The year Potee turned twenty-seven, he stood in the Houston arena and realized it was the biggest damn place he'd ever seen. He'd never looked at it before. He was too busy worrying, wondering, and riding horses when he was there before.

He drew Magellan and sailed off on a journey no one thought he could take. He won Houston. He won on Triumph at Little Rock and on Jack in Tulsa.

Del began going to all the rodeos after Potee won on Lucifer at the Calgary Stampede. The owner of the Lazy R caught the fever. He forgot that Potee was too old to be a bucking bronc rider. They ate at the best restaurants and stayed in five star hotels. From Calgary on, it wasn't a matter of if, but when Potee won his second bronc riding championship.

Leaving Helena, Montana, Potee sat on the edge of his seat. He was too excited to sit still.

"Where am I in points, Pardo?" Potee asked.

Pardo started laughing.

"You know where you are. You're number one, Cowboy."

"I am, aren't I. Frontier Days, Laramie, and Denver, and they'll be calling me, Two Time."

"Just like you told me they would."

"Hey, there's a Holiday Inn Express. I feel like a roll in the hay. How do you feel, Pardo?"

Potee was all the way back.

At Frontier Days, Potee drew Wet Feet.

"You know what you need to do. This is the million dollar horse."

"I know. I don't want to think about it. I'll jinx myself. I got to ride him first, Pardo."

"I know. You'll ride him, and you'll be this year's points champion after you do. You've had a hell of a season. Two time bronc riding champion of the world, Potee. That's impressive. Not many cowboys win two championships. You can be proud of yourself."

"Are you proud of me, Pardo?"

"I'm so proud I might bust out of my britches," Pardo said.

"I'd pay to see that, Cowboy," Potee said, kissing Pardo on the top of chute 9.

The sign on Del's house read, "Two Time."

All the Lazy R cowboys lined the driveway when Potee returned from the championship awards. Potee was bronc riding champ for the second time. It was better the second time around. It was crazier at the Lazy R the second time around. The celebration went on all week.

*****

Pardo sat with a Max Brand novel in his lap. Potee was in those too tight sexy damn shorts he wore when he lifted. Pardo kept losing his place as the lack of underwear on the man he loved was more than a little distracting.

He finally put the novel down and just watched Potee.

"What are you doing?"

"Houston. I got to get in shape."

"It's January 20th Houston is the end of March."

"I know. I got to strengthen this wrist. My forearms are weak,"

"Oh, my god, your forearms are twice the size of mine."

"No it's not. I feel those forearms when you grab me cowboy," Potee said with a smile.

"And why don't you wear underwear. Do you know how distracting that is?"

"Not distracting me," Potee said, lifting the leg and his almost erect penis dropped out with his smooth pink balls.

"A real man would know what to do with it. A real man wouldn't complain," Potee teased.

Pardo came out of is chair and landed on top of Potee and they ended up wrestling on the floor.

"What kind of boy do you think I am, Cowboy?"

"The kind of boy I'm about to fuck silly. You want to play? I got plenty to play with."

It was like Potee to tease Pardo to get him going. After having sex half the night, they decided there was no way they were going to get enough sleep that night, so they just kept having sex.

Potee was harder and stronger than he'd ever been, but he was going on twenty-eight.

Late in January, riding in two flannel shirts, and two coats, Pardo and Potee rode past Del's house and on to the trail that took them out to the main range.

Del watched his two best cowboys. It was months before the first rodeo and both Pardo and Potee were back to full time cowboying. This year, Del hoped that there would be no absences for rodeo. As wonderful as it was hearing from ranchers all over the world about his champion bronc rider, Del wanted the ride to be over before Potee got seriously hurt.

Potee finished second at Houston, and he sulked all the way back to the Lazy R.

Pardo wasn't going to say he was getting too old to ride, but he was too old. Pardo found a gray hair on his own head a few days ago. He'd turned forty and he already had gray hair. He hated getting old. He hated the endless days. He hated the cold, and he didn't want to think about another grinding rodeo season driving all over the country.

"You cold?" Potee asked as they left the main ranch behind.

