Extreme Bull

off.” The twinkle in BJ’s eyes told Clay the jibe was meant for Terrence rather than him. He was amused to see that Terrence had taken the time after his ride to wash his face and neck thoroughly. Probably slicked a comb through his hair too, although under the hat he couldn’t tell.
    “Bull was well trained. Give a cowboy a ride and then deliver him right over to the sidelines after the horn blows,” Clay said.
    BJ squinted, peering at Terrence. “You remember to wash behind your ears like your momma told you?”
    “Is it a crime to like to be clean?” Terrence clenched his fists defensively and walked away.
    “Man, he’s fun to ride,” Clay commented.
    “More fun than Stratton?” BJ asked.
    “With Stratton it’s not a game.”
    “You two should have your own private rodeo.” Extreme Bull | Catt Ford
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    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “None of the rest of us have cracked 90 this year yet, and the two of you go on like there’s nobody else on the circuit.”
    “Season’s young. You topped 90 last year, BJ. You will again,” Clay said, sensing what bothered BJ the most.
    “Thanks. I hope so too, but when I do, tell Stratton he better not trip me up on the way to the ring.” BJ touched his hat and sauntered off to find his first ride.
    Clay didn’t know the other riders lined up along the fence very well yet, and that let him feel free to study Jeff’s ride without having to make conversation. BJ was right; he did see Jeff Stratton as his primary competition this year, but that didn’t mean another rider might not hit a hot streak or that Jeff could get injured, which would take him out of the game. Clay never thought about getting injured himself; ideas like that could make you overly cautious, and bull riding was no place for a careful man.
    Jeff was mounted on Under Eight, a bull that was famed for getting rid of its riders in under the required time to earn a score. When he nodded and the gate opened, Clay could see that the bull was every bit as tough as Firestarter. If Jeff managed to stay on for the full eight, unlike most of the bull’s past riders, he would earn a high score even if he didn’t put on that good a show.

    Extreme Bull | Catt Ford
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    Clay had to admit Jeff was giving the audience the price of their tickets though. Unlike Terrence, who could stick to the back of an animal but tended to flop there like a rag doll, Jeff looked as if he were part of the bull. There wasn’t much air between his Wranglers and the saddle when the bull left the ground, and his hips moved smoothly with every motion, swiveling to meet each snap and turn.
    In spite of the competitive spirit that thrived between them, Clay had to admire the way the other man could ride.
    And Jeff was up there smiling and grinning as if he felt the same exuberant joy on board the bull that he did. Clay didn’t want to admit they were anything alike, but maybe he was just fooling himself.
    They didn’t look anything alike; Clay was stocky and sandy-haired where Jeff was dark with stick-straight hair and a bit slimmer, although still tough. They had one thing in common though: both of them liked to win.
    The horn blew, and Jeff kicked free, sliding off the right side of the bull, which managed to turn its head and butt him in the rear before being drawn off by the bullfighters.
    The crowd in the stands laughed when Caleb chased Jeff, pretending to kick his rear also, and Clay sniggered at the thought of how mad that must have made Jeff. He would have hated it himself: to have a ride like that end in a head butt to the butt. Then he laughed out loud with delight; Jeff’s ride was close, but he had scored only 91.0. Clay was the winner for the day.

    Extreme Bull | Catt Ford
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    “Watch your back, son; he’ll be gunnin’ for you tomorrow,” Sam advised as he passed by and saw the triumphant look on Clay’s face.
    “Let him. I enjoy beating a man when he’s on the up,” Clay said.

    BJ and Clay grabbed a table at the Save a Horse saloon that night because the cowgirl groupies were out in force. As they’d hoped, two pretty girls came by soon enough, each holding two mugs of beer.
    “Is this seat taken?” the girl with brown hair asked.
    Clay obligingly shoved over on the bench seat. “Just waiting for you, darlin’. I’m Clay. That there’s BJ.”
    “Doris,” the girl said. She sat down and pushed one of the beers in front of Clay. “I saw you ride today.”
    “Oh yeah? How’d