Page 84 of Riding the Storm
As we approach, Micah breaks off from the film crew.
“Hey, you ready to get that outfit a little dirty?” he asks Bryce as he claps him on the back.
“What’s happening?” I ask as I take in the production. Zeroing in on the bull that’s snorting in the pen.
“Bryce here is going to do a little riding while we record.”
My eyes fly to Bryce.
“Uh, Micah, can you give us a minute?” he asks.
“Sure. But we’re on a time crunch here, so only one,” Micah says, grinning.
He trots back to the crew, and Bryce turns to face me.
“You’re not getting on the back of a bull,” I say.
His hands come to my shoulders, and he looks me in the eye. “They use older retired bulls for commercials. They’re calm, and they follow command from their wranglers. It’s not dangerous.”
“Is it going to buck?”
“It’d be a pretty sad commercial if it didn’t. Just a cowboy on the back of an old Brahman, trotting around an arena.”
I don’t laugh.
“Then it is dangerous,” I snap.
He sighs. “I know what I’m doing. The bull knows what it’s supposed to do. You’re gonna have to relax and trust me.”
“Bryce …”
“No,” he says, his voice steady. “We’re not fighting. You’re going to go sit by the fence and watch me ride, or you can go back and wait in the trailer.”
“Bryce! Burning daylight, my friend,” Micah calls.
Bryce raises a finger, then glances back at me. “Which one is it, Chuck?”
I huff out a frustrated breath and walk toward the fence.
Ten minutes later, he’s on the back of the bull, and when the gate opens, he and Ole Bruiser put on a show. The bull spins and bucks, kicking its back legs toward the sky. Bryce moves with the animal, his muscular body loose and fluid. But it’s his face that draws my attention. He’s loving every second. Even on a retired beast that’s spinning at the speed of an old mechanical bull in the middle of a smoky honky-tonk.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Bryce says.
I glance over and give him a weak smile.
We’re about two hours into our three-hour road trip to Tulsa. And I’ve been lost in my thoughts.
“Sorry.”
He sighs. “You’re still mad, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. “No. Just tired. Someone kept me up all night.”
His eyes cut to me and then back to the road. “I did warn you that we had to be up early, but you insisted we go out with the boys. So, whose fault is it really?”
I sit up, stretch my arms over my head, and take a look around us. “Are you planning to feed me today, cowboy?”
“We’ll be at my parents’ place in about forty minutes, and I’m sure my mother will have a feast on the table when we get there.”
