Mayfly Melodies

Thirty-Five

Noah

A good old rodeo never hurt anyone—Taylor Kitsch

He was in third place after the first round of competition.  It had been a tough day and the competitors were all fierce and hungry to win.  The desire to secure the buckle was strong and it seemed to bleed from each and every man in the room.  Even Noah was not immune from intense craving to win.

"McCormick is going to choke," Bradley Rutledge said. 

Noah was standing in a group of his fellow competitors, watching from the sidelines as the next rider prepared to climb into the shoot.  He recognized almost everyone there save for a few new faces that had made it into the country's top forty. 

It was almost as Noah remembered the circuit being.  The guys were the same as ever, all cocky and self-assured as if they were God's gift to bull riding.  There were a few Noah didn't mind being around, guys like Bradley who realized the magnitude of the sport they competed in.  Guys who knew that injuries could be life-threateningly serious and that the animals they rode were more than household pets.  They were dangerous beasts whose sole purpose was to throw the riders from their backs without mercy.

"Nah, I don't think so," Jackson Gunn replied.  He was a young kid from Dallas rumoured to be the next Rookie of the Year.  "I'd wager Kirkland blows it before McCormick."

"What about you, Hartley?" Bradley asked.  He was a few people away from where Noah leaned against the rails.  He grinned widely in a way that reminded Noah of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.  "You gonna choke like McCormick and Kirkland?"

"Don't count on it," Noah replied.

"What should I count on then?" Bradley was poking fun, Noah knew, because it was unlikely he was going to get anywhere near the buckle today. 

He'd had a tough first ride, taking on a bull that had an eighty-three percent buck-off rate.  Bradley hadn't met the eight second requirement, losing it a little after seven seconds.  Bradley was still going to compete in the second round but unless one of the top riders failed to make the eight seconds, it was unlikely that he would place.

"Me winning."  He threw a cheeky smile towards the other bull riders who laughed easily. 

"We've missed you here, man," Cutter Freeman said as he clapped Noah on the shoulder.  The man was a few years older than Noah, tall and sturdy with eyes that were as hard as steel.  "Hasn't been the same without you."

For a moment, Noah felt uncomfortable with the sentiment.  He still wasn't used to being at rodeos without his dad and the reminders that he would never again get that experience always caused a sharp pain to lance through his chest.

"I'm sure it hasn't been all bad," Noah said, ignoring the sting.  "My leaving meant that some of you other chumps got to win a buckle for a change."

More laughter and Noah smiled again, fighting through the pain.  It was easier when everyone was laughing. 

"Those are fighting words, Noah," Bradley said.  "I'm gonna take you down the next time we meet up."

"Why don't you put your money where your mouth is?"

"You want to bet?  'Cause I'll make a bet."

"Twenty bucks?"

Bradley didn't even pretend to consider the wager.  "Deal.  You're going down, Hartley."

"I look forward to taking your money."  Noah was still chuckling even as the next rider, Jeremiah Hall, exploded out of the chute.

The guys fell quiet, watching as Hall endured his ride.  As things went, it was a relatively easy one.  The bull, Heartbreak Kid, wasn't quite up to the caliber of some of the other bulls.  He was barely spinning around and Noah didn't see a single body roll over the entire eight-second ride.  While it meant that Jeremiah was able to make it to the end of his ride unscathed, it also meant that his score, combined with that of the bull, was likely to be lower than someone who made the eight with a tougher bull.