Page 70 of Midnight

She caught a glimpse of Asher running across the highway with Dylan right behind him, and then saw Gunner go flying past the gas station running west. She could tell the bulls were young, likely yearlings. But they were already bigger than she was, and sporting horns nearly as long as her arm.

Chasing longhorns was not on her agenda, and now that she knew what had happened, she turned around and took herself home.

* * *

Gunner was aware of people shouting as he sped past the vehicles, but his focus was on the back end of that bull, and the length of the horns. He didn’t have a rope. He didn’t know what he was going to do with it if he caught up with it, but he’d never quit a race in his life, and he wasn’t starting now.

No sooner than he’d thought of rope, than someone in a pickup truck held a coiled lariat out of the window as he flew past. He grabbed it on the run.

He had never had a desire to rodeo, but like every little boy in the rural part of West Texas, he had grown up knowing how to throw a rope. Now he had the rope. All there was left to do was corner the critter and put a loop around its neck.

The air was cold, but he was sweating beneath his coat. He was in the rhythm of the run, aware of the number of steps he was taking between breaths, wondering where this was going to end, when he caught sight of a crowd of bystanders forming a line across the highway, intent on turning the bull’s escape. He saw his chance and extended his kick.

The moment the young bull saw the blockade, it veered to the left, went down into a ditch, and was beginning a climb up the other side when Gunner caught up. He’d already shaken out a big loop on the lariat and was circling it over his head. He was only going to get one chance before it bolted, so he let it fly.

The loop sailed out across the ditch, then over the steer’s head just as it was coming up on the other side. Gunner gave the rope a hard jerk as it settled around the yearling’s neck, and before he ran out of rope, ran to the nearest truck, and began wrapping it around the trailer hitch, then held on and waited for the bull to run out of rope.

The moment it happened, it yanked the bull backward, landing it on its back with its feet in the air.

The race was over.

The little bull was down.

All of its flight and fight was gone, and the trucker was still filming when Gunner unwrapped the rope from the trailer hitch and let out enough length for the bull to stand up.

Still dazed from the hard landing, with sides heaving from the run, the yearling yielded to Gunner’s tug on the rope and climbed back up the ditch, then onto the highway.

Looking back at how far they’d come, Gunner guessed they’d run a good quarter of a mile, and he still wasn’t winded. He was in better shape than he thought. He gave the rope another tug, and this time, the young bull followed.

People were laughing and pointing as they passed by the vehicles. Gunner just took it in stride, talking to the weary steer as they went.

“Come on, hot shot. Nope. Don’t hook that horn at me. You’re already missing the party. Where did you think you were going, anyway?”

* * *

Ash and Dylan were back at the crash site. The runaways had been herded into the pasture. They didn’t know where Gunner was until they began hearing whoops and whistles, and people clapping, and turned to see what the commotion was all about, and saw him walking back through the line of cars, leading one of the runaways.

“What’s all that about?” Dylan asked.

Asher shrugged as a cowboy walked up beside them, grinning from ear to ear. “Did you see that?” he asked.

“See what?” Asher asked.

“That dude ran down one of those yearlings and threw the cleanest loop you ever saw, then threw a knot around someone’s trailer hitch and let the bull yank its own ass down. Never saw anyone that fast before.”

Dylan started grinning and Asher laughed. “That’s our brother.”

The cowboy frowned. “What do y’all call him? Roadrunner?”

“His name is Gunner Kingston. He’s a homicide cop with the Dallas PD.”

The cowboy paused, then looked at them again.

“Kingston, you said? Any relation to Jacob Kingston?”

“He’s our father.”

The cowboy shook his head. “I heard about what happened to Jacob. I’m a regular at the Weed. I think a lot of that man. You tell him Beau Rangely sends him good wishes.”