Free Bullheaded by Catt Ford Page A

off. “Sure, there’s a clown in makeup there for the crowd, but they don’t call the bullfighters clowns any more. Try and keep up to date.”
    “If he’s that good, why isn’t he riding them?” Aubrey was brave, Cody would give him that, but brave often rode with stupid.
    He locked gazes with Johnny and waited for the nod. “RJ, is No Parole handy?”
    “Yep.” With his usual short answer, RJ jumped down outside the ring and headed for the bullpen.
    “Travis?”
    “Sure thing, boss.”
    Together, Cody and Travis helped Johnny into the gear: protective vest, helmet, glove, chaps, and spurs. Cody took the opportunity to impart some information to the students. “The spurs are dull, too blunt to pierce the bull’s hide. They’re mostly for show. If you spur with your outside leg, you earn extra points. With the vest you’ll still get bruised, but it’ll keep you from the worst of harm. All that rolling we did earlier, if a bull’s coming down on you, the vest can’t stand up to it, so don’t just lie there like a dummy. Get out of the way, or if you can’t, send up a prayer that a bullfighter’s there to get between you and the bull. In my opinion, if you go into the ring wearing a cowboy hat instead of a helmet, you’re asking for it.”
    “I don’t like the helmet. It cuts down on the visibility,” Tommy said.
    “It also cuts down on head injuries. Besides, what’re you trying to look at? You won’t have any time for sightseeing when you’re atop a bull.”
    “But what if he throws me and I have to see where I’m going to hit?”
    “Where you look is where you fall. You look at the ground and the next thing you know you’ll be down there. You keep your chin tucked and your eyes on the bull’s shoulders. That’s all you need to be looking at if you want to make eight seconds.”
    “He doesn’t wear one when he’s bullfighting.” Bobby Blue pointed at Johnny.
    “I don’t need to—”
    “Because when he’s fighting he really does need to see everything to save your ass,” Cody interrupted. “Good observation. Fighters wear different gear from us because they have to move in different ways. It’s your choice of course, but I think any rider who doesn’t wear a helmet is an idiot. If not now, then later, when he gets his face removed.”
    “I’m wearing a helmet to ride,” Johnny said.
    Bobby Blue scowled at both men. “Sloan Robbins didn’t wear one and he’s a great rider. One of the best. Or a lot of the Brazilians.”
    Cody shrugged. “Like I said, your choice when you’re away from here. I’m not going to argue about it. Just sayin’ is all. While you’re on my land, you’ll be wearing a helmet, no matter what you choose to do when you’re out of here or you’ll be watching, not riding.”
    RJ returned to the ring, leading a buckskin-colored bull into the chute. The minute the bull was shut in, he started getting pissy, ramming his head against the rails.
    Johnny climbed the rails with his rope and waited for RJ to get a grip on the back of his vest before he swung a leg over. With Travis helping, he got the rope under the bull and started the wrap.
    Cody herded the four greenhorns out of the ring, noticing they all looked a bit paler now that they were up close to a bull. He’d chosen No Parole for a reason. He wasn’t his best bull, but he was pretty rank and on the bigger side. And he liked to turn away from the rider’s hand. He thought these kids were savvy enough to get it. Johnny wouldn’t care; he could ride a bull that turned either way. Even though Cody was having trouble admitting it to himself, he wanted these boys to respect his partner. They could think whatever they wanted about him, but not about Johnny.
    No Parole lunged forward in the chute, and only RJ’s grip on the vest kept Johnny’s head from slamming into the wall. Johnny waited for the bull to settle, then squirmed on the animal’s back ’til he was set and gave a quick nod.
    As