"No, I'm freezing my ass off. I'm too old for this. I want to be on Miami beach. I want to live a carefree life in the sun and on the sand.

"Ain't no cows in Miami," Potee said.

Pardo laughed.

It was the coldest winter in fifty years. Pardo felt every degree as the temperature dropped.

Potee felt his wrist. He'd started pumping iron again. He'd start running as soon as it warmed a bit. He needed to get back to exercising, and he hadn't been in the sauna for months. It had been a good year and by this time next year, Potee was sure they'd be calling him, 'Three Time.'

In the third rodeo, after coming off of Henry the Horse the week before, Potee came off of Duster. He fell hard and couldn't get up. The pickup rider was right beside him. Pardo got in the ambulance with his man as they left the rodeo grounds to the applause of five thousand fans.

"Maybe it isn't too bad," Potee said to Pardo.

"Broke, Son. I know what a broke leg looks like. That's what you got," the EMT said.

Potee put his hands over his face. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. That meant it would be another year before he'd be called, Three Time.

"Broken tibia. Fibula's cracked, not broken," the doctor said looking at the x-rays.

"When will I be able to ride again?" Potee asked.

"No one told me you were a comedian. You ain't riding nothing for a long time, Son."

"I'm the bronc riding champion," Potee told the doctor.

"You are the former bronc riding champion. You'll never be able to ride a rodeo bronc again," the doctor said, walking out of the room.

Pardo held Potee's hand. He leaned to kiss his forehead.

Needless to say, the doctors warning was not mentioned again. He had to visit Thunder on crutches for a while, and even the carrots, apples and such didn't do anything to comfort the horse who went back to standing in his stall. Tumbleweed put him out in the corral once a day, and Potee walked out with them, standing at the corral railing while Thunder ran, walked, and stopped to look at the trail that took cowboys out to the range.

At twenty-nine Potee managed to get back on Thunder. At first, it was painful. Potee couldn't watch any more television. He went back to work so he could avoid going insane. He rode out with Pardo on most days. The cold drove his right wrist crazy. It didn't do anything for his bad left leg. While doing his best to hide his pain, Pardo was waiting for him with the liniment bottle, after he emerged from a long hot shower.

Potee turned thirty that year. No one needed to tell him there would be no rodeos this year either. He continued lifting weights and he tried to run, but he couldn't. He settled for long walks alone. Pardo was too tired to walk after working all day. He'd watch Potee walk down the trail and back.

"You look good," Pardo said unconvincingly.

"I'm getting fat," Potee said, pinching an inch.

"Those extra bowls of ice cream are a killer," Pardo said.

The old memory made Potee laugh in spite of himself.

"I want to ride again."

"I know you do. You can ride Thunder again. He's happy with that, Potee."

"I'm not. I want to ride a bronc. I'm strong enough," he claimed.

"If you don't fall the wrong way. If you can stay on for eight seconds. If, if, if."

Potee looked at Pardo. He couldn't ride to save his life. His wrist was sore all the time and his leg hurt when he stood for more than a few minutes. He'd taken a beating and everything hurt now.

He ran after a day on the range, if it wasn't too cold. He lifted weights while watching television, paying particular attention to his right wrist and forearm. His right forearm was larger and more powerful than his left. The right forearm gave him the strength to hold the rope in place, once he'd wrapped it around his hand in order to hold him on the bucking horse.

The fireplace was a great idea for two aging cowboys who stood in front of a roaring fire on the coldest days. Pardo helped build it and he fashioned the mantel that held Potee's trophies and the two wide belts complete with golden belt buckle. Potee could stand and stare, remembering the names of the broncs he rode. For an instant, he felt one of the horses under him, as he gripped the rope that held him in the saddle.

He was good at that business. Twice, he was the best bronc rider on earth. He wanted to go back. To hear the sounds and smell the smells. Feel a bronc determined to shake him out of the saddle. Life was passing him by. He was once satisfied riding beside his man and tending cows, but he discovered a world beyond the Lazy R. He loved and he couldn't imagine ever leaving Pardo, but he wanted one more ride. He needed to feel the excitement surging through him like being hit with a dozen high voltage cattle prods.

