"So when are you gonna let me take you out to supper?"
The amusement was painted across his face, he seemed impossibly sure of himself.
"I don't know, ask my daddy," the smirk was impossible to hide as I said it.
"Already did. He said anytime. I think he likes me."
I didn't try to stop the laughter that followed his statement, he was already sure of my answer. He was right, I knew dad liked him, he must have or he would never have let him have permission to take me on a date. The last time dating had been discussed at our house, my dad had informed me that he would prefer to not be alive when I went on my first date!

As I stood to throw away the wax paper wrapper my cheeseburger had been in, I heard his name announced over the loud speaker, asking him to come to the announcer's stand.
"You be around for a little while? I don't know how long I'll be up there," his words were trailing off, getting softer as he spoke.
"I'm gonna track cattle out through the last round, Dad's still got to flag too." I could feel the relief in my words, I couldn't help but want to be around him.
"Done deal then, see ya in a bit." With that he bounded toward the announcer's stand and was up the steps in three giant strides. My horse nearly knocked me down as he shoved his forehead against my back, bringing me out of my haze. The thought occurred to me that people were probably watching me, thinking that I'd lost my mind, so I hustled back to the trailer. I readied the paint gelding for my dad, he'd need a fresh horse for the last round, they had almost 40 ropers.
A good turn out was normally 15 or 20, but the season was just starting and they were all anxious to have somewhere to go, a testing of sorts I suppose. You could find competitors all points of the spectrum here; few who'd done it for a year or two, still over eager and prone to rush themselves into missing a trip, or waving off a good head catch. Some made a hobby of it, it was a weekend past time that they configured around their jobs and families. A handful of them weren't a part of the latter, they were deliberate in their actions, their horses solid and calm at the end of the rope, decidedly deliberate in their actions. These were the men that had the hunger in their eyes, the dream of the gold buckle that was always just beyond their reach. They hauled relentlessly through the summer months, up and down the road trying to get to the handful of rodeos that still included the dying sport of steer roping. It was a hard life, not nearly as glamorous as the younger crowd made it out to be. Higher entry fees and stock charges along with ever increasing fuel prices culled more than a fair share of them before they ever left home. My family had been involved with the sport for generations, I always held a soft spot in my heart for it.
The sound of the timer's voice crackled across the arena as she let everyone know that the last round would start in ten minutes. A flurry of activity soon followed, horses were untied from the fence, ropes tied on to saddle horns, strings stretched and draw numbers checked. The barrier would be pulled across the box a time or two, testing to be sure it would function correctly. The first roper's name was called, and he rode into the box. The roping itself was uneventful, a few steers really ran, some got up after they were tripped. One or two missed altogether, and one guy's horse ran drug off after his rider finished tying his steer down. I watched it all with a small amount of interest, and tracked all the cattle out just like before. I knew he was up towards the end of the round, his gray horse caught my eye as he rode in the box. I'd seen him rope before but had never paid as much attention. Now I took in every movement, every action. His horse was calm beneath him, his front feet shuffled lightly in his anticipation. A short, stiff nod and they went from a standstill to a run in two strides, never losing momentum.