Amazon
Rachel Hill, a burned out stockbroker, realizes she’s sacrificed too much for her career and is searching for God’s direction in her life. Champion bull rider, Nick Davidson, reasons God abandoned him first, so what’s the point of seeking Christ’s will in his life? When Nick suffers a concussion, the road trip to the next rodeo becomes the ride of a lifetime for Rachel and Nick. Secrets revealed; lies exposed. Can the power of love heal even these deepest wounds?
Excerpt:
“Ninety-two
and a half for Buster McKnight. Give the cowboy from Oklahoma a
hand!” Applause roared as McKnight scrambled to his feet, ripped
off his hat and flung it into the center of the arena.
Rachel
Hill reduced the volume of the music flowing through her headset from
the waist-belt MP3 player. With a resigned sigh, she flicked off the
power and cheered with the rest of the crowd. Silly of her to think
she could ignore the event. This Rapid City crowd sure loved their
rodeo.
So
did she. Even at twenty-eight years old, rodeo events still sent her
blood racing.
The
surrounding fans settled back into their seats. Rachel glanced at the
program and noticed only one rider left. About time. Normally, she
steered clear of the bull riding events. Steer wrestling and barrel
racing offered enough excitement. Even the roping action was okay,
but when they called in the rough-stock, she’d
head for the concession stands. Bull riding was the anchor event and
usually reclaimed the crowds long enough for her to grab a hot dog, a
cola and be done by the time her uncle called it a day.
“They
saved the best for last. You ain’t seen nuthin’ till you’ve
seen Nick Davidson ride.” Uncle Mitch nudged her with his thick arm
as he pointed at the arena. “Nick pulled one of our bulls, too.
Ain’t no one stayed on Flapjack this season.”
“Your
bulls have beat them all today, Uncle Mitch.” She glanced across
the arena toward the chutes, skimming over the ads attached to the
walls of the arena along the way. “Pretty much all weekend long.”
“‘Course
they have.” He slapped his meaty hand across his thigh. “That’s
what they’re supposed to do. I ain’t raisin’ no sissy stock.”
Rachel
couldn’t
help but chuckle. “The ranker the better, I always say.” Her
voice lowered to an unnatural gruff. “Rough-stock don’t mean any
little girlie can ride ‘um.”
“Dog
straight, little girlie.” He turned and winked at her. “An’
don’t you go sassin’ your elders.”
“You
mean don’t go sassing the boss or he’ll boot me out on my pointed
backside, right?”
“Only
doing it out of love.” His grin faded as he sat back in his seat,
his program crumpled in his fist. “Thanks for coming to watch the
bull ridin’, Rachel. I know how hard this is on you.”
Rachel
kept her practiced grin in place, a small defense, but it helped when
things got tough. “Not
so hard anymore. Besides, look at all the great riding they had
today. Even tangle-footed Buster McKnight walked away without a
scratch.”
Uncle
Mitch, familiar with her diversions, wasn’t
buying into the act. “Wrecks happen, Rach. The cowboys train for
them.”
“I
know.” The muscles in her face strained beneath the effort to
smile. They both knew better. Nothing protected a cowboy from all
injuries. “It’s all part of the sport.”
“Rachel,
your dad--”
“I’m
okay with all this.” She shifted in her seat, her gaze darting
everywhere except at her uncle. “Mom’s okay with it, Dad’s okay
with it, and so am I.”
“Honey.”
Uncle Mitch reached over and covered her fisted hand with his warm
palm. “The good Lord has reasons for all that goes on in our lives.
Sometimes we have good things happen, and sometimes they’re not so
good. Maybe your dad needed a change in his life. Jesus decided Russ
Hill had won enough buckles, and it was high time these younger
fellas had a chance at the Finals.”
Sorry
philosophy. Rachel raised a brow and offered half a smile, just to
make him aware his theory lacked conviction.
“Well,
maybe.” Uncle Mitch shrugged. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.
Look at you here. Who’d ever thought a pretty little thing like you
would want to spend her vacation on the road with a buncha bulls and
an old man like me?”
“It
isn’t a vacation, Uncle Mitch. It’s called a leave-of-absence.
Besides, I’ve always loved traveling the road with you.”
Her
most precious childhood memories included driving stock with Uncle
Mitch. Not only were the rodeos exciting, but her uncle loved kids
and it showed. Hours on the road trailering bulls across the Western
Region left lots of time for her, Uncle Mitch, cousin Polly, and on
occasion, Aunt Doreen to talk, laugh and share secrets. They worked
as a team. The familiar lump formed in her throat. Too bad all
families didn’t
work together.
Shaking
away the unbidden past, Rachel bent her head and watched across the
arena as the rider, Nick Davidson, threw his leg over the top rail
and eased onto the waiting bull. Uncle Mitch thought a lot of Nick
Davidson and talked about Nick and his ranch, and all the success
he’d had
breeding a hardier head of Hereford. He accompanied Mitch to the
auctions, looking for bigger and better stock. Her uncle loved to
ramble on the subject of cowboys.
Rachel
narrowed her gaze out of habit until she focused on man and beast. If
Nick was that good with bloodlines, and his ranch needed him, why was
he chalking up miles on the circuit? Sadly enough, she could answer
her own question. Nick Davidson was a rodeo cowboy, even worse, a
rodeo bull rider. An extreme sport junkie. No one topped these guys
for ego. She should know. Her dad was one of the best.
The
crowd mumbled with impatience around her at the delay of the ride.
Even from a distance, Rachel saw the corded muscles of Nick’s
arm bunch with effort. Flapjack slammed against the gate. The cowboys
surrounded the chute and shoved the bull over as Nick wrapped the
bull rope around his hand.