His leg was stronger than at any time since he broke it. His wrist only ached on the coldest days. At thirty-one, he was as strong as he'd ever been. He was tight and hard. He didn't want an entire season. He knew there would be no more belts, but he wanted to prove he could still sit a bronc.

He knew Pardo was right. He could get hurt. He wasn't as young as the other riders, but none of them had gone as far as he had gone. None of them had gone as high. He knew he could do it and once he did it, Pardo would get over his anger once he took one more bucking horse ride.

Pardo watched Potee lifting weights. In tight shorts and a sweaty tank top, he looked like a stud in one of those pageants that celebrate the manhood of beautiful men. At forty-four, Pardo's hair was graying seriously on the sides. He tired more easily and the cold got to him in a way it never did before. He didn't like the idea that he was going to get old.

One evening, when they had the next day off, the exercising was done. They'd had dinner upstairs and were eating a second portion of Cookie's peach cobbler. They both loved peach cobbler and Potee liked his with vanilla ice cream on top.

Pardo was done when Potee decided to give him indigestion.

"I want to ride in Denver," Potee said.

Pardo dropped Potee's hand, The heat hit his face like a hot flash. Did he hear him right? Did he want to go to Denver?

"I'm stronger than I've ever been. My leg is good. My wrist is okay."

Pardo couldn't speak. He stared at the perfectly sane looking man he loved as they watched television one evening.

"What?" was more a bark than a yell.

"You know what. You heard me. I want to see if I can still do it."

"You're thirty one. The doctor told you that you were done at twenty-eight. You have a death wish, because I can tell you, Cowboy, I don't plan to watch you kill yourself. You're too old. It's over, Potee. It's over. Get that through your thick skull. Go. Take your bow. Let them applaud for the two time bronc riding champion, but you can't get on another bucking horse."

"Get Del to get me the entry form," Potee said. "I'm going to ride at Denver."

"He won't. He's not going to be responsible for you killing yourself," Pardo said.

"I'll call and get them to send them. Will you drive me? You know how I drive."

It was two weeks until the Denver rodeo. There hadn't been much conversation since Potee told Pardo what he intended to do. Pardo drove to Denver after getting up Saturday morning. There were two pickup trucks and four sedans parked in the lot next to the rodeo arena.

Del followed Pardo and parked beside him. He said he needed to do some business with ranch owners who never missed the final rodeo of the season. Pardo could see the worry grooves on Del's face deepening, after Potee told him what he intended to do.

Pardo wasn't sure why Del came. He knew why he brought Potee, but he was his responsibility. Letting him ride knowing how angry Pardo was about it, would simply make it worse. He kept his mouth shut, although he couldn't fool Potee. He knew he was in for it after the rodeo.

Pardo was prepared for anything, he told himself. He'd run every scenario through his mind. None were good and they all made his blood run cold, but he'd be there to support his man, even if he was thinking of leaving him if it went beyond Denver.

He wasn't as strong as Potee. If his man broke his heart, he'd die.

"I want to see the horses," Potee said, once they were out of the truck.

"I'm going to get a drink," Del said. "It's hours before the competition."

"It's not eleven yet, Del," Pardo said.

"It's five in the evening in London. What's time got to do with it anyway?"

They parted company. The only time they ever saw Del at a rodeo he attended, was after Potee rode. That's when Del would come to find his champion cowboy. The rodeo season ended at Denver. There couldn't be any more rides for a while, and once this one was over, Del could rest easy until they had to deal with Potee next season.

Del thought it was over. Pardo thought it was over. Potee never did.

There were fifteen horses in a huge holding pen. Each horse stood alone. Some ran. Some stood. They did not get close to one another. Two horses bucked as if they were planning moves once the cowboy got stuck to his back.

"They're larger than mustangs," Potee said, leaning on the fence.

"They're picked for size and strength. A mustang runs free on the plains. I doubt any of these horses have run anywhere but in a corral," Pardo said. "They feed them to get big and powerful."

A chill ran through Potee. It was December. It was Denver. It was cool, not cold.

"You get my draw?"

"Devil Wind. Chute 3. You know you don't have to do this?"

"Yes, I do. I need to know, Pardo. I can't live without knowing."

