Every Breath She Takes (24 page)

“How’s that feel?”

“Give me just a hair more torque. There you go, I got it.” Cal stretched the taut rope over his upturned palm, closing his fingers to trap it. Then he fed the rope back under his arm. Opening his fingers, he crossed his palm with it a second time, pulling the rope tight. Finally he squeezed his fingers closed, then pounded his grip a couple of times with his free hand.

There. His rope was pulled as well as he could pull it. Nothing more he could do but ride this bull.

Gingerly he settled himself onto the bull, flexing his rope arm. Leaning over the rope, he coiled his body and nodded sharply for the gate.

For all his quietness in the chute, Misadventure came out like a firecracker, but this time he didn’t flatten into a spin. Cal knew right off it was going to be bad—a hopping, skipping, belly-rolling ugly ride with no rhythm to help him anticipate where he needed to be. Every second was going to be an eternity.

Right away his legs blew out, but he pulled up on the rope for all he was worth and managed to right himself. Then, trying to compensate, his free hand got whipped back too far and he slipped back a few inches onto the rumble seat.

He knew he was toast right then, knew he should bail out. He could pick a spot over his shoulder and probably land there, maybe even on his feet, if he just let go now. But he didn’t. Instead he clung to the rope stubbornly, pulling himself back into a low center of gravity over the bull’s neck. The next thing he knew, Misadventure gave a mighty twist and a roll.

Shit
, he thought as he flew over the bull’s head.
I’m a yard dart. Guess I shoulda let go.

Then there was nothing.

Lauren screamed.

She’d watched it unfold, knew Cal wasn’t going to defy the laws of physics this time, but she thought he’d come off as he had yesterday, bounced off the bull’s rump. Then she’d seen him go head first over the bull’s shoulder. Even so, she figured he’d roll to safety, but he hit the ground and didn’t stir.

“Shit! He’s out cold!” cried Marlena.

Everything seemed to slow down. The twisting action the bull had used to unseat Cal carried the beast away from Cal’s inert body. For a few seconds the bull bucked as though still trying to dislodge a rider. In that brief window, the bullfighter rushed to Cal’s side. Gripping Cal under the arms, he started dragging him to safety, but in the next instant, Lauren knew he wasn’t going to make it. She felt the animal’s rage turn on the garishly dressed bullfighter and his unconscious burden. It pawed the ground once, then charged.

Lauren went hot, then cold as the bull bore down on the two men with inconceivable speed. Cal’s men scrambled over the fence in a human wave, but to Lauren, they seemed to be moving in molasses. There was no way they were going to reach him in time. Without thought, she slipped through the rails and streaked toward Cal. She wasn’t going to get there either, she realized, a sob bursting from her throat.

Then, out of nowhere, a man sprang into the shrinking space between the bull and his target, arms waving wildly. Cal’s father. And he was going to be trampled!

At the last moment, Zane Taggart stepped aside. The bull took the bait, veering after him. With amazing nimbleness, the
old man dodged the bull’s lowered head, stretching his arms out to protect himself. The bull clipped him with its shoulder as it shot past. The impact sent Zane sprawling. By now the corral was flooded with shouting men. The bull’s rancor quickly diluted now that it had lost a specific focus. In the end, the bull was herded easily into the chute, and Lauren found herself trembling in the middle of the corral.

In no time Zane had dusted himself off and Cal had come around. Lauren felt like crumpling into a heap where she stood. Only the realization that she’d become the center of attention among the group of cowboys prevented her from doing just that.

She lifted her chin. “What?”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but we’ve never seen a woman charge a two-thousand-pound bull before.” Spider struggled to keep a straight face, but failed when the others cracked up.

“Very funny.” Except it wasn’t very funny at all. The significance of what she’d done hit home. Knees wobbling, she made her way over to Cal, who was now sitting up.

Cal shook his head, then groaned. “What hit me?”

“The ground, partner.” Jim was positively cheerful. “Misadventure slam-dunked you.”

“God, yes. I remember now.” He touched his head cautiously. “Did I connect with anything on the way down?”

“Nothing but air.” Jim extended his hand. “Michael Jordan couldn’t have done it any cleaner.”

Cal grinned. “Well, there’s a break.” He grasped Jim’s hand and got to his feet. “I’ll be good to go again by tonight.”

Lauren blanched. He was going to ride that killer again after what had just happened?

“Might want to get that head of yours checked first,” put in a grinning Trey Thomas, the man who’d dragged Cal to safety. “You hit so hard, I think I saw nickels fly out of your pockets.”

What was wrong with these people? They were treating this as though it were some kind of lark.

Cal’s father pushed himself through the ring of men. “Son, you’re not riding that bull again. He’s a killer.”

Finally! A voice of reason. She could have kissed the man, regardless of what kind of a parent he’d been. Cal didn’t share her enthusiasm, though, judging by the way his face tightened.

Cal pulled himself up straight. “The days are long gone when I had to listen to you, old man.”

Zane snorted. “When did you ever take my counsel anyway?”

