by Debra Kayn
Reggie stepped up beside her. “Fifteen minutes, McDougal.”
“Thanks.” She clapped Reggie on the shoulder. “We’ve had a successful season, haven’t we?”
“That we have, girly. That we have.” Reggie laughed. “Let’s go kick some ass.”
Ten minutes later, she stood outside the waiting pen, suited and ready. Without knowing any of her competitors’ ride times, she focused on loosening up her muscles and staying limber. The second the chute opened, letting in the bull, she would have to keep her body from stiffening. She had to last eight seconds. If she tightened up in fear or panic, or if her body failed her, she would injure herself…or worse.
She turned and gazed up at the stands. Thousands of people packed the area. She searched the bleachers and found her family waving at her. She smiled and tilted her hat. Every single one of them helped her get this far, including Val and Sam who stayed back at the ranch.
A teenage girl hung over the railing, waving a piece of paper. Florentine jogged over.
“Can I have your autograph?” The girl thrust a pen out to her.
“Sure.” She looked up. “What’s your name?”
“Linda.”
She wrote a short message, signed her name, and passed the paper back. “There you go.”
Linda bounced on her feet. “Thanks. Good luck, Ms. McDougal. I hope you win.”
“Thank you. I—” A familiar black hat behind Linda caught Florentine’s attention. “Excuse me.”
She moved over and peered up in the stands. Her breath caught in her chest, and she covered her mouth.
Cole sat with Sarah in the stands. He nudged his daughter, and with her good arm, Sarah held up a poster that read ‘Go Florentine!’ in a child’s hand.
Her throat constricted. She blew a kiss to Sarah. Then she glanced at Cole. Her world stopped. Love shone down from him. Not only had he come to support her, but he’d also brought Sarah along to the event. His message was clear. He wanted Florentine in their lives.
The last few days, she’d taken his confession at the hospital and tried to convince herself he only asked her to marry him because he was relieved that Sarah survived. She stared, finding it hard to believe he was there, that Sarah was there.
She clasped her hands together, wishing she could touch him. Even the tic in his jaw that showed up when he worried was gone.
“Thank you,” she mouthed.
He nodded. His lips moved, and she knew what he was telling her. He wanted her to go out there and win. She blinked the moisture from her eyes, took a deep breath, and waved goodbye to Sarah.
Back at the pen, she smiled up at Reggie. He glanced over her head, seemed to find who put the happiness on her face, and shook his head, grinning. She looked away, unable to believe her cheeks grew warm. Everyone knew how she felt about Cole. It should come as no surprise that his being here pleased her.
“Five minutes, girly.” Reggie climbed the pen.
“I’m ready.” She turned her back to the other riders standing in the area.
There was one more thing she wanted to do. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans, removed a folded envelope, and read her daddy’s letter that he’d written to her before his death on more time.
Dearest Florentine Lace,
The strongest woman I ever knew was your momma. Damned if she couldn’t butt heads with me and win. I don’t know how she did it, but I would have done anything for her. I’d often look at her and want to protect her from the hard things in life. She appeared so dainty and breakable that I believed a good swift wind would knock her off her feet. I learned though that it was her inner strength that allowed her to give birth to five daughters, put up with a stubborn cuss like me, and battle cancer with dignity and grace.
The same spirit Shannon had dwells in you, my dear. You’ve bucked the system and made people take notice. Never once did I see you cry because the men were too tough on you. You pulled yourself up, thumbed your nose at them all, and showed everyone what a McDougal is made of. And, I couldn’t be prouder of you.
One thing life taught me the older I got was there are more important things than making a name for yourself. Goals change, people change, and what seemed important years ago ends up taking a backseat to new interests. Don’t focus so much on the end result. You’ll lose a very important part of yourself in the process.
Whatever you do, do for you, no one else. The people you were proving yourself to are only going to shake your hand and congratulate you, and then they’re gone. Because at the end, the people who love you will still love you, and the number of cows, the clear deed, the name you’ve made for yourself, don’t mean a damn thing.
