Roping the Wind (Paperback) Book 1

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PROLOGUE
2005

Jay Turner wrapped the bull rope securely around his gloved right palm and closed his fingers over it. Beyond the delivery chutes, the thumping sound of AC/DC’s “Hells Bells” blared over the packed crowd at the Sacramento Arco Arena. He hardly noticed the noise and the smell of bullshit anymore. His whole attention was fixed on the two thousand pounds of bull that shifted uneasily between his thighs.
He had to qualify tonight, or he’d be going home without a dime again. Five weeks without reaching the final fifteen made a man look like a has-been. It would leave him too close to the cut and ruin his chance of making the finals for the third year in a row. Rampage, the bull he was attempting to ride for eight seconds, was getting more restless. Jay rammed his Stetson down hard on his head and nodded to the gate man.
The bull erupted from the chute with an explosion of power and strength. Jay kept his free hand high over his head and his balance over the center of the bull despite its best efforts to throw him off. A wild sense of exhilaration filled him as the crowd roared in approval. There was nothing like this feeling, apart from sex, and hey, if he did okay tonight, he’d make damned sure he got some of that as well.
He spurred the bull to earn those vital extra style points and tried to make it look like he didn’t have a care in the world. The buzzer blared in his ear. He untied his rope and jumped clear, managing to stay on his feet as the shock of landing tore through his knees. One of the bullfighters slapped him hard on the back and handed him his hat.
“Great ride, Jay,” he yelled. “That should get you in the final round.”
Jay looked out at the crowd and waved his Stetson. His grinning face appeared on the huge screens at either end of the arena. A lot of the female fans told him he looked like a young Robert Redford. He couldn’t see it himself, but it was okay by him if it got the girls screaming his name. He punched his fist in the air as his score came up. Eighty-nine points would keep him up there and into the last fifteen.
As he exited the arena and headed for the locker rooms, Jay’s confident grin faded. Christ, his right knee hurt like hell. He’d been avoiding the sports medicine team all weekend because he already knew what they were going to say. He needed surgery on his knee. Surgery that would put him out for the rest of the season.
After enduring another round of back slapping from his fellow competitors, he made for the privacy of the locker room and sank down on a bench. Bull riding was a young man’s game. Only an eighteen-year-old with a gut full of bravado and no brains could get on a bull and not worry about the consequences. Jay wasn’t a kid anymore. His confidence had eroded like a sand dune in a desert over the past twelve years. He grimaced as he dropped an ice pack on his knee.
Trouble was, after the last set of injuries, he’d started to worry about getting hurt. And as soon as a rider did that, he became less able to sit on a bull, less capable of shutting out the fear. Jay sighed as he leaned his head against the metal locker behind him and closed his eyes. One more round and he’d be able to go back to the hotel and soak in a long hot bath. Hopefully with a couple of Buckle Bunnies to scrub his back and any other part of his anatomy they liked.
Jay frowned as he studied the list of the top fifteen riders. He’d come in sixth overall and had drawn one of the worst bulls in the final round. A monster called Destroyer who seemed determined to live up to his name and had a growing reputation for dumping the elite of the bull-riding world on their butts.
For a second, despair washed over him. He’d given up on his dream to become an all-round rodeo world champion after his first set of knee injuries three years ago. His half-brother Grayson had paid for his surgery that time. Jay had no intention of asking for his help again.
He coiled his bull rope into his hand. Despite his doctor’s warnings, he’d switched to bull riding, figuring it would be easier to focus on one thing. Of course, he’d immediately damaged the other knee as well.
Jay stared out at the crowd, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright lights and the constant ripple of movement. Silently, he struck a bargain with God. If he could just make it through this year, he’d have the surgery. He’d find the money somehow.
The rock music rose in volume and the ground vibrated beneath his boots. He made his way to his assigned bucking chute. Time to cowboy up and get the job done.
Destroyer looked calm enough, his brown flanks heavy with muscle, his tail hardly twitching. But there was a stillness about him Jay didn’t like, a watchfulness in his eyes that spoke of barely leashed wildness. Jay touched his mother’s wedding ring, which he wore on a chain around his neck. He always imagined her looking down at him from heaven, protecting his ass.
As soon as he nodded his head and the bull jerked under him, Jay knew he had a problem. The sudden force of the bull’s vertical jumps and belly rolls almost pulled his arm out of its socket. He slid to the right, tried to correct, but it was too late; the big bull was on to him.
He was flung off, but his hand was still trapped in the tight binding of his rope. He fought to unwrap his hand as the bull fought just as fiercely to get away from him. Jay could only hang on and try not to panic as he worked at the knotted rope. Again, his shoulder was almost wrenched from its socket and a searing pain shot down his arm. The bullfighters yelled at him to stay on his feet, but it was impossible. He tried to avoid a kick and slipped to his knees. Over his head, Destroyer reared up and came down on his right leg.
A thin scream pierced the air. Jay only realized it was him when it stopped, and he crashed into unconsciousness.
When he opened his eyes, he was still in the arena. Beyond the solid barrier of bullfighters and the medics who circled him, he sensed the big crowd holding its collective breath. This wasn’t the way he planned to end his career, face down in the dirt.
“I think his neck is okay. Can we get him on the backboard, boys?”
“Oh shit, not you,” Jay whispered.