Wrangled by the Watchful Cowboy Read online

  “I have to tell Mr. Anderson I’m not riding.” Cord jotted off an apologetic text to Finn, who was up in the stands somewhere. “He flew all the way from New York to watch me ride.”

  “Wow! Will you introduce us after the rodeo?”

  “Sure.” Cord couldn’t match his friend’s enthusiasm. “This is so humiliating.”

  “Look at it this way...” Nick’s laughter bubbled out as he clapped Cord on the back. “It’s probably not as humiliating as your bull ride would’ve been.”

  At first, Jessica felt sorry for Parker. No doubt he was devastated about his grandfather. But by the time they had talked and eaten their fill of corn dogs and turkey legs, he was beginning to push the boundaries. Twice, he’d put his arm around her shoulder, and she’d firmly removed it. In the grandstands he’d sat with his leg plastered against hers, closing any distance she attempted to make between them. It was particularly awkward with her grandparents sitting behind them. She’d whispered to Nanna about Parker losing his grandfather, but Nanna’s sympathetic expression only lasted a fleeting second.

  Nick was no help at all, making even more snide remarks than usual, from his seat next to Nanna. “Nice boots, Parker. Did you order those from Cowboys R Us?”

  “At least my boots don’t smell like cow manure,” Parker retorted, with a congenial smile.

  “That’s enough, Nick.” Jess raised her eyebrows in warning before her brother could respond with one of his off-color jokes about cow manure. “Watch what you say in front of Nanna.”

  “Don’t mind me,” said Nanna, with a mischievous grin.

  As the announcer proclaimed the beginning of the bull riding event, Jessica’s stomach twisted into a pretzel. She wiped her palms on her jeans, the sweat having nothing to do with the temperature. She just knew something terrible was going to happen to Cord, and the last words between them had been cross ones. She’d hoped Nick might be able to talk him out of competing, but as far as she knew, that didn’t happen. If only she could find a way to ask her brother about Cord without alerting Parker.

  She looked over her shoulder. “Hey Nick, did you ever find your friend?”

  “What friend?” Nick batted his long lashes, like he didn’t know who she meant.

  “Cord,” she rasped.

  “Cord?” He took off his hat and scratched his head. “Oh! You mean Cord Dennison? Yep. I found him.”

  “Well?” she growled, as the first bull sprang from the chute amid audience cheers. “What did he say?”

  “About what?” Nick cocked his head.

  “You know what I’m asking. Did you talk him out of competing tonight?”

  “As a matter of fact, no.” His stare was so intense, she looked away.

  “Oh.”

  The crowd cheered and clapped, though the cowboy got bucked off well before the eight-second mark.

  “I’m surprised you care what Cord does,” said Nick, squinting his eyes at something.

  She followed the line of his gaze and noticed Parker’s hand on her knee. How long had that been there?

  With a side swipe, she knocked the offending hand away. “For goodness sake, Parker. Keep your hands to yourself.”

  “But baby, I thought—”

  “Be quiet. I’m talking to Nick.” She turned to glare at her brother, who looked even more smug than usual. What had he meant with that subtle jab about Cord? “What did Cord tell you?”

  “Cord told me a lot of things.” Nick crossed his arms, his gaze on the arena below, where the bull circled around and finally trotted back toward the open gate.

  “Like what?” Jessica’s patience was wearing thin, and Nick seemed to be enjoying it.

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice, though it was still loud enough that their neighbors could hear. “He might’ve mentioned seeing you and Parker hugging and holding hands.”

  She sucked in air so fast she choked.

  “I guess your secret’s out,” Nick said sarcastically. “Everyone knows you two are back together, now.”

  “I’m glad everyone knows,” said Parker, his lips stretched in an arrogant smile.

  “There’s nothing to know,” Jess said. “We are not back together. Didn’t you explain that to Cord?”

  “I would’ve explained everything to Cord,” Nick said with a shrug, “if only my baby sister had explained it to me. But evidently, she’s been keeping a lot of secrets. So, my hands were tied.” He demonstrated, stretching his wrists out together.

