Stranger on the Shore (20 page)

Sitting beneath the artificial lights of the Springdale Rodeo Arena neither Jordan nor the rest of the audience noticed as darkness finally overpowered the lingering twilight.

For Jordan, the day had been an endless cycle of food and faces. All and all, he considered it a success. He and Jimmy Joe had managed to stay well away from the sharp-tongued Cousin Mabel during the three-legged race—a move that contributed to their third place finish. Sarah cheered them enthusiastically from the sidelines, and bashfully gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as a reward. Jimmy Joe, silly boy, had preferred a second slice of homemade fresh peach pie.

Jordan gave Sarah's shoulder a squeeze and pulled her closer to his side, taking a deep whiff of the honeysuckle fragrance wafting from her hair. It had been impossible for them to steal a moment alone all day. Sitting here with one wiggling boy, surrounded by hundreds of spectators, didn't count. Maybe, after they took Jimmy Joe home....

Sarah leaned her head against his shoulder. Jimmy Joe settled back in his seat, still laughing at the antics of the rodeo clown who skipped nonchalantly around the arena enticing an enraged Brahma bull toward the exit chute. As funny and fun as it looked, Jordan knew rodeo competition was a dangerous business. Sarah had told him she was thankful T.J. limited his rodeo activities to the steer-wrestling and calf-roping events.

The announcer's voice blared over the loudspeakers. "
Getting settled now in chute number four is Jack Perkins, our last bull rider of the evening. Jack will be aboard Devil Boy. A lot of you folks know Jack. He's from Oklahoma, almost a hometown boy. For those of you who weren't with us last night, Jack was scheduled to ride Thunder in the third-night competition, but rodeo officials scratched the ride when the bull had to be tranquilized after a little fracas in the stock pens. Jack's number five in the national standing right now, and he always gives the crowd a good show. We're ready when you are, Jack."

T.J. slid into the empty seat on the other side of Jimmy Joe. "I bet he's thanking his lucky stars he's not aboard Thunder," T.J. said, as the announcer's voice faded. "It's a high score if he could stay aboard, but that's one mean bull."

"Did you win, T.J?" Jimmy Joe asked, his eyes darting back and forth from his cousin to the action in the arena.

T.J. grinned. "Looks like I might have scraped into the day money in the calf-roping," he said. "That will reimburse me for my entry fees. And –" he paused dramatically, "I sold three horses."

"Three? That's great!" Sarah told him. "As good as you hoped?"

"I'll say. I had hopes of unloading two, at best."

Puzzled, Jordan looked from Sarah to her cousin.

"That's why I compete," T.J. said in answer to Jordan's questioning look. "The bucking stock is furnished by the rodeo contractors, but in the steer-wrestling and calf-roping competitions, cowboys furnish their own mounts. A pro is always looking for a well-trained mount for his string. So, I ride my horses in most local area rodeos and let the cowboys see how good my mounts are.
The Rodeo of the Ozarks
is one of the biggest rodeos on the circuit."

Pride crept into T.J.'s voice. "If a real pro had been on my horse tonight, he'd have taken top money. Every one of them knows it. It doesn't matter how good a rider is, if he doesn't have a good horse under him, especially in the calf roping competition, he doesn't have a chance. The horse does most of the work. My horses are the best."

"That's innovative marketing," Jordan told him.

"Thanks." T.J. grinned, accepting his praise, then turned his attention to Jimmy Joe. "And I've got a treat for you, kid. The contractor said we could tour the back lots after the rodeo."

The boy let out a whoop. "Will I get to see Thunder?"

T.J. hesitated before answering. "Only from a safe distance. He's the meanest bull on the circuit. I think he's gone rogue."

Jordan leaned back, dividing his attention between action in the arena and T.J.'s efforts in answering Jimmy Joe's never-ending questions. A brisk breeze suddenly began whipping through the stands. As Jordan draped his stadium blanket across their laps, Sarah scooted closer. Using both the chilling wind and her movement as an excuse, Jordan slipped his hand around her waist and snuggled her against his side.

