Skeeter
Anderson was born to ride bulls. He bypassed college to shoot straight to the
top of the elite pro tour, but lately all he can seem to do is hit the dirt. Unwilling to admit his
career might be over at twenty-one, Skeeter brainstorms a bull-riding boot camp
with his buddies, which will put him closer to a girl who’s caught his eye—a
stock contractor’s daughter called Riley.
EXCERPT (Rated G)
“And
Skeeter Anderson hits the ground with the clock stopped at six-point-nine
seconds.”
“Well,
JW, I have to think that with the number of times this kid’s gotten bucked off,
nine out of his last nine outs, odds are he’s used to the taste of arena dirt
by now.”
“Used to
it or not, this one’s gonna cost him, Jim. Without a qualified ride in this
event, his ranking doesn’t make the cut. Skeeter’s officially off the tour for
this series.”
“You’re
right there, JW. Skeeter will be headed down to the touring pro division until
he can get his points up to rank good enough to qualify for the series again.
Let’s hope he works out the kinks in his riding and makes it to the finals in
Vegas this year.”
Skeeter
squinted through the bars on the faceguard of his helmet to see the clock.
Seeing his time didn’t change anything. All the digital red glow of the numbers
did was confirm what the announcers had said. The clock had stopped at
six-point-nine seconds. Close but not close enough when he needed eight seconds
to get a score.
Without a
qualified ride during his last nine outs, for the first time in years he didn’t
rank in the top forty. Only the best riders got to tour with this particular
series. Skeeter was no longer one of them. That truth had echoed off the arena
walls for thousands of bull riding fans to hear, thanks to the two announcers
and their sound system. He pulled out his mouthguard and resisted the urge to
throw it.
Sure, he
could still ride for this association, but it would be in another division. In
this sport, it was the equivalent of a baseball player who’d played in the majors—hell,
in the World Series—being sent back to the minor leagues because he wasn’t good
enough to cut it in the major leagues anymore. It sucked.
“Tough
break, Skeets.” One of the bullfighters slapped Skeeter on the back while
handing him his bull rope.
“Yup.”
Skeeter grabbed his dusty rope. “Thanks.”
Behind
the chutes, Aaron Jordan was there to meet him the moment he walked through the
gate. “Don’t let being sent down to the touring pros get to you. You’ll be back
here in a week. Two max.”
Aaron’s
words had been encouraging on the surface, but all Skeeter could hear was pity
behind them. Besides, it would take longer than a week or two to work his way
back to where he’d been. But he didn’t bother arguing. What was the point?
“Yeah.”
As Skeeter pulled his helmet off, he didn’t have anything more than that to
say. He walked away from his friend and traveling partner, heading for where
he’d left his hat before the ride.
A nine
buck-off streak was too much for Skeeter to wrap his head around after having
ranked among the top riders in the country—heck, in the world. They’d called
him a prodigy. Joked he’d be the world champion before he was legal to drink.
They’d
all been wrong.
Skeeter
never ever thought he’d be in this situation, yet here he was. He needed a few
seconds alone, but that wasn’t going to happen here and now while he was
surrounded by people and cameras.
“What’s
going on, kid?”
He turned
toward Mustang Jackson, the rider he looked up to with as much respect as he
had for the man who’d trained him all those years ago. Unlike Cooper, Mustang
had never won the world championship, but he’d placed in the top ten riders
consistently, year after year, and he’d been around for a long time.
“I suck,
that’s what’s going on.”
Mustang
chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. “After watching how you’re riding lately,
yeah, I gotta agree with you on that.”
That was
not what he’d expected Mustang, the tour cheerleader on most days, to say. A
frown settled on Skeeter’s brow.
The older
man laughed. “Don’t look at me like that. You know as well as I do, if you can
hang on for six-point-nine seconds—”
“I should
be able to hang on for eight.” Skeeter finished the sentiment he knew well.
He’d heard other riders say it often enough.
“Yup. So,
I’ll ask you again, what’s going on with you?”
He blew
out a breath. “I don’t know.”
Mustang
tipped his head to one side. “I suggest you take some time and figure it out.”
Not
real helpful advice, in Skeeter’s opinion. If even Mustang couldn’t figure out
what was
wrong, after giving all of them good riding advice for years, then there was no
hope for Skeeter’s future in this sport. That truth sat in Skeeter’s chest like
a lead weight, making it hard to breathe.
He raised
his gaze to meet Mustang’s. “I’ll try.”
“You do
that, and in the meantime get back to your basics. Hop on some practice bulls.
Hell, get back on a damn bucking barrel.”
“The
barrel? You serious?” Skeeter’s eyes popped wide. He hadn’t been on a barrel in
years. Not since his lessons with Cooper back in Arkansas.
“I never joke
about bull riding.” Mustang’s brows rose high. “Just do it, kid. Trust me.” He
knocked back the brim of his cowboy hat and was gone.
Ride a
practice barrel like the little kids who weren’t old enough to ride bulls?
Skeeter had ridden to a sold-out arena in Las Vegas. He’d competed in front of
stands packed with thousands of fans. And now, he’d be reduced to riding a
barrel in the backyard.
“You
okay?” Aaron’s voice brought Skeeter back from where he’d been wallowing in his
misery.
“Nope.”
If Skeeter could stand to admit to himself his career could very well be over,
at least at this level of competition, he might as well admit how miserable he
felt about it to his best friend.
“Yeah,
didn’t think so.” His traveling partner let out a breath.
Make that
former traveling partner. Aaron would still be following this tour
circuit, while Skeeter was going back in the touring pros.
“I’m
gonna go get out of this stuff.” Helmet in his hand, Skeeter turned and headed
for the back. He could pack away his chaps and his vest in his gear bag.
There’d be no championship round for him today.
His path
to the riders’ dressing room took him down a hallway lined with life-sized
posters of past world champions. Some of these men had long since retired from
the sport. These were the men Skeeter had grown up idolizing back when he only
dreamed of competing pro. Back when his mom had taken on extra shifts to pay
for his equipment and later, when he started to compete, for his entry fees.
All while he’d mowed every lawn he could find in walking distance to earn money
to help.
Some of
the champions pictured were still competing. Skeeter had traveled, joked, eaten
and prayed with them for the years he’d been with this tour. He’d ridden
alongside champions, competing at their level—until now.
Now, it
could all be over. His mom’s money and hard work gone to waste. All of Cooper’s
countless hours of coaching—all for nothing.
Hoping
none of the guys would be in the dressing room, Skeeter bit his lip and fought
against the hot sting of tears, not brought on by sadness but anger. Anger at
himself. Who else did he have to blame? He’d somehow let this happen, though he
had no idea how. Just like he had no idea how he was going to fix it.
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REVIEW:
“In Thrown, Cat Johnson has given her readers an enjoyable
new love story while satisfying their need for more on characters from the
past. She has also given us an interesting look forward, something I’m very
excited about, and most of all she’s stayed true to these characters and what
they represent. I am one happy reader who is ready to do a complete series
re-read just so I can read this book for a third time!” ~SLICK, Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews 5 Stars
