Rodeo Dreams

The individual winners varied from night to night, but the champion was almost always one of two people: Travis Younkin or Red Willis. Cracking that ceiling was going to be a lot harder than just getting to ride, but she was going to give it her best shot. Yeah, winning would be sweet and yeah, taking the whole weekend would go a hell of a long way toward proving she could ride any bull she damn well wanted, but there was more to it.

Beating Red was practically a necessity at this point. And beating Travis?

He’d learn soon enough what her father had never quite been able to grasp. No one was going to keep June Spotted Elk off a bull. Period.

She stayed clear of the platform, in case someone wanted to blame their bad ride on her existence. Instead, she guarded her rope—just in case—and braided her hair four times until it felt right while she studied the other rides. Mitch looked just as gangly up on a bull as he did walking around, all arms and legs flailing, but he made the time with an 83. The Brazilian hit the ground after 6.9 seconds. Whether or not he would make the short go was questionable.

Especially after she watched Travis ride. The difference between how he carried himself on a bull compared to all the guys around her was startling. Even compared to Mitch, who made the time, Travis looked fluid up there. June couldn’t figure out how he did it. He moved like a well-oiled machine for eight seconds, and spent the rest of the time limping around like the Tin Man.

It had to be the ride. The adrenaline that ran through his body—if it was anything like how June felt, then that rush alone was why he kept coming back for more. As nuts as it was to ride a bull, she couldn’t blame him. The adrenaline was what she lived for, too.

But more than that, when she was on the bull, she felt like she was showing everyone how wrong they were. The bulls didn’t like her, true enough—but that wasn’t because she was a woman or an Indian or poor or even all three of those things. Bulls didn’t like her because she dared to sit on them. No one was going to tell her she couldn’t.

Maybe it was the same for Travis. He shouldn’t be out there, not after his wreck. But who the hell was going to tell him not to? The only difference was that, if Travis did it even though he shouldn’t, no one said a damn thing. Yet everyone— especially Travis—seemed to think it was their God-given right to tell her what to do.

To hell with that.

Even though Travis came up limping, he scored another 90. He pumped his helmet even though it didn’t have the same oomph as throwing a hat into the ring. But his smile was short-lived. By the time he made it back to the chutes, the now-familiar scowl was back.

So far, five guys had made the time. She knew the odds were stacked against her, but she tried to focus. She would ride her bull, Twisty Tie, sooner or later. She was near the end of the long go—Mort was holding her back to build suspense, no doubt—and the wait was making her antsy.

“Spotted Elk!” The shout snapped her back to reality. “You’re up!”

Game time. She hefted her rope and climbed up onto the platform. Mitch and the Brazilian were waiting, as was the Preacher, but she was surprised to see Travis up there.

“Mount up, Girlie,” Mitch said with another smarmy wink.

She thought she saw Travis roll his eyes, but she couldn’t afford to wonder what he was doing up here if he wasn’t talking to either of them.

Twisty Tie was waiting for her. A medium bull, he wasn’t anything special. Regular brown color, regular bucking pattern. She could do this. She was a bull rider.

Once again, the Brazilian held her steady while Mitch pulled on her rope. And once again, he didn’t get it quite tight enough.

“You aren’t going to break me,” she said between clenched teeth as Twisty Tie shifted nervously.

That was apparently the sign Travis had been waiting for, because he pushed Mitch aside and took over the rope. Within seconds, she had her grip.

“Thanks,” she said. Later, she’d try to figure out why the guy who couldn’t even look at her without scowling was helping her out, but for now, she focused on the bull.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said. “Presenting a first for you all here in Mesquite! We got ourselves a real sweetheart of a gal up there who says she’s going to win this thing tonight!”

The crowd roared—half with laughter, half with cheers. Well, at least the Cindy Lucas section cheered. She hated the laughter, hated being the joke. Instead of letting her anger distract her, she channeled it into the ride. This was what she was born to do. She’d made it onto the circuit. Now she had to prove she belonged here, one bull at a time. Starting with this bull.

“Give it up for June Spotted Elk, riding Twisty Tie!”

This was it. Now was the time.

She nodded, and Twisty Tie blew out of the chute like a tornado.

One.

He went left hard with a buck in the back.

Two.

Twisty reared up again, but she leaned forward just enough to find the center.

Three.

He bucked in the back again. Every fiber in June’s body wanted to lean back to find the balance, but something told her to hold. Hold? Was she insane? In less than a heartbeat, she decided to go with the hunch over instinct.

Four.

She kept her body forward. Shit, she was going to fall forward, smack her jaw on the bull—

Five.

Midbuck, Twisty did something she couldn’t see, but it felt like instead of his haunches going all the way up, his whole rear end went sideways. When he hit the ground again, June was perfectly balanced for the next buck.

Six.

Whatever the hell that little skip had been, he didn’t do it again.

Seven.

It was almost like riding a horse now—an even-paced bucking that held no surprises.

Eight.

When the buzzer came, she pulled her rope and rolled off to the right, landing on her feet at a fast walk.

The crowd was still roaring, but this time there wasn’t any laughter in the mix. Instead, they were all cheering.

“The judges have given that talented young lady an 84 for riding Twisty Tie!”

Some people started to boo, and the rodeo clown said, “An 84? She was robbed! I’ve never seen a bull do what ol’ Twisty Tie pulled on her!”

What the hell were they complaining about? She’d gotten an 84 on her first official ride! She’d made the short go! With a triumphant “Hiiieyeee!” she flung her hat into the arena. The crowd applauded her effort as several flashes went off.

By the time she made it back to the chutes again, most of the cowboys were staring at her. Red scowled as she walked back to her duffel. “I bet she wouldn’t land on her feet if I bucked her off,” he sneered after she passed.

She wanted to go over and break his arm, but she kept going. She wasn’t going to sink to Red’s level.

The rest of the long go moved on, and then it was time for the short go. She was in the middle of a pack of seven that had made the time and far ahead of the three guys who’d made the cut, but this was round two. She needed to stay on again to stay in the running.

This time, she went third, riding some green bull named Hi Fructose. This time, Travis worked her rope by himself, with Mitch doing the flank strap. And again, she got no answer when she said, “Thanks.”

Hi Fructose was green in more ways than one. At the six-second mark, he got tired of bucking and just stood there until the bullfighters startled him enough that he finished out the time. The 79 she got was more a reflection of the bad draw than the bad ride but it was enough to put her in fourth for the night, behind Travis, Red and Mitch.