The Bull Rider's Homecoming

“An exhibition ride.”

“A ride? On a bull?”

“Well, not the meanest bull around, but one with—”

“Absolutely not.” She started to push her chair away. “How can you even think I’d agree to something so...so...” She couldn’t come up with a word for how reckless and foolhardy an idea this was.

“It’s dramatic, I grant you, but I’ve got to—”

“No, it’s not dramatic. It’s irresponsible. You’ve been seriously hurt. We don’t know the full extent of the nerve damage you’ve suffered, and there’s no set timeline for recovery. All your publicity ideas mean that ride has to be scheduled in advance. How can you make a promise we might not be able to keep? Guarantee you’ll be ready in time? You can’t just cowboy up and grit your teeth past this, Luke.”

“Sure I can. I’ll compensate for whatever I don’t have. You’ll teach me.”

Ruby stood up. “I can’t teach you split-second reactions if you’ve got no sensation.”

“Whoa, lower your voice,” Luke hissed, pulling her back down. “Don’t say that kind of stuff where people can hear you, okay?”

Ruby made herself sit down and look him in the eye. Maybe she could get him to see reason before this doomed stunt went any further. “Don’t say what’s wrong with you? Don’t tell you what you refuse to hear? You expect me to not only stand by and watch you potentially get yourself killed, but you want me to play guest star? Ruby Sheldon, therapist to the late, great Luke Buckton? Because trust me, Luke, that’s what it’ll be. You cannot do this.”

“I can’t just disappear, either.” Luke ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Ruby, I told you how this works. No ride, no pay, no rankings. There are no sick days, no medical leave here. If the fans can’t see me, they’ll forget who I am. That’s why this could be such a great chance. Think about it: this magazine’s paying to watch me heal. What better incentive could a guy get?”

It had to be said. “And what if you don’t heal? Will they want their money back?”

“I’ll heal, Ruby. You know I will. You wouldn’t have signed on if you didn’t think I could do it.”

Ruby hated that there was a grain of truth to that. Luke Buckton had made a career of beating the odds. Part of the shock of his injury came from the fact that before the incident, he’d been able to rise up from spectacular falls and ignore seemingly serious injuries. He’d once wrapped an injured arm in tape and ridden through an event only to have it leaked later that that arm had been broken in two places. If common sense ruled the day, he shouldn’t even be standing up, much less contemplating an all-star comeback.

Luke leaned in. “Look me in the eye right now and tell me it’s impossible. Tell me I don’t stand a chance.”

It was just like Luke to find the one inch of plausibility and stretch it into a mile. It was highly unlikely that he’d make a full, flawless recovery—it was foolish beyond reason to bring the media into it—but she couldn’t sit there and tell him it was impossible, much as she wanted to.

“You stand a very small chance. Minute.”

He leaned back, victorious. “Itty-bitty’s all I need. You know that.”

“But if you push yourself too hard and too fast then you stand a much larger chance of doing yourself serious harm. The you-won’t-get-up-and-walk-away-from-it kind of harm. Luke, I don’t see why you have to do this. And with press watching. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Maybe not to you.”

Ruby scrambled for a way to talk him out of this before his agent came and turned it into a hopeless two-against-one. “Explain it to me, then. Make me understand why it’s worth it to you to risk the rest of your life to get a spread on eight pages of a magazine.”

“Ten,” Luke corrected. And she wasn’t really surprised when he added, “Plus the cover.”

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