Ride Rough: A Roughstock Riders Novel

Chapter 3-2

May

"You ready?" Jaxon Boyd asked, pulling the bull rope tight across Trace's hand.

Trace answered with a grunt. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like alcohol, making him the slightest bit jittery. No way would he admit to a seasoned pro like Jax that he was the least bit nervous.

"Relax. The odds are one-hundred percent the bull is gonna buck you off. It's when, not if. Now, the odds of you stayin' on for eight seconds, they're a little less shitty, but still losing." Jaxon's white teeth flashed. "But I've beat losing odds before, and so can you."

"Remember," Tony Cruz added from the other side of the chute where he was acting as gateman, "the bull's not predictable like the practice machines, but the principle's the same - keep your hips driving forward, keep your balance arm in line with your ear, and show this bull you're boss."

Trace nodded, positioning his hips practically on top of his left hand gripping the rope. Tony and his best friend Robbie Capizzi were local firefighters who moonlighted on the Prairie Circuit when their schedules allowed.

Robbie, perched next to Jax, leaned over the chute and put in his two cents. "Now, put your right hand on the rail and drive forward when you nod, so you're moving with the bull."

"Okay, go," Trace called, pulling himself forward like Robbie had instructed as the bull charged from the gate bucking and spinning. His focus narrowed to the bull gyrating beneath him, back legs up, twisting left, once, twice, until a hard twist to the right got him off-center and he flew through the air like a rag doll, landing on the ground with a thud hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

"Get up, get up," Colt hollered from across the arena. "You want that bull to stomp on you?"

Cody, acting as bullfighter, yelled his agreement, chasing the bull to the far side of the arena and out the gate.

Trace swallowed a groan and rolled to his knees, then stood, shaking his limbs as he jogged over to the rail where Colt perched, smirking. "I don't know how I was supposed to keep my hips forward when it was spinning like a top."

"That's why you practice, pretty boy. Now, shake it off and tell me what you did wrong."

Trace huffed out a chuckle and scraped a hand against his beard. "Dude, it happened so fast, I have no idea."

"We'll watch the video later. Your balance arm swung in front of you and pulled your hips off-center when the bull twisted. You up for another ride? We've got time for one more before we wrap."

"You bet." Trace turned and jogged back to the chute where the next practice bull was loaded. Sterling hadn't been shitting him. Three weeks in, he could say fundamentally, without a doubt, bull riding was the hardest damn thing he'd ever tried. All those stunt guys he'd admired on set, the ones that made him look like a total badass on screen, had nothing on an average bull rider. The guys in this arena were beasts and he was determined to be one of them, because this was seriously the most fun he'd had in months. Trace clambered up the rail and dropped into the chute again, taking care to make the bull aware he was there, before settling himself on its back and drawing a glove back and forth over the rope to make the rosin nice and sticky.

"Colt go over what you can improve?" Jax asked.

"Gotta keep my arm from swinging forward. Keep my elbow low." He liked that Jax always spun his critiques positively. The guy never bragged, even though, according to Tony and Robbie, he'd placed in the money two years running at the National Circuit Finals, and he'd been a contender at the NFRs in his early twenties until an injury had sidelined him.

"So if you work to keep your shoulder from dipping, that will help. All the movement comes from the trunk first. If your shoulder moves out of line, the arm has to follow."

There was so much to remember. How did these guys ever keep it all straight? And for only eight seconds? Somehow, someway, he was determined to prove himself to this bunch. In the month he'd been at the ranch, it was as if even he'd forgotten Trace Walker, ranch hand and aspiring bullrider was actually Trace McBride, movie star, hiding from the paparazzi while trying to get his life back on track. That was a good thing, right? It still felt too new, too foreign, that he was in a place where people took him at his word and didn't expect anything from him. He didn't trust it... yet. But it was the kind of thing he could get used to.

"Got it." He slipped his hand underneath the bull rope while Jax tightened it and wound it around his wrist.

"Keep your focus," Jax warned. "Remember, this is mostly a mental game."

Trace pulled forward and gave the nod for the chute to open. The bull burst out with a twist, bucking back and forth. For the first time, fear didn't take over. For every turn and twist the bull made beneath him, Trace remained focused on keeping his elbow low and driving his hips forward, even though it felt like his spine would snap in two. The bull bucked again, and for the blink of an eye, his focus wavered. That was all it took, and once again, Trace flew a*s over teakettle and landed face down in the dirt.

"Get up, get up!" Colton shouted.

Trace popped up and stumbled forward, head spinning, barely missing the angry horns of the bull.

Along the rails, Tony, Jax, and Robbie whooped and hollered. "Six seconds," Tony yelled with a face splitting grin. "That's your best yet."

Trace grinned back, pumped his fist and shouted, elation surging through him. "Hell, yeah." He wanted to strut and pound his chest. That felt f*****g amazing.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," said Colton as he crossed the arena to where the rest of the cowboys were. "You still haven't made it to the buzzer. But you'll get there," he added with a grin and clapped Trace on the shoulder. "If you can stay on for six seconds, you can make it to eight."

Trace's chest warmed under the rodeo star's praise. Colton had hung up his pro-rodeo spurs for family life, but never missed an opportunity to hop on a bull and show the group how it was done. "I aim to."

"Ladies called, and they're saving a table for us at Mike's, so let's get all this equipment put away and call it a day."

Trace vaulted over the rails and joined Tony in pushing one of the practice bulls back into the large barn.

"You gonna join us, this time around?" Colton asked casually as he joined Trace. "Wouldn't hurt for you to get to know the guys a little better."

It was on the tip of his tongue to decline, like he'd done all the previous times over the past month. Sterling, Jason, and Travis' collective warning echoed in his head. Keep a low profile. Stay away from the local color. He knew exactly what they meant - no letting loose, and definitely no ladies. But most of these guys were married, some even with children. Trace couldn't imagine them getting into the kind of crazy he was used to in L.A. Tony and Robbie pretty much lived at the fire station, and Jaxon was a math teacher at the high school. Not exactly r****e-rousers. In his old life he would have dismissed every one of them. But now the shoe was on the other foot. If he was honest, he envied the easy camaraderie he'd observed between them, the natural trust they placed in each other. Portia had admonished him to make friends. Was this what she'd been talking about? If it was, he sure as hell couldn't do that sitting alone on the porch of his bunk house, teaching himself the guitar. And dammit, he was tired of his own company. It wouldn't hurt this once, would it? He squared his shoulders. "Sure, okay, why not?"