding. Tara was beloved at the clinic and found the work so rewarding. Being around other Apaches put her back in touch with her heritage and culture. Her grandfather would have been so proud. Merylene told her numerous times that when she was ready for a full-time job at the clinic to just say the word and the job was hers.
It was nice having that option. Maybe when Julie was a little older and Rhett was no longer in the PBR, she’d think about it.
She and Rhett Skyped every night. Texted each other in between the Skype sessions. They discussed everything and nothing. Movies, books, music, pets, medicine, bull riding, religion, politics, food, philosophies on childrearing. No topic was off-limits.
Through their Internet gab sessions, they deepened their connection and discovered they had way more in common than it seemed on the surface.
They both loved The Voice and had binge-watched Breaking Bad three times. They preferred dogs over cats, Alaska to Hawaii, and their eggs over easy. They hated split pea soup, boiled okra, and marshmallow fluff.
They’d both worn braces at age thirteen. Both lost their virginity at seventeen. Both raised calves in FFA their freshman year in high school and showed them at the Fort Worth Stock Show.
Neither cared for gin, bologna, or any brand of jeans other than Wrangler. They agreed it was important to vote but they were both lax about it. Politically, they were moderates who thought both parties had gone a little mad. They discovered they shared an obsession with the Texas Rangers—the baseball team, not the law enforcement agency—and they enjoyed hiking the Davis Mountains on the search for arrowheads.
And yes, they did a bit of sexting and Skype sex—they were newlyweds, after all. Long-distance romance sucked, but Rhett knew all kinds of innovative ways to spice things up.
Two or three times a week, he sent gifts. Some romantic, others practical. A footbath, which she adored. Long-stemmed red roses that filled the house with a beautiful scent. A gurgling fountain to help her fall more quickly asleep between Julie’s frequent feedings. An oversized chocolate chip cookie, iced in chocolate ganache with the words “I Hear the Hum.” Then impishly, the next day, a personal vibrator engraved with “You Hear the Hum.”
One time a massage therapist showed up on her doorstep and announced Rhett had hired her to give Tara a ninety-minute massage. Kaia was right behind the therapist. Rhett had sent her to watch Julie, so Tara could have uninterrupted self-care.
The next time it was a pedicurist and Aria.
When she told him that while she appreciated the lavish gifts, he needed to save money, he sent her a toy bullwhip with a note that said: You can crack this over my head when I get home. A case of Juicy Fruit gum. A box of animal crackers. Cute cards. Silly social media gifs.
He was a helluva romantic, and Tara luxuriated in his attention. She couldn’t wait to see what creative surprise he came up with next.
Every Friday and Saturday, she was parked in front of the TV watching the channel that aired the PBR events. Eyes glued to the screen, watching her husband ride. The stakes were high, and every time he got on the back of a bull, her heart was in her throat.
Sometimes Ridge and Kaia would come over to watch the events with her, but mostly, it was just she and Julie. She would sit on the couch, fists clenched, yelling at the bull to leave her man alone. Hopping to her feet to yell, “Yes, yes,” every time the timer hit eight seconds. He was on a hot streak. Winning events right and left. The announcers were impressed. Going on and on about the changes in him. How focused he seemed. How he’d matured. They speculated marriage and fatherhood were good for this rodeo cowboy.
When he was home, it was a sexfest as they made up for lost time. They had lots of quickies. With a small infant in the house, long, lingering make-out sessions just didn’t happen. There was a rousing encounter on the washing machine as he seduced her in the laundry room during one of Julie’s naps.
And a fun time on the backyard swing until the frame broke and they ended up on the ground laughing their asses off. Then there was a frantic, naughty roll in the hay barn one night when her parents dropped by. She’d left them in the living room with Julie and had gone to the barn to call Rhett in for dinner, and one thing just led to another.
He cooked for her and watched Hallmark movies with her and gave Julie her baths. It wasn’t easy, but they made the best of it. Laughing together when things didn’t go as planned. Working as a team. Appreciating every single moment they had in each other’s company.
