Taken By The Bull

Chapter 5

“Ah, sh*t!” Staci whirled around as fast as any cartoon Tasmanian Devil and found herself facing a gently-smirking Steve-shaped silhouette, framed in the half-open double doors. “What are you doing there?”

“I live here. Now, let me ask you the same question.” Then, he was moving towards her; his stride was long and unhurried as he approached through the dark and light of the barn, boot heels creaking on the wooden floor. “Were you looking for something?”

“I-” Staci drew back as he came near, moved by guilt and surprise more than by fear. “I was early. I thought – I’d have a look around, instead of showing up when I wasn’t expected, I didn’t want to seem-”

“Hold on there.” Steve held up a hand, his expression softening. “It’s not like I’m judging you for anything. Hell, you’re a reporter. I bet you look at life like – like it’s just a big bundle of secrets, waiting to be cracked open.”

“I, ah…” Self-consciously Staci pushed her hands into her pockets, shuffling her feet. “That’s pretty accurate, actually.”

If only you knew, she thought. Maybe you’d not be so accepting if you knew that you’re just another secret to be cracked. Well… Not ‘just’ another secret, exactly…

“Hold on. It’s dark as the inside of a black cat at midnight in here.” Steve’s voice broke through Staci’s musings as he walked towards a light switch and flipped it on, bathing the unlit half of the barn in a warm incandescent glow. “That’s better.”

Although the intention was to make things a little easier to see, now the back half of the barn was illuminated brightly enough to sting her eyes. Shading them with the flat of her hand, she turned away from the light source and looked over the strange array of items that were collected there. She saw ropes knotted into circles hanging from pegs on the walls; a line of protective helmets with face guards lined up on a shelf above some large cardboard boxes; and a stack of blankets with mysterious unmarked white containers settled on top, along with a large first-aid kit. Something that looked like a large burrito was propped up against the wall. “What is all this stuff?”

“Tools of the bull-riding trade. Rosin and bull-ropes for the ride, protective gear and supplies for when a soul fails to stay the distance.” There was a small, but unmistakable note of affection in his voice as he said that, in his expression as he looked over the equipment. “This is mine and Seth’s practice room – we’ve spent a hell of a lot of time back here, over the years.”

“How – how does it work?” Speculatively she ran her hand along the padded leather that lined the flanks and back of the mechanical bull; it was scuffed and marked with age and use, but had been kept soft and well-treated. “You just, get on, and hit a button?”

“Well, first you roll out the crash-mat that goes underneath. Never forget that part.” Steve grinned and settled into a comfortable sitting position on one of the hay bales by the window. “And you need someone else to operate the controls. This old thing has an automatic randomizer for the motions, but you need another hand on the switch to take the speed up or down.”

“Is it easier than riding on a real bull?”

“Since the operator can control the speed, it’s a damn sight easier.”

“Is it safer?”

“Ayup. And better on the bulls, too; they get tired and riled up, and you need to switch them out for another. Means, you need to have two on hand; and the problem with having two angry bulls in the same place is, that half the time they’ll kill each other.”

“Hmm.” She paused, and bit her lip. “Can I ask something?”

“You gonna ask if you can give it a shot?”

“I – yeah, I was! How did you know?”

“Because, that’s what everyone says.” He nodded his head towards the arrangement of safety gear on the shelf. “That’s why we got that stuff in all sizes. But, sure. Give him your best shot. Give me a moment to set you up, though.”

Staci felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach as he stood up, walked over to the burrito-thing, and unrolled it around the base of the bull. “You ask me here for a nice meal at your house, and I end up in the barn playing with robots. Doesn’t seem normal, somehow.”

“Yesterday you came to ask questions, and ended up playing dodge-ball with an angry bull,” Steve commented dryly as pushed the cushioned mat into place. “You’re all full of surprises. But, I think I like that about you.”

“I, well, I have another for you.” Staci scuffed the sole of her sneaker on the floor. “I had lunch with Dawn today.”

“Now, that isn’t a surprise. She went and called up to complain about it some thirty seconds after you walked out on her, by my estimate.”

“Oh…” Staci’s cheeks flushed as she remembered that parting shot she’d fired as she left – not the one she’d thought of saying, the one she’d actually said. “She, uh… Got under my skin a little. I maybe said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“Well, now. While I was surprised to hear that we’re apparently set to have dinner tonight, I must admit, I thought it sounded like a pleasant enough thing to do. So really, it all worked out for the best.” Standing straight again, he went to the big cardboard box under the shelf and opened it, pulling out a heavy-looking deep-sided saddle. “Though, I’m not sure what you expected to get out of her.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure either.” Staci watched as Steve placed the saddle on the mechanical bull’s back and cinched it in place. “But, being in this job – you get used to poking the bear. Sometimes you get bitten, other times only sh*t comes out.” Did that sound a little crass? Maybe. Definitely. She moved to change the subject before the words had time to resonate. “How come there’s a saddle for the thing? You don’t use one when you do your… thing.”

“I’m a professional, though. This makes it easier on the novice. Gives you something more to grip onto.” He checked the strength of the padded strap that circled the ‘chest’ of the mechanical bull with a sharp tug. “Like, this thing. You get this nice padding to keep your hands comfortable, but when on the real thing you get this skinny rope that can really cut into the fingers.”

“I almost want to ask to do things the way you do it, just to see what it’s like…”

“Can you type up your reports with broken fingers?”

“N-no, I can’t.” Staci paused, her hands on her hips. “Good point.”

“Right you are. All we need to do now is to get you some headgear, and-”

“No, that’s alright.” Automatically her hand stole up to her hair, as if checking it was still neatly attached to her head. “I can do without that.”

Steve paused and turned towards her, looking back over his wide shoulder. “Now, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Staci.”

“Well…”

Back in high school, a friend of hers had been given a scooter by her father, and spent most of the weekend taking people for rides to show it off. Staci had been one of them – and only a half hour of time with the crash helmet on had resulted in her hair tangling so badly that she couldn’t get the knots out for a week. And everyone laughed at how bad it looked when the thing came off. Nuh-uh. No way. Not again. “I get a kind of claustrophobia thing happening with that kind of stuff,” she lied. “So, I’ll do better without it. It’s okay! I wouldn’t dream of suing you if I did get a concussion or anything. It’d be my own damn fault. And besides, you don’t wear one in the arena, and you don’t even have padding to fall onto.”