Day Three
“We’re like a family here,” Ryder said, his voice low, carrying that blend of Southern gravel and New York polish. “Despite ridin’ against each other and fightin’ for the highest score, the real competition ain’t with one another. It’s always with the bull.”
Thomas studied him with an almost reverent awe. “It’s truly remarkable, Ryder. You just don’t see that kind of camaraderie in any other sport.”
Celeste, her eyes soft and knowing, laid a hand on Thomas’s arm. “No, rodeo’s its own world.”
The group clustered near the chutes, wood and steel groaning beneath the weight of bulls pressing forward. Ryder leaned against a rail, explaining the mechanics—how rigging was prepped, how flank straps worked, how bullfighters were more than clowns; they were lifelines. Thomas and Luther
