Mayfly Melodies

Two

Chapter dedicated to chukoo786 who gave me the name Noah

Noah

Rodeo is about life lessons, and not just about belt buckles and winning. There is so much you can learn from a horse and a cow that you can't learn from football—Jim Wakefield

He'd drawn Blackout Charlie.

The bull was a tough old critter. Big and muscular with a large fat snout and white horns. Fur was the colour of mud. Hoofs large and good for stomping. The bull had a seventy-nine-point-three percent buck-off rate.

He was, Noah thought, the ugliest bull that he'd ever seen.

Noah leaned against the metal cab of his truck, watching the proceedings with careful scrutiny. His gaze was carefully disinterested but his eyes caught more than most people assumed. A few hundred feet away, he could hear the rumbling of the crowd as yet another bronc rider mounted his bucking steed. He waited, patiently, for the deafening cheer or the defeated grown that announced whether or not the rider had made the eight. This time, the rider made it. The crowd roared, successful, as the announcer called out the rider's score.

He turned away, elbows resting on the hood of the old Chevy. It was forever breaking down and was in dire need of a replacement, but there was too much to do on the ranch before he even considered hauling it in to the junkyard. It still worked, albeit barely and with more complaint than it used to, and he was lucky that his father had taught him all that he'd known about mechanics, which wasn't much, when he'd been growing up.

It had been a long day of competition at the Tishomingo Rodeo Classic, exhausting, and he hadn't even ridden yet. The jeering of the crowd and the never-ending stream of people were more wearying than most people expected. This was especially true for someone like Noah who didn't particularly enjoy the rodeo circuit, but knew that he belonged there nonetheless.

If nowhere else, he belonged on the circuit.

"Hartley!"

Noah looked up, eyes narrowing beneath the rim of his hat as he gazed into the sharp midday sun. There was someone walking towards him, someone stocky and broad-shouldered with a wide smile and bright eyes that crinkled at the corners.

Noah felt the muscles in his face expand to a grin. It'd been too long since he'd last seen Ethan Cooke. The last time he could remember was when he'd moved away from home, almost a year ago now. Noah had grown up near Wichita Falls, Texas, living on his parents' horse and cattle ranch. It'd been an idyllic childhood, one filled with laughter and daily trail rides down by the creek that separated their property with the neighbours. That neighbour happened to be Ethan and his family.

The two had been close friends growing up, training for and competing in the junior rodeo together before finally making it onto the amateur, and eventually pro, circuit. Ethan had spent as much time at Noah's house as he did at his own and Noah remembered all too clearly the feeling of coming home and already finding Ethan there, comfortably seated at his kitchen table or perched on the edge of his couch.

Ethan was only a few feet away now. Noah pushed away from the edge of the truck and stuck his hand out towards his old friend. Ethan reached for it and gave it a rough shake before pulling Noah in for a one-armed hug. It was a familiar sensation, but one that came through from another life.

"It's been way too long since I last saw that stupid face of yours, man," Ethan said, laughing as he pulled back.

"How are you doing, Ethan?" Noah asked. He took stock of his friend. Ethan was looking extremely tanned, his skin golden-brown, and joyful. His green eyes were lit with mirth and excitement, that kind of energy that emanated from a successful day of riding.