  “Do you even wonder why I don’t tell you things?”

  Her eyes stung as she fought to hold onto her frayed emotions. Everything was going wrong. The crowd exclaimed as one, rising to their feet. What had happened? Was it Cord? Was he hurt? She stood up, craning to see between the people in front of her. A rider was down, but one bullfighter quickly lured the bucking bull away while the other helped the rider to his feet and out of harm’s way, as it happened 90% of the time. But she couldn’t shake the sick feeling in her gut, that something bad was going to happen on Cord’s ride.

  Jess sank to her seat, dropping her face into her hands. She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder, then heard a whisper. “Sorry, J.J.” Nick’s hand tightened. “I was only teasing you. Cord’s not riding tonight.”

  Jess whipped around so fast her neck hurt. “Do you mean it? Cord’s not getting on a bull?”

  “He’s not competing.” Nick had the good grace not to smirk. “But I wasn’t kidding about the other part. He really does think you’re back with Parker.”

  Her stomach did a double flip. She had to see Cord. To set him straight about Parker. To apologize for hurting his feelings. To tell him the truth about how she felt. But how did she really feel?

  The truth was that winning the barrel race was like an empty victory without Cord there to share it. She didn’t want to be friends with Cord anymore. She wanted to be more than friends. A lot more.

  “Wait a minute…” Jess tugged on Nick’s shirt to pull his attention away from the arena, where the buzzer had sounded, indicating the rider had made the eight-second mark. “You’re not upset? About me and Cord?”

  “Who’s Cord?” asked a grumpy-looking Parker.

  “None of your business,” said Nick and Jess in unison.

  “I wasn’t thrilled at first, but the idea’s growing on me.” He looked pointedly at Parker. “It could be worse.”

  Jess grinned at her brother and stood up. “Where is he?”

  “He’s hanging around at the bull chutes in case there’s an emergency.”

  She was already bounding down the stairs when Nick yelled, “They may stop you if you try to go back there.”

  Without a pause, she shouted back, “They can try!”

  Cord’s adrenaline surged as Mason settled onto the back of the bull, who did his best to buck him off while still inside the chute.

  “Save it for the show, Dynamite,” Mason mumbled, jamming his right hand under the bull rope.

  Mason seemed thrilled to draw Dynamite Mojo for his ride. The 1800-pound bull had a reputation for being really tough to ride, but that meant a better score… if the rider could stay on for the full eight seconds. In bull riding competitions, both the rider and the bull were given performance scores, up to fifty points each, so a perfect ride would score 100.

  As Cord had watched the first four riders, he’d gradually become more appreciative that he’d been disqualified from the competition. Neither of the practice bulls at his weekend school had been as challenging as the gentlest of the bulls at the rodeo.

  During two of four rides, Mason had sat atop the fence with Cord, watching the competition. Mason had jokingly nicknamed the bullfighters Red and Green. “They’re both pretty green,” Mason explained, “but Sam has red hair.”

  Thankfully, Red and Green had done their jobs, and Cord hadn’t had to leave his perch.

  But the night’s not over, his jittery brain reminded him.

  Dynamite surged against the gate, the cla
ng of metal making Cord jump out of his skin. But Mason calmly lifted his left hand in the air. He nodded his head, and the gate burst open.

  Dynamite erupted from the gate straight into a series of bucking rotations, spinning in a circle so fast that Cord got dizzy watching. Abruptly, the bull shifted the other direction. Then he jumped in the air, twisting his body, and spreading his legs in the air. Cord held his breath, certain Mason was about to fall, but the cowboy stuck to the bull like Velcro. Dynamite started clockwise rotations again, but Mason stayed centered, his left hand high in the air, his feet kicking forward and back, in rhythm with the bucking bull. Seemingly more furious that Mason was still clinging to his back, Dynamite rocked forward and kicked his rear legs so high that Mason had to lean back to stay on, his body almost vertical.

  Then the buzzer sounded! Mason had made the eight seconds. He had only to jump off to his right and escape the bull’s fury.

