The big black steer was a runner, but a good draw if you were mounted. I'd watched him at the last roping, and seen the last year's world champion win a round on him. His head high and tail high, he barreled down the arena, fully intent on the gate at the back. You could hear him crack his slack across the steer's back from one side of the arena to another, his gray horse was already committed--they were going left. Deep, damp sand flew from his feet as he dug his way across the pen, sliding the big corriente to his partner in this dance. A sharp "WHOA" brought the gray freight train to a stop. A wrap and a half and his hands were in the air. Gray stood on the end of the rope, leaning into the weight on the other end, keeping it tight, erasing any chance that the steer would get up. A hand across his hip, a soft murmur, a foot in the left stirrup. His horse eased the tension off the rope and turned toward the object of their affliction, standing steady as he loosened his rope from the saddle horn.
The untie crew moved in after Dad nodded the OK to them, the steer had stayed down for his mandatory six seconds. One on his head, another spun the string off of the steer's legs. There was a system to it, and when done smoothly took no time at all. These two were new to the game, fresh to the cowboy world and as eager to impress as they were to learn. I went to school with them during the week, and hadn't the slightest clue that either of them knew which end of a horse ate, but then again I was never too concerned with my classmates.
I eased my horse forward as the steer got to his feet, he shook his head and hooked at the slower of the two boys, which drew a laugh from all of us gathered around. I eased my horse around the edge of the group and followed after him, trailing him all the way to the catch pen, trying to listen for his time. There was a moment or two that passed, then the announcer's voice sounded again, telling us all that a new arena record had been set, but that they weren't sure what the record had been to start with! Laughter spread like wildfire again, along with plenty of claps on the shoulder, offers of "Good run, man!" along with "You lucky SOB!" Not many would take just a wrap and a half on such a stout steer, but then again not many other horses could hit one as hard as the gray horse had.

"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.

My hands slid the halter over my horse's nose as he dropped his head into it. He was accommodating in his way, always trying to get along it seemed like. I loosened his cinches again, feeling like I was becoming overly repetitive in my action. The thought of it flustered me for a second, and I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks as my mind screamed "NO NO NO" at the slightest hint of him thinking I looked silly. I shook my head and took a deep breathe, steeling myself against the cast iron butter flies that were smashing against the insides of my stomach. I wasn't a nervous person by nature, and darned if being around him didn't but about half way make me nervy! As I finished tying my horse up, his hand was at my elbow, and it absolutely baffled me-I didn't know how to react. His fingers curled around my arm, light but firm at the same time, like he was afraid I'd get away if he didn't keep a grip on me. My mind automatically equated his catch on my elbow to how easy he must be with his own horses. He could keep his hands light but firm all the same, so I knew he'd handle their mouths with respect. In my world, the way a man treated his horse was a make or break sort of deal to me. I couldn't tolerate any one that was cruel or heavy handed with animals, whether it was dogs or horses. We walked along the dirt road, watching the rowdy boys in the arena play a game of tag on horseback. My dad was sitting at one of the rock slab picnic tables, his back to me and his hat tipped back on his head. My favorite of our three horses nickered a low greeting to me as he pulled at his reins, eager to step closer towards me. Dad turned around, obviously wondering why his horse was trying to pull away, then smiled at me when he realized that I was the reason.

"Here babe, take your pony to the trailer if you would please? I think I'm gonna have a sandwich," he'd already started towards the concession stand, dropping his reins in the dirt at my feet. My new friend laughed as if he'd just heard the best joke ever, he gripped his sides as laughter filled the air between us. I jabbed an elbow at his side even as I grinned toward him, his sense of humor was apparently very versatile. Rather than taking the horse back to the trailer, I took Dad's place and promptly flopped down on the bench. Eating all of my fries with out the help of the big liver chestnut horse would be a challenge, but I didn't mind sharing with such a handsome fellow. He had his muzzle in my lap before I'd even unwrapped my fries, he knew I was a push over when it came to him. The seat next to me had an extremely close occupant, which I was keenly aware of after his knee brushed against mine. He flashed a smile at me, then spun around to talk to someone about what steer he'd drawn in the next round, and for the moment, I was thankful for his distraction. Being the object of his attention for the last 20 minutes was exhausting! I inadvertently let out a huge sigh, it being so forceful that my horse jerked his head up in response. It wasn't so bothersome to him that he stayed away for long, he was lipping fries from my fingers as soon as his delicate sensibilities recovered. After feeding a few to him, I began to eat myself, and realized what a long day it seemed to have been. I knew we'd be going as soon as the last round was over, and the idea itself of leaving was bothering me for some reason. My cheeseburger was thick between my teeth as I bit into it, mustard and cheese mingling into an all familiar taste. He'd turned back to face me again, and I could feel his eyes on me without even meeting his gaze.