They waited in the stands for the crowds to thin before T.J. led the way to the back lots. The staging and stock pens area seemed almost as busy after the rodeo as the arena had during the performance. Rodeo rowdies moved cattle and horses along the narrow aisles between steel holding pens. The clank of metal against metal, gates opening and closing to reform the chutes and pens into new conformations, mixed with the calls of cowboys hollering instructions across the back lot.

A wrangler leading two prancing horses forced them into a single file against the far side of the aisle formed by the movable metal rails. Jordan and T.J. made certain Jimmy Joe remained between them, neither of them trusting the inquisitive boy to stay out of trouble on his own. Sarah followed behind.

"Where're the bucking broncos?" Jimmy Joe wanted to know as he skipped back into position beside T.J.

"You just passed two of the best," his cousin told him.

"But they weren't—"

"They're bucking stock, not wild horses," T.J. explained patiently. "Most rodeo stock, even the bucking broncos, are halter broke. They just don't like anyone to ride them."

Jimmy Joe gave him a disappointed look. "Where's the bulls? I wanna see Thunder."

"The bulls will be at the very end of the yard, as far away from the rest of the excitement as the rowdies can put them," T.J said. "Before I take you over there, Jimmy Joe, I want your promise. No foolishness. The bulls are the most dangerous animals in the rodeo, in or out of the arena. Promise me you'll do exactly as I say."

Jordan watched Jimmy Joe give T.J. a nod of agreement, the solemn look on his face a contrast to the boy's body that seemed to vibrate with anticipation.

The noise and activity level increased as the foursome neared the far pens. They were already loading the bulls onto the giant stock trucks, preparing to move on to the next rodeo site. T.J. took a firm grip on Jimmy's Joe's hand. Jordan and Sarah held hands as they trailed after the two.

"Hurry up, T.J.," Jimmy Joe pleaded, tugging impatiently against his cousin's hold. "I want to see Thunder."

"You've got plenty of time, young fellow," a passing cowboy told him. "That bull will be the last they load. Even then, they'll probably have to tranquilize him and hoist him aboard. Meanest damn critter God ever made. 'Scuse my language, ma'am," he added when he noticed Sarah's presence behind the boy.

"Still acting up, is he?" T.J. asked. "Where're they holding him?"

"He's in the middle pen, and actin' up ain't quite the way I'd describe it. You mark my words, Butler's going to have to turn that one out to pasture. Ain't no damn fool crazy enough to try eight seconds on the back of hell. Not after what he did to Pete Johnson. 'Scuse me again, ma'am, but there just ain't no polite words for that critter."

Jordan saw Sarah nod and then duck her head as she tried to hide her smile at the cowboy's old-fashioned politeness. They stood aside as the man pushed his way on down the narrow aisle.

It was obvious Jimmy Joe wasn't the only one who wanted to see the cantankerous bull. The aisle side of the metal enclosure was thick with people straining against the rails to get a look at the creature. Still struggling against T.J.'s hold, Jimmy Joe pushed his way to the front of the crowd. Again, Jordan and Sarah trailed behind.

In the center pen, arranged to accommodate a half dozen animals his size, the one-ton Brahman bull stood alone, his eyes gleaming red in the glare of the lights. As the crowd of people pressed forward, he snorted, lowered this head and made a run toward the rails. Moving as one, the crowd stepped back. The bull stopped short of the metal fence, planting all four feet stiffly in the sawdust-covered dirt. Then he raised his head and trotted slowly along the fence, dewlap and back hump swinging in counter-rhythm to his gait.

He returned to his previous position in the center of the pen and faced the crowd again. As he lowered his head for another charge, someone in the crowd let loose with a wild cowboy yell.

"Stupid jerk," T.J. murmured. "That bull's strung tighter than a drum now. Come on, Jimmy Joe. You've seen Thunder."

"What damn fool slipped the gate locks," a voice yelled as the crowd once again moved back. All but Jimmy Joe. Determined to see what was happening, he wiggled out of T.J.'s hold and dived for the front of the crowd. Both Jordan and T.J. dove after him.

