Douglas, a former high-school classmate who’d climbed onto the back of Sidewinder. Shannon wrapped the bull rope around her left hand while several cowboys perched on the rails, ready to lift her to safety if the bull reared.
The pungent scent of manure, livestock and sweaty cowboy saturated the warm April air as Lucy inched closer to the chute. I must be nuts. Time would tell if the idea she’d come up with for her Pony Express fundraiser was brilliant or just plain idiotic.
“Before we kick off our next event, we’ve got a special treat for you.” The announcer gestured toward the bull chutes. “Shannon Douglas, a resident of Stagecoach, Arizona, is here this fine Saturday afternoon to prove cowgirls can ride bulls as well as cowboys!”
Half the fans cheered—the other half booed. Lucy had been to enough rodeos in her lifetime to understand some men would always object to women competing in roughstock events. The cowboys who surrounded Shannon’s chute supported her, their words of encouragement ringing loud and clear.
One of the men helping Shannon was C. J. Rodriguez, an up-and-coming rodeo star. The Stagecoach Gazette had run a feature story about Shannon and C.J. touring the country together to promote women’s bull riding. Lucy thought Shannon and C.J. made an interesting couple—the tomboy and the rodeo Romeo.
“Shannon is sponsored by Wrangler—” the announcer said “—and recently returned from rodeos in New Jersey and New York.”
Sidewinder balked, and C.J. reached over the rails, grabbing Shannon’s arm to keep her from sliding beneath the bull.
The blood drained from Lucy’s face. Was she out of her mind? Probably.
No, definitely.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Shannon Douglas will be riding Sidewinder, a bull from the Pat McLean Ranch in Solvang, California. Sidewinder’s a four-year-old veteran who twists like a snake when he bucks.”
The chute door released, and Sidewinder exploded into the arena, the force of the move throwing Shannon forward, her face narrowly missing the bull’s sawed-off horns. Sidewinder had been aptly named—his midsection bent into a tight coil, then unwound in a violent burst of energy as he kicked out with his back legs. Shannon defied the odds and clung to the bull. When the buzzer sounded, the bullfighters sprang into action, distracting the animal. Shannon launched herself into the air, hit the ground hard then bounced to her feet and sprinted for the rails. Once Sidewinder lost his rider, he settled down and trotted off to the bull pen.
Applause echoed through the stands of the outdoor arena. “Let’s see what the judges think of Shannon’s performance.” All eyes were glued to the electronic scoreboard in front of the judges’ table. “Eighty-four!” The announcer chuckled. “Not too bad for a girl.”
After nodding her thanks to the cowboys who congratulated her, Shannon removed her protective gear and Lucy crept closer, waiting for the hoopla to die down. Once the fans dispersed, she stepped forward. “Congratulations, Shannon.”
“Hey, Lucy. I haven’t seen you at a rodeo since…” Shannon’s smile disappeared. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay.” Until today, Lucy hadn’t been to a rodeo since her brother, Michael, had died. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” Shannon stuffed her gear into a canvas bag then nodded for Lucy to follow her.
“I want to talk to you about a fundraising idea for the Pony Express.”
Shannon nodded. “How’s your taxi service for inebriated cowboys doing these days?”
Lucy tried not to be offended by Shannon’s description of the Pony Express as a free taxi service for drunken cowboys, because it was so much more than that. Seven days a week the van service offered cowboys who’d celebrated a little too much a ride home from the local bars. Keeping an impaired cowboy from running his truck off the road wouldn’t bring her brother back, but it would honor his memory.
“Hector—” a retired ranch hand, divorced four times, father of seven, grandfather of twelve, born-again Christian and a recovering alcoholic was the driver for the Pony Express “—is keeping busy.”
“I have to make an appearance at the Wrangler booth,” Shannon said. “Let’s talk there.”
Once they reached the sponsor’s tent, Shannon spent several minutes chatting with rodeo fans and signing programs. Lucy had almost given up hope of speaking to the lady bull rider when a Wrangler employee insisted she take a break.
Lucy and Shannon walked behind the tent where Wrangler had placed folding chairs and a large cooler filled with drinks. Shannon fished a Gatorade from the melted ice. “Help yourself.”
“No, thanks.” Now that Lucy had Shannon’s undivided attention, she got right to the point. “I need to raise money for the Pony Express.”
“I thought I read somewhere that you’d gotten a federal grant for the business?”
When Lucy had started the taxi service two years ago, the local newspaper had run a feature story on her new venture. “Earlier this year I learned that my grant is being cut in half because of budget shortfalls.” If she wanted to keep the Pony Express going, she needed to hold an annual charity event to make up the gap in funding.
“Won’t your father give you the money?”
Everyone across southern Arizona knew the Durangos were filthy rich—that didn’t bother Lucy. What irked her was airing the family’s dirty laundry, but she’d risk becoming the subject of gossip to keep the Pony Express in business.
“My father feels I should have put my college degree to better use than catering to drunken cowboys.” The taxi service had been Lucy’s attempt to honor her brother’s memory, and in doing so, help her grow closer to her father. Her good intentions had backfired when her dad cut off access to Lucy’s trust fund, which would have provided the cash she needed to keep the business afloat for the remainder of the year.
“You want me to ask if Wrangler will make a donation to the Pony Express?”
“I have something different in mind.” Lucy crossed her fingers and forged ahead. “I need you to sway the powers that be at Wrangler to allow me to ride in three of your local rodeos.”
“Ride?”
“Bust bulls.”
Shannon’s mouth sagged.
The reaction wasn’t unexpected. Lucy had considered several ways to raise money, but in the end had decided to ride bulls because that’s what her brother had been famous for. And, selfishly, she’d hoped her father would be pleased with her for shining the limelight on Michael, if only briefly.
“I’m going to ask people to pledge a dollar amount for every second I stay on the bull,” Lucy said.
“You want me to convince Wrangler to allow you to compete against me?”
“Do we have to challenge each other? I mean—” Lucy snorted “—it’s not like I would beat you.”
Shannon shook her head. “You’ll get hurt.”
“You take a chance every time you ride a bull.”
“Yes, but I’m an athlete.”
Okay, so Lucy had never played a high-school sport. Not everybody was coordinated, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hang on to a rope for a few seconds.
“Not only do I put in endless hours on a bucking machine,” Shannon said, “but I lift weights and do exercises to develop my balance and equilibrium. Even after all that, I feel like a weakling when I’m riding a bull. It would take months for you to get into shape.”
“I run on the treadmill four times a week.” That had to count for something.
“I don’t have time to teach—”
“I’m