Excerpt from TEXAS TWIST

Copyright © 2014 Cynthia D’Alba All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

“And this is defending champion, Cash Montgomery,” the first commentator said.

“He’s got a rough ride ahead of him,” the second announcer replied.

“He’s young and he’s tough. I think he’s looking good for another big win, Ty.”

“Tell me about the bull he’s pulled for tonight.”

“Bad Bob is at the top of his game, but he has a couple of signature moves that the cowboys watch for. He always swings to the right. Never to the left so—”

Mitch muted the sound. “Just think. One day the announcers could be talking about one of our bulls.” He and Cash had recently gone into partnership to breed and raise bulls for the professional rodeo.

“Think it’ll be easier to watch one of our bulls instead of my little brother?” Olivia asked with an arched eyebrow.

Mitch snorted. “Probably not.” He glanced at the television. “He’s up.”

Mitch unmuted the sound. The room fell silent as they watched Cash Montgomery climb on the back of a fifteen-hundred-pound bull and begin setting the rope in his hand.

“Your brother is nuts,” Caroline said. “No sane person would do that.”

“Who said anything about Cash being sane?” Olivia replied.

The announcers on television kept up the commentary, talking about Cash’s wins, his previous scores, his outstanding talent and his long-term potential.

As Cash raised his hand to indicate he was ready, the tension in the Landry house rose to palpable levels. Breaths were sucked in as the eight adults got ready to watch.

The gray Brahma bull shot through the gate like a missile. All four feet left the ground when he jumped and tried to dislodge Cash from his back. The bull’s feet barely touched the dirt surface before he was in the air again, swinging to the left. Cash flew off and was trapped between the massive animal and a metal gate. Bad Bob slammed Cash against the gate again before he could get his hand rope released. The bull pummeled Cash again and threw him to the arena floor. Bad Bob leapt one more time, landing on Cash’s legs. Then he ran up Cash’s chest and finished with a kick to the head.

The bullfighters were waving and yelling at Bad Bob, trying to draw his attention away from the unmoving body lying in the arena dirt. Bad Bob saw the open exit gate, raced through it and down the chute away from the crowd and toward his pen.

The stunned silence of the rodeo crowd matched the stunned silence watching at home.

Mitch picked up his phone and made a call. “Carl? Gas up my plane and make sure it’s ready to go. We’ll be at the airport within an hour.”