Reaper's Fall

It didn’t work.

In an instant, the bull spun to charge Chase. As the beast lowered its head for a killing blow, Chase reached out and caught its horns, throwing himself up and over its back in a move I couldn’t quite believe was humanly possible. He hit the animal hard—sideways across the ridge of its spine—somehow catching the rope holding the cowboy prisoner. We all watched, horrified, as the beast bucked again.

Hull broke free, bouncing as he hit the ground.

Enraged, the bull flew up and backward, twisting midair to land heavily on its side.

Right on top of Chase.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The bullfighter was dead.

He had to be dead—no human could possibly survive something like that.

We watched in horror and shock as the bull struggled to its feet, then turned on him, lying still in the dirt. In an instant, the other bullfighter darted between them, catching the beast’s attention. The big head swiveled as the man took off across the arena, mere feet ahead of the deadly horns, leaping high as he hit the metal barrier. Hands reached out to catch him, jerking him up and over the side.

He’d distracted the monster, but only for an instant. Now it turned back toward Chase’s limp body, snorting and stomping. The crowd grew silent, and directly below me a mother pulled a toddler into her lap, forcing his head into her chest so he wouldn’t see. If by some miracle Chase had survived the first attack, there was no way he’d get through this one.

That’s when the rodeo clown leapt into action.

For most of the evening, he’d been working the crowd with the announcer, joking and doing tricks between events, flirting with the girls and generally making a nuisance of himself. Now the clown was deadly serious despite his bright, floppy clothes and the paint covering his face. He sprinted at the bull, flapping and shouting, taunting it until it turned toward him.

Toward him, but away from Chase.

The bull charged, and now the clown was off again, leading the beast into the center of the arena. He reached the barrel and jumped into it seconds before the bull thundered into it with a bellow, sending the barrel rolling. Then riders tore by, chasing the bull away from the trapped clown. The bull tried to turn back, but no matter what direction he went, the cowboys were waiting.

I focused on Chase, lying on the ground, limp and still. Beyond him was Hull, rolling in obvious agony, but clearly very much alive. EMTs were running out onto the dirt now, as the riders formed a living wall between the animal and its victims. They herded the bull toward the far end of the arena, where a gate swung open, creating a safe path. It charged through and I hoped to hell they were ready for it back there—enough people had been injured already. Then an ambulance pulled in from the other side, and the announcer’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that was our final ride of the night. Normally we’d announce winners and hand out the prizes, but the North Idaho Rodeo officials have decided that under the circumstances, it’s best to end the event at this time. I’ve been told that fair organizers will announce updates on Chase McKinney’s condition as they’re available. We’ll be clearing the arena shortly. Until then, please keep all our rodeo athletes in your thoughts and prayers.”

I watched silently as the EMTs worked over Chase. Hull was already strapped to a backboard and they were lifting him into an ambulance. Unlike the bullfighter, he was clearly alive and aware of what was going on around him. Painter shifted next to me, and I realized I’d burrowed against him, digging my fingernails into his thigh.

“Sorry,” I whispered, loosening my grip. I gave his leg a little rub to make it feel better. His hand caught mine, stilling it—shit, I’d been all but massaging him just inches away from his dick. Classy.

“Do you think he’ll live?” I asked Painter quietly. He squeezed me tighter.

“Dunno,” he said. “Guess we’ll have wait and see.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’d ask that you leave now. Normally I’d say I hope you enjoyed the show, but instead I’ll ask you again to keep Chase and his family in your prayers. God bless each and every one of you, and God bless the cowboys and cowgirls who came out tonight.”

• • •

It took about forty-five minutes to make our way out of the grandstands and back to the bikes. The crowds were quiet for the most part. Em and Kit held each other’s hands tight, whispering to each other as they checked their phones.

When we finally made our way out of the stands and into the main fairgrounds, Hunter came up to me and Painter, the two men staring each other down. For a minute I was worried, because there was obvious tension between them.

“You’ll get her home?” Hunter finally asked Painter, nodding toward me. “She rode here with Taz, but I think he’s giving Jessica a ride. Em and Kit want to go to the hospital—I guess there’s going to be a candlelight vigil. Em says she didn’t know him well, but he went to school with Kit and she’s pretty upset.”

“I’ve got her,” Painter said, squeezing my hand. “You headed to the hospital, too?”

Hunter nodded tightly, glancing toward Kit with a frown. “Gonna be a long night, I think.”

I shivered, thinking about Chase lying in the dust. I’d seen him around school, but couldn’t remember ever talking to him.

“Yeah,” Painter agreed. “Get going—I’ll make sure Mel is okay. No worries, okay?”

Hunter nodded, eyes flicking across me as he turned back to Em and her sister. “Sure thing.”