Every Second Counts by D. Jackson Leigh Page A

ten times as many are watching because they’re waiting for the woman to get her butt kicked by a pissed-off bull. My sponsors don’t care why they’re watching, just that eight thousand people are in their seats with their eyes glued to the chute where I’ll pop out wearing a shirt with their logo on it.”
    They talked for several minutes about the protective gear she used, and then Leah returned again to the big question.
    “Why ride broncs and bulls?”
    Ryder realized that was the gold nugget Leah was digging for to up the article’s ante. She wasn’t sure she could give it up, though, because even she hadn’t been able to put her hands on it.
    “I don’t know. Maybe because they said I couldn’t.”
    “So, you’re out to prove women can do it, too?”
    “No. I don’t think I want to carry the weight of my entire gender on my shoulders. This is just about Marc Ryder. It’s just about me and the thrill I get from doing it.”

Chapter Eight
     
    Ryder scanned the area as she parked the truck Skyler had loaned her. Dusk had settled in, but racks of overhead lights illuminated three ball fields still teeming with players. Not much had changed. New paint brightened the cinderblock dugouts and small building that housed restrooms and a concession stand, but the sponsors advertised on the uniforms and many of the players on the fields were familiar.
    She grimaced when she dropped to the ground from the tall dually truck, taking most of her weight on her right leg. She’d been paying for her romp with Bridgette, but, damn, it was worth every ice pack and several excruciating therapy sessions she’d endured since. She slid the strap of her camp chair over her shoulder and walked slowly, careful to shift her weight to her cane until the muscles that had been torn and sewn back together loosened.
    She found the perfect spot between the fences of two fields and settled down to watch both games.
    “Oh, my God. Look what the dog dragged up.”
    Ryder stood and turned, smiling. The past years had been kind to her old friend, whose thick mane of dark hair and smooth olive skin were a testament to her Honduran heritage. “Desiree, as gorgeous and sexy as ever.”
    Petite but strong, Desiree wrapped her in a tight hug, then kissed her firmly on the lips. She stepped back. “Still a smooth talker. Let me look at you.” She ran her hands down Ryder’s arms and squeezed the hard biceps. “Damn, woman, you are better than fine.” Desiree’s gaze dropped to the brace around her knee. “What’ve you done to yourself, sexy?”
    Ryder winked at her. “It’s healing nicely, but you might want to watch the kisses. I can’t run fast enough right now to get away from that big butch you married.”
    Desiree gave her a reproachful look. “We saw you on ESPN. I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Skyler taught you to ride big, beautiful horses, not bulls. Riding bulls is stupid. That’s why men do it.”
    “The money’s good and women crawl over each other to get in my bed.”
    Desiree clucked her tongue. “Your bed has never been empty. I should warn you. More than a few of your old conquests are around tonight.”
    “Well, I figure the statute of limitations has run out on anything I did twelve years ago.”
    “A woman’s anger has no limitations.” She folded Ryder’s chair and tucked it under one arm while she hooked her other arm around Ryder’s. “You better come with me so I can protect you. Lou and everybody are playing on field three.”
    She laughed at Desiree, who was half her size but twice as feisty. She missed this. It felt strange but really good to see her friends again.
     
    *
     
    Bridgette shook her head at Lou’s call for a fastball. It was the top of the ninth inning with the score tied at five runs each. There were two outs and the count was two balls, one strike. Next up was the other team’s slugger, and she was certain this batter would bunt to get on base and give the clean-up