The Wild Bunch 3 Casa

 The Wild Bunch: Casa

Late spring

Gila, New Mexico

Carlos Casanuevo, "Casa" to his friends, eased down on the big Brahma's back. He wrapped the rope around his hand, drawing it as tight as he could. It still wanted to slip. He rosined his glove again and tried a second time. The bull swayed, bobbing its massive head. Casa recognized the big gray had been in the chutes many times before. Old Smokey knew the drill. Other cowboys had told him the bull was usually pretty docile, until the gate swung open. Then, he burst out like a rocket fired for the moon, though not moving in a straight line, but a zigzagging pattern as he bucked and twisted. Not a lot of cowboys managed to stick on him for the required eight seconds. Casa believed he could.

He recalled when he'd done this all season long, at least a couple of times every weekend. That was back when he and his best buddies, Stace Johnson and Spark Diamond, were rodeoing together. They'd decided to quit about six years ago, while they were still more or less in one piece. Riding bulls and broncs was a tough business. They were all good, but they'd recognized they were not world championship good. Since they were really not into the buckle bunnies, the other benefits were not that great. Partying got old, and flying or driving all over the country became real tedious. It was time for a career change.

About the same time, they met a man a few years older, a man with an idea. Jason Longford wanted to open a guest ranch that catered especially to gay men. When he pitched the idea to the three of them and offered them head wrangler positions, they'd jumped at the chance. Five years into that stint, they were still having a good time and loving their work. Besides the usual dude wrangling tasks, they had the job of catering to the special guests. These were high roller types who paid an additional fee for a chance to enjoy not only the outdoor and western adventures, but also some amorous ones with a hunky cowboy. Casa, Stace and Spark made sure each guest got his money's worth. For them it was almost a special perk instead of a duty.

Along with other entertainment such as trail rides, big game hunts and scenic photography, the ranch held a rodeo at least once a quarter. They got a good stock contractor to supply the rough stock, and invited locals to come and participate. The event had become a favored tradition in the southwestern corner of New Mexico. Tourists came to watch and local wannabe cowboys to compete. Many guests made a point of scheduling their visits at rodeo time.

The three cowboys always proved they had not lost their touch. If one of them did not win an event, another did, and usually they vied for the all-around-cowboy points each time.

Now satisfied with the feel of his rope, Casa gave a final squirm as if to glue his dusty jeans to the gray back. Then he nodded. When the gate swung open, Smokey erupted into the well-plowed arena, bellowing as he bucked.

The smallest man of the three at about five-foot-ten, Casa knew his lower center of gravity gave him a slight advantage or at least made up for his lesser weight and raw strength compared to his buds. He counted seconds in the back of his mind as he swayed and rocked atop the turning, twisting cyclone of bovine savagery. This old bull made it look harder than it was. Together, they put on a good show. The crowd's enthusiastic roar confirmed he was making a good ride.

Ready when the whistle blew, he made sure to stick another second or two before he let the rope slide from his hand and pushed down on the bull's hump to vault free. He lit without falling, although he staggered a few steps as the three local cowboys who served as bull fighters--the guys who used to be called rodeo clowns--to protect grounded riders, hazed the massive critter off to the alley. Casa threw his hat Frisbee style like some of the Pro Bull Rider cowboys did and gave a whoop. If his ride wasn't worth day money, he'd retrieve that hat and eat a big bite out of the brim! Feeling cocky, he climbed up on the rails to watch the rest of the riders. Spark and Stace sometimes rode bulls, but preferred saddle broncs. Several locals had signed up for the bulls, though.

Casa did a double-take when he looked down the row of chutes.
Holy shit! Is that Jason? Is he going to ride? Hell, he's too old to risk it. Must be pushing forty! Now what the fuck does he think he's going to prove?

He wanted to go grab his boss by the neck of the heavy protective vest and jerk him out of there. Jason must've gone totally loco.

The boss-man roped at most of the rodeos, both as an individual and in team-tying, but he never attempted the rough stock. Casa could not begin to figure why this peculiar turn of events. He worked his way along the rails until he was only one chute away and watched, almost holding his breath.

Jason had drawn a new bull, one they hadn't seen here before. The compact beast's sleek black hide hinted at Angus blood, but no particular breed had a real monopoly on bucking bulls. They came in every color and shape. This one snorted, slinging spit and snot as he shook his heavy head and banged short blunted horns on the bars.

Well, it looks like the boss knows what he's doing anyway
,
like he's done this before.