Spots of color stained Cal’s cheeks, but he shrugged casually. “Maybe you should stop offering it.”

“Ain’t counsel I’m offering this time. You’ll not ride that bull again, supposing I have to put a bullet between his eyes.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty good at that, shooting a penned animal.”

Zane’s mouth tightened, but he turned and limped away without another word.

“Crazy old fool,” Cal muttered, peeling his glove off.

“Crazy?”
Shaking, Lauren stepped into the spot Cal’s father had just vacated. “You think
he’s
crazy? Let me tell you something, if your father doesn’t disable that bull, I will.”

Then she spun on her heel and ran after Zane Taggart.

Cal blinked as he watched Lauren disappear out of the corral with his father.
With his father.

“What the hell was that about?” No answer. He searched the faces around him, but no one wanted to meet his gaze. “Jim?”

His trail boss sent a glance at Trey, then turned back to face Cal. He cleared his throat nervously. “Well, you see, Cal, the boys had a little trouble getting you clear.”

“My fault,” Trey said. “Tactical error. I should have taken the bull and let the other guys drag you out of there.”

Cal’s mouth went dry. “Tell me everything.”

“After he dumped you, Misadventure just kept on bucking and spinning like a windup toy on Duracells. I thought I’d have plenty of time to drag you clear, but the devil came after us.”

“It ain’t Trey’s fault,” put in Spider soberly. “We were slow coming over the fence. We shoulda jumped in the second you hit the ground, but we thought Trey was gonna get you out okay. Time we realized he wasn’t gonna make it, it was too late.”

Cal’s stomach clenched. “Then how’d you get me out?”

“The old man…” Spider took an elbow in the ribs from Jim. “I mean, your father jumped in there and deflected ol’ Misadventure like a pro. You shoulda seen it, man. Looked like he’d been turning ’em away for years.”

Cal wondered if his legs were going to fail him after all. “My father stepped in front of Misadventure?”

“Yep.” Spider’s eyes sparkled, but Cal felt only nausea. “That bull was in full dozer mode. Man, he was gonna take out the trash! Ol’ man’s lucky he didn’t get more of a clip.”

Cal sucked in a breath. “The bull hit him?”

Spider grinned. “Brushed him, is all, but I reckon it was enough to put a hitch in his git-along for a day or two.”

Goddammit, lose consciousness for one minute and the world goes to hell.
“Thanks for telling me.”

Trey cleared his throat. “Er, that’s not quite all.”

“What else?”

“It was kind of a foot race between your dad and Miz Townsend to see who’d get there first.”

“Lauren?”

“’Fraid so.”

Cal’s already churning stomach took a flip, and black spots danced in front of his eyes. Gripping a metal rail of the chute, he squeezed hard, anchoring himself. “Spider?”

“Yeah?”

“Load that bull and take him back to his owner. Do it now.”

A pause. “Yes, Boss.”

He turned to his trail boss. “Can you and Trey throw together a team roping demonstration by tonight?”

Jim looked at Trey, nodded. “No sweat.”

“Then do it. That’ll be tonight’s entertainment.”

Insides still shaking, he crossed the corral to pick his bull rope out of the dirt. Coiling it carefully, he headed to the barn to hang it up. For good.

Twenty minutes later, showered and changed, Cal stood outside the door of cabin six. All these nerves over talking to his own father. You’d think he was sixteen again, not a grown man. Ignoring the butterflies fluttering in his stomach—butterflies, hell, it felt more like a flock of blackbirds had taken up residence in there—he rapped on the door. A few seconds later the door swung open, but it was Lauren who stood there, not his dad. The blackbirds gave up fluttering and went straight to pecking and scratching.

“Delia told me Dad’d be here,” he said, averting the right side of his face, where his temple had taken on a purplish hue.

Lauren moved back. “Come in.”

Cal stepped inside, glancing around. “Where is he?”

“I convinced him to lie down.”

“How’s he doing?”

Cal caught a flash of anger in her eyes before she dropped her gaze. “Bruised. I was just going to make a cold compress.”

She started to move toward the sink. He caught her arm. “Ice is what he’ll need. Call the house and ask Delia to send down an ice pack.”

“Better make that two ice packs.”

At the gruff voice, Cal turned to see his father in the doorway.

Zane nodded toward him. “Looks like you need it more than I do.”

Lauren gasped. “Cal, look at you!”

Damn
. He’d given her a full view of his purpling temple when he turned his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Cal Taggart, you can’t ride that bull again in your condition,” she said. “You probably have a concussion!”

“I don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve been bounced off bulls often enough to know the difference. And”—he held up a hand when she started to protest—“one of our guests turns out to be a GP from Orillia. He looked me over pretty good.” He turned back to his father. “I think we should have Dr. Reinhart look you over too.”

“Bah.” Zane waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve taken worse lumps on the dance floor, so don’t think I won’t carry through on my promise. I’ll kill that bull before I see you get on it again.” Zane’s glare dared Cal to make an issue of it again. “Any fool can see it’s got a taste for blood—”