Extreme Bull

me?”
    “Probably doesn’t want it to go to your big, fat head.” Terrence laughed but sobered quickly. “Look, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean—”
    “Don’t worry about it, I know you didn’t.”
    “Well, I guess we better get back.” Extreme Bull | Catt Ford
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    “Yeah. And maybe you should dress down a bit when we hit the bars.”
    “What’s wrong with how I dress?” Jeff sighed. He wasn’t going to have this argument all over again. “Shut up, Terry. I need some ice.” THE ice hadn’t worked and neither had the aspirin. Jeff woke up to his wrist throbbing in pain. He twisted it, testing it. It hurt, but he could move it, so it very likely wasn’t broken. Tonight was an important ride. If his wrist was sprained, it would just have to wait till later. He had to beat Clay—beat the other riders.
    He dug out an old ACE bandage and wrapped it around his wrist as well as he could. It would at least add a little support. Then he pulled on his gloves to hide it. He knew it wouldn’t be a problem under the lights of the arena that night. He would just have to keep it out of everyone’s sight during the day.
    Clay—Sam would likely notice he was wearing gloves and ask about it. He’d have to lie low until his ride.

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    GRIMLY, Jeff dug his hand under the bull rope, nodded when the cowboy at the chute had pulled it as tight as he could bear, and made a fist, pounding on the rosin-caked glove to get his wrap. It hurt, but not too bad. Pain came with the job, and he wasn’t going to get all weepy and start wringing his hands over a mere sprain. Especially as it would kill his wrist, he thought with grim humor.
    The bull moved restively under him as if it could sense his weakness. Jeff knew that animals could sense another animal’s fear, and he was just another animal to the bull; a particularly annoying one that the bull wanted off its back as soon as possible.
    Well, he wasn’t going quietly.
    He gave the nod. The gate swung open, and Jeff tucked his chin down and bit back a groan as the bull jolted forward, pulling on his wrist. It was worse than he thought it would be, but he hung on for dear life. There would be no reride for him today no matter what. He had to make his points in this round or else.
    Each time the bull took off Jeff felt pain stab at his wrist, but he wouldn’t cry out. He clenched his teeth until he was afraid they might break from the shattering ride, but he hung on, waving his free hand in the air. He went for the style points, raking his spurs feverishly, hoping to distract the judges from looking too close at the awkward way he was hanging onto the rope. Squeeze and pull, squeeze and pull.

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    He heard the roar of the crowd and when the horn blew, he had never been as happy in his life to be able to ditch a ride.
    He kicked free but found his hand was hung up on the rope. He tried to stay as close to the bull as he could, getting pulled off his feet as he frantically tried to work his fingers loose. He groaned in pain from the strain on his wrist before Caleb reached him. The clown yanked on the rope, pulling it free; Jeff fell into the dust clutching his left hand and struggled to make it to his knees. Caleb didn’t ask questions.
    He just grabbed the back of Jeff’s vest and dragged him to his feet, running him to the sidelines.
    Cowboys lined the fence, leaning over to hoist him out of the ring, but the only face Jeff could see was Clay’s, white and strained.
    “What the fuck happened? What’s wrong with your wrist?” Clay asked.
    Grinning stupidly and wondering if he would ever be able to look at Clay without grinning stupidly, Jeff said, “I think I sprained it, but I covered him.”
    “You’re going to the medic,” Clay ordered. He reached out to grab Jeff’s right arm, forgetting all about the cameras or anything other than that Jeff was hurt.
    Sam interrupted. “You’re up next, Clay. I’ll take him.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” Clay said.

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    “You can’t miss your ride. There’s no reride for walking away,” Jeff insisted. “I’ll be fine; it’s just a sprain. Sam’ll take good care of me.”
    “I will surely do that,” Sam said, grinning. “Go get your ride, Clay. He’ll still be there when you get done.”
    “It’s only eight seconds or less,” Jeff teased. “Cowboy up.”
    “You goddamn fucker, it’ll be more than eight,” Clay