Jason reached for the rope as the chute attendant fished it beneath the bull's belly and back up to the rider's hand. Still balancing on the rails above the bull, he eased down slowly as he began to draw the rope up. The bull snorted and lunged. One of the men on top grabbed Jason's arm and helped him rise clear again.

Damn critter is going to wear hisself out before he ever gets into the arena.
Casa wasn't sure if that was bad or good in this case. He preferred his own bulls to be quiet in the chute and save all the meanness for the arena to make a good show.
But this is Jason riding...

Casa wasn't quite ready to admit the extent of his concern, much less analyze the reasons for it. If it had been anyone else, he knew he'd only have been curious and eager to see how the ride went, but this was not anyone else.

Like Casa, Jason was more compact, a shade under six feet tall and well built. Even though his sandy hair was air brushed with gray along the temples, it wasn't yet enough to age his young-looking but outdoor-weathered face. He could have posed for a classic Marlboro ad or taken a role in a western movie--he had the look and the attitude for it. Even though guests often came on to him, he remained aloof.

Thus, Casa didn't know for a fact that Jason was gay, although he suspected it. Why else would he be running this special resort? As far as he knew, no women ever came around the rancher, and Jason wasn't big on socializing. Jason habitually acted pleasant and courteous to all the guests, but always maintained a hint of distance. To the cowboys, he seemed somewhere between a father figure and a big brother, admired, respected and well liked because he was a fair and generous boss.

From early in his tenure at Rainbow Ranch, Casa had nursed a secret crush on his employer. He could never bring himself to ask, much less make a pass or hint how he felt, but the attraction continued to smolder along in the background and would not go away. And now this man was going to ride an unknown bull.
Holy fucking shit.

Casa had to guess Jason must have rodeoed at one time. After all, it had been at a rodeo where the three cowboys had met him, although Jason was not a competitor even then. Casa got so wrapped up in his worries he almost missed the moment when Jason nodded and the gate swung open. The black bull had not used up all his dynamite in the chute. He had plenty left to do his stuff and do it he did. After two prodigious jumps with kicks higher than a tall man's head, the bull went into a spin, hard to the left, still bucking.

Jason seemed to be giving the bull one hell of a ride, but spins were tricky. You had to lean in to counteract the centrifugal force that wanted to pull you off and away, but if you leaned too far... Most riders did best if the bull spun into their rope-holding hand. For Jason, that was his right, so this bull went against that general rule. The seconds ticked by, each seeming an hour long.

Simultaneous with the whistle, Casa realized Jason was in trouble. His rope had begun to slip from his hand and would soon loosen around the bull, no longer providing a secure "handle." and he'd leaned a breath too far inward. An instant later, Jason fell into the middle of a tight spiral of deadly hooves with a ton of beef above them. The bullfighters were right there, but maybe a second or two slow.

Casa felt sure the bull stomped on Jason at least a couple of times before the beast realized it was free and no longer squeezed by the rope. Casa didn't even register he'd moved until his boots hit the arena as he ran to the fallen rider. He sensed, but ignored, the heat and breeze as the bull rushed past him, missing him by a few hairs when it turned to head for the alley, but that didn't matter either. He had attention for only one thing.

Jason had curled into a protective crunch. As Casa knelt beside him, the fallen man began to unfold, inch by inch. Casa could see the tension and pain on the older man's face, even before he'd stretched out and rolled over to try to get up.

"Hang on. The bull's gone. Take your time. You don't have to jump up and haul ass."

By then the bullfighters were back, moving in close to help the fallen rider to his feet if he needed the assistance. They, too, sensed everything might not be not all right and paused in their reach to grab Jason by his arms.

Very slowly, he got up on all fours, but stopped there, breathing in fast, uneven gasps. The imprint of one massive hoof stood out clearly on the leather of his chaps, about halfway between the right knee and ankle. Hissing a ragged sigh as he started to push up with his right leg, Jason leaned to the other side. That was when Casa knew for sure he was hurt.

Casa and Marty, one of the bullfighters, took hold of Jason's arms then and lifted him off the ground with as much care as they could. He got his left foot under him and hopped between them across to the alley leading between the stock pens. His right foot dragged, apparently beyond his ability to control the motion. Behind the corrals, they found a bench and eased him down on it.

Casa knelt in front of him. "Your leg's busted, isn't it?"

Jason shrugged. "Don't know. Could be. It's numb right now, but I can't seem to move my foot."

They kept an ambulance and an EMT crew standing by during the rodeo in case of accidents like this one. Since the event brought extra visitors and money into the county, the local volunteer fire department was glad to provide this support. Soon the vehicle pulled up and the crew got out. Casa had to step back while they unzipped the right leg of Jason's chaps to examine his injury.