It was the best two months of Tara’s life, and then came the Labor Day weekend rodeo that turned everything upside down.
On Saturday, August 31, Tara sat glued to the TV in the living room, watching the PBR event in Tacoma. Julie was in her bassinet beside the couch, studying the mobile of galloping horses that Rhett had bought her when he’d been in Wyoming.
Rhett was up next, and the two announcers were speculating about why he’d gotten married in the middle of the season. How taking time off had dropped him in the standings.
“Claudio Limon took advantage of Lockhart’s absence last month,” the first announcer said. “And Lockhart lost his solid lead. They’ve been neck and neck ever since. Given Claudio’s win history, Lockhart’s marriage just might have handed the Brazilian the title.”
“It’s still early in the season, Ray,” said the other announcer. “A whole lot can happen between now and November. There’s bad blood between Lockhart and Limon. They were dating the same woman. It’s turning out to be a world-class grudge match.”
“The thing about bull riders is, at the end of the day, these people are a little crazy, Tom,” the first announcer said.
“You’ve got it,” Tom said. “It’s not a question of if these riders will get hurt, but when and how bad.”
“Looks like they’re having some trouble in the chute with Widow Maker,” Ray said. “Lockhart’s getting off.”
The camera panned down to the chute. Rhett was huddled with his manager, while the bull named Widow Maker was thrashing wildly in the chute.
“Do we know what it’s about, Ray?” Tom asked.
“There’s some kind of delay,” Ray said. “While we’re waiting, let’s cut to Lacy Manning’s behind-the-scenes interview with Lockhart from last night’s win.”
The screen shifted to a female reporter with a mike in Rhett’s face.
Rhett’s eyes were shiny from his victory the previous night, his stance deservedly cocky. Tara’s heart swooned. She’d been so damn proud of him. Watching him in action was a natural high.
“That was quite a ride, Mr. Lockhart,” the reporter said, standing far too close to Rhett for Tara’s liking. “Great hip action.”
“Well,” Rhett drawled, looking straight into the camera, clearly courting America. “You gotta know how to move your hips to ride bulls.”
“Oh my.” The reporter giggled and batted her false eyelashes.
Tara covered Julie’s ears. “Don’t listen to this part, button. Your daddy is making a fool of himself.”
“Tell our viewers, Rhett—may I call you Rhett?” The reporter simpered. “How you got started in the sport.”
“Well, ma’am,” he said, giving her his humble cowboy, aw-shucks smile. “You can call me anything you want as long as you call me for dinner.”
Tara rolled her eyes. Hard.
“Oh, none of that ‘ma’am’ stuff. You must call me Lacy.” The reporter laughed and showed a mouthful of straight white teeth.
“Veneers,” Tara told Julie. “I could have them too if I wanted to spend the money.”
“Lacy,” Rhett said. “I been riding bulls since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.” Rhett stuck his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “When I was three years old, I used to ride on my daddy’s back and he’d buck around the living room like a bull. Later, he told me I used to wear him out.” Rhett’s smile widened. “I treasure those memories. Whenever I climbed on the back of a bull, it was the only time my daddy paid much attention to me, especially after my mother died. I knew when things got bad I could always find a bull to ride and everything would be okay.”
The words he spoke were sad, but there was no trace of bitterness in his voice. No residue of disillusionment or blame. His childhood was what it was.
“That’s such a touching story,” said Lacy, totally missing the point. She turned to the camera. “To all you little cowboys out there, keep riding, and someday you too can be in the PBR.”
Tara, however, did not miss the point. She sat up straight, Rhett’s baby clutched her in arms.
Whenever I climbed on the back of a bull, it was the only time my daddy paid much attention to me, especially after my mother died.
In that poignant statement, Tara learned everything she needed to know about why Rhett was the way he was. Why the PBR meant so much to him. Why he was an incorrigible flirt. Why he was hard driven to succeed as a bull rider. Why he really did want to be a good dad to Julie.
Her heart broke for him. He was living his life trapped in old childhood patterns, and he didn’t even realize it. Trying to please a father who was impossible to please. Trying to replace the love of his mother with a string of women who always fell short of ideal.