As your daddy, I want you to achieve what you truly wish for…anything less than that isn’t good enough for my girl. For all your voice and bluster, you hide a softer, gentler Florentine away from everyone. Don’t think I haven’t seen it. Underneath those dusty chaps and old, lucky cowgirl hat of yours is a woman who notices the dew on the roses and still starches her momma’s doilies. It’s important to let other people see all of you, Florentine. They’ll still love you.
By now, you girls probably think you have your daddy all figured out. Maybe the letters you received have helped you, or maybe they’ve only given you something to talk about with your sisters. If everything has gone according to my wish for you all, a few of you girls should be married. If there’s not a McDougal or two entering the world soon, I’d be surprised.
I did whatever any father would do for his child. It only took holding you and your sisters in my arms the very first time to know the only thing that mattered to me was being a father. I would’ve given up the ranch for any one of you.
There’s something out there for you too, Florentine. Don’t let it get away.
All my love,
Daddy
Reggie slapped the top of her hat. “Let’s go, girly. The bull’s waitin’.”
She hurried to refold the letter and tucked it back in her pocket for safekeeping. She’d read it a million times since her dad passed away, but it finally made sense. I get it, Daddy. It took me a while, but I understand what you were trying to tell me.
The spike of adrenaline she expected built up inside her veins. Too much, and she’d overcompensate her moves. Too little, and she’d not be prepared for the amount of strength it took to remain seated.
She allowed herself a quick glance at the reporters, the other riders, and the cameramen. She spotted people she recognized who followed the circuit like a religion, and she squared her shoulders. It was time.
She glanced one more time over her shoulder and connected with Cole. Trust me, cowboy. I’m not one to give up. I get off my butt and capture my dreams.
“Florentine McDougal to the waiting pen.”
There was her cue. She climbed the fence. The bull charged against the sides, and she waited. When the bull landed on all four legs, she looked at Reggie. He grinned.
She could read Reggie’s mind. Luck was with her. She’d drawn the rankest bull of the day.
The tension rolled over the foaming bull and threatened to consume Florentine, but she’d steeled herself for the rush. Bulky back muscles rippled with each breath, and she pushed the raw power of the animal out of her mind. Florentine eased her way down. The other riders had the advantage. They were taller, stronger, and could handle the hulking size of the bull better compared to her smaller size. It would take all her strength to stay on top of the bull, but she also had an advantage.
Unlike the others, she’d always relied on reading a bull’s moves, listening to the sounds and the feel of the muscles flexing and bunching underneath her. Most riders studied the bull’s performance roster, viewed video tapes of their previous rides, and learned the animal’s habits before daring to sit their ass on the deadly ride. She relaxed her jaw. Daddy had taught her a better way to read her mount while putting her on the back of a horse. She became one with the animal’s spirit.
Her glo
ve slipped, and she had to reposition her hand. Bright flashes from the cameras flickered around her. She ignored it all. Yet, in the back of her mind, she heard the announcer.
“Competing in the first round to retain her number one spot on the North American Bull Riding Competition’s final ride of the season, riding the sixteen-hundred-and-fifty pound bull with a three hundred forty five win record known as Hollager…Florentine Lace McDougal!”
There was her signal. She tucked her chin, raised her arm, inhaled deeply, timed her exhale, and the gate came open.
Immediately out of the chute, shock vibrated up her tailbone and rattled her spine. Hollager leaped with all four hooves in the air, and then bucked. The spray of snot and taste of freedom deflated the bull’s chest, and Florentine almost lowered her left arm to get a better grip. Dammit. Hold on!
Left.
Right.
Kick.
