A Thousand Tomorrows / Just Beyond the Clouds

by Karen Kingsbury

  “You’re right.” She anchored her hands on her hips and squinted at him. The sky was bright blue, the December day as sunny as any in July.

  “Right about what?” He smiled at her, studying her.

  “About my focus; it isn’t there.” She shifted her weight, hoping he wouldn’t take this wrong. He needed to understand. “Let’s take a few nights off, turn in early. We can talk when it’s over. Maybe that’ll help me concentrate.”

  “I’m a distraction, huh?” He gave a light laugh, but disappointment colored his eyes. He kept his tone upbeat. “Sure, Ali. Whatever helps.”

  “You understand, right?” She felt funny trying to explain herself. Neither of them owed the other anything. “This championship means… well, it means everything to me. I’ve waited all my life for it.”

  The next four rides were the best either of them had all season. Still, the competition was tough. Ali was in third heading into the final round, Cody a few points shy of first. He was the defending champion, but for him it would come down to the draw.

  Minutes before her race, Ali climbed onto Ace and ran her fingers over his coarse blond mane. She spoke to him, low and gentle near his ears, the way she always did before a ride. “Atta boy, Ace. It’s all yours tonight. All yours.”

  A million thoughts fought for her attention. Anna sitting by the window looking out at the neighbor’s farm. I wanna race through the forever hay fields and play hide-and-seek out by the tallest pine trees, and jump on that palomino horse next door. And her mother agreeing finally to let her have the baby foal. It’s your life, Ali. I won’t stop you… won’t stop you. And Cody Gunner with those crazy blue eyes wanting to talk to her. Just once, Ali. Tell me why you do it; why do you ride so sick?

  She cleared her mind.

  People in her position talked often about sacrifice, all they’d given up to get where they were. For Ali, of course, the sacrifice was something more than a missed childhood or the cost of spending hours a day on the back of a horse. The sacrifice would come later—in the years of life she would lose for her decision to ride.

  From the first time she watched a rider race around barrels she’d believed she was better, faster. That one day the championship would belong to her. And now here she was, minutes away from taking it, owning it. This would be the fastest ride of her life; she could feel it in her bones, in the center of her being.

  It was her turn to take her mark.

  Like always, Ace was spirited, desperate for the go-ahead, the chance to tear out of the tunnel around the course he loved. He nodded and pranced sideways. “This is it, Ace,” she whispered. “Faster. Faster and stronger.”

  She sucked in a full breath and held it just as they tore down the tunnel and into the arena. The two of them flew around the first barrel, cleaner, faster than ever, and Ali knew it was happening. The thing she’d dreamed of since she was eleven years old was happening here and now, and no one could stop them.

  Ace pushed himself, his hooves barely making contact with the soft dirt as he rounded the second barrel. One more, just one more. Ali pressed into him, willing him to move. They were almost around the third barrel when it happened. Ace’s foot caught the barrel’s edge.

  “No!” Ali screamed, and as she did she sucked in a mouthful of dusty air. She lunged toward the barrel, desperate to keep it upright. But it was too late.

  In the corner of her eye she watched the barrel crash onto its side, taking with it her only chance at the title. A spilled barrel was something Ali rarely dealt with; certainly never in a National Finals Rodeo. The mistake meant a five-second penalty, and a score that wouldn’t be in the top six for the round.

  She couldn’t feel Ace beneath her as she raced into the tunnel. It was all a nightmare, right? She was dreaming, and any minute she’d wake up and it would be time to go to the arena. Her eyes closed before she came to a stop. No… no, that didn’t happen. It can’t end this way.

  That’s when she realized something else was wrong. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw a breath. Never mind the race or the lost championship, suddenly she couldn’t think about anything but drawing in oxygen, meeting her body’s desperate need for air. She must have taken in too much dust when she took a breath out on the course, and now she couldn’t stop coughing.

  She dismounted and grabbed her water bottle. Her knees were weak, and it took all her energy to stay on her feet. Dark spots danced in her eyes and she held on to Ace, coughing with no relief, certain she was about to faint and not sure if it was because her heart was breaking or because she couldn’t quench the burning in her lungs.

