Breene, K F - Jessica Brodie Diaries 01 by Back in the Saddle (v5.0) Page A

manicured, it was a masterpiece. You
didn’t see that shit often.
    I had my phone out, incognito, and
was just about to snap off a picture when he looked down at me.
    Ah!
    Those shockingly pretty green eyes
rooted me to the stands. He stood with a scowl, glaring.
    I slipped my phone back into my
purse, trying to smile through my grimace.
    “Stand up, Jessica!” Candace
whispered frantically.
    Yeah, right, and have this guy belt
me for trying to steal his soul with my smartphone? That’d be the day!
    “Oh-oh say can you see—“
    I jumped up as if sitting on
springs and slapped my hand to my chest. Now I understood the scowl. Only
someone with a death wish didn't worship America while in Texas .
    Lesson learned.
    As the decent signer was ending her
montage of national pride, a collection of fine horses with sparkly young women
erupted from the opened gates to either side of the structure in the middle of
the stadium.
    “These are the teen
something-or-other,” Candace explained “helpfully.”
    Three pairs of brown horses with
their uniformed riders did a lap around the arena with a giant American and Texas flag. Their outfits, made with some cheap, heavy material, and fastened with so
many rhinestones Elvis would be jealous, sparkled and threw the light, blinding
anyone paying attention—which were all the old men.
    “What’s up first?” Sara, a girl
that hated me and loved Phil, asked after the girls had done a few laps and
smiled their way out.
    “Tie-Down, I think,” Dave answered.
    After a long pause and some tongue
waving by the announcer, a different gate, directly under the constructed
booth—which was a two-story structure—spit out a little calf running like hell.
    “Oh! How cute!” I exclaimed,
leaning forward.
    A cowboy on a horse erupted through
a gate on the far left, in hot pursuit, swinging a lasso over his head. He was
fast and practiced, controlling the rope as if he'd been doing this all his
life.
    When the rider was a couple horse
lengths away from the fleeing calf, he gave a mighty lob, the rope flinging in
front of him like a web from his wrist. The loop circled the calf’s two back
legs, tangled, and snapped taught as the cowboy gave a jerk.
    The horse stopped. Dead stopped. As
in, running really fast one second, then standing still the next. It was a
great trick for everyone but the poor calf, who was ripped backward. Its front
feet, unable to hold, gave out, scraping its face along the ground.
    Handle-Bar-Man was scowling down at
me again. Apparently that weird squeal I’d just heard came from me…
    As the poor little calf was
flailing, trying to get back up, its back legs tied and held in the air as the
horse continued to yank on the rope, the cowboy jumped to the ground and
sprinted forward. Once to the struggling calf, he jammed his knee into its neck
to keep it put, grabbed its legs, and started tying its feet together. His
hands moved at super-sonic speeds, round and round the two caught feet, and
then to one of the front feet. Round and round, some sort of knot, and the
cowboy was up, his hands in the air like he just perfectly landed a gymnastics
vault.
    “Oh yeah, good for you, dude. You
just got one over on a tiny calf!” I seethed.
    I shot Handle-Bar a warning glance,
promising death if he dared interrupt my bovine crusade.
    It didn’t turn away his glance.
    The announcer gave the time and
praised the cowboy for his great work at S&M. A ten gallon smile to match
his hat, the cowboy got back on the horse, released the rope, and went on his
way, waving to the crowd as he left.
    “Stop snorting, you’re making a
scene,” Candace whispered.

Chapter Five
     
    I ignored Candace. You can’t let a
little rain ruin your half-hearted protest.
    The calf, seeing its tormentor
leaving, tried to get up and walk out. Hard to do when all but one of your legs
is tied together. The poor thing struggled until two young boys ran in to mess
with the rope. It was enough for me. I