The bull landed on the ground with a bone-crunching slam. Florentine rolled her shoulder and swung her arm in a fluid-like motion keeping her seat. Come on, come on, come on…
The whip-like turns, heart-pounding springs, and high kicks from the bull guaranteed to leave the crowd covering their eyes. The beating she took zapped her body of strength. Time suspended in the air, and she squeezed out a grunt. She held the rope with only her index and middle finger, straining to hold on.
Another directional change kick sent her careening. She tightened her stomach, keeping the back of her helmet off the hindquarters of the bull. Bright white flashes appeared in her vision. She blinked rapidly, trying to concentrate on something, anything, to help her get her bearings.
Hollager whipped around with a vicious snort, right before the noise of the crowd and her own panic deafened her to everything around her. Her vision narrowed. Blackness blocked out all but the massive horns. Then she wasn’t holding on to anything, and she flew through the air. She hit the ground on her side, every bit of oxygen sucked from her body.
The bullfighters had her up and out of the arena before her breath came back. Reggie guided her over to the grass and forced her to sit. She hung her arms over her knees and cradled her head in her hands. Then her lungs expanded, and she gasped. She leaned to the side, coughing the dirt out of her mouth.
“Florentine.” Cole kneeled beside her. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and wiped her mouth. “I-I didn’t hear the buzzer. What’s my time?”
Cole laughed. “Hell, you made the eight seconds, darlin’. You won.”
“I did?” She gazed over at the scores posted on the board.
Reggie pulled her to her feet, circled his arms around her, and gave her a big smack on the cheek. “I had no doubts, girly. Damn proud of you.”
“Thanks—”
She spotted Sarah. Her heart broke. There were tears in girl’s eyes, and her chin trembled.
Florentine dropped to her knees in front of Sarah. She held out her arms, and Sarah walked into her embrace. She soothed Sarah, rubbing her back and murmuring to her.
“I thought you got hurt.” Sarah hiccupped.
“No, sweetie. I’m fine.” She pulled back and smiled. “I only had the wind knocked out of me. That’s all.”
“Florentine.” Cole stepped over and put his arm around Sarah. “They’re calling you to the judges table.”
She hesitated. Sarah needed her. The announcement could wait.
She removed her helmet. Reggie handed her lucky hat to her. She’d wait a few more minutes because Sarah needed reassurance that she spoke the truth. She’d never felt better, but the ache in her chest stayed. How could she walk away from the two people she’d grown to love?
Cole supported her. Sarah needed her. But she should be celebrating her win. That’s what she’d always wanted, wasn’t it? She gazed up at Cole. His ability to change delighted her, but she’d set out to use her celebrity status to reach others. She needed to compete at a professional level.
“Go, darlin’.” Cole smiled. “Go collect the championship.”
Realization of what her placement had done for her came fast and hard. She turned and ran to the fence. To her surprise, Shawn and Quint lifted her over and set her in the arena. She pulled the band from her braid, shook her hair out, and plopped her lucky hat on her head.
From today onward, she knew she’d reached her dream. I did it.
Chapter Twenty-three
Cole and Sarah sat in the row of chairs in the packed PBRA board room, along with Florentine’s sisters, her brothers-in-law, Craig, and her brand new nephew, Gage. Florentine fiddled with the lace on the bottom of her blouse. It wasn’t until she’d won the final ride with an end score of ninety-nine that she knew she’d achieved her dream. Now that she was here, with her family members witnessing the occasion, Cole supporting her, it was hard to believe everything she’d dreamed about had come true.
Cole had held up his promise of sticking with her to the end. She hadn’t expected his announcement that he would continue to sponsor her into the pros. With his help, she could go on with her plan. She caught Sarah’s gaze, and winked.
The baby cried out, and Jack passed Gage down the line of relatives to Val. Her sister had regained her shape amazingly fast. As much as Florentine had urged Val to stay home with the baby, Val told her she wouldn’t miss the biggest day of Florentine’s life.
“When’s this show start?” Roy Lee looked around the room.
“Sit down, Sheriff. You’re out of your jurisdiction.” Margot kissed him.