The
musical magic of Garth Brooks reverberated through the air. Around
her, the crowd hooted and whistled, revving anticipation for the
final ride of the day. Rachel blinked out of her concentration and
corralled her thoughts back to her uncle.
“Okay,
not a vacation,” Uncle Mitch was saying as he rubbed his whiskered
jaw. “What with you haulin’ trailers and muckin’ out pens.
You’ve got color back in your cheeks, girl. You sure you want to go
back to all those numbers and dollars and stuff? You’ve been the
best mucker I’ve had in ages.”
“Flattery
will get you everywhere.” She grinned and wrinkled her nose. “Bull
market takes on a different meaning when you’re cleaning up after
the working end of the livestock.”
Brushing
away thoughts of bull riders and their quirky ways, she propped her
booted foot on the railing ahead of her. Front row seats. Since Uncle
Mitch provided stock for the rodeo, he always had great seats at the
arenas. She turned her palm into his and squeezed. “I’m
ready to go back to work now. It’s time to go if I want to keep any
part of my career. Two weeks off approved by Human Resources, with
this extra week ‘just to make sure,’ has been heaven.” She
leaned over and rubbed her cheek against her uncle’s cotton shirt,
loving the smell of cattle, hay and leather. “Thanks for caring
about me, Uncle Mitch, but my clients won’t wait forever for their
stockbroker to get over a little bit of stress.”
A
little bit of stress.
Her mouth went dry at the thought of her denial over her mental
condition. When the CEO had recommended a leave-of-absence due to
exhaustion, she knew she had no choice but to face her problems.
Managing percentages and points had commanded all her rational
thought. She’d
grown irritable, difficult and uncooperative over the last year, a
far cry from the eager, enthusiastic intern she’d once been. Her
earnestness had founded her career; her insufferable behavior now
threatened her future.
No
use dwelling on the past. She’d
regained perspective. She’d rediscovered Christ and straightened
her priorities. She itched to return to Denver and prove her
new-found strength.
Uncle
Mitch released her hand and ruffled her hair as he’d
done when she was a little girl. A lump formed in her throat.
“You
remember what’s important, Rachel. Keep the Lord Jesus Christ first
in your life and all else will fall in place. Remember all the work
you’ve done with Cowboy Church over the past few weeks.” He shook
his finger at her. “Spreading the word of the Lord, that’s what’s
important.”
After
a brave smile, Rachel turned back toward the arena. Remember what’s
important, she repeated to herself as she looked across the expanse
of dirt to the wall of chute gates and the next rider. Flapjack
rattled the metal railing as he head-butted the gate. Nick Davidson
remained focused as he unwound the bull rope from his hand. After a
tug to tighten the rope in place, he began the process again, each
wrap a study in precision. Their eight second ride depended on it; if
not their lives. If it didn’t feel right, don’t go.
Wise
sentiment, she’d
always thought. Just like these focused cowboys, she’d become
immersed in her fast and furious lifestyle. If it felt right, she
went.
Rachel
blinked back the burning sensation of tears. She’d
made a mess of her life. Uncle Mitch offered open arms and an open
heart to any stray who needed a leg up and an earful of hope--even if
that stray was his own niece.
Over
the past three weeks, she’d
spent long hours in prayer and Bible study until her heart and soul
cried for her to surrender to Christ. She’d always had faith, but
the Lord wanted more. Give up control. Spooky thought until she read
through Philippians. I can do all things through Christ which
strengthens me. Rachel held tight to these words of promise.
“Here
we go.” Uncle Mitch nudged her and pointed toward the gates. “The
last ride of the rodeo. Go get’em, boy.”
Across
the arena, Flapjack wrestled around in the chute as the announcer
chattered. The age-old knot tightened in her stomach. Rachel watched
the men standing on the rails while Nick Davidson tugged on his rope,
his motions chillingly familiar. Her dad had gone through the same
routine each time he sat a bull, checking and re-checking until
things were just right. You can never be too prepared. . ..
Apparently
satisfied Nick gave his black hat a final tug, grabbed the top rail
and issued a curt nod. The gate sprang open.
The
bull leapt out of the gate and twisted to the right as the rider sat
tight. The massive bovine body kicked and jumped, and still the
cowboy held his left arm high and continued to urge the animal on in
true rodeo fashion.
“Hoo-whee!
Look at Nick ride!” Uncle Mitch yelled as the pair spun a tight
circle right in the middle of the arena.
Two,
three, four. . .. Rachel counted out the seconds as she’d
done since childhood.
“Ol’
Flapjack’s not gonna--” Uncle Mitch’s cheer ceased as the bull
bucked high and then twisted up, crashing heads with the rider just
as the eight second buzzer sounded. The cowboy rolled off, his arm
still looped in the rope.
“Oh,
Lord,” Rachel choked out a frantic prayer as her heart pounded in
her chest. “Not again, Lord. . .please.”
The
limp body bounced alongside the furious animal. A bull fighter
deterred the animal long enough for another one to release the rope,
dropping the injured man in a heap. Tension buzzed across the arena.
One bull fighter knelt beside the fallen cowboy while the other two
worked the angry bull into the exit pen. With the arena cleared of
danger, the medical crew rushed to aid.
Furniture from exposure to external damages such as exposure to contaminants and dust as well as accidents, deformation, shower and breakage
ReplyDeleteشركة نقل عفش
شركة نقل اثاث من الرياض الى قطر
شركة نقل عفش من الرياض الى قطر
شركة نقل عفش بالقطيف