Free Sixteen and Dying by Lurlene McDaniel Page A

didn’t think it sounded like enough money for such a brain-rattling, teeth-jarring event, but she kept quiet. The first rider out of the chute was tossedoff like a rag doll. Anne winced as he thudded onto the ground. Yet, he got up, dusted himself off, and hurried out of the ring while other riders captured the bucking horse and led it back to the holding pen.
    By the time she heard Morgan’s name called, her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth. She watched as he swung from the side of the special chute onto the back of a horse called Loco. “A horse named Crazy,” Marti remarked. “He must be some mean one.”
    Anne saw Morgan wrap a gloved hand around a rope tied to the horse and raise the other hand into the air above his head in the classic one-handed posture of bronco riders. A bell rang, the gate opened, and Loco exploded into the arena.
    The horse gyrated and twisted itself into impossible contortions. He hit the ground stiff-legged, his head pulled low, his eyes white with wild fury. Morgan twisted with him, gripping the horse’s heaving sides with his knees. To Anne, it seemed an eternity until the buzzer sounded. The audience erupted into cheers.
    Morgan released his hold on the rope and kicked himself off the animal’s back. As he dropped, his boot caught in the rope. Suddenly, he was hanging sideways from the horse, unable to get off. Morgan dangled helplessly from the furious animal as it continued its mad twisting and bucking, its deadly hooves lifting off the ground, inches from Morgan’s head.
    A cry raced through the crowd as the spectators grasped his deadly predicament. Anne froze, watching in horror. All at once, the arena filled withclowns and men on quarter horses chasing after the bronco. One clown waved a blanket, causing the horse to stop abruptly. Quickly, two mounted cowboys came alongside Loco, sandwiched the wild horse between them and snatched his headgear, forcing him to stand still.
    Clowns helped loosen Morgan’s trapped foot and lower him to the ground. Others baring a stretcher ran into the arena and lifted him on it. Through her daze, Anne heard Marti yell, “They’re taking him to the hospital tent!”

Twelve

    A NNE RACED OUT and turned down a path, made narrow by parked horse trailers. At the far end, she saw a large tent with a red cross painted on its side, and rushed toward it. Outside, a woman wearing an armband bearing the same red cross stopped her. “Can I help you?” she asked.
    Flustered, Anne groped for words. “They brought in a rider from the arena … he’d been thrown, dragged. I need to see how he is. He’s a friend.”
    The nurse offered a reassuring smile. “Calm down. The doctor’s taping him up now. He’s got a couple of cracked ribs, some bruises and contusions, but he’s going to be fine.”
    Anne felt her knees buckle with relief. “He won’t have to go to the hospital?”
    “I think he refused to go.”
    “Do you suppose I could go in and see him?”
    “You’ll have to wait in line—his family’s in with him now. They looked plenty scared—and hopping mad!”
    “Are you positive he’s all right?”
    The nurse reached out, took her hand, and said, “Don’t take it so hard, honey. These cowboys are a pretty tough bunch. I’ve seen men stomped on by bulls weighing a ton, and they still get up to ride another day.”
    The tent flap opened, and a man in a lab coat stepped outside. “The boy doing okay?” the nurse asked.
    “Miraculously, yes. The X rays showed no breaks other than his ribs, but that ride wrenched several muscles. He’s going to be sore for a while.”
    “See, I told you not to worry,” the nurse said to Anne.
    Anne still wanted to see Morgan. “Go on, honey. Go see for yourself,” the nurse said.
    Smiling gratefully, Anne entered the tent carefully. Morgan was shirtless, sitting up on an examining table, a thick swath of adhesive bandage wound around his torso. Standing directly in front of him were his aunt