He had a fear of going too emotionally deep, terrified of getting chewed up. His attraction to all things pleasurable—sex, a good time, the high of a win—he saw as a positive flow when in fact, his constantly seeking the next emotional high masked a flight away from pain.
It made such sense why he could never pass up an invitation for fun. Why he’d gone back on the circuit. Rodeo and its unpredictability was all he knew.
Yet, in his soul he craved stability, just as he feared it.
But now, Tara knew why. The sudden realization that he was still running away from his mother’s death, twenty years later, touched her to the core.
And all she wanted to do was love him back to wholeness.
The camera panned back to the arena. Rhett was back in the chute on Widow Maker.
“Looks like they’ve got the problem resolved,” Ray, the announcer, said.
“Do we know what caused the delay?” asked Tom.
“Oh, this is a funny one. Apparently, Lockhart lost his good luck charm and wouldn’t get on the bull without it.”
“What is his good luck charm?”
“It’s an animal cracker.”
“An animal cracker?” Tom cackled. “What kind?”
Ray pressed his fingers against his earpiece. “I’m being told it’s a giraffe.”
“These riders are a superstitious lot. Did Lockhart find his animal cracker?”
“Afraid not, but he has to get on the bull or forfeit.”
The camera focused on Rhett for a close-up in the chute at the Tacoma Dome, geared up and ready to rock. His head was down, and he had a helmet on, so she couldn’t see much of his face, but his body was loose, and easy. He was at home here. This was where he belonged.
Even so, she couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking. Was he scared? Was he freaked out over losing his lucky charm? And when had he started carrying animal crackers as a good luck symbol? Or was he feeling pure thrill? Was adrenaline spilling through his bloodstream? Or was he as cool as his body language?
The bull beneath him bucked and snorted. He looked very mean. Tara’s stomach somersaulted. How in the world did Rhett do this? What drove him to time and again test his mettle against such angry, gigantic beasts?
Tara drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them. “This is nerve-wracking.”
Julie made cooing noises.
“That’s your daddy,” Tara said, pointing at the screen. “He might not be the smartest man alive, straddling an animal that could kill him, but he’s pretty darn brave. You should be proud. Not everyone has the courage to go for their dreams.”
Julie flapped her little arms and legs.
The chute opened, and the bull came charging out, snorting and bucking. The time ticked off on the TV screen agonizingly slow. One second, two seconds, three . . .
Her heart slammed into her chest—ka-bam, ka-bam, ka-bam. She crossed all her fingers and toes. Please, please.
Rhett held on. Looked magnificently in control. A man in his element at the top of his game.
A rush of feeling she couldn’t quite name cleaved her. She curled her hands into tight fists, squinted, rocked forward on the cushion as if it were she on the back of the bull. “Hang on, hang on.”
Four seconds . . . five . . . six.
Dear God, eight seconds was a lifetime. She chewed a thumbnail. How did the wives and mothers of bull riders stand the suspense?
Widow Maker was spinning and leaping out of control. Just as the buzzer sounded, indicating that Rhett had managed to hang on for those eight interminable seconds, the bull’s back hooves briefly touched the ground, and using the momentum the giant beast sprang straight up into the air.
“Widow Maker’s gone vertical!” exclaimed Ray, the announcer, stunned awe in his voice. “And Lockhart is still along for the ride!”
For one breath-stealing moment, man and beast hung suspended as if dangling from a giant invisible rope. A seemingly impossible feat.
The announcers gasped in unison as the crowd cheered insanely. Terrified, Tara screamed and jumped off the couch. Julie burst into tears.
Widow Maker landed with a teeth-jarring jolt.
Rhett flew off the bull’s broad backside. Immediately, Widow Maker spun around and came after him. The bullfighters jumped in, trying to distract Widow Maker. But the bull lowered its head, hooked its horns beneath Rhett’s shoulders, and tossed him across the arena like a straw scarecrow.
Rhett landed hard, facedown, dust flying up around him . . .
. . . and he did not move again.