The National Bull Riding Association Championship Title. That's what I have trained for since I, Rhett Conner, was nine. My father, Jerry, was a professional bull rider and I've always wanted to be just like him, except not get an early retirement due to injury. I have trained and worked to become the best bull rider in the country. Now I just have to prove it.

My fiancée, man that still sounds weird, Jan Jane, soon to be Jan Conner, will be at the rodeo to cheer me on to victory again over what could be called my arch-rival, Aaron LeBlanc. Aaron is from way down south judging by his accent and just as ornery as the stereotype is said to be. He is the one person I am really looking forward to beating.

Did I mention the final rodeo is tomorrow? I didn't? Big over sight. Sorry. Going to bed now.

The day of the Rodeo. I'm up. I climb into the starting booth and to get on the bull. Oh, no. The beast that I am to ride is the meanest, orneriest, worsest, strongest bull in the circuit, Milton Gilbert. Ok, his name is pathetic but the animal is a beast. Aaron LeBlanc drew Cumanshu, a good draw, bucks a lot, but not murderous like Milton Gilbert. Aaron had already ridden his bull, made it eight seconds and got out of the arena to go on to round two.

Well, man it out and get on the big gray and tan bull, but before I do that my eyes scan the crowd until I find her. Jan, she just got back from New York on a business trip, she is a clothing designer, and I have not seen her in a week. Okay, back to the rodeo and championship title. All I gotta do is stay on for eight seconds. Done it a million times before, piece of cake. As I climb over the fence, I can't feel the rough wood of the boards through my thick gloves. My feet position themselves on the rails and I center over the animal; my hand wraps around the rope and I check my helmet. It is secure and I nod my head toward the man. The man opens the gait and Milton Gilbert fly's out. He spins around and bucks for all he is worth. I am able to stay on and keep my balance through all this. One second, two seconds, three seconds, the crowds are cheering my name, four seconds, "Rhett! Rhett! Rhett!" all in sync, five seconds, six seconds, seven seconds… Before I can blink I'm lying on my back staring at the clouds in the big Montana sky and some man with a red nose is hauling me to my feet yelling "Run!" Milton Gilbert is charging us. Two of him! Okay, looking back there weren't two Milton Gilberts, thank goodness, but he was charging us and I had hit my head pretty hard. I figured I was seeing double. So, me and the clown, who prefers to be called a bullfighter, run for our lives to the fence and vault over landing in the dust on the other side. I look at the bull fighter and he gives a me a sorry look, "Hey, kid, you didn't win this year. Wait for the next one."

I hung on to that sentence. Aaron won the title. Dad was spitting mad at me for loosing. My dog, Benny, got hit by a truck and died on the way home that day. Jan gave me a phone call saying that she was sorry but she was marrying some male model from England. I held on to what the old bull fighter had said. Wait for next year. I'll win it then.

Hecht