The Devil Inside

The Devil Inside

Kate Davies

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to all the experts who assisted me in the research for this book: Dr. Peter Kesling, for the medical advice; Mitzi Hunter, for the peek into rodeo culture; and rodeo sports medicine professional Devin Dice for sharing behind-the-scenes info on what happens when riders are injured and what injuries are most likely in a bullriding accident.

Of course, any and all errors are mine.

Dedication

To Maia, who dropped everything—twice—to help me make this book stronger, deeper, and more cohesive. I couldn’t have done it without your help.

And to Angie, who challenges me with every book to become a better writer. Thanks!

Chapter One

Sam Quincannon hunched down on the bleachers and tried to ignore the crowd. It wasn’t easy; the grandstands were filled to capacity and enthusiasm rolled off the gathered spectators like a huge, heated wave. A popular country-rock tune blared throughout the arena.

A brisk wind whipped strands of hair out of her French braid. Scowling, she shoved the offending hair behind her ear and turned slightly to block the wind.

“If it isn’t the Hunchback of Homely Dames,” an amused voice drawled. Bill dropped into the empty space next to her. “Jesus, Sam, you look like you’re on death row.”

“Bite me.”

“Bite this,” he countered, dropping a foil-wrapped object in her lap.

Sam unwrapped it carefully. Of course it was the traditional beef sandwich. She caught a drip of barbeque sauce before it could hit her khaki pants. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” A smear of sauce decorated his left cheek, but thanks to that Homely Dames crack, Sam decided to keep her mouth shut. Let him look foolish for a little while—served him right. “Best food at the fair.”

Sam nodded. Foursquare’s beef sandwiches were the best—or at least they had been, last time she’d been here. It had been thirteen years, but judging by the mouth-watering smell, it still deserved the praise.

She took a bite and chewed slowly, looking around for the first time since she’d taken her seat. There was a new Sponsor’s Club building at the far end of the arena, with a bar inside and a deck outside, depending on whether you wanted to actually watch the action or just get drunk. The grandstand where she was sitting used to be wooden, back in the day, but it had been replaced by a fancy new metal version some years back. Sam remembered reading something about it in the paper, but hadn’t paid much attention.

Her eyes flickered across the arena, taking in the dirt surface, the wooden fencing, the promoter’s banners flapping in the breeze. That hadn’t changed, either. And neither had her reaction to seeing it. Flinching a little, she tore her gaze away and took another bite.

“So what did you do to piss the chief off?”

“Excuse me?” She did her best I’m-six-years-older-than-you-so-don’t-mess-with-me look, but it just rolled right past him.

“Come on. You’re famous for getting out of this gig. Legendary, almost. So how come you didn’t get your vacation this year like always?”

Sam looked away, anger rising in her again. “Vacation during high-traffic times will no longer be guaranteed,” she parroted. “You know that, Billy.”

“I know the party line. But everyone knows it was directed at you.”

“Everyone?” She stared at him. “Everyone? Good to know I’ve got such a fine reputation with my fellow workers.”

“Get over yourself,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. “No one blames you for wanting to stay away. I mean, after…” His voice trailed off. “Anyway. I just… You’ve always gotten a pass from the chief. I was just wondering what changed this year.”

“Unofficially, I need to work on my quote-unquote irrational fear before I’ll be considered a good candidate for the new training program.”

“He held up your recommendation? Bastard.”

“Unofficially.” Sam grabbed his arm and stared at him, unsmiling. “And if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll cut off your balls with a Swiss army knife and make earrings out of them.”

“Shit, Sam.” Billy crossed his legs. “I wouldn’t say anything.”

Sam pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands, inspecting the close-cut nails for barbeque sauce. She could trust Billy, she knew; otherwise she wouldn’t have said anything at all. But it didn’t hurt to have a little insurance.

“He could have a point, though,” Billy continued, and totally blew any warm fuzzies Sam had toward him to smithereens.

She shot him a withering glare, which he ignored. “What point?”

“When was the last time you were here, Sam?”

She said nothing. She didn’t have to.

“It’s been thirteen years, Sam. I know it was horrible, but…”

“Horrible doesn’t begin to cover it,” she said. “And you have no idea what I went through that day. So if I chose not to come back, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. And it certainly doesn’t mean I’m warped.”

“No one said you were.”

“No one had to say it,” she said. “I can see it in their eyes.”

Billy started to argue, but he was interrupted by a squeal from the bank of loudspeakers suspended by wires in the center of the arena. Shooting her a this-isn’t-over glare, he leaned back in his seat and focused his attention on the wide expanse of dirt in front of them.

Sam felt her muscles tense, the familiar strain overtaking her as the announcer warmed up the crowd. She’d been a basket case around the rodeo even before… She shook away the thought. Majestic music swelled, accompanied by the pounding cadence of horses’ hooves as riders entered the arena.

Oh, God. She was going to be sick.

Sam closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to settle her roiling stomach. She silently cursed Billy for getting her that beef sandwich, and herself for eating the whole thing. Then a tap on her knee brought her eyes open again. Billy was looking at her with a mix of concern and support. “You okay?”

