Page 31 of The Hearts We've Broken
“I swear a month ago he was seen with a different girl?”
“He definitely wasn’t with her at the NFR last year.”
Self-consciousness prickled at my skin at the comments directed toward me. As if he sensed my discomfort, Mikeypulled me closer, rubbing circles on my arm. Then, to my own shock, he planted a kiss on my temple.
“I thought you didn’t want extra attention?” I whispered teasingly in his ear.
“Not when the comments they’re making are being directed at my girl.”
Even though I was sure he was only saying that to keep up the act, warmth burst in my chest at his comment. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking down at my feet as a flush crept into my cheeks. “Thanks.”
“I’m going to protect you, Juniper. Just because you’re my”—he coughed—“girlfriend, doesn’t mean my reputation gets attached to you. It’s not going to follow you around.”
We reached our seats, and although the comments hadn’t ceased, I felt better knowing Mikey would stand up for me.
About twenty minutes later, the lights in the arena went low and spotlights danced across the floor. Pyrotechnics shot up fireworks on the arena floor and in the sky. The national anthem was played, but when it concluded, the lights stayed down low instead of coming back up.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to another night of rodeo! We’ve got an action-packed night planned!” The rodeo announcer’s voice echoed around the arena. “But first, please direct your attention to the screens.”
A video of horses and rodeo athletes played as the announcer explained the significance and impact of bucking horses. My eyes were so focused on the jumbotron that I didn’t notice the spotlight fixed on the arena right by the chutes where a beautiful white bucking horse ran out.
The announcer explained that the horse was a great-great grandmother and had fourteen babies who were all born to be bucking horses. Then one of those fourteen came out, the announcer continuing to say that she had five more babies. Soon, more and more horses of all ages and sizes ran out onto the arena floor, showing several generations of this family of bucking horses.
Tears pricked at my eyes as I watched them run. I realized the significance of rodeo and these animals, and a wave of pride washed over me to be part of the special moment, even if I was only watching.
When the lights finally came back up, I wiped a stray tear. Looking around me, I noticed that several other spectators were also emotional. At least I wasn’t alone in that.
Cheers rose from the crowd as the announcer yelled, “Who’s ready for some rodeo? We’re kicking it off with bareback bronc riding!”
The first cowboy climbed onto the back of the horse in the bucking chute as rock music played in the background. In a split second, the gate was opened and the horse whipped out of the chute like a flash of lightning, kicking its hind legs, trying its hardest to throw the rider off.
My heart pounded in my chest until a buzzer signified eight seconds. A couple other men on horses rode next to the bucking horse as it galloped around the arena until the cowboy was able to grab one of the men’s arms and hop off the back of the bucking horse.
“Let’s give him eighty-two points, shall we?” the announcer called out.
“Is that good?” I asked Mikey.
“It’s not a bad score by any means. It’s out of one hundred, so the higher the better, but it’s not bad for the first round.”
I nodded in slight understanding. After watching a couple more, I thought I had grasped the idea of it. But then one of the athletes made it to eight seconds and still didn’t get a score.
“What happened there? He made it to eight seconds.”
“Didn’t mark out,” Jake answered from my left. When I raised my eyebrows at him, he explained. “When the horse initially jumps out of the bucking chute, your spurs have to be held above its shoulders until the front hooves hit the ground. If you don’t do that, you fail to mark out and don’t get a score.”
I was still confused, and he must have picked up on it.
“Essentially, you hold your feet out in front of you until the horse’s front hooves hit the ground for the first time, then you can kick them back.”
“Ah, okay.”
The events went by fairly quickly. My favorite was probably the bronc riding or the team roping, much to Mikey’s dismay. He’d told me, “Just wait until the bull riding. That’s the real action.”
I was told the event right before bull riding was barrel racing, which was one of the few things I actually knew a little bit about.
“Ladies and gents, up next we’ve got a cowgirl hailing from the great state of Montana. She’s running on Ace’s Lucky Charm. Let’s hear it for Sierra Bayley!” The camera focused on a dark-haired girl whose horse turned in a few circles in the back of the alleyway before exploding into the arena at a run, hooves pounding against the dirt. Her hair, tied back in a braid under her beige cowboy hat, flew behind her.
I looked over at the others. “Do you guys know her? Since she’s from Montana?”
