LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Three

      “First day of groundwork, men. I know it’s early but we have a lot to cover today before the ribbon cutting.” Shane led his fifteen students from the bunkhouse after a predawn workout and hearty breakfast they’d prepared together. “Some of you are more experienced than others and some of you don’t have any experience. That’s all right. There’s no ride limit, but I don’t want you to push yourself to the point of injury, either.”

      “These are our saddle broncs,” Chase explained, taking over from Shane. “They’re larger than our barebacks. I want to reiterate to everyone that we have zero tolerance for animal abuse. If we even suspect it, you are out of here. We do not condone or authorize the use of cattle prods or sharpened spurs in any rough-stock event. Before you enter any chute here on the ranch, your rowels will be checked, so if they’re sharp, get them off.”

      When Shane and Chase designed the monthlong intensive rodeo class, they did it with serious competitors in mind. They offered two monthlong sessions for junior-rodeo children in the summer and more personalized programs for people of all ages the remainder of the year.

      Stressing safety first, Ride ’em High! was one of the few schools in the country with a weeklong classroom schedule. They decided to include a grueling conditioning program to ensure the students were in top physical condition. At the ranch’s small fitness center, a trainer met with the students every day and put them through rodeo boot camp to build their core muscles. When the kids left for home, the trainers recommended they join a local fitness center to maintain their strength and flexibility.

      “Most of our competition broncs are six to seven years old,” Shane continued. “The ones we’re using today are older and not as feisty. We don’t make these horses buck. It’s a natural instinct and they’re bred to buck. A good portion of the horses you see in competition are there because no one could ride them. Some were untrainable, others are rescues.

      “Hunter, you’re up.” Shane waved the boy to the front. “We’re starting off this morning with some saddle work.”

      Shane proceeded to explain the difference between saddle bronc and bareback rigging, then introduced the local college kids, home for the summer, who had volunteered to check riggings and help the students.

      A saddle had been set on a large barrel attached to a wide base for training purposes. Hunter climbed on and set his boots high in the stirrups. With pointed toes, he rocked his hips slightly and squared his shoulders with the saddle. He gripped the thick braided rein and held it out over the center of the saddle swells, his other hand up in the air as if he were swearing on a stack of bibles.

      “Tuck your chin a little.” Shane pointed to the hole between the swells and the seat. “Look here the entire time. Visualize setting your spurs above the horse’s shoulders. Raise your legs and tighten your abs.”

      Shane ran through the steps of riding a saddle bronc, amazed at the ease Hunter exhibited in every movement. Many of the kids reminded Shane of himself at that age. Determined, confident and willing to do anything to fulfill their dreams of turning pro. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how it would have felt training Dylan.

      “My abs are about to give out!” Hunter yelled through his last mock ride.

      “You’re working your core.” Shane placed a hand on his shoulder to still him. “This is why we’re working you so hard on the stabilizing platform and the vertical leg raises. A weak core will get you thrown. Great job, Hunter. Who’s next?”

      “This is one of the toughest events to master,” Chase said. “But I promise you, after this workout you will feel muscles you didn’t think you had and you’ll thank us for it.”

      Everyone took their turn, including Chase, who admitted he liked the barrel for an alternative abdominal workout.

      “You must synchronize every moment with the horse in order to get the most fluid ride possible.” Shane shrugged on his own vest. “And if you don’t mark your ride, you won’t receive a score. To mark, your heels must touch the horse’s shoulders at the first jump from the chute.”

      Shane hopped the fence and made his way to the chute, where a horse waited. Measuring his hack rein over the back of the horse, he grabbed hold of the thick braided rope and slid into the saddle, placing his feet all the way into the stirrups. Lifting up his rein hand, he nodded and the gate opened.

      On the saddle bronc, in the middle of the arena, was the only place he could completely forget about the past and concentrate on the moment.

      * * *

      LEXI AWOKE BEFORE the first rooster crowed. You wouldn’t find anyone sleeping in at the Lawsons’ house. Sixth-generation farmers, they were champing at the bit to start their day long before the sun came up. Lexi’s younger brother, Nash, maintained the petting zoo animals while their father, uncle and cousins tended the fields. Her mother and aunt ran the market and gift store.

      Situated right off the interstate, the 130-acre farm dated back to 1820. The original barn had been converted into a retail market and gourmet kitchen in the early fifties, catering to tourists as they drove

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