The thought that went through Pardo's mind couldn't be spoken. He'd never say it to Potee.

The parking lot was full. Events were being run in the arena and the crowd was loud. It wasn't as big as Houston or Cheyenne, but it was big. It was way bigger than Del's corral.

Del went to check the board for the bronc riding draws that day.

"Devil Wind," Del said. "Sounds like my second wife."

A cowboy reading the board from nearby turned to speak to Del.

"Nearly stomped a cowboy to death in Kansas City. He lived. The cowboy, but he won't ride again. He might never walk again. They say that horse went after him once he threw him off."

Del suddenly felt sick at his stomach. Why had he come? He could have waited for Pardo's call at the house. Pardo always called after ...

"I need a drink," Del said, leaving the board that told the tale for that day's bronc riders.

Del decided he'd stay in the bar and once the event was over, he'd meet Pardo and Potee at the truck and go to dinner on the way home. He'd seen Potee ride dozens of times. He couldn't remember the last time he watched Potee take a bucking horse ride. It might have been the year he won his second championship. How long ago was it?

"I'll be okay," Potee reassured Pardo. "It's not like I don't know what I'm doing."

They stood ten feet apart.

Pardo looked at his man. He heard the words. There was nothing to say.

"Want to walk me down."

"Yeah."

There wasn't much conversation since Potee filled out the entry form for the Denver rodeo.

Standing behind chute 5, Potee pulled on the leather glove that went on his right hand. It was a bit stiff. He'd been using the same glove since his first championship. The glove cost him $25.00 for one glove. He'd never owned anything but cloth gloves. He wanted a glove like serious bucking horse riders wore.

"They just loaded your horse into the chute," Pardo said, hearing the gate slam on chute 3.

Pardo watched Potee climbing up on top of his chute.

Potee would go early.

He disappeared when he climbed down to talk to the horse. He needed to tell him that, "It's nothing personal, Devil, but I'm going to ride you."

Potee looked between the boards to find the horse's eyes. He wasn't prepared for what he found. The cold black eyes were filled with hatred.

"Nothing personal, but ..." was as far as Potee got.

When their eyes met, Potee nearly had a heart attack when Devil Wind threw his body against the gate. It nearly gave way.

Potee jumped back from the gate and the angry horse, his heart pounding in his chest.

"What's he doing? He can't do that," the official said, after hearing Devil Wind colliding with the gate right below him.

"He's talking to the horse," Pardo said. "He does that."

"He can't do that. Hey, Cowboy, get up out of there. You can't bother that horse."

Potee heard but it took him a minute to gather himself in and climb back up top.

As soon as he was on top, the official began talking, "Drop down on your ride once gate 1 opens. It'll only be a minute before you go once it does," he said. "What were you doing to him?"

"Just chatting," Potee said.

"You crazy, or what?"

"Or what," Potee said.

Before he was scolded by the official, he considered telling him, "I'll pass on this horse, Bud."

He'd come all this way, he'd go the rest of the way. This might not have been his best idea ever.

Potee sat silent, waiting for the sound gate 1 would make when it slammed behind the horse.

"Go on down, Cowboy. You're next," the official said, after hearing gate 1 slam.

Potee began to ease himself down on Devil Wind.

His ride had other ideas. Devil Wind came up on his rear legs, forcing Potee out of the chute.

"Did anyone tell this horse what he was supposed to do?" Potee asked.

"Let us get him back where he belongs," the official said, holding up his hand to indicate they weren't ready.

"Okay, try it again. Once you're ready, say. 'Out.'

Potee eased down to begin wrapping the rope around the glove on his right hand. He squeezed tight enough to have the veins in his forearm standing out. Once he was satisfied, he held his head up, while a pole was used to keep Devil Wind's head down.

The horse snorted and shivered, even more angry than before.

Potee was as ready as he'd ever be.

"Out."

The gate opened and Potee thought the horse was going to fall into the arena. Instantly he was leaning back in the other direction. Potee felt the glove slip and the rope loosened.

The rope he held in order to stay in the saddle unraveled through fingers he could feel as the horse, turned, twisted, and jumped under him.

