Rodeo Standoff. Susan Sleeman
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Susan Sleeman
For my family, who I often took for granted growing up.
A special thank-you to Ginger Solomon for naming Tessa’s horse Copper and to Lisa Hudson for naming Braden’s horse Shadow. I greatly appreciate your help!
Contents
Tessa kept her eyes trained on the deadly threat.
The eighteen-hundred-pound bucking bull’s menacing glare stole her breath. She couldn’t think. Act. Or move.
He tossed his head, his beady eyes immediately locking on her as if she had a bull’s-eye painted on her chest. He snorted. Shifted his massive black-and-white body, ready to attack.
He was coming for her, if she didn’t do something.
But what?
She’d come to the arena for some quiet time—a moment to think and prepare for the upcoming event. Instead, she found herself alone with an animal that shouldn’t have even been there, and she had no experience handling a crazed bull. None!
Don’t panic. Keep calm. Don’t set him off.
She shot a look around the open-air rodeo arena, searching for an answer. Law enforcement had prepared her for many situations, but her deputy training never covered facing down an angry bull. Even after participating as a barrel racer in hundreds of rodeos, she knew very little about bulls, other than that they were fast when they charged. She couldn’t outrun this creature to reach the safety of the spectator stands. No human could. If she was foolish enough to try, he’d ram his horns into her body before she got to the wall. And she’d never turn her back on him, anyway. No way, when his reaction time was much faster than hers.
Then what?
Please, please show me a way out of this.
She shifted her feet. Just a few inches. Felt the gun in her ankle holster that she always carried off duty.
Slowly, she bent down, her fingers creeping along her leg. She inched her pant leg up to her knee. In one swift motion, she grabbed the gun and rose.
The bull huffed and pawed. Rubbed his head in the dirt, a sign of extreme distress.
Dumb move, Tessa. Totally the wrong choice. Her sudden change in position had spooked the huge animal. Continued movement could cause him to charge. He would slam that hard head into her body. His tipped horns still deadly, he’d toss her into the air like a rag doll as she’d seen happen in countless rodeos. Cause internal bruising at the very least, organ damage likely. Death at the worst.
She lifted the gun. Aimed. Regretted having to use it, but knew she’d have to fire if it came down to her life or the bull’s.
“Rrrrrumph. Rrrummph,” he grumbled, then started tossing