Gate 5 opened. The roar of twenty thousand fans drowned out the sounds in the arena. Potee's entire being was wrapped in the rope he'd laced around the leather glove he wore on his right hand. It was that rope, that glove, that hand that held his future as a bronc buster.

"Cowgirls and cowboys, out of chute 5, Potee, of the Lazy R, on Night Flight."

Night Flight hesitated, before jumping out of chute 5 on the fly. Turning left, he turned right instead with all four hooves airborne. He bucked, kicked and he rode the cowboy on his back into the middle of the arena, heading for parts unknown. His was a single purpose. Doing his best to dislodge the irritant on his back, as Potee held on for dear life.

Pardo was right, as usual. It wasn't like breaking mustangs in the corral at the Lazy R.

Potee had the thought during, maybe after, his bronc ride. He couldn't be sure when. He couldn't be sure of anything, but there was a buzzer, and he did reach to the left like Pardo told him to do when he heard that buzzer. His eight seconds were up. The pickup rider dropped him near where it all started.

Dazed and unsure, legs shaking like jello, he noticed twenty thousand screaming fans for the firs time. Paralyzed, his hand went to his head to see if his hat remained on his head, and when he found it there, he swept it in front of him and he took a bow, because he couldn't move yet.

He had to do something as he stood listening to the loudest noise he'd ever heard.

"Cowboy, get your ass out of there. We got a rodeo to run. Your ride is over," an official yelled over the din from the top of chute 6.

He ran to climb up the fence to get clear of the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, out of chute 6 ..."

Potee's eyes were on Pardo as he came down behind chute 5 into Pardo's arms. The worried cowboy stumbled three steps backward, falling flat on his ass in the mud, the spit, the shit, and the beer.

Potee laughed like a mad man or maybe a little boy. He couldn't speak yet. He held his man and he laughed and laughed.

"Most exciting damn eight seconds of my life, Pardo," he screamed in his man's ear.

"Oh, my god, I've created a monster. It isn't Halloween, Potee. Let me get up for crap sake."

It was for crap sake, because the smell of horse shit permeated everything back there.

Potee felt excitement, disappointment, irrational exuberance, and relief. He'd done it. Having no idea what he was doing, he did it.

"Did you see me, Pardo?"

"I saw," Pardo said, brushing debris off his jeans.

"I loved it. Did you see me? IT was great," Potee said with his mind still moving at a thousand miles a minute.

"I saw you take your bow. What made you think to do that?"

"I couldn't move. I had to do something. I didn't know I could hold on. It was over so fast."

"Settle down, Cowboy. It's over now and you did good, Potee. Did you hear what he said?"

"He who?"

"The announcer. 'This is Potee's first bronc ride at a rodeo folks. Let's hear it for Potee."

"No, I didn't hear. It was so loud. I didn't hear the noise until after the buzzer. Then, I was standing there in front of all those people. I kind of froze. It scared me. All those people."

Pardo hugged Potee, sensing some doubts entering the thrill of bronc busting.

A half dozen cowboys were walking past, and they watched the cowboys hugging. It wasn't how they'd do it, but what did it matter to them what other cowboys did?

After the hug, Potee noticed Del working his way toward them.

"Del, thank you. It was great. Did you see me. I rode him. Were you watching?"

"I was. You were great. Nice ride. We'll go to Laramie next month."

As soon as Del got within reach, Potee was hugging his boss. The happy cowboy wanted to share his delight with the world. He'd never done anything as exciting as this.

"Oh, my god, Potee, you smell like you've been rolling in horse shit. Get away from me," Del Champion objected. "I paid two hundred dollars for this jacket. I'm going to need to throw it away. Oh, my god, you reek."

Ten Lazy R cowboys watched Potee ride Night