  She sucked in a long swig of water and forced herself not to draw a breath. Calm, Ali. Be calm. The coughing wouldn’t let up, and she sprayed the mouthful of water across the floor. This had happened one other time, and the doctor had told her above all not to panic.

  But even Ace was nervous, whinnying and giving her anxious glances.

  She was too far down the tunnel to get anyone’s attention, but clearly she needed help. The coughing had kicked into an asthma attack. She needed her inhaler, the one she kept in her equipment bag for emergencies. Only this was the first time she’d ever needed it after a race, and she wasn’t even sure where her bag was.

  Nausea welled up in her and she grabbed at a shallow breath. More coughing, and now she was doubled over. She was about to drop to her knees when she heard his voice.

  “Ali!”

  Her face was burning up, red hot from the exertion. She met his eyes, and saw the inhaler in his hand. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but grab it and shove it up against her lips.

  The first two puffs, she could hold the medication for no more than a second. But then, slowly, she felt her airways relax. The third puff lasted longer and by the time she took her fourth, the coughing subsided. Everything ached, even her bones. She was dizzy from the lack of oxygen, and just as she swayed Cody caught her arm and led her to a bench a few feet away.

  He took the spot next to her, stroking her back, brushing his cool knuckles against her hot cheeks. “Ali, you scared me.”

  She was too tired to keep her head up, so she let it fall on his shoulder. For all their late-night talks, this was the closest their bodies had ever been. Ali couldn’t get a rope around her thoughts. She’d lost the biggest race of her life, but somehow her heart soared with possibility.

  “I… I lost.”

  “I know; it’s all right. You can get it next year, Ali.” He gulped and she caught a strange look in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen there before. “Are you okay?”

  Ali took in a slow breath. “I couldn’t… couldn’t stop coughing.”

  “I saw the whole thing.” He smoothed a section of hair off her forehead. “The barrel went over and you breathed, didn’t you?”

  A sense of awe joined the emotions already having their way with her. She sat up straight and looked at him. “You saw that?”

  “Yes.” He exhaled, and she caught a look at his legs. He was trembling. “I knew you were in trouble; I ran for your bag, and your mom was already on it. She handed me your inhaler because I could get it to you faster.” He ran his hand along her back again. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Her heart rate was fast, but her breathing was as good as it would get inside the stadium. “Thanks.”

  He shot a look toward the arena. The floor was cleared already, the bull riders getting ready. When he spoke, his teeth were clenched. “I hate that you suffer like this, Ali. It isn’t right.”

  Tears stung at her eyes, but she refused them. Rodeo riders didn’t hold on to the hurt very long. It was part of their way, their lifestyle. She gave him a gentle push. “Go ride. At least one of us can be champion.”

  Cody hesitated, looking into her eyes. “Later?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t have to ask what he meant. They’d avoided each other the past four days, and in the end it hadn’t done her any good. She didn’t have a national champio
nship, but she had a friend.

  He gave her one last look, a grimace that shouted fierce determination. Then he stood, pressed his hat onto his head, and took off down the tunnel.

  Her mother came through the locker room door at the same time, her face tight with worry. “I knew you were coughing. I gave Cody your inhaler; he could reach you first.”

  “Yes.” She stood and faced her mother. The way her throat closed up, it was much worse than coughing, but there was no reason to say anything now. “Thanks.”

  They were talking around the obvious, but the pretense could only last so long. Her mother knew more than anyone how much the championship meant. Her health wasn’t holding up the way she wanted it to, and unless she found a way to get stronger, she might not be well enough to compete next year.

  Her mother’s eyes grew watery and she held out her hands. “Come here, Ali.”

  Ali was tough so much of the time, determined to push ahead, bent on being the best barrel racer in the world. But right now, she didn’t feel tough or determined or even close to the best in the world. She took a few steps and leaned into her mother’s embrace, but even then she kept the sobs at bay.

