LITMIR.BIZ

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thought. Piece of cake. What he loved best in the world, this unbridled exhilaration.

       One second…two…three… This bull was turning out to be easy. Why could nobody ride him?

       Four… Stupid question. When Seth didn’t fly off his back in those first few seconds, Rotten changed tactics. Rocketing off the ground, he whirled in the opposite direction, throwing Seth off balance. Known as an “eliminator,” Rotten hated to lose as much as the cowboy on his back did. Smart, strong and unpredictable, the animal gauged his opponent and acted accordingly.

      Seth slipped farther to the side. Only a split second to respond or land, as the announcers often quipped, like a “yard dart” on the hard arena dirt. Clenching the rope so fiercely it hurt, Seth released his leg grip long enough to shift back to center. Chin down, shoulder in, focus on the withers. Anticipate!

       Five… Rotten ducked hard, jerking Seth forward toward the bull’s head. One whack from those massive horns could be fatal. Unlike some of the younger cowboys, Seth rode without a helmet. His daddy and brothers would laugh him out of the arena if he came out of the chute wearing anything but his Resistol on his head. But a look at that swinging horn a foot away made him think again. Too late now.

       Six… Seth pushed his fist hard against the rope around his riding hand to stay upright, away from the horns. Sweat soaked his shirt under the protective vest. Fighting to keep his free hand up to avoid any disqualifying contact with the bull, he forced himself erect.

       Seven… Which apparently infuriated Rotten. The monster twisted like a corkscrew, throwing those massive horns at Seth. A contortion brought the wide head around so that one wild, red eye met Seth’s with a chilling defiance.

      Rotten plunged forward again. Seth felt his hand slip on the sticky rope. No way! One second to go. Sometimes you had to let loose and ride. Go for broke. Let your body and mind do what it did best. Seth shook off the stiffness of apprehension and spurred hard in rhythm with the bull’s gyrations. The crowd went wild. If his teeth hadn’t been clenched around his mouthpiece, Seth would have grinned.

       Eight! The buzzer sounded. Seth had covered all three of his bulls for the event, earning a qualified score each time. He would move to first place on the leaderboard with this ride. Another event title, another buckle and a lot more money.

      Elated, he reached to snatch the loose end of the rope and free his hand.

      But Rotten wasn’t finished. The bull plunged to his knees with a bellow. Now, when Seth needed it free, his glove stuck to the rosined rope. The animal rolled. With another hard yank, Seth freed his hand. But not in time.

      A horn caught the side of his face. He heard the crunch of bone against bone, tasted blood mixed with arena dirt. He threw his arms up as if he could stop the steamroller mashing him into the arena floor, cracking ribs, crushing his left leg…suffocating him.

      Then, as if the sun had been momentarily eclipsed, Seth saw daylight again. And heard noise. And felt horrific pain. His instincts told him to get up, run. But, helpless on the ground, his leg bent at a grotesque angle, his body wouldn’t obey. Four massive black hooves shook the ground around his head.

      He couldn’t breathe. Rotten whirled, lowered his huge horns and lunged toward him. Seth braced for the worst.

      Then a bullfighter threw himself in front of the animal. “Rotten. Rotten! Here!” he yelled.

      He grabbed Rotten by the horns and swung the bull’s head, shifting his momentum. Another bullfighter threw himself on top of Seth, risking his own life to save him. By the time the bull took off for the catch pen, the sports-medicine crew had surrounded Seth, holding him still, asking him questions he couldn’t answer. Then everything went black….

      CHAPTER ONE

      WHAT NOW?

      “Good morning, Kristin.”

      Claire Ford greeted the high school secretary and signed the visitors’ register. Claire and the guidance counselor Betty Haynes had held their weekly meeting yesterday to discuss the upcoming summer ranch camp for troubled kids, but she’d gotten a call early this morning to come in at ten. Micah must have gotten in trouble—again.

      “Go right in,” Kristin said. “Miss Haynes is expecting you.”

      Claire’s stomach churned. One more strike and Micah was not only out of her camp, but out of chances—at least at Little Lobo High School. Of the two boys and two girls registered in the summer camp, Micah Abbott, a tough seventeen-year-old only one strike away from reform school, was the kid who would benefit most.

      She thought back to the preadmission interview she’d held with Micah and his mother—Micah’s sullenness and his mother’s assurances he would not only attend camp, but also do the mandatory follow-up assignments. Since then, Micah had been in trouble again, and now if he wanted to stay in school he had to finish the camp.

      The counselor’s door was open a few inches and Claire could hear the sound of conversation. She recognized the voice of Barry Nestor and smiled. The assistant principal, he had agreed to work for Claire over the summer as camp leader.

      It was only days before her dream would be realized, the goal she’d struggled toward for several long years achieved. Finally she’d be able to try to help these kids get their lives back on track.

      She tapped on the frosted glass of the door before opening it wide. Betty Haynes sat behind her desk, a venerable teacher and advisor with a reputation for dishing out fair but firm discipline. Dressed in a prim navy-blue suit, she had pulled her silver hair into a bun. The students loved her, with the exception of those like Micah who spent far too much time in her office.

      Barry was dressed more casually, in khaki pants and a light blue knit shirt. Heavy, dark-framed glasses gave him a bookish air that had the odd effect of softening his angular features.

      Both looked glum, and Claire braced herself. “What’s Micah done?” she asked, taking the seat Betty indicated.

      The advisor made a wry face. “He and some others got drunk last night and decided to set off cherry bombs in rural mailboxes. They made the mistake of returning to gloat over their handiwork, and somebody got the license number off the truck.”

      Way to go, Micah. “I hope this won’t interfere with his coming to the camp. I’m sure Barry and I can help him,” Claire said. She saw the look the other two exchanged and didn’t like it. “What?”

      Barry cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.

      “What?” Claire repeated.

      “I don’t quite know how to tell you this…” He hesitated. “So I’m just going to say it. I’m not going to be able to work for you this summer.”

      “You’re…you’re kidding, right?” She shifted in her seat, leaning toward him. “Barry, camp starts in a little over a week! We have to move the horses to the ranch and get the bunkhouse ready. And—”

      “Listen, I’m sorry about this, but I got a job offer last night that I couldn’t refuse. I’ll be joining a group of psychologists in Phoenix. I’ve been trying to land a position like this for years. It’s in my field of study, pays triple what I make here and, frankly, I’d be a fool to pass it up.”

      “But you made a commitment to these kids. They need you. I need you.”

      Barry lifted his hands in a hopeless gesture. “I’m sorry, Claire. I’ll try to help you find a replacement, but I fly to Phoenix at the end of the week, as soon as school’s out.”

      “I can’t believe this. What about Micah?”

      “I wish I could help you. I really do.” Barry used a finger to push his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “I can’t afford to turn down this offer. If I can’t start right away, they’ll find someone else.”

      Fighting back panic, Claire moaned. “This can’t be happening.”

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