Page 3 of Before You Can Blink
Sucking in a deep breath, I released it slowly in an attempt to calm my racing heart while waiting for Murphy’s signal.
He must’ve sensed I was ready because he began to count down, “Ready . . . set . . . go!”
It all happened so fast. One minute, I was perched on the fence; the next, my teeth were clacking together as my body was jostled violently in the saddle with a thousand-pound animal trying to unseat me.
A throbbing began in my head as my brain beat against my skull with the force of the filly’s frantic bucking. My shoulder screamed in agony, the tendons threatening to tear as I refused to let go of my grip on the pommel.
Coaxing my muscles to loosen, I began to move with the horse instead of fighting against its relentless thrashing, and that’s when a shift occurred.
The pain faded away, and in its place came a rush of exhilaration. In a split second, I went from being ready to give up to never wanting this ride to end.
Too bad for me, an arm wrapped around my waist, and I was yanked violently from the saddle.
Breathless, I panted as my vision swam. The adrenaline coursing through my veins had electricity buzzing beneath my skin. I felt invincible, and I knew right then and there I would be chasing this high for the rest of my life.
The excited energy building within me grew too much to contain, and I let out a loud whoop, throwing my arm in the air.
But the giant bubble of euphoria burst at the sound of my father’s booming voice.
“Jett Elias Sullivan! What on God’s green earth possessed you to get on the back of a wild horse like that? You could have snapped your damn neck!”
My head whipped around, and I swallowed involuntarily at the sight of Pop’s stormy face, his eyes blazing with anger.
Yep, I was fucked big time.
“Sorry, that’s on me.”
That’s when I realized Murphy was the one whose chest I was pressed up against; his arm locked around my waist from the opposite side of the fence.
“You good, kid?” He kept his voice low in my ear.
I gave a shaky nod, my feet scrambling for purchase on the closest wooden slat. Once he was sure I was steady on my own, Murphy released his hold, allowing me to climb out of the pen.
He tossed me a wink. “Keep your mouth shut and let me handle this.”
Not only had this man granted me the opportunity to experience the thrill of a lifetime, but now he was willing to throw himself in front of me and take on the brunt of Milton Sullivan’s fury? He all but cemented himself as my personal hero in the span of the last thirty minutes.
Stomping toward us so hard a cloud of dust kicked up in his wake, my father barked at Murphy, “You better have a damn good explanation as to why my fourteen-year-old son was on the back of an unbroken horse under your supervision.”
“Fourteen, you say?” Murphy pursed his lips, giving me a once-over.
“Fifteen in three weeks,” I corrected.
“What was that?”
Pop’s sharp tone had my eyes dropping to where my boots toed the ground. “Nothing.”
“I can understand why you might be upset,” Murphy began with a placating tone. “Tell you the truth, if he were my boy, I’d be pissed as hell.”
My father scoffed. “If that were true, he wouldn’t have been up there in the first place.”
Hate to say it, but he had a point.
Murphy hummed. “In hindsight, I can agree it wasn’t the best idea. But if I can say one thing?” Pop dipped his chin, allowing Murphy the chance to proceed. “I used to compete on the rodeo circuit, and I’ve never seen raw talent like I witnessed from your son today.”
My jaw dropped, and a rush of air escaped my parted lips.
Rodeo? Was this guy serious right now?
