Firefly Night

CHAPTER 6

|COLT LANGMORE|

                 With the brim of my Stetson hat hung low on my head, I lean against the railing, one cowboy boot clad foot crossed over the other. With one thumb hooked into the pocket of my well-worn Wrangler jeans, the other hand was holding steady to a Marlboro Red, rolling it between my fingers and bringing it to my lips every few seconds to take a long drag and blow the plume of smoke upward until it curled around the lights of the arena and disappeared.

I don't notice the roar of the crowd that rumbles throughout the arena, or hear the raucous music that blares through the huge speakers overhead.

I don't notice the brightness of the lights that are beaming down on everything they touch or the strobe lights that are sweeping over the whole arena in quick succession.

I don't notice the pyrotechnics that are shooting through the air at breakneck speed and velocity.

I don't hear the announcer working the crowd into an even higher state of frenzy.

No, I don't see or hear any of that.

I am laser focused on one thing and one thing only: Outlaw.

The two thousand pound bull I am about to mount. Sean, the daredevil of the group, had flinched when I informed him I'd be taking on Outlaw. It was a rare sight, seeing Sean, who seemed to fear nothing, showing a hint of doubt. But for me, facing Outlaw wasn't about fear—it's purely about pushing my limits, and conquering the beast that others shy away from.

I watch with steely determination as Outlaw slowly makes his way down the bull chute, catching the animal's eye at one point and staring him down with narrowed eyes.

Outlaw was a rank bull, using his strong bucks and kicks to knock off any rider that dared to ride him.

And that's exactly the reason why I wanted him.

Some of the other bull riders were too timid to ride the most rank bulls, instead going for the easy rides and settling for mediocre points scores. But I firmly believed that there wasn't a bull that I couldn't ride. The bulls that other riders were too afraid of were the ones I wanted. Because I knew that, yeah, a rider could get a good ride with a docile bull and make things easier for himself, but no one would ever remember his name. Not the way they remembered Tex Lamar's or Lane Frosts.

And that was the way I wanted to be remembered. No shortcuts, no easy rides.

As I continued to watch Outlaw, his huge head swinging from side to side as his muscled, powerful body moved slowly but steadily, his anticipation bloomed too full blown excitement. Other than the actual ride, this was my favorite time. The calm before the storm.

I didn't plan anything because I knew that if I set a game plan and tried to trap the bull, I would get ensnared in that trap myself, every time. I relied solely on my instincts. It had worked good enough so far.

No matter how difficult or dangerous it was, I loved it. The adrenaline rush of it, the excitement. Ever since I slid down to mount my first bull at fourteen, I was hooked. There was nothing in the world like it and nothing else that I was that great at. Sure, I could hold my own when it came to roping a calf and handle a herd. But I wasn't great at it.

There was a time, with Alice when I had really considered giving it up. Love does that to you- hell marriage does. But as soon as it came it was over again, and the season I missed out on I came back to easily.

I had a quiet confidence, a swagger that I exuded, like I knew I was good at what I did, but I didn't boast about it. I wasn't cocky. I let my rides and my scores speak for themselves.

Let them see what I could do without me having to say a word.

I slipped on my riding glove, the worn leather smooth against my calloused skin. Wyatt came in

carrying a trusty clipboard in one hand, and a pencil in the other.

"You're up next Colt," he said, breaking me out of my concentration.

"Thanks Wyatt." He slapped me on the back as I began taping up my hands. My flank man, Beau, held out a gray helmet to me. I glanced at the helmet with furrowed brows while throwing my cigarette down and stomping it out with my boot.

"What is that?" I asked, even though we both knew he knew the answer.

Beau sighed in a manner that said he knew how this conversation was going to go. "It's the standard issue required, helmet, Colt."

I grunted, annoyed. "You see this hat, Beau?" I asked, pointing it out with my finger before putting both hands on my hips, encircling my leather belt.

"Yeah, Colt, I see it," Beau responded, rolling his eyes.

I didn't believe in many things, but one thing I did believe in was that a cowboy didn't take his hat off for very much. Especially not his ride.

"This is the only damn thing that will be on my head when I bust out of that chute and cover this ride. So you can take that required helmet in your hand there and kindly put it elsewhere!"

I didn't know what Beau did with the helmet, but by the time I put my boot up on one of the rungs of the gate and hoisted himself up, it was gone. I hopped over the railing of the chute where Outlaw waited. I carefully lowered myself onto the bull, my cheeks suddenly flushed and my heart hammering in my chest.

I had both of my boots facing forward, so that I wouldn't hit the bull with my spurs. That was a sure way to break an ankle once the bull started moving around wildly from the unwanted contact. I had seen it happen before.

I did take the mouth guard Beau gave me, to the man's obvious relief. I slid up into position and grabbed the railing of the chute with my free hand.

I gave my nod that I was ready and yelled out the call to guys.

"Let's go, boys!"

As my theme song, 'Snake Oil' began to play the crowd went crazy. The chute opened and Outlaw and I exploded into the arena.

This was it.

This was the moment I lived and breathed for, the moment that made my blood thrum with excitement. The best, most exhilarating, eight seconds I ever experienced, even though a lot of times it felt liked the longest damn eight seconds of my life. I didn't care.

All the other bullshit I had to deal with-agents, sponsors, interviews, contracts, and the like-all faded away until it was just me and the bull. Fighting for dominance, battling for control.

The jet black twisting, bucking mass of muscle I was currently riding on was a fierce opponent. With my free arm up high in the air, I dug my spurs into the bull's sides and focused on his head to gauge what he would do next. Outlaw darted to the left, then to the right, then reared back. I matched each of his movements, reacting quickly to each one, staying ahead of him the whole time to maintain my power. The beast bucked wildly, kicking his back legs up high, as his front hooves landed hard on the loose dirt below.

This continued for the next several moments until the horn finally sounded just as Outlaw swung his body around one way and I went flying off from him the other way and hit the dirt hard on my back. I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.