Page 14 of Ride the Sky

Vic LaVoie emerges out of the afternoon sunlight. Like my father, the sixty-six-year-old, silver-haired cowboy is a bull riding legend. He was crowned the World Champion at the National Finals Rodeo, the PRCA’s Super Bowl. Years later, he opened his riding school. As a child, El Toro Ranch had been my holy grail. I read article after article inRodeo Weeklyabout thisranch where bull riders were raised. Forget boys, at age sixteen, it took up every thought, every fantasy.

I was raised riding horses. They’re my blood, my life. I’m a barrel racing champ. But ever since I saw my father riding those giant bulls, I wanted to do it. Dominate just like Stede McGraw. My father is my hero. Making him proud is all I ever wanted.

Which is why, two years ago, I started riding practice bulls in secret. I fell in love with adrenaline. The wildest rush I’ve ever experienced, that kiss of death.

Now, here I am.

But only because of Vic’s good graces.

When I finally made it to Gila Gulch, Arizona, I was a dusty, road-weary traveler with bad plans. I turned up at El Toro Ranch without an invitation or an appointment.

Vic evaluated me. Sucked his lip. “We don’t train girls.” With that, he turned on his boot heel and slammed the door in my face.

Furious, I slept on his porch for three nights.

When I next saw him, he handed me a cup of coffee and sat me on the chair of his casita. “I’m gonna ask what happened to you, and I expect you to have an honest answer for me.”

He wanted honesty, he got it.

“I was a barrel racer, then I got the shit kicked out of me by an abusive asshole, and now I’m feral.” I inhaled. Let it out. “All I want to do is ride bulls and forget everything else.”

“Running from your problems doesn’t do anything,” he said. “They’re just waiting for you when you get back.”

I looked him in the eye. “I would run to hell if it meant I could escape these fucking problems.”

He considered this. Tugged on the brim of his Stetson in a token gesture I’d come to learn as contemplation. Then he nodded. “You can stay. You need proper training. I can see that.”

That first week, I could barely handle Vic’s grueling schedule. His beginner bulls thrashed me. I hurt in body parts I didn’t even know existed. I sprained my collarbone and then my elbow.

But now, I have it down.

My daily routine. My paradise.

I sleep in a bunkhouse, train in a gym, and ride bulls every day. The sky is my roof. The earth is my bed.

I can’t recall exactly when bull riding started to feel like an addiction. A peace. Maybe it was after Aiden. Maybe it was when I met Vic. Either way, it makes the part of me that Aiden destroyed feel a little more whole.

It makes me feel alive, if only because I don’t wish I were dead.

Risking death and dismemberment on the back of a raging beast is good for the soul. At least that’s what I tell myself.

I prop the water bucket on my hip. “Chores are finished.”

He adjusts his tattered cowboy hat. “You text your daddy?”

“Yes, sir.” Every damn day.

I swore my father to secrecy about my whereabouts a month after I arrived. He’s never once asked me to come home. Never made me feel bad for leaving. Still, I know what I’ve missed. Guilt stirs in my stomach. Ford and Reese’s wedding. A new niece, Lainie. Another summer on Runaway Ranch.

I remind myself it’s better this way. No burdens.

Vic and I walk past the ranch gates and the tortoise enclosure. Taco and Oreo, the sheepdogs, yip around us, nipping at flies.Best foods in the world, Vic proclaimed when I asked about their names.

“Boys went out,” Vic offers, nodding at the winding dirt road that leads into Gila Gulch. “Could join.”

I kick at a rock, sending it rolling. “It would make them too happy to have company.” I smirk. “We can’t have that.”

Sun upon his back, Vic chuckles. “You trust a 1,500-pound animal more than most people.”

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