"Is that short for something?"
"Yes, if you must know, it's short for Nicole."
The look on his face said he was pleased that he'd gleaned that bit of information from me, somewhat smug. I had finished buckling the throat latch on my horse's bridle, so I stepped to his shoulder and checked my cinch again, realizing that I was stalling, but for exactly what I wasn't sure.
"You gonna eat your burger a horseback? I'll hand it up to you," he said the words as stepped toward the trailer, keeping out of my horse's way. It hit me then that in the all the ruckus my mare had caused, that I hadn't eaten yet.
"No, I don't think I will," I swung down from my horse and took his bridle off again. He handed me the halter I'd just laid in the floor of the tack room. I smiled back my thanks, not quite sure how to handle being helped so much. I was pretty independent, it was a big change not to do something myself.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, it was almost impossible. I scooped my lunch up and slipped through the turnstile at the end of the walkway, stepping from the cement pad back onto the deep red dirt. His laugh echoed in my mind, hungering to hear the sound again. He leaned rakishly on the broad pipe that encircled the front of the rock building, his arms across his chest as he argued over how he wanted his ribeye cooked. I didn't realize that I'd been walking slower than normal, hesitating before I even realized that I had.
Before I had the chance to say anything witty or even throw a smile his way, my dad rode up to the fence, clearly in a hurry.
"Go get your mare, she's pulling back-we don't need her crippling herself!"

I didn't hang around anymore, I ran the entire way back to the trailer, stopping only to catch my breath and slow my stride so I didn't upset her anymore. Her fit seemed to be over, but the signs of her previous struggle were evident. The paint gelding had flattened himself against the side of the trailer, obviously trying to save himself from her vigorous thrashing. The grass was blistered away under her feet, hair was rubbed from her front legs and forehead where she'd scraped herself along the body of the trailer. A small gash above her left eye had started to bleed, giving her the look of an unsuccessful boxer on the ropes. Her neck and sides were dark with sweat, and her water bucket had been upended and it's snap busted from the rope it hung from. The leadrope was sucked down against the tie ring, I grimaced as I tried to pull it loose. After a considerable effort that caused new drops of sweat to glisten on my forehead, I was resigned to simply cut the rope and be done with it. We had and extra in the trailer, and I was at the point that I didn't care. This was the third time this week she'd pulled this stunt, part of te reason we'd ended up with her to begin with.
"Here, don't waste your lead rope, I'll get it untied for ya."
Once again, here he was, offering help to me when I wasn't a hundred percent sure that I wanted his help. "If you can get it untied, great, but be careful. She's got a hair trigger and it sure don't take much to set her off," I warned as he stepped toward my little sorrel mare. As her head came up and her eyes widened, she started to take a step back, ready to explode at the smallest excuse. He simply ran a hand down her neck, talking softly to her the whole time his other hand deftly unsnarled the leadrope from the seemingly immovable knot it had been pulled into. I hadn't honestly thought he'd be able to get it untied, but was pleasantly surprised when he put the purple and white lead rope in my hand.
"Thanks. You don't know it, but you saved me a big butt chewing, my dad is less than thrilled at her habit of trashing halters," I said the words over my shoulder as I lead her back into the trailer. At least if she could just stand inside, she wouldn't pull back and ruin another halter or hurt herself, even if it was a little hotter in there, maybe she'd learn to appreciate standing outside rather than in and not pull back next time! He laughed again, a softer version than the previous, more understanding I suppose.
"I had a colt a few years ago that was bad about that, he was a spook, you never knew what would set him off." He stood running a hand down my paint's neck, smoothing his mane as he did. If nothing else, I appreciated the soft hand he had with my horses, they seemed to like him already, and I didn't even know his name yet. "Did you ever get him over it? The pulling back I mean," I asked as I stepped around him to pull another bridle out of the tack room to hang on my saddle horn. "Sorry to dissapoint, but no, I couldn't get him past it. There was just something buried down deep in that head of his that I couldn't straighten out, no matter what I tried," the frusteration at the thought of it was evident on his face even now, he shook his head as his eyes narrowed. "He was blue blooded, cuttin' bred but was a reject because he got to big too fast, that's how I ended up with him," he took a sip from the bottle of water he'd sat on the edge of the truck bed. "You're John's daughter right?" It was more of a statement than a question, and I smiled as I answered. "Yep, the flagman's kid, that's me," my hands moved along the horse's neck, as I spoke. I unfastened his halter, slipping his tie down over his ears. "Well what's your name, I know your last name's Waylon, but I dont guess I've heard your first name."
"Well, I don't let anyone but my granny call me by my first name, so I'll tell you my middle name, how about that?" He grinned as he looked at me from across my mare's back. "Well alright then, I guess that'll have to do for now. Maybe I can be special enough one a these days that I'll get to know what that first name is," his grin hadn't moved as he watched me slip the bridle on my gelding. "You can call me Nikki. One of these days if you're lucky, I'll tell you my first name, but don't hold your breath."