"Shit," Potee said, as he felt himself losing control.

Pardo stood straight up on top of chute 3. He was already moving toward the arena. He could see what was coming. He needed to get to Potee.

Devil Wind turned, before twisting back, bucking, kicking, and turned in mid air with all his hooves off the ground.

The rope was useless by second two. The leather glove was gone off his hand. Potee felt his back hit the saddle as his feet were up around Devil Wind's ears by second three.

In second four, as he was coming off of Devil Wind. The pickup rider was already beside Devil Wind in second five. reaching for the stricken cowboy who was coming off the horse.

In second five, Pardo hit the floor of the arena in a full gallop. Another pickup rider tried to head him off, but Pardo was not to be deterred.

In second six, Potee was on the ground under the hooves of the irate bronc.

In second seven, the pickup rider was off the horse, putting himself, and then his horse between Potee and the bucking horse.

In second eight there was no buzzer.

The cowboy was on the ground. His ride wasn't completed.

By second eight, the announcer and ten thousand spectators were standing. They'd gone silent, after a group gasp.

"You're OK, Cowboy," the pickup rider said, rolling his face out of the dirt.

Cradling him in his arms, he brushed the dirt and debris off Potee's face.

"You're OK, Cowboy. You're OK."

A gate slam as another pickup rider ran Devil Wind into the holding pen behind the arena.

The other pickup riders sat on their horses close to the downed cowboy. Clowns stood beside pickup riders. Officials stood beside clowns,

Cowboys stood all around.

None of them could breathe. Everyone stood perfectly still.

It was then, Pardo dropped down beside the pickup rider, easing him to one side.

"I'll take him. Let me have him now," Pardo said, taking Potee in his arms.

"You're OK, Babe. I got you. You're OK, Potee. I'm here now. Why did you do this?"

Cowboys turned away as Pardo's tears ran and sobs shook him to the core.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I was just handed a note. This cowboy is two time bronc riding champion, Potee. He was on Devil Wind when he fell. No one told me we had a past champion here today. Let's pray. Let's all pray for Potee."

A gate was opened on the far side of the arena, and the ambulance began to back toward the scene. A man squeezed his body between the ambulance and the gate to get into the venue.

Del Champion didn't go to Pardo and Potee. He had something to do, and his voice broke in the silence.

"I want the owner of that horse. I want the god damn owner of that horse down here now. I want the owner of the horse here in front of me. Don't make me come to find you, because you don't want me looking for you. Come here right now."

The crowd was startled by the curt invitation.

Pardo stood to watch the stretcher being lifted. He smoothed Potee's collar, before following him into the ambulance. The back door slammed shut.

The ambulance moved slowly toward the gate, passing Del who was dropping hundred dollar bills in the dirt as a disheveled cowboy who looked like he'd had one two many beers, wrote out a bill of sale on the back of a brown paper bag.

Del grabbed the bag and followed the ambulance out of the arena as Devil Winds former owner knelt to pick up the bounty at his feet.

The owner of the Lazy R wanted to stop the ambulance to get inside with his cowboys, but he had a chore to complete before going to the hospital. There was plenty of time now.

The announcer, recovering his voice, said, "Ladies and gentlemen, this competition is suspended for now. Please exit the arena in an orderly fashion. Ladies and gentlemen, this arena is now closed to spectators. Please exit in an orderly fashion. If you stand by, there will be an announcement about when this event will resume. Please exit in an orderly fashion. Thank you."

It remained quiet as people politely left the stands. No one had anything to say.

"Excuse me."

"You go ahead."

These were the only words exchanged as the lines moved a step or two, stopped, moved a few feet, and stopped again.

Something happened from time to time that brought a raucous rodeo crowd down to earth. They might have been rough and tumble cowboy and cowgirls who regarded themselves as cowboy tough, but watching one of their own injured was not why fans of rodeo came to watch the cowboy's skills.

The lines moved slowly. No one pushed. There was no rush.

The gunshot made people jump. It wasn't a surprise to hear gunfire at a rodeo, but it broke into the silence in a way that couldn't be missed.

A few observant cowboys who knew the cowboy way, suspected what the single shot meant.


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