“This macho shit is going to kill me,” she said to Hartley as they watched one young bull rider nearly get killed when the bull dropped him unexpectedly and then stomped on what must have been his kidneys. They called an ambulance for him, but he still crawled out of the ring, nearly on hands and knees, with some assistance. And the audience cheered him. “This is a lot worse than what I do,” Tanya said, and Hartley and Mary Stuart laughed. And a little while later, she went back to the bronc pens to check on Gordon.
“Are you okay?” she asked with worried eyes when she got there. She had given Mary Stuart back her hat, because she didn't want to get it dirty, or lose it if someone grabbed it from her. That happened to her sometimes. People snatched articles of clothing from her and ran off with them as souvenirs. It was really annoying, and always scared her a little. “How's your arm?” she asked him quickly, and he smiled at her concern. She could see that his hand was swollen, but he had put ice on it and claimed he didn't feel it.
“You're lying, you big fool. If I shook your hand right now, or held it, you'd probably hit me.”
“No, but I might cry a little bit,” he teased, and she laughed at him in spite of herself.
“You people are nuts,” she scolded him. “How's the guy who got stomped by the bull?”
“He's okay. He didn't want to go to the hospital. He's pretty tough. He'll be peeing blood for a week, but he's used to it.”
“If you keep doing this, I'm going to kill you,” she said fiercely. “It's bad for my nerves.”
“You're good for my nerves,” he said, moving closer to her, and she could smell his aftershave mixed with the smell of horses. He noticed a couple of people watching her then, and turned so he would block her from their line of vision. It was Saturday, and there were more people here tonight, and a lot of them were drinking. “I want you to be careful when you leave, Tan. You hear?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and saluted. She wasn't worried. She liked to think she was invisible, or that she wouldn't be recognized if she didn't want to be and wouldn't make eye contact with them, but he knew better.
“People know you're here, Tan. Tell Hartley to get the cops to help you out. It's Saturday, and a lot of people are drunk out there.”
“I'll be fine,” she reassured him. “I'll see you later.” She touched his cheek then and disappeared, and he watched her for the rest of the rodeo, sitting in the bleachers. He didn't see her leave, because he was talking to some of the other men. They were talking about a cowboy who'd been disqualified from the saddle broncs, and offered a reride but refused it. The politics of cowboys.
Mary Stuart and Hartley made their way out with Tanya between them, and they could see the security nearby, keeping an eye on them, and several of the local police. And there were the usual cluster of fans, waving pens and begging for autographs, and a number of them took pictures of her, but it was all harmless, and Tanya didn't feel threatened. And they were twenty feet from the bus, when two men shoved their way in front of her and there was a flash of cameras, and she noticed a TV videocam just behind them. They were the local newsmen and they wanted to know what had made her sing the anthem, and if she'd been paid, had she ever been to a rodeo before, and was she going to move to Jackson Hole now. She tried to be pleasant with them and still make her way in a forward direction, but they provided a roadblock and she couldn't get to the bus and she couldn't move them, and the security people were so busy pushing back fans that they were helpless to assist them. Hartley tried moving the reporters on, but they provided a wall in front of them, snapping photographs, taking videos and shooting questions at her, and suddenly it was as though they had sent up flares. All the fans in the area realized where she was and what had happened, and she couldn't get past the cameras to safety. Tom had the bus door open for her, but he was instantly shoved aside, and a dozen fans poured into the bus past him, looking for her, grabbing things, trying to see what they could, taking pictures. And the police were suddenly shoving everyone, as Tanya was pulled and her shirt was torn, someone yanked her hair, and a drunk standing next to her tried to kiss her. It was terrifying, but through it all she kept trying to shove her way past the newsmen but they wouldn't let her, and Hartley and Mary Stuart had been separated from her by a seething mass of fans who wanted to tear her limb from limb. They didn't know what they were doing. They just wanted to have her. The police had their bullhorns out by then, and they were warning the crowd to stand back, and shouting at the cameramen who had started it, and by then there were fifty people on the bus and they were tearing down the curtains. And as it was happening, Tanya realized she was really in trouble. She couldn't get away from them, and they were pushing her, grabbing her, clawing her. There was no getting away from them, and in the midst of it all she felt a powerful arm around her waist, and felt herself lifted off the ground as she saw a hand punch someone, but she didn't know who it belonged to. She was being dragged along the ground, and then lifted into the air, and half carried, half dragged toward a truck. She thought she was being successfully kidnapped, and then she saw that it was Gordon. He had lost his hat, and his shirt was torn too, but he had a look in his eyes that said he was going to kill someone if they touched her. He was the only thing standing between her and real destruction. The police were far behind them.
“Come on, Tan, run!” He shouted at her, pulling her along, as the others tried to follow. He had parked his truck as close as he could to the crowd when he saw what was happening, and left the engine running, and her feet pounded as hard as they could on the rough ground, as four marshals on horseback galloped past them. But they had reached Gordon's truck by then, and he pushed her inside, leaped into the driver's seat, and took off, nearly running over half a dozen people and several horses. But he didn't stop for anything. There was literally a riot behind them. He kept his foot on the accelerator until they were a mile away, and then he pulled over and stopped to look at her. They were both shaking.
“Thank you,” she said in a trembling voice. She was shaking from head to foot. It had been awful. It had been one of the most dangerous situations she'd been in recently, because the crowd was uncontrolled and she didn't have adequate security to help her. If he hadn't been there, she might have gotten killed, or badly hurt, and they both knew it. “I think you saved my life,” she said, trying not to cry as he took a deep breath and looked at her, wanting desperately to protect her.
“Don't tell me saddle broncs are more dangerous than that. Give me some mean son of a bitch horse any day compared to that stuff. What happens to people? Those are perfectly normal folks out for a Saturday night at the rodeo. They take one look at you and they go nuts. What is that?”
“Crowd craze. I don't know. They want to own you, even if they have to tear you apart to do it, even if they come back with just a piece of you, a shirt, a piece of hair, an ear, a finger.” Her head hurt, so many people had pulled her hair trying to get a piece of it to save. It was truly an insane business. She was smiling, but neither of them thought it was funny. She had hated leaving Mary Stuart and Hartley to fend for themselves, but she couldn't help them and she knew the police would.
“It was those goddamn photographers,” Gordon said, putting an arm around her and pulling her close to him. She had just told him about the pulled hair and he couldn't believe it. “If they'd let you through, you could have gotten on the bus and you'd have been okay. But those assholes put up a roadblock so they could get a story.”