  She wanted to head back down the tunnel, find a spot with a good view and watch Cody ride. He’d drawn a tough bull, one that would give him the win if he lasted eight seconds. But at that moment, still buried beneath the weight of her defeat, in all the world she really needed just one thing.

  To be held by her mama until everything felt right again.

  Chapter Ten

  Sling Shot was the best draw Cody had gotten all week. The animal was the biggest, meanest bull at the NFR, a bull with thick, curved horns and shoulders that could toss a cowboy across the arena in a single violent motion.

  It was the exact draw Cody had been hoping for.

  The rage he felt when he thought about Ali was almost frightening. She was an angel, a delicate flower with a grace and strength on horseback that would take the breath from anyone with eyes.

  No one knew she was sick, because she didn’t look sick. Her skin was tanned from the summer season, her pale blonde hair long and healthy. How would any of the others have known that the cough she battled wasn’t a cold or an allergy, but a dreaded disease?

  Ali Daniels shouldn’t have had cystic fibrosis. She should’ve been dreaming of another five years on the tour, and then a life that was nothing but blue skies and flaming red sunsets. It wasn’t fair, the disease. The ride beneath him was no longer tied in any way to his hatred for his father, but to cystic fibrosis, with all the merciless damage it was doing to Ali. Because it was that—combined with a reckless abandon for the rush of the ride—that had Cody riding better than ever in his life.

  Cody positioned himself over the bull and stared at the animal’s center. If only he could battle her disease the way he was about to battle the bull.

  “Ready, Gunner?”

  “Ready.” Cody worked the muscles in his jaw and slid his mouthpiece in place. His blood boiled hot through his face and neck, down his arms. He lowered himself onto the animal’s back, wrapped his hand tough and fast, and slid forward. Sling Shot reared his head back and lifted off his front feet.

  Cody smacked the bull’s neck, and the animal dropped, startled. “That’s right.” Cody seethed the words. No disease would ever hurt Ali Daniels, not if he had anything to say about it. This time he didn’t wait. He shoved his crotch against his riding hand, leaned forward, and nodded hard.

  The latch opened and the bull took to the air, spinning halfway around before ever touching ground. He was already twisting in the other direction as he pushed off his back feet. Cody kept his seat, his body so balanced he didn’t feel like he was riding the bull, but floating above him.

  A jerk of his neck and the bull was airborne again. Adrenaline surged through Cody’s body and in that moment he believed he was actually stronger than the bull. Stronger and smarter.

  Fight me, bull; try it. Ali would get on a horse again next season. Nothing would stop her, not even cystic fibrosis. Twice more the bull spun and bucked, arching through the air, and suddenly Cody knew. He had this one, the ride was his. He heard the buzzer. He’d made it; he’d ridden a bull that was responsible for some of the worst wrecks in the PRCA, and it had felt easy.

  He leaned forward, readying himself. Next time the bull bucked he’d make the jump. The animal rocked back and then slammed down on his front hooves, his back legs snapping behind him. Cody pushed off, but as he did, the bull snapped his head back and caught Cody in the forehead with his horn.

  A splash of dark spots filled his vision, but only for a few seconds. He felt one of the bullfighters at his side, helping him out of the arena. The other one must’ve been distracting the bull. Cody blinked and the stars faded. Blood was dripping down his face before he could get back to the gate. The doctor was at his side in three seconds with a cloth and a stitch kit.

  He handed Cody the rag and helped him press it against his head. “Nice gash.” He led Cody down the tunnel to the training room. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Cody wasn’t sure what he felt. His head hurt, but it was nothing compared to the way his heart felt. Yes, he was the national champion bull rider, an award he’d won before, one he’d earned. But what about Ali? She’d wanted the title more than any other rider. How was that fair?

  She was the best barrel racer on the tour, no matter what the final standings showed. He took a seat at the trainer’s table. Like so much about her life, she deserved more than a seventh-place finish.

  The doctor took the bloody cloth from Cody and studied his head. “It’s deep, but not too long. Most of it’s in your hairline.” He chuckled. “We won’t need to make a mess of that pretty face of yours. Not this time.”

