Free The Wild Bunch 3 Casa by Deirdre O'Dare Page B

centrifugal force that wanted to pull you off and away, but if you leaned too far... Most riders did best if the bull spun into their rope-holding hand. For Jason, that was his right, so this bull went against that general rule. The seconds ticked by, each seeming an hour long.
    Simultaneous with the whistle, Casa realized Jason was in trouble. His rope had begun to slip from his hand and would soon loosen around the bull, no longer providing a secure "handle." and he'd leaned a breath too far inward. An instant later, Jason fell into the middle of a tight spiral of deadly hooves with a ton of beef above them. The bullfighters were right there, but maybe a second or two slow.
    Casa felt sure the bull stomped on Jason at least a couple of times before the beast realized it was free and no longer squeezed by the rope. Casa didn't even register he'd moved until his boots hit the arena as he ran to the fallen rider. He sensed, but ignored, the heat and breeze as the bull rushed past him, missing him by a few hairs when it turned to head for the alley, but that didn't matter either. He had attention for only one thing.
    Jason had curled into a protective crunch. As Casa knelt beside him, the fallen man began to unfold, inch by inch. Casa could see the tension and pain on the older man's face, even before he'd stretched out and rolled over to try to get up.
    "Hang on. The bull's gone. Take your time. You don't have to jump up and haul ass."
    By then the bullfighters were back, moving in close to help the fallen rider to his feet if he needed the assistance. They, too, sensed everything might not be not all right and paused in their reach to grab Jason by his arms.
    Very slowly, he got up on all fours, but stopped there, breathing in fast, uneven gasps. The imprint of one massive hoof stood out clearly on the leather of his chaps, about halfway between the right knee and ankle. Hissing a ragged sigh as he started to push up with his right leg, Jason leaned to the other side. That was when Casa knew for sure he was hurt.
    Casa and Marty, one of the bullfighters, took hold of Jason's arms then and lifted him off the ground with as much care as they could. He got his left foot under him and hopped between them across to the alley leading between the stock pens. His right foot dragged, apparently beyond his ability to control the motion. Behind the corrals, they found a bench and eased him down on it.
    Casa knelt in front of him. "Your leg's busted, isn't it?"
    Jason shrugged. "Don't know. Could be. It's numb right now, but I can't seem to move my foot."
    They kept an ambulance and an EMT crew standing by during the rodeo in case of accidents like this one. Since the event brought extra visitors and money into the county, the local volunteer fire department was glad to provide this support. Soon the vehicle pulled up and the crew got out. Casa had to step back while they unzipped the right leg of Jason's chaps to examine his injury.
    He winced when one of them started to pull off his boot, whistling a breath through clenched teeth.
    "Okay," one EMT said, "looks like we have to cut it off. Hate to ruin a good pair of Tony Lamas, but..."
    "Just do it," Jason said, his voice low and tight.
    To cowboys, Tony Lama and a few other boot brands were the equivalent of Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choos to fashionistas. Such high-end boots did not come cheap, but Casa could see Jason couldn't stand the twist and jerk of having the boot pulled off his foot. The ETM produced a scalpel and sliced through the stitched leather in a fast, clean cut. He peeled the top back and then slipped the foot free. Another cut split the leg of Jason's Levi's from the knee down. As the denim fell back, the darkening double bruise appeared and the lump of the distorted bone showed clearly.
    "Yep, you got a break...the tibia for sure. Gonna have to run you in to Silver City to get it taken care of."
    Jason muttered some crude words ending in, "Fucking bad luck." He