It was the time of year when a morning was crisp and clean, like a precursor to the filmy heat that would be ever present later in the day. I could feel the drops of sweat trickling down the back of my neck, coursing along the haphazard hairs that had escaped from my super hold hairspray that day. I could hear the ring of my spur rowels as I walked along the gravel road that curled around the back of the arena that was always a flurry of activity. Both roping boxes were occupied, ropers walked their mounts back and forth, some just sat and visited with one another. Cowboys on foot walked back and forth from pen to pen, looking for their draw for the next round. Some muttered, realizing they'd drawn a kicker, some grinned when they found they'd drawn the "money steer". Kids and puppies frolicked past me, a jumble of dirty smiles and wagging tails, bound for the muddy banks of the creek.



A short line was formed in front of the first window, but I walked around it. I sure wasn't buying any beer, and that's what that first window was for, just for buying beer. The second window was my destination, and that was where I ordered my burger and fresh, hand cut french fries. I still remember the taste of those fries, so hot they blistered the tip of my tongue, covered in salt. I waved the flies away from the top of the ketchup bottle and blobbed a pool in the corner of the red and white cardboard container. "Need some help?" I didn't recognize the voice that offered to come to my aid, so I glanced around just enough to see who it had been, to be met with that same smile from earlier. Something about it, I couldn't resist--I smiled right back.

"Naw, I'm alright thanks, I'm not much on the damsel in distress routine." He laughed, a deep appreciative sound that I could tell was as honest as I'd heard. There was that smile again...

I was 16 the first day I met him. My dad was flagging the roping, and I had been tracking cattle out on my horse, trying to take the edge off of her. He was in the A's, riding a good looking gray horse with a long mane that had been braided. His smile was genuine, if a little ornery around the edges. I couldn't help but smile back at him as he rode by me, something about him drew me in. From my vantage point under the massive cottonwood, I could see him step off his horse to loosen his cinches and back his horn knot off. He talked easily with my dad who sat across the fence from him, waiting for the next roper. More than once that day I'd been thankful for the beautiful weather, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the breeze was just enough to cause the tallgrass to sway.
My other horse was nickering back at the trailer, he must've smelled my mare again. I backed her up and turned her for the trailer, bumping her sides with my feet as she hesitated at the muddy ditch. An early morning rain had been just enough moisture to lay the dust, and enough to make the ditches just a tad soupy. With a smooch and a hop, we crossed the ditch and made our way back to the truck and trailer. My paint gelding was a spoiled brat for the most part, he was only buddy sour when he was the one that was left behind. He'd pace back and forth at the end of his lead rope, sashaying back and forth till one of his herd mates made their way back to him. Foxy wasn't as impressed, she heaved a sigh and cocked a hind foot as I uncinched and slipped her bridle over her ears. No sooner than I had the knot on her halter tied, she dropped her head to graze at the verdant green grass at her feet. It took a rough jerk to convince her to raise her head, long blades hung from her lips as she stood switching her tail at flies. A good squirt down with the fly spray alleviated her tail switching and soon she was content to doze with her bottom lip drooping, just soaking in the bright sunlight. The ice chest lid was dirty from the dust kicked up on the trip in, my wet fingers left muddy pools on the lid after I smashed it shut again. Peach tea and diet pop were my dad's favorites, I stuck to water for the most part in the hotter months, and now was no exception. The bottle felt heavy in my hand as I turned the lid, my damp fingers slipping as they twisted. It would've been easy to drain the entire bottle in one big gulp, but I wasn't fond of the excruciating pain it left between my eyes when I drank it that way, so I sipped it slowly to save myself the headache. The scent of rib eyes cooking made me realize how hungry I was, and that the granola bar stashed in the glove box probably wasn't going to be enough to tide me over, so I set out for the concession stand.

This place was like few others, the arena was big, bigger than most. It was twice as wide as normal arenas, but it was by necessity. This wasn't a place for team ropings or barrel races, they tripped steers in this place. It sat in the middle of a hay meadow, just above the creek that carved its way through the countryside. Dirt and gravel roads all the way in once you turned off the highway, it was not a journey for the faint of heart or those with convertibles.... Depending on the time of year, a circumnavigation would be required to make it back up out of the valley, rain would cause the creeks to swell and cover the low water bridge, making it difficult to cross.