Airborne

“Come on, Denver! We’re gonna be late!” Jonathan (or John as most called him) Knight shouted from the front porch, yelling for his younger sister.

“I’m comin’ so just cool it!” Came the reply from the house then a pretty blonde haired, blue eyed girl walked out with an old duffle bag over her shoulder. She wore a pair of jeans that fit her snuggly and were pulled over the tops of her worn out Anderson Beans. A blue button up was pulled on over a black tank top and she hadn’t bothered to tuck in either shirt in either shirt or button the button up. A beautiful oval belt buckle with a simple brown belt completed the outfit. The belt buckle was one the girl had won at a barrel race.

She tossed her duffle bag in the dressing room of the horse trailer hooked onto the back of her blue Ford. Two horses whinnied from the trailer and snorted, ready to get on the road.

“Denver!” John shouted from the passenger seat of the truck.

“Chill!” Denver said, closing and locking the dressing room door then checking the other door on the back. She then jogged to the truck and got in the driver’s side. She started the engine and followed the gravel road away from the ranch house and to the highway.

On the two hour drive, Denver stopped to pick up two of John’s bronc riding friends. She pulled up to the arena and the four jumped out after Denver killed the engine. The three boys went to go register for the bronc riding while Denver unloaded her two Mustangs. After tying up the pair, she went to register for breakaway roping and barrels.

The day by quickly and nothing interesting happened. Denver let her Mustangs munch on some of the green grass for a while then saddled fifteen minutes before the rodeo started.

“Denver!” John said, jogging over. “Need help with anything?”

“No,” Denver replied. “Thanks though.”

One of John’s friends that they had picked up on the ride over came up. “Denver, I got a dare for you.”

She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

“I bet you won’t enter the bronc ridin’ and ride a bronc.” The challenge was issued. The question was whether or not Denver was going to accept it.

“What do I get if I do?” She asked, obviously considering the challenge.

“All of us bronc riders will give ya fifteen dollars each.”

“How many of there are y’all?”

“About twenty.”

She did quick calculations in her head. Twenty times fifteen was 300. “Deal!”

He grinned. “Go enter then.”

“I’m goin, Jesse. I’m goin.” She said then jogged to the announcers stand to enter.

“Hello, Miss Denver. Did ya forget something?” The man running the entries asked.

“Naw. Just came to enter in the bronc ridding, Nate,” Denver replied and took the clipboard with the entry form. She filled it out then payed.

“Why ya ridin broncs?”

“Jesse and the other bronc riders said I wouldn’t do it.”

He laughed. “Of course you couldn’t resist a challenge.”

She grinned. “No I couldn’t. If I get hurt, make sure John makes me go to the hospital.”

“Promise,” he replied then Denver left.

Bronc riding was one of the last events. Denver had come in third in breakaway and second in barrels. Now, her nerves were catching up to her as the time for broncs came. There were five more bull riders then it would be time.