Jess darted around the corner into the bucking chute, alongside two other cowboys who were watching through the gate with horror-stricken faces. With both hands gripping the metal, she saw the scene unfold. Cord was up against the bull’s shoulder, supporting the bull rider who appeared to be tangled in the rope.
“Yes!” yelled the cowboy beside her, when Cord dragged the injured rider away from the furious bull.
The crisis appeared to be over, with the bullfighters urging the bull toward the exit. One second, he was trotting toward the open gate. The next, he balked and turned, charging directly at Cord and the bull rider.
Run, Cord! What are you doing? Don’t run toward the bull!
The bull hooked Cord with his horns, tossing him into the air like a rag doll. When he landed on the ground in a heap, he didn’t move.
The crowd went silent, except for a single extended scream of terror. Several seconds passed before Jess realized the eerie sound was coming from her own throat.
14
Cord blinked, struggling to open his eyes. Lying on his back, he saw the evening sky and arena lights above him and a fence against his left shoulder. Voices swirled around him, echoing like a crowd in a shopping mall. The sound faded as pain pushed its way in, eclipsing everything else in his brain.
“Oh. You’re awake.” A female face appeared above him, blond hair pulled back in a bun. “Can you tell me where you hurt?”
“Everywhere. Especially right here.” Cord touched his ribs on his right side and realized someone had opened his shirt. “It’s worse when I breathe.”
“I recommend doing it anyway,” she said, with a straight face. “The alternative isn’t great.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He’d just have to take tiny breaths so his ribs didn’t move. He took in his surroundings. He was lying on the ground in one of the arena corrals, a fence next to him.
“What’s your name?” A pen light appeared in the woman’s hand, shining in his eyes.
“Cord. What’s yours?”
“I’m Mandy Jackson, paramedic. Can you tell me what day it is?”
“Uhmm…” He searched his memory, but came up with nothing.
“How about the month? Or the year?”
“I can’t think…”
“What’s the president’s name?”
He wracked his brain, but came up with nothing. “Why do you need to know who the president is?”
“It’s a test.”
Cord considered her problem. “Why don’t you Google it?”
Though it seemed like a perfectly reasonable suggestion, Mandy responded with an irritated growl. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”
“I don’t know…” Fuzzy pictures passed through his mind. Someone riding a bull. Falling off. “Mason! Is Mason okay?”
“I’m right here, man. All good.”
Mason’s voice came from somewhere past Cord’s feet. But when Cord tried to push up on his elbows to see him, someone jabbed a white-hot sword all the way through his chest and out the back. At least, that’s what it felt like.
“Oww!” Cord groaned. “That hurts like the dickens!”
“That’s what happens when you play with a bull’s horns,” said Mason.
“Hey, Jack.” Mandy spoke into her cell phone. “We’re coming in from the rodeo with two injured. Patient one with compound fracture of tibia and fibula and class one concussion. Patient two with blunt trauma to the chest, unknown associated injuries, and class two concussion.”
“Mason, you broke your leg?” Determined to get his head off the ground, Cord struggled to a sitting position, ignoring the nauseating pain, and leaned his back against the fence. He lifted a weak hand toward the curious onlookers who were peering through the opposite fence, twenty feet away.