Going by the clock on the back wall in the conference room, the board members were five minutes late. Florentine’s stomach rolled. That couldn’t be a good sign.
She’d fought her way up the bull riders’ totem pole the last four years. She’d taken the abuse, the sneers, and the condemnation of being a woman in bull riding. Everyone warned her she’d have to demand respect if she planned to go to the end. She hoped the board showed up. She shifted on her feet and blew out her breath. Her win seemed to threaten the male riders and the validation that came with competing in one of the most dangerous sports. She understood and accepted their opinions, but she deserved to ride. She’d worked just as hard as they had to reach the top.
The double doors swung open in the back of the room and in pairs, the six members of the board strolled down the aisle. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, studying their faces. Each one avoided her gaze, and she glanced back at Cole.
He winked and nodded. She straightened her posture and turned back around.
“Miss McDougal, thank you for coming.” Trent Carlisle sat down in the president’s chair, and motioned for the others to take a seat.
Camera flashes lit up the room, and the clicking shutters made it impossible to hear. She clasped her hands in front of her. The thought that the press would record her reaction to the upcoming news sent her heart to racing.
“Thank you.” She nodded at each one of the members.
“Very well.” Mr. Carlisle gazed at the crowd gathered in the room. “I see your sponsor, Mr. Reardon of Turner Grain, is here. It’s always a good sign when a rider’s sponsor shows support in and out of the arena.”
A snort came from behind her. She clamped her lips together. That noise could’ve only come from Chantilly.
“First we’d like to congratulate you on a season well done.” Mr. Carlisle placed his hands on the table. “You’ve created a lot of late night meetings among the board. We’ve had more discussions than you can imagine, and I’ll admit quite a few arguments concerning you, Miss McDougal.”
She grinned. A female bull rider winning the championship would do that.
“I’m happy to say you’ve impressed us with your career and the rather large sponsorship package that will be coming with you.” Mr. Carlisle rubbed his jaw, drawing out the suspense.
She leaned forward.
“We’d like to welcome you to the PBRA.” Mr. Carlisle slid an envelope to the edge of the table. “Inside you’ll find a welcome package, a
nd information on the dates we can expect you to be ready.”
She stared at the envelope, disbelieving though she knew she’d earned this. Someone coughed, and she rushed forward to pick up the packet. She’d dreamed about this day for years. She’d sweat, bled, broken bones, and struggled to fit in.
She waited for the overwhelming sense of accomplishment to hit her. She imagined her daddy’s joy at seeing her achieve her goal. She smiled. He’d be so proud of her.
She was relieved to have the invitation. It was all she really needed—the validation and the invitation meant she’d earned her credentials.
The desire to put her life on the line riding a bull didn’t even compare to putting her heart on the line and admitting she loved Cole.
She held the envelope to her chest. “Thank you.”
To Mr. Carlisle’s right, Mr. Kovash cleared his throat. “We hope four months will give you time to be ready to ride.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but can you give me a moment?”
The cameras clicked away in almost blinding fire. Chairs scraped against the floor, and baby Gage whimpered. She had a sudden urge to laugh, but she was no longer the wild McDougal girl who told the world to take a leap. She was a professional and had the papers to prove it.
“Ms. McDougal?” Mr. Carlisle glanced back and forth with Mr. Kovash. “Do you have an injury or a problem we’re not aware of that would impede your ability to ride?”
“No, sir.” She turned halfway around and gazed at Cole. “I have a certain cowboy who I need to talk to first.”
Cole stood and walked to the front of the room. “This is what you wanted,” he whispered. “What are you doing?”
“When I started out riding, I rode for the pure job of the sport. Then I dreamed about making it into the PBRA. When I saw how the crowd and specifically, the girls, reacted to seeing me on a bull, I set my sight on motivating girls and women to reach for their goals. I thought I needed to step into the limelight to make them believe in me.”