  But before Mason could dismount, Dynamite rocked up on his back feet and reared his head, impacting Mason’s helmet. Then the bull kicked his rear feet high in the air, and Mason went forward on his belly, his feet flying above the bull’s haunches. When his legs came down, he was off the bull… on the wrong side.

  He’s hung up!

  “Get the tail,” Cord yelled at the bullfighters, though they surely didn’t need his advice. Meanwhile, Dynamite continued to buck and twist in a circle, giving the young men no chance to dart in and grab the rope from his right side. Dazed and stumbling, Mason could barely keep his footing enough to avoid the bull’s hooves and horns, much less jump on top and free his hand.

  Before Cord realized what he was doing, he was off the fence, running toward the bull. Red leapt in front of Dynamite, waving his hands in an effort to get the bull’s attention and stop the mad rotations, while Green tried to maneuver where he could grab the tail of the rope and free Mason’s hand.

  Just as Cord got close, the bull reversed his rotations, and Mason stumbled, hanging by his tethered hand, his legs sliding under the bull. For a split second, Cord saw an opening. He dashed behind the bull’s thrashing horns and grabbed Mason under his arms, hoisting him up. By some miracle, Green got through and flung himself at the bull from the other side, leaping up to yank the rope tail, which released Mason’s hand from the twisted bull rope.

  His arm fell free.

  Supporting most of his friend’s weight, Cord backed away from Dynamite, watching his every move. In the back of his mind he heard Manuel Lopez drilling rule number one into his head, “Never take your eyes off the bull.”

  Meanwhile Red and Green did their best to chase or lure the bull out of the arena. But Dynamite balked at the gate and turned, barreling straight for Cord and Mason, with Red and Green chasing behind him. Cord let Mason slide to the ground and jogged to the side, waving his hands to attract the bull. Ignoring his efforts, the bull aimed toward Mason, who now lay helpless on the ground. Cord had no choice. He screamed at the top of his lungs and flapped his arms as he ran directly toward the charging bull…

  No one stopped Jess when she weaved her way between the bull pens toward the chutes. She spotted Cord, balanced on top of the horizontal-slatted fence, intent on the bull rider who had the audience cheering with excitement. Now that she was here, how was she going to do this? A private conversation would be impossible, unless he was willing to abandon his post.

  Or… I could just climb up and sit on the fence with him.

  A roar went up from the grandstands, providing the perfect cover for her to sneak up on him. As she tiptoed closer, she grinned, imagining his surprise when she appeared beside him. He would be so shocked he might forget all about being upset with her.

  I might even get up the courage to use the L-word.

  Just as her hand touched the fence, she felt a movement, and Cord jumped off into the arena.

  Something must’ve happened!

  Jess darted around the corner into the bucking chute, alongside two other cowboys who were watching through the gate with horror-stricken faces. With both hands gripping the metal, she saw the scene unfold. Cord was up against the bull’s shoulder, supporting the bull rider who appeared to be tangled in the rope.

  “Yes!” yelled the cowboy beside her, when Cord dragged the injured rider away from the furious bull.

  The crisis appeared to be over, with the bullfighters urging the bull toward the exit. One second, he was trotting toward the open gate. The next, he balked and turned, charging directly at Cord and the bull rider.

  Run, Cord! What are you doing? Don’t run toward the bull!

  The bull hooked Cord with his horns, tossing him into the air like a rag doll. When he landed on the ground in a heap, he didn’t move.

  The crowd went silent, except for a single extended scream of terror. Several seconds passed before Jess realized the eerie sound was coming from her own throat.

  14

  Cord blinked, struggling to open his eyes. Lying on his back, he saw the evening sky and arena lights above him and a fence against his left shoulder. Voices swirled around him, echoing like a crowd in a shopping mall. The sound faded as pain pushed its way in, eclipsing everything else in his brain.

  “Oh. You’re awake.” A female face appeared above him, blond hair pulled back in a bun. “Can you tell me where you hurt?”

  “Everywhere. Especially right here.” Cord touched his ribs on his right side and realized someone had opened his shirt. “It’s worse when I breathe.”

