“Don’t worry, I’ll stay downwind of you.” Casey fell into step behind her.
They passed through the huge rear doors and into the covered complex of pens and chutes that housed the bulls for the event. Having Casey with her wouldn’t be a problem, Tess told herself. If he hadn’t asked about Val by now, he probably didn’t plan to.
The softly lit space was equipped with armed guards and security cameras. The animals here were worth big money. The least of them would likely bring more than $50,000 at auction. A world champion bull, like Sweet Pro’s Bruiser or Smooth Operator, could be worth as much as half a million—some in prize money, more in future breeding fees.
The smells of manure and warm animal bodies filled the air, along with the peaceful sounds of bulls snoring, snorting, chewing, passing gas, and stirring in their sleep. Some were penned alone, others with their companions.
Tess led Casey through the maze of pens and walkways, toward the far corner of the complex. Ninety-seven bulls had been selected for the finals. Not all of them were here. Some animals, the ones saved for the later rounds, would be arriving in the coming days.
There was nothing ordinary about these bulls. They were the top tier, the bovine version of NFL and NBA athletes. A recognized breed—the American Bucking Bull—they’d been selectively bred for power, agility, and most important of all, for the genetic tendency to buck and buck hard. They’d been raised, tested, and trained for the sport. Their records of ride scores and buck-offs had qualified them to be in the Super Bowl of bull riding.
Every bull here was magnificent. The fact that two of her Alamo Canyon bulls had earned a place among them was enough to make Tess’s head spin. What a shame her father hadn’t lived to see this. Having his bulls in the PBR World Finals had been Bert Champion’s dream since he’d bought and bred his first bucker a dozen years ago.
“Here they are.” Tess had stopped beside one of the smaller pens. The two bulls inside were drowsing and chewing their cuds in the low light. “Take a look, Casey. Would you ever believe those two were full brothers?”
“Not if you hadn’t told me.” Casey studied the pair. He’d always been a good judge of bulls. These two were splendid, but very different from each other.
Casey had faced Whirlwind in the arena more than once. Mottled silver in color, he was on the small side at 1,700 pounds, but quick, alert, and as agile as a cat. His bucking pattern was an unpredictable mix of high leaps and kicks, blinding spins, and sudden direction changes. He was smart and getting smarter, constantly coming up with new ways to throw his rider. With a record of twenty-two outs, all with excellent scores, he’d been ridden the full eight seconds only one time—by Shane Tully.
Casey shifted his attention to Whiplash. Younger than Whirlwind by a year, Whiplash was a good 200 pounds heavier. A brindled black and brown hulk with massive shoulders and haunches, he was all power, and the look he gave Casey was anything but friendly. With a record of thirteen outs in his short career, he had yet to be successfully ridden.
Whirlwind was scheduled to buck tomorrow. Whiplash was a spare, to be used only if another bull was unable to compete or a rider was given a reride. But something told Casey that this year or next, the young bull would get his own chance at greatness.
“So what do you think?” Tess asked him.
“They’re like yin and yang,” Casey said. “But you’ve got two great bulls here. I can’t wait to see them perform.”
“Neither can I,” Tess said. “I’m going to be on pins and needles for Whirlwind tomorrow.”
“I’m imagining a future bull dynasty here. Are there any more brothers where these two came from?”
The look that flashed in Tess’s eyes combined sorrow and anger. “The parents are both gone. There was one more calf, a great yearling, but I lost him, thanks to my own blasted principles. We were short on money and desperate for an unrelated bull to breed our cows. A rancher in Phoenix had a retired bucker. He agreed to lend me his old bull in exchange for first pick of our yearlings.”
“Oh, no.” Casey could imagine what was coming.
“Lexie begged me to hide that calf so it wouldn’t be chosen. But no, I had to keep my promise and do the right thing. That rancher knew a choice animal when he saw it. He took our yearling, turned right around, and sold it to Brock Tolman.”
“Now that is one sad story.” Casey knew how much the Champions hated Tolman, a rich Tucson rancher who’d tried to buy Whirlwind. He hadn’t succeeded. But now he had the next best thing.
“Lexie’s never forgiven me,” Tess said. “Lord knows, I’ll never forgive myself. But I’ve kept you here long enough, Casey. I know you’re anxious to get out of your gear and take that shower.”
“You just can’t stand the way I smell,” Casey joked. “Do what you need to here. Then I’ll walk you back inside.”
Tess took a moment to make sure the bulls had food and water for the night. Then Casey walked back with her, as far as the entrance to the locker rooms. “If you’ve got time while you’re here, I’d enjoy taking you, Lexie, and Shane to lunch,” he said. “We could catch up over a good meal.”
He could sense her hesitation. “We’ll see,” she hedged. “I know Shane’s got a busy schedule. I’ll talk to them and let you know.”
“Fine. See you around.” Casey watched her stride away, tall and lean in her faded blue jeans and dusty cowboy boots, her dark hair caught back in a loose braid. Fiercely independent, Tess shouldered the burdens of her ranch and her family as if it were the whole of her destiny. Casey had known her for a long time. Today he could tell that something was off. She’d seemed edgy and evasive. And her response to his lunch invitation hadn’t been like her at all. He could almost believe she was holding something back.
Casey walked down the hall to the locker room and began peeling off the protective layers he’d worn in the arena. Underneath, his body was soaked in sweat. As he stripped down and showered himself clean, he replayed his conversation with Tess. What was going on? Had she said something that he’d missed?
But Casey already knew the answer to that question. It wasn’t what she’d said that had him wondering. It was what she hadn’t said.
This past summer, he’d forced himself to stop asking the Champion sisters about Val. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. That reality was old news by now, and after what she’d put him through, he was damned fine with it.
When, at seventeen and just out of high school, she’d lit out for the bright lights of Hollywood, Casey, who’d been nineteen at the time, had picked up the pieces of his life, joined the U.S. Army Reserve, and served a deployment in Afghanistan. He’d come home to learn that his parents had lost the family ranch. He’d planned on going to college, but to help out his parents, he found his way to bull riding. He’d competed in high school and had done all right. However, he’d soon discovered that he was better suited to protecting riders than staying on the bulls.
After all that time, the pain of losing Val had never gone away. Even his impulsive marriage to a rodeo queen had failed to mend his shattered heart. But the years had passed, and he’d moved on—into a state of blessed numbness. Even the occasional women in his life had come and gone like roadside attractions along a lonesome highway, seen in the rearview mirror without regret.