She nodded, once, although she wasn’t sure if that was really true. He removed his hand, and for a moment she missed the warmth and pressure. Not in a sexual way—she’d babysat him when he was a kid, for heaven’s sake—but just the companionship of longtime friends. And if she had to work this shift, there was nobody she’d want as her partner more than Billy. She knew, if everything went to hell, Billy would have her back.

The arena was half full by now, horses stamping the freshly-turned dirt as they jostled and jockeyed for position. Riders in matching outfits held multi-colored flags that whipped gaily in the breeze.

Sights and sounds and smells assaulted her from all sides, wrapping her up in all the bad memories she’d avoided for so many years now. It all came rushing back, the fear, the horror, the crushing anguish of watching her father die.

She should have told Chief Branson to fuck himself. No promotion was worth this hell.

***

Dirt crunched under Cody Shaw’s boots as he navigated the labyrinth beneath the grandstand to the chute where his ride was scheduled to start. He’d pulled a middle of the road ride, not first, not last. It was a good slot, early enough to wow the crowd, late enough to gauge the competition.

Didn’t matter, anyway. Today was his day. This was the ride that was going to put him over the top and into the national standings.

He took a deep breath and pulled his hat low, blocking out the bright sun that filtered through the metal grandstand. Music filled the air around him, sending a thumping drumbeat pulsing through his veins. The excitement was almost palpable, emanating from the crowd, the other riders, even the stock waiting impatiently in the holding pens.

It had been a couple of years since he’d been to the Four Corners rodeo, but some things were the same all over. The rodeo grounds were laid out in pretty much the same configuration, with chutes under the grandstands and holding pens for the rodeo stock in back. The bulls were already in place, ready to be prepped for the ride.

The arena director strode up to Cody, carrying a clipboard and looking official. “You’re up,” he said, making a notation on his paperwork. “You’ll be riding The Devil Inside, chute eight.”

Cody nodded briefly and walked over to chute eight. Climbing up the gate to straddle the chute, he looked to make sure his gear was on tight. The Devil Inside twisted from one side to the other, trying to shake the intruder off his back, but Cody finished his gear check with a minimum of fuss.

A couple of tugs tightened the flank strap, and he nodded to the rodeo stock man to indicate he was ready. He lowered himself on The Devil Inside’s back and wrapped the bull rope around his hand. In response, the bull tried his best to buck Cody off, a losing proposition in the close confines of the chute. It looked like a good ride was in the offing.

Dimly he heard the announcer shout his name, but his attention was focused on the bull. He never got used to this adrenaline rush. He hoped he never would.

An indrawn breath, a brief, closed-eye prayer, and he signaled that he was ready. A buzzer sounded, the gate opened and he and The Devil Inside burst through into the bright sunlight.

***

Three bull rides down, far too many to go. She’d made it through the rest of the events, but the bull riding was the one she hated the most. Sam sat ramrod straight, her eyes focused on the arena. Much as she wanted to ignore the rodeo, she was on the job. Someone’s life might depend on her.

Her heartbeat sped up, thumping violently in her chest. God, she hoped not. Not here.

The announcer, safely ensconced in the booth at the top of the grandstand, was busy bantering with the rodeo clown to fill a few minutes as they waited for the next rider. She shook her head, smiling despite herself at the groan-worthy joke they’d just finished. It had been thirteen years since she’d been inside this arena, and even the jokes were the same.

That was part of the appeal, she knew; audiences could depend on the rodeo to provide consistent, down-home entertainment. And the undercurrent of danger was a draw, too, at least for everyone else.

“Ladies and gentlemen, turn your attention to chute eight. Riding The Devil Inside is a man who’s in the hunt for a national title. Currently number eleven in the national standings, rodeo star Cody Shaw!”

The gate flew open with a clang, and a bucking, twisting bull exploded into the arena.

A cheer rose from the audience, growing louder as The Devil Inside leapt around the arena and the rider held tight, his opposite arm swinging over his head.

Sam sat frozen, sure she couldn’t have heard what she thought she heard. Glancing at the reader board, she shook her head. It couldn’t be the same Cody Shaw. It just couldn’t.

Turning back, she stared at the rider as he flew by. From this distance, there was no way to tell if it was the Cody Shaw she’d known years ago. He’d been barely out of his teens when she had last seen him. And it wasn’t like the name was that unusual. Could be someone else.

Suddenly, The Devil Inside twisted, slamming the rider headfirst into the metal fence. Horrified, Sam watched as the rider slid sideways, losing his precarious seat on the back of the bull. Then The Devil Inside gave a tremendous buck and the cowboy flew off over the bull’s head, landing with a bone-crunching thud directly under the snorting, stomping animal. The crowd gasped as one stomp caught him in the chest, followed by a sweep of the deadly-looking horns as they connected with the rider’s side. Then the bull was gone, distracted by the rodeo clowns and some stock men so it could be guided out the exit gate. The buzzer sounded in the suddenly quiet arena, a mocking tone that brought the audience out of its stupor.

Gasps and yells punctuated the air, growing louder as the crowd realized the rider wasn’t moving.

Sam sat motionless, eyes fixed unblinking on the prone figure lying in the dirt of the arena. He was quite obviously unconscious, looking like nothing so much as an abandoned rag doll, surrounded by rodeo workers and sports medicine professionals employed by the national rodeo organization.