Rodeo Rocky by Jenny Oldfield Page A

rise and fall. There was blood in her mouth, a salty, metallic taste, but no time to feel pain.
    The mustang whirled, turned, and reared. It was the wild Rocky; the frightened, crazy Rocky of the rodeo. An old fear had exploded in his brain, making him fight to be rid of his rider, to rage up the mountain to freedom once more.
    “Hang on, Kirstie!” Lisa cried.
    She gripped the horn, pressed her legs against the mustang’s flanks, her head jerked this way and that. Already dizzy and weak, she felt him veer to the side and charge at the steep slope that bordered the road. There was a boulder in his path that he would smash against unless he took off and jumped…she soared with him and landed, felt him thunder on up the rough hillside.
    Rocky had jumped clear of the road and charged on up the steep slope, between trees and rocks, in a mad frenzy to be away from the terrifying, hissing truck. Reins flapping, stirrups crashing against his sides, and with Kirstie slumped forward in the saddle, he raced on.
    Tall tree trunks flashed by, branches whipped against her, and she cried out. She recognized the ridge that Rocky had reached and the drop into Dead Man’s Canyon. There was blood trickling from her mouth, a throbbing sensation as the pain set in. And still she must duck and sway out of reach of the blurred branches, gasp for breath, and stay in the saddle…not fall…not land on the dangerous rocks or be flung over the edge of the cliff down the sheer drop into the canyon…
    Rocky swerved to avoid a low bush. He stumbled against loose rocks, fell to his knees.
    Kirstie felt herself thrown forward so hard that she lost hold of the saddle horn. Rocky was down and she was flying through the air. The world turned and spun. Her shoulder crashed against a rock, there was a shooting pain in her neck and head, then blackness, silence…nothing.
    “Kirstie… ? Come on, wake up! Kirstie…please!”
    She came around from a dim, distant world, out of a dark tunnel, away from the silent shadows. She opened her eyes to trees, sky, and Lisa’s anxious face peering down at her.
    “Where’s Rocky?” she moaned. Her mouth felt like a dark cave in which the hollow words rolled.
    “Never mind the horse. Are you OK?” Lisa knelt by her side, afraid to touch her.
    “What happened? Where’s Rocky?”
    “He threw you off, remember? You landed badly, you’ve been out cold for more than ten minutes!”
    “But where is he?” Struggling to raise herself onto her elbows, she turned her stiff neck to search the empty hillside.
    Gently Lisa wiped the blood from her face. “He threw you, then ran off. Grandpa took Lucky and went for help. You lie still until the others get here.”
    Kirstie shook her head and struggled to sit up. “I need to find him. Which way did he go?” But the pain in her shoulder was bad, her head swam, and she sank back down.
    “Forget about Rocky,” Lisa whispered. “You’re hurt. You’re not going anywhere.”
    The trees shook their golden leaves down on her. They floated and drifted onto her face. She felt their feathery touch…
    “Kirstie?” Lisa’s echoing voice broke through.
    Her eyelids fluttered open again.
Forget about Rocky.
That was Lisa.
He threw you, then ran off. Forget about Rocky. Forget about him…
She tried to focus on the trees over her head, but she heard the beat of hooves on rock, saw a dream-horse race along the ridge.
Forget about Rocky.
That’s what they would all say when they got here, her mom, Hadley, and Matt.
He’s a problem horse. He’ll never be any good.
    Their voices floated in her head. It throbbed and spun. The voices judged the mustang and sentenced him over and over again:
Forget him
. From now on, she knew that this was how it would be.

9
    The doctor came from San Luis and reassured Sandy Scott that Kirstie’s shoulder was badly bruised but not broken. The cut on her tongue would also heal itself in time.
    It wasn’t the cuts and bruises that mattered.