Jordan heard the sound of metal clanging against metal above the noise of the crowd and prayed it was the sound of the gate locks being securely refastened into place.

He made a frantic grab for Jimmy Joe, felt his hand make contact with the boy's squirming shoulder, tightened his grip and held on.

As a woman's scream suddenly shattered the air, Jordan felt his blood turn to ice water. A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Then, the noise faded to a hushed silence.

He whirled around, dragging Jimmy Joe with him. A small crumpled figure lay face down in the dirt and sawdust inside the enclosure. Several feet away, a ton of quivering bull nervously pawed the ground.

Sarah!
Jordan's mind screamed.
Dear God, no!

He thrust Jimmy Joe into a bystander's arms and raced along the fence, shucking off his jacket as he ran.

When he reached the far end of the aisle, he vaulted the fence into the pen with the bull, snapping the jacket and yelling as he landed. "Over here, you mangy creature. I'm over here."

The bull swung his ponderous head in Jordan's direction, before slowly returning his attention to the girl on the ground in front of him.

Jordan yelled again, taking one, two, three steps toward the bull. Again, the bull swung his head in Jordan's direction.

"That's right, fellow. I'm over here." He snapped the jacket again. The cracking noise sounded like a gunshot in the silence.

The bull's head came up. Slowly he shifted his feet, realigning his hindquarter with the rest of his massive body.

Jordan snapped the jacket once more. "That's it, big boy. Keep on turning". He kept his eyes locked on the slowly moving beast. "Sarah, don't move. If you can hear me, please, don't move."

Now the bull was facing Jordan. He stopped, swinging his head back in the direction of Sarah's still body. Jordan yelled. Again, the bull's head turned toward him.

Jordan sensed rather than saw another man's presence near him. He waited, not daring to take his eyes off the bull.

"Jordan, it's me," T.J. said softly.

"Get Sarah out."

Both men fell silent as the bull lowered his head. Thunder took a step backward, pawed the ground once, then raised his head again.

"You get Sarah, Jordan. I'll tackle the bull. I've been around them more."

"Damn it, T.J., this is no time to argue. Get Sarah. I think she's unconscious. If she comes to she may moan, or move. He could still charge her. He'd rather take the target on the ground."

Jordan heard T.J.'s sigh of resignation. "All right. You sound like you know what you're doing."

"I do," Jordan said tersely, his eyes never leaving the bull. "Go on. I'll make sure he comes this way."

"For God's sake, man. Be careful. The bull-riders say he hooks to the right."

Jordan nodded, then listened intently for the sounds that would tell him T.J. had reached the fence. The stare-down between man and beast continued, with neither shifting eyes from the other as Jordan mentally calculated the time he thought it would take T.J. to move around the side of the pen to Sarah. An unnatural stillness settled over the back lots. The crowd clustered along the fence shuffled nervously, but remained quiet.

That's it,
Jordan thought.
No noise. No sudden movements. Nothing to cause the bull to look back in Sarah's direction.

The bull moved nervously, his hindquarters dancing up and down as he shifted his weight from side to side. Jordan readjusted his stance. Droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead, then rolled unchecked down his face. He blinked quickly to clear his vision, never taking his eyes off the beast, fighting the urge to look at Sarah.

He took a cautious step backward, trying to lure the bull a step farther away from Sarah. As he moved, Thunder mirrored him, taking a stride forward. The bull snorted, pawed the ground with his front hooves, and slowly lowered his elongated head.

Jordan's body tensed. He clutched the jacket in his right hand and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. He had to entice the bull to charge, and he had to stand his ground as the animal thundered toward him. The only way he could be sure Thunder wouldn't change his mind and swing his attention back to Sarah was to make sure the massive beast was already running full tilt toward him. Despite his massive size, once running, the bull would cover the distance between them in seconds. Jordan could only hope he correctly remembered the distance to the safety of the fence.

"All right, you son of Satan. Come and get me." Jordan punctuated his sudden wild yell by waving the jacket in front of him.