Extreme Bull

slamming from the irate animal.
    Clay waited until Jeff had disappeared within the maze that led to the chutes before he joined BJ at the fence.
    “You hear he drew Twister?”
    “Yep. Why? Think he can’t handle it?”
    “He can handle it okay,” Clay said shortly. He didn’t want to get into some touchy-feely conversation with BJ
    about his worries over Jeff’s ride. “He’s a daredevil.”
    “No! Really? When did you tumble to that ?” BJ laid on the sarcasm thick and rich.
    The gate burst open, and Twister leaped into the air, showing off that trademark move. BJ leaned over the fence Extreme Bull | Catt Ford
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    to watch, but Clay stood with his back to the fence, his elbows hooked on the rail, pretending he wasn’t interested.
    “He’s a good rider. I don’t think he knows how good. I hope he earns a really good score.” Clay paused for a moment, but he couldn’t keep from adding, “So I can beat it.”
    BJ rubbed his eyes. Maybe this hangover was fucking with his head more than he’d thought. “What is with you two? A couple years on the tour and it’s just the usual competitive crap between cowboys, and now all of a sudden this year it’s war?”
    “I guess we found out we just don’t mix; oil and water, you know,” Clay said stiffly.
    “Birds of a feather, more like,” BJ scoffed.
    “I’m going to beat his ass this year, no matter what.”
    “Well, you got your work cut out. He’s on fire out there.” BJ jerked his head toward the ring.
    Clay turned around to look. He’d been trying not to notice Jeff’s ride, but BJ’s comment and the sound of the crowd’s wild appreciation made it hard. The sight of Jeff on the back of the bull, his body all fluid and lithe, hips working, his spine curved one moment and snapping straight and tall the next with the twisting motion of the animal made him want to applaud and cheer along with BJ, who had stepped up on the bottom rung of the fence by now, Extreme Bull | Catt Ford
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    yelling and waving his hat, hangover forgotten for the moment.
    The horn blew, and Jeff let go just as the bull bucked up its back end, flipping him high into the air in a spectacular arc. He hit the ground rolling, came up onto his feet in one graceful movement, and took off for the fence. He jumped for it just in time with the bull snorting at his heels. Clay could see him grinning as he swung a leg over and straddled the fence, waving at the enthusiastic crowd and clasping both hands over his head in triumph.
    “On fire,” Clay repeated in a low voice. It was a good ride. He might just have to tell him so.

    JEFF was pissed. It was one thing if he wanted to ignore Clay, but to figure out that now Clay was ducking him just pissed him right the hell off. He’d see Clay in the distance and work his way through the crowds trying to catch up to him, but it was like Clay had some kind of radar scanning device on him. By the time Jeff got to where Clay had been standing, the man would be gone.
    He tried staking out the grub hall but never managed to spot Clay. The man had to eat, didn’t he? He had to drink coffee sometime!

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    It would have been a breach of competition etiquette to jump Clay before his ride, and Jeff wasn’t that desperate.
    However, he did take up a position front and center on the fence, flanked by Sam on one side and BJ on the other to witness Clay’s ride. Every cowboy always knew where Sam was, so Jeff knew that Clay had to be aware of his presence even if he refused to look over that way. And somehow, some way, he was going to force Clay to acknowledge that he was standing there, big as life.
    Jeff smirked a bit as he watched Clay’s ride. Not one of his best, and he hoped maybe this thing , whatever it was going on between them, had finally managed to shake Clay’s concentration. The bull Clay was mounted on wasn’t doing him any favors either, a bit sluggish but not so bad that the judges would grant a reride, most likely.
    Jeff stayed right on Sam’s heels as he went to talk to Clay after the ride, amused when Clay gave him a quick glance but then ignored him.
    “You want to ask for a reride?” Sam asked.
    “Yeah, if you think they’d give it to me,” Clay said, brushing the dust off his jeans.
    “You won’t know till you ask.” Sam nodded briefly and strode off to the judges’ box.
    “Seen you ride better,” Jeff said.

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    Clay took a deep breath. He