“Next up, Kyle Gilchrist. This cowboy hails from Rawlins, Wyoming. Kyle’s been on a winning streak lately, and let’s hope his luck holds tonight. He’s taking a shot at Moneymaker, a CRA American Finals Rodeo veteran.”
Please be safe. Lainie leaned over the railing, hoping to see the action taking place in the chute.
Kyle rosined his rope. Fiddled with it several times. He slipped in his mouth guard. Canted his hips. Free arm waving above his head, he nodded to the gatekeeper.
The millisecond that bull tasted freedom, he let ’er rip. Fifteen hundred pounds straight up in the air. Twisting a hard left as he swung his hips right. Then right again.
Kyle slid sideways. If the crowd’s gasps were any indication, everyone thought he’d fly off. He didn’t, which was a testament to his skill and his tenacity.
Another high jump. Another hard landing for man and beast. This time Kyle wasn’t prepared for the jolt and he pitched forward. He overcompensated and the next few actions played out in slow motion. Kyle was ejected ass over teakettle, but his hand was still tangled in his wrap. More gasps sounded from the crowd as they recognized he was in the position known as “the well.”
That was when Moneymaker started his notorious tornado spin. Kyle frantically tried to get himself free. The bull spun so fast the bullfighters couldn’t get close enough.
Lainie’s terror grew when she saw Hank dart in midspin and slap the bull on the ass, hard, with both hands. Moneymaker stopped abruptly, sending Kyle swinging as he smacked into Moneymaker’s side. During the momentary lull, Hank stepped in and yanked on Kyle’s bull rope, freeing his hand.
Kyle dropped to his knees, cradling his arm, gasping for breath. He lost his balance and face-planted, oblivious to the animal gunning for him.
Hank threw himself below the bull’s head, right at the gigantic chest, blocking the bull from landing on Kyle’s spine. Yelling at Kyle, Hank rolled to his feet to run interference, as it appeared the bull would make another run at both men.
Kyle stumbled upright, scrambling for the barrier fence, falling once, getting back up to scale the metal rails.
Before the bull gave chase, he whipped his massive head around and caught Hank right square in the chest with a horn. Hank flew back and hit the ground face-first like a sack of potatoes. As if that weren’t bad enough, Moneymaker’s hoof grazed the back of Hank’s head before the other bullfighter lured the bull away.
The pickup men immediately swung ropes, cornering the bull, dragging the livid beast to the livestock gate.
Hank wasn’t moving. The other bullfighters gathered around and Kyle raced back, dropping to his knees in the dirt beside Hank.
Lainie couldn’t breathe.
The medics rushed in, first snapping a neck brace on and then slowly rolling Hank flat. A stretcher appeared, vitals were checked. Next they’d lift him onto the stretcher.
Dammit. She couldn’t see. The stupid medics were blocking Hank from the crowd’s view. From her view.
Fear glued her to the spot.
What if he’s dead? What if the bull pierced his lung and damaged his internal organs and he’s bleeding to death? Just like my dad?
This was an absolute nightmare.
“Miss? Are you all right?”
She managed to turn her head to look at the woman whose eyes brimmed with concern. Lainie shook her head.
“Are you sick? You’re pale as a ghost.”
“I . . . can’t . . .” She worked up enough spit to swallow and forced the words from her throat. “The bullfighter is my boyfriend.”
“Oh, sweet Lord, child, no wonder you’re in shock. Let’s get you down there.”
Lainie nodded numbly.
“You have to let go of the railing, dearie.” She squeezed Lainie’s hands with her own.
Somehow, Lainie’s fingers uncurled from the rail and she turned away from the medics still working on Hank. Part of her didn’t want to look away. Part of her didn’t know if she could continue to watch.
“That’s it.” The woman wrapped her hand around Lainie’s waist. “One step at a time. Ready?”
Again Lainie nodded.
The woman led her up the stairs to the main ramp. “I suspect your young man will perk right up once he knows you’re at his side.”
If he’s conscious. If he’s not already a lifeless blob with the light completely gone from his eyes.
Clapping echoed, jarring Lainie out of her morbid thoughts. Clapping meant they’d taken Hank out of the arena.
That doesn’t mean he’s all right.
When they reached the contestants’ entrance, the guard blocked them. “Sorry, ladies. No admittance.”
“This young woman is the girlfriend of the bullfighter who was just injured.”
The guard gave them an accusing stare. As he debated, she heard Kyle shout her name from behind the gate. The man stepped aside.
Lainie noticed Kyle cradling his riding arm, and the bruise on the side of his face. The wailing of sirens in the background snapped her back to reality: Hank was injured badly enough to justify an ambulance ride to the hospital.
Kyle was out of breath. “I was just coming to find you.”
“Is he . . .” Lainie couldn’t force out the rest of the sentence.
“He’s still unconscious. That’s all I know.”
She would’ve crumpled to the ground if not for the Good Samaritan keeping her upright.
“Let’s get to the hospital.” He grimaced. “I don’t know if I can drive.”