  “I guess.”

  The doctor went to work, and Cody didn’t flinch as the stitching got under way.

  “You cowboy up better than anyone out there, Gunner.” He wiped a clean cloth along Cody’s brow, and dropped it on the floor. It was bloodred. “Blow like that should’ve knocked you out.”

  “I’m fine.” He played the doctor’s words in his mind again. Cowboy up. It was the slogan of the Pro Rodeo Tour, the slogan of bull riders and rodeo competitors at every level of the game. No matter how hard the hit, whatever the level of injury, a cowboy didn’t stay down. He got up and shook off the pain.

  Cody had ridden with broken ribs and a separated shoulder. He’d seen cowboys get knocked out, stitched up, and taped together and an hour later be rubbing resin into their rope, ready for the next go-round. Guys would laugh off the injuries, slap one another on the back, and say it again: “Cowboy up.” The words had come to define the cowboy mentality, the rodeo way of life. Riders had two choices: cowboy up or go home. If cowboys didn’t look past their injuries, the rodeo would no longer exist. Everyone rode hurt; it was the nature of the sport.

  But the doctor was wrong. Cody wasn’t the toughest cowboy on the tour, not by far. Not him or any of the bull riders or saddle bronc guys. He knew a competitor who could cowboy up better than any of them.

  The rider was Ali Daniels.

  Who else would consider competing week after week, knowing that every day on her horse took days off her life? Where was there another rider who raced without drawing a breath, who spent hours in a compression vest just so lungs would carry her through fifteen seconds of competition?

  The doctor finished up and Cody headed back down the tunnel toward the arena. In a ceremony fitting of the NFR, Cody was named champion bull rider, and the crowd rose to their feet as he accepted his buckle. He grinned and held it up, waving first in one direction, then the other, giving them the reaction they expected. The reaction they deserved.

  But all he could think about was Ali. How was she feeling? Was her breathing back to normal, really back to normal? And what was she doing right then? He scanned the crowd, looking for her along the fence, but he didn’t see her.

  For the next hour he
smiled for two dozen cameras, gave eight interviews, and signed autographs. The questions were the same every time. No, he wasn’t hurt; yes, Sling Shot had been a good draw. Yes, of course he’d be back next year. No, he wasn’t making the shift to the PBR, not yet. No, he didn’t have any special secrets to staying on a bull—none he would talk about, anyway.

  They were boring answers, and not altogether true. But they were the answers Cody always gave. The whole time Ali was on his mind and in his heart. He’d gladly trade in his buckle and prize money, his championship, if she could have another chance to ride, to prove no one was better. And since he couldn’t do that, he’d do what was second best. He’d help her stay healthy; push her so she’d win it next year.

  It was after 11:30 when Cody finally stepped out of the pickup truck of one of the steer wrestlers and headed for the Sam’s Town RV lot. The air was warm that night, warmer than it had been all week. He wanted to take Ali out to dinner or go for a walk with her. But the casinos were terrible, thick with smoke and people. And it was too late to take a walk.

  He heard high-pitched voices behind him. “Cody… Cody, wait!”

  Girls. He glanced over his shoulder. Four of them were running toward him, three blondes and a brunette, and all looked to be in their late teens. One of them was waving something that looked like a hotel key. Disgust smacked him in the face. How many times had he taken advantage of a situation like this?

  “Ladies.” He waved once, tipped his hat, and kept walking. His pace was faster than theirs, and eventually they gave up. The last thing he needed was a group of fans following him to Ali’s trailer. He pressed his hat low onto his head, careful not to tear the bandage off his forehead.

  Be awake, Ali. Please. He squinted in the darkness and even from fifty yards away, he spotted her trailer and the single light she left on. The light that meant she was waiting for him. He jogged the rest of the way, and knocked just once on her trailer door.

  She poked her head out and tiptoed down the steps. For a long time she looked at him. “Okay.” Her eyes shone in the moonlight, the disappointment from earlier gone completely. “So I was wrong.”