  “I recommend doing it anyway,” she said, with a straight face. “The alternative isn’t great.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He’d just have to take tiny breaths so his ribs didn’t move. He took in his surroundings. He was lying on the ground in one of the arena corrals, a fence next to him.

  “What’s your name?” A pen light appeared in the woman’s hand, shining in his eyes.

  “Cord. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Mandy Jackson, paramedic. Can you tell me what day it is?”

  “Uhmm…” He searched his memory, but came up with nothing.

  “How about the month? Or the year?”

  “I can’t think…”

  “What’s the president’s name?”

  He wracked his brain, but came up with nothing. “Why do you need to know who the president is?”

  “It’s a test.”

  Cord considered her problem. “Why don’t you Google it?”

  Though it seemed like a perfectly reasonable suggestion, Mandy responded with an irritated growl. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”

  “I don’t know…” Fuzzy pictures passed through his mind. Someone riding a bull. Falling off. “Mason! Is Mason okay?”

  “I’m right here, man. All good.”

  Mason’s voice came from somewhere past Cord’s feet. But when Cord tried to push up on his elbows to see him, someone jabbed a white-hot sword all the way through his chest and out the back. At least, that’s what it felt like.

  “Oww!” Cord groaned. “That hurts like the dickens!”

  “That’s what happens when you play with a bull’s horns,” said Mason.

  “Hey, Jack.” Mandy spoke into her cell phone. “We’re coming in from the rodeo with two injured. Patient one with compound fracture of tibia and fibula and class one concussion. Patient two with blunt trauma to the chest, unknown associated injuries, and class two concussion.”

  “Mason, you broke your leg?” Determined to get his head off the ground, Cord struggled to a sitting position, ignoring the nauseating pain, and leaned his back against the fence. He lifted a weak hand toward the curious onlookers who were peering through the opposite fence, twenty feet away.

  “It’s broken, alright. You can see the bone. It sucks, but it could’ve been worse. Thanks to you, it wasn’t.”

  Cord glanced at Mason’s leg, glad a bandage covered any exposed bone. “My mind is foggy. I don’t remember doing anything.”

  “After my leg snapped, you kept me on m
y feet and dragged me out of there. At least until Dynamite got his horns on you. Aren’t you glad I made you put that vest on?”

  Cord looked down at his bare chest, which was swollen and abraded, but not bleeding. “Yeah, I’m not fond of the idea of having extra holes in my body.” He fumbled in a vain attempt to button his shirt. “Awww, man! They ripped my buttons off.”

  “Yeah. They cut my jeans to get to this leg.”

  Cord tried to fasten his thick protective vest across his tender skin, but gave up and left it gaping.

  “Sorry your leg got broken.”

  “That’s what happens when you stick it under an 1800-pound bull. Worth it, though. I scored an eighty-six!” Mason seemed awfully cheery for a man with a compound fracture.

  “Congratulations. But doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Pain meds are kicking in. Kind of floating, right now.”

  “I need some of those for these ribs. I think they may be broken, this time.”

  “Naaah, you’re tough. You don’t need pain meds.” Mason’s words slurred. “You’ll make a good bull rider someday.”

  “Don’t think so. I’m done with bull riding, forever.”

  “That’s good to know,” said a familiar voice. “I need you to stay alive long enough to finish our project.”

  Cord ducked his chin. “Hello, Finn.”

  Except for the times they’d both been in the company gym, he’d never seen his boss so casually attired. Though Phantom Enterprises was famous, few would recognize one of the owners wearing jeans, and a t-shirt that read, “Gamer. Real life is just a hobby.”

  “Your chest looks horrible.” Finn’s brows knotted. “Not that I’m surprised. When that bull flung you into the air, I thought you were dead.”

  “If it weren’t for this vest, I probably would be.” Cord tried to shift positions, his efforts sending a slice of pain through his chest. He sucked in a hissing breath.

  “I’ll sit down so it’s easier to talk.” To Cord’s horror, his boss plopped onto the dirt beside him and leaned against the fence. “That woman at the gate almost wouldn’t let me in here. She was totally immune to my charms.”