Page 26 of Eight Seconds to Fly

As the last riders finished up, I was nudged out of fourth place by another young rider, but it didn’t matter. I got a payday and I rode a bull. That was a successful week in my book. Branch took out first, riding his bull for the full eight seconds, and got himself a gold buckle, Dylan coming in second. I didn’t mind that either. They were great riders who had good rides.

I followed the rest of the riders who were scrubbed and in clean jeans up to the foyer where we would sign pictures of ourselves. It was freaking surreal that I was even here.

I sat beside Dylan, because apparently they did it alphabetically, but I appreciated the friendly face.

What I didn’t anticipate was the fact that I would be all but ignored. Dylan, however, was overrun with women wanting him to sign hats and cards, and on one particularly beautiful blonde with enormous bolt-on tits, some cleavage.

I had the odd kid come up, the ones collecting all the signatures, and they made it better. I had time to chat to them about their favorite rider, who was the rankest bull. Their faces lit up and it made the whole situation better.

One kid in a hat bigger than his torso was talking to me now. “And that's why I think Dylan should rideThe Butcherbecause I think that he would be the only one who could ride him.”

I sat back in my chair and grinned. “You don’t think I could rideThe Butcher?”

The boy frowned and looked me over appraisingly. “No Ma’am.”

I raised an eyebrow, his mother watching from behind him with a frown like she was going to whack him upside the head as soon as he said something rude. “Why not? You don’t have to be strong to be a rider, otherwise weight lifters would do it. You don’t have to be a boy to ride a bull, unless you know some secret I don’t?”

“That’s not it either, Ma’am.”

I pushed my hat back on my head and gave him an appraising look. “Why do you think I can’t rideThe Butcherbut Dylan Montaigne can?”

The boy frowned, chewing on his lip. “‘Cause you're right-handed andThe Butcherlikes to spin to the left and you prefer when they spin into your hand. Dylan is a leftie like me.”

I grinned wide, and the kid gave me a tentative smile back. “You make a pretty good point kid. I’m going to have to work on that if I wanna beat that bull. Thanks for the advice.” I signed a card for him and he waved it around til the ink dried before handing it back to his mama. He looked at the line around Dylan, mostly women and old men with soft middles and sighed.

“We gotta go home now. We only gots a babysitter for another thirty minutes,” he said, the disappointment written all over his face. Call me freaking soft, but tough kids with sad faces broke my heart.

I lifted my chin toward him. “Come over this side of the table.” He looked back at his mom, and when she nodded, squished between the small gap between the tables. “What’s your name?”

“Buck.”

“Okay, Buck. You got something for Dylan to sign?” He nodded and held out a poster with Dylan’s face on it. “Now, you watch this.” I leaned around him, over to where a pretty teenage girl with a tied up shirt and jeans that were painted on, twirled her hair and blushed. Eesh. Save me.

“Hey Dylan,” I yelled over the crowd.

Dylan smiled politely at the girl in front of him, leaning back in his chair. The look he threw me was friendly, but underneath there was heat in his eyes when he took me in. “What's up, T.M.?”

“My friend Buck here thinks you can rideThe Butcherbecause you’re a leftie.”

Dylan grinned and scooted his chair toward us. “Is that so? Well, I gotta say, I’ve ridden him a couple of times and he’s always put me on my ass, but one day, Buck, I’m gonna ride that bull for the full eight seconds.”

The look of pure adulation on Buck’s face was worth gold. “Can you sign my poster?”

Dylan nodded and took the poster without hesitation. “You going to ride bulls when you grow up, Buck?”

Buck shook his head. “Naw, my mama says I’m too smart for that. She said riding bulls is like being in the front seat of a car accident on purpose.”

We both looked at him, and then at his blushing mother who looked like she wanted to murder her son.

I threw back my head and laughed. “You should listen to your mama, because they are almost always right. Bull riding isn’t for the clever ones, and if they were clever to start with, they aren’t after landing on their head too many times.”

Dylan was chuckling as well. “She’s right, Kid. Become a dentist. The money is just as good and you are less likely to lose a limb.” Shaking his hand, Dylan turned back to the teenage girl and I helped Buck squeeze back out between the tables.

His mom was still looking horrified. “I’m so sorry,” she mouthed and I smiled.

“He’s a good kid. Keep up the hard work. Don’t become a dentist though. Dentists are boring. Do something you love.”

Buck gave me a solemn nod and I waved as his mother hustled him out of the room. I packed up my stuff and left the room.

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