Whiplash by Janet Dailey

Author:Janet Dailey [Dailey, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2021-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AS HE WAITED FOR THE NEXT CHUTE TO OPEN, CASEY SPOTTED VAL. She was with Tess, the two of them standing just behind the rails. Even from where he stood, he could tell she was distracted. He saw her turn, look up and to her right, then jerk her gaze away.

When he followed what had been her line of sight. It led to a solitary figure in black, standing out amid a sea of denim, baseball caps, and T-shirts.

Dimitri. Casey had never seen him before, but there could be no mistake—and no question that he was stalking Val. Casey felt a jolt of rage. But for now he would have to put it aside. The gate man was pulling the rope to open the chute.

The second cowboy was bucked off his white-faced bull in four seconds. By the time he’d scrambled to his feet, the bull was trotting out of the exit. Some bulls were easier than others, but none could be taken for granted—including Whirlwind, who was shifting and banging his horns in chute number three.

Casey could see his silvery hide through the gate. “Do your family proud, big guy,” he muttered under his breath. “We’ll all be cheering for you.”

Brazilian José Gilberto was in contention for first place, along with McClintock and Cody Woodbine. The son of a Mato Grosso ranch hand, he’d ridden his first bull before he owned his first pair of shoes. Prior to every ride he kissed the crucifix that hung by a silver chain around his neck.

Whirlwind snorted and tossed his head, trying to buck as Gilberto mounted him. A chute man jammed the wooden wedge inside the rails to hold him in place until the rider could get his seat. Cool and focused, Gilberto wrapped his rope handle, checked it, shifted forward, and nodded.

Casey sprang into motion as the gate snapped open and Whirlwind shot out, kicking, bucking, and leaping, never in a predictable way. As a rider, Gilberto was poetry in motion, arm pumping in an arc, the fringe on his chaps flying like wings on both sides of the bull’s body. As the seconds whirred past, Whirlwind spun, then changed directions with the high, twisting kick that had dumped most riders into the dirt. Gilberto fought for balance, sliding dangerously to the left as the eight-second whistle ended the ride. Unable to hang on, he let go of the rope, tumbled to one side, and rolled clear. Because he’d been on the bull at the whistle, the ride qualified—forty-six points for the rider, forty-five for the bull—a grand total of ninety-one points. On his feet now, a jubilant Gilberto snatched off his helmet and flung it high in the air.

Casey could imagine the Champion sisters cheering and hugging. He might have given them a congratulatory thumbs-up, but he was still dealing with Whirlwind. Searching for the gate, the bull had become confused. He charged one way, then another, becoming more agitated as the protection team tried to herd him in the right direction.

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