Bullheaded

the spurs do not scratch the bull’s hide.
    Livestock director: The livestock director works with stock contractors to bring the best bucking bulls to the events.
    Making the whistle (or horn): An alarm sounds when eight seconds has passed or if the rider makes a violation.
    Mean bull: A bull that will actively go after a rider or bullfighter.
    Muley bull: A bull without horns.
    Rank bull : A challenging bull that is difficult to ride but not necessarily mean.
    Reride: If the judges feel the rider didn’t get a fair chance they may award a reride. This can be for a foul, if the bull gets hung up in the gate, or if the bull is having a bad day.
    Riding hand: The hand the rider uses to hang onto the rope.
    Ring usher or safety man: A cowboy on horseback who assists the bullfighters when they have trouble getting a bull to leave the ring.
    Safety equipment: Riders must wear protective vests. Helmets are not mandatory. Bullfighters wear different kinds of vests and lots of padding, but no helmets, because they need their peripheral vision. They wear cowboy hats instead.
    Shark cage: A round steel structure in the middle of the ring. A TV crew is stationed inside to shoot the action. The clown, or entertainer, can go there for safety. Cowboys will often run there if a bull is after them. At the start of the event, there are two ramps, and as their names are called, cowboys go up, tip their hat, and go down the other side to line up in the ring.
    Scoring: Both rider and bull are scored on their performance, with 50 points available for each, making a possible score of 100. It is said no one has ever received 100 points, although urban legend disputes this.
    Slap: If a rider slaps a bull with his free arm during the ride, he is DQ’d.
    Stock contractor: Individual contractors who buy, breed, and train bulls for the events.
    Trip: The type of ride a particular bull offers.

Chapter 1:
A Good Ride

    I T ALWAYS started this way. He could feel his heart speed up, the insistent pounding in his chest, the steel rail cold under his hand, the restless beast throbbing between his legs, the tightness of the wrap around his hand. He gave the nod.
    When the gate opened, the bull exploded out of the chute, bucking and twisting high in the air. Time slowed down for him as the rush of adrenaline shot through his body. It made him feel weightless yet powerful. Energized but floating on air. This was going to be a good ride. He was in the zone, shifting his body expertly, just enough to counter each move the bull threw at him, finding the perfect center of balance. The bull’s rage shivered up his spine, but it didn’t make a dent in his determination to win. He could almost hear the ticking as each hundredth of a second counted down.
    His timing was perfect. He was so concentrated on his ride he couldn’t hear the roar of the crowd or the buzzer when it came. His internal clock told him once again he was the victor in the ageless contest between man and beast.
    The physical and mental challenge to stay aboard and the ecstasy of conquest rushed through him, electrifying his body. It felt like more excitement than his body could contain, as if he might explode with the insane joy of it any moment.
    The sight of the bullfighters closing in told him it was time to bail. He tugged at the rope to release his hand and realized too late he was hung up, leaning too far down in the well and unable to fight gravity any longer. At least he came down on the right side, where he had a fighting chance of staying on his feet as the bull jerked him along, trying to rid itself of the irritant now flopping along behind.
    He yanked at the rope desperately but his gloved hand was stuck. Some movement on the other side of the ring drew the bull’s attention, and he saw an anonymous hand working the rope up and over. It came loose, relieving the strain on his rotator cuff. The bull kicked hard at the same moment, sending him flying, his body literally soaring through the air. He grinned in the general direction of the hushed crowd and tucked his head into his chest to roll when he hit the dirt, but he just knew there was no way was he going to land right this time. He misjudged the timing, and the crash made him tumble like a rag doll for a few yards before he came to rest on his back.
    His triumphant grin vanished when he looked up to find he hadn’t rolled far enough away, and one ton of angry bull was about to come down on him. The bull’s hooves