Cowgirl Dreams excerpt from Chapter One

[Heidi M. Thomas]

The rangy, reddish-brown steer stared into Nettie Brady’s
eyes for just a second. Then it shook its massive head and
blew hot, moist air into her face.

Nettie leaped back and glanced around the makeshift
arena to see if anybody was laughing at her. A dozen parked
Model Ts formed a black ring in the pasture where cows had
grazed only hours before. Ranch-hands perched on their
vehicles in the late-morning sunshine as they waited for the
next stage of the neighborhood rodeo to begin. One cowboy,
ready to announce Nettie’s debut, stood on the fender of his
brand-new 1920 Coupe, a saddle blanket protecting its shiny
black finish from his boots.

“Look out there, little gal. Let us get ’im eared down
first.” A cowboy grabbed the animal’s ears and held its head
close to the ground, while another man fastened a denim jacket
blindfold over the eyes. Two more cowhands stood behind
and splayed the hind legs tight with ropes so Nettie could
mount. She took a step forward.

“This ain’t no place for a girl.” A bow-legged, leatherfaced
man wedged himself between her and the steer. “You
belong in skirts, not trousers.”

“What?” She’d borrowed her twelve-year-old brother
Ben’s denims, sneaked out of the house before her folks rose
this morning, and come all this way, and now this old man
wasn’t going to let her ride? Nettie rose up to her full height.
“Mister, I can ride as good as my brothers. And they’re
competing today.”

“You’re a girl. You’re too young,” the old cowboy
persisted. “You get on outta here ’fore you get hurt.”
“Yes, I’m a girl. But I’m almost fifteen.” Nettie looked
him straight in the eyes, anger boiling inside like a stewpot
on a stove. “And I’m gonna ride that steer. You just wait and
see.” She stepped around him.

One of the cowboys holding the animal chuckled. “Ah,
let her give it a try.”

The leathery face scrunched into a frown. “You know
you gotta ride till yer thrown or the steer stops bucking, don’t
ya? Ain’t no 10-second whistle here t’ let ya off easy.”

Nettie squared her shoulders. “I know.”

The old man snorted, mumbled something about
“women in rodeos” and stalked away.

“Ready?” a cowboy asked.

Nettie wiped her sweaty hands on her pants, tugged on a
pair of leather gloves, and turned toward the angry steer beside
her. Was she really ready for this? Sure, she’d ridden calves
and yearlings out in the pasture, but a half-ton steer? And in
front of a bunch of men?

One more hard swallow, one more deep breath of the
manure and animal sweat-laden air. She accepted a leg up
onto the steer’s bony back from one cowboy’s cupped hands.

He chuckled. “You don’t weigh much more’n a feather to be
ridin’ this big ol’ beast. You sure you wanna do this?”

She couldn’t back out now. She had to show them she
could ride.

“Yep.” Nettie pulled her hat down tight over her auburn
braids and wrapped the surcingle around her right hand, palm
up. She flexed her thigh muscles through her borrowed denim
overalls, to make sure she had a death grip on the steer’s
sides. Then she gave a nod to the men holding the animal.

In the background she heard a few jeers and catcalls as
the announcer bellowed out, “And now...ready to join the
ranks of Montana lady rodeo riders...is...first-timer...Nettieeee
Brady!”

With just a moment of dread, she felt the curve of the
animal’s spine as he hunched, muscles tightening. The noise
and the heat and the dust of the day disappeared. It was just
her and nine hundred pounds of muscle and bone locked in
combat.

The steer exploded off the ground. His loose hide rolled
across his backbone. He twisted his front quarters up to one
side. His hind legs kicked out to the other. A frothy bawl
escaped his mouth. He switched directions, then again.
Nettie’s right hand froze around the strap. Her knees dug
a hold into the steer’s ribs. She waved her left arm high, just
like a real cowboy. Each twist and turn jolted along her spine,
up to her clenched jaw.

Her mind and body worked together to anticipate each
move. With every jump, the animal snorted ropes of saliva
into the air. The wild body writhed beneath her, trying to shed
his unwelcome load.

Each tug and jerk strained Nettie’s arm muscles to the
limits. Her shoulders felt as though they would pop out of
their sockets. Numbing fatigue threatened to loosen her hold.
She would not lose this fight. She’d rather die than fail in
front of all these cowboys.

Seconds dragged like a roped calf to a branding fire.
The whirlwind slackened. The steer gave a few more
half-hearted twists. Cheers gradually penetrated her tunnel
world. Thought returned to her hazy brain. The steer was
winding down. She was still on its back.

He gave a last, disgusted kick and came to a dead stop,
his head hung low. Two men distracted the animal while he
continued to blow strings of saliva and butt his menacing
horns toward them. She felt herself being lifted from the
steer’s back with a sensation of flying. Her oldest brother,
Joe, reached out from atop his horse, carried her to safety
and let her down to the ground. Before she could spit the
word “Thanks” through still-clamped teeth, her younger
brother Ben was there hugging her.

“You did it!” Joe slid from his horse and clapped her on
the back. “We knew you could.”

The boys hoisted her onto their shoulders to parade her
around the small arena. Car horns squawked. The watching
men cheered. She had done it. No jeers now. Dizzy,
unbelieving, she grinned and waved until they reached the
outside of the arena and set her down.

But the crusty old cowhand who’d confronted her spat
into the dust and called out, “That musta been an easy one.
Let me ride him next!”

The answering ripple of laughter and whoops flushed
Nettie’s face, but despite her shaking limbs, she stretched
herself taller, held her head straighter, and smiled. “Why, you
couldn’t ride a corral fence if it was standing still.”
The listening men applauded. “You tell ’im, little gal!”
someone shouted.

A giggle rose inside. She tossed her braids over her
shoulder and strode away. She didn’t care if those old timers
thought women shouldn’t ride in rodeos. She had done it.

Powered by adrenaline, she floated through the crowd,
her boots barely connecting with the dusty ground.
Unbelievable. She really had ridden that steer, and stayed on
him till the end. Her arms tingled, sweat stung her eyes, and
her legs still quivered from the effort. She let out a whoop
and skipped around behind the circle of cars.

The crowd cheered on the next rider. Nettie stopped and
yelled, too. She wanted to hear those cheers for her again.
Gosh, that had felt good.

Here at this rodeo, with horses and cattle and cowboys,
with the noon sun beating down, with the dust and the noise.
That’s where she’d rather be any day of the week. She watched
the next rider, a bronc buster atop a big bay, as he spurred
high and waved his hat at the crowd.

“Good ride there, miss.” A young blond cowhand doffed
his hat, the white line on his forehead a contrast to his tanned
face. “You lookin’ to be the next Fannie Sperry Steele?”

Nettie smiled back at him, pleased to be compared to
the champion woman bronc buster. “Yeah, I’d like that.”