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just switch hands, you know that!” Sheedy shouted, with a shake of his head.  “Besides you haven’t practiced enough to be good yet.”
    Dylan flinched as a flash of the excruciating pain he’d endured during his final ride two years ago speared his brain.  The bull spun away from his riding hand and took him down the well.  One of the worst scenarios a bull rider could imagine.  After the tenth rotation or so, he couldn’t feel a damned thing, because Sheedy was right, the bull had almost twisted his arm off.
    Surgery had fixed it, he reminded himself.  He was better now.  But Sheedy was right, he hadn’t practiced enough yet on the real thing to ride successfully left-handed. 
    Yeah, Dylan did know switching riding hands wasn’t done often, and definitely not because of an injury.  You were either naturally a good left-handed rider, or the opposite.  It wasn’t something learned.  But Dylan was going to learn it, even if it wasn’t here at the R & R Ranch.  He was going to ride again in the sport that he loved.
    Riding broncs wasn’t as rough as bulls most times, he could probably start there and work himself back up.  Practice riding left-handed.  “I’ll ride broncs til I’m ready.  I’ll get the hang of it.”
    “You got a doctor’s release?” Sheedy countered smugly. 
    Dylan would talk the doctor into releasing him.  Yeah, he was six months shy of the two-year recovery time the circuit doc recommended, but hell, he was in better shape now than he’d been before he got hurt.  He’d done the recommended therapy, worked out more on top of it to build up his strength and pack on extra muscle.  His shoulder and arm felt better now.  Terri had helped him with it, and so had the trainer in the gym here. 
    “I’ll get one.  I’m out of a job now, so I need to go back.  Don’t have any choice.”
    Sheedy threw up his hands.  “I don’t think Joel meant to run you off, man.”
    “ I think he more than meant to do that.  He has someone to replace me, so I’m dispensable.  If I leave, he doesn’t have to fire me,” Dylan replied angrily, as he clipped the lead rope to his horse’s halter and led him to his stall.
    Sheedy followed him, and opened the stall door for him.  Dylan walked inside, turned the horse loose, then walked back out and latched the stall.  “You’re wrong, man.  He needs you here.  We need you,” Sheedy said with a huffed breath.
    Dylan was over this conversation.  He grabbed the front of Sheedy’s t-shirt to get in his face.  “Today he jerked the reins out of my hands here, and handed them over to that new guy.  If I’m not in control of what I was hired to do, then I don’t want to be here.  You know damn well if it happened to you, you’d feel the same way!”
    Sheedy rolled his eyes, then forced a laugh.  “You know what you need?”
    Dylan released his shirt and stepped back to put his hand on his hip.  “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” What he needed was his friend to just back the hell off.
    “ You need an attitude adjustment, and I know just where you can find one too.”
    “I’m not going to Smack Daddy’s, Sheedy,” Dylan said knowing where his friend was going with this.  The last time Dylan went there he woke up in bed with a woman he definitely did not want to see again, Sunny Jo Walker, the resident barfly at Daddy’s. 
    That night he had one too many beers, and was just horny enough to agree when she asked him to go with her to her apartment.  Big mistake.  When Dylan grabbed his boots and snuck out of there the next morning before she woke up, he swore he was not going back to that bar for a good long while. 
    It had been two months, but not nearly long enough yet to wipe away the picture of how she looked that next morning with her bird’s nest blonde hair and smeared makeup from his mind.  Her damned breasts were so hard from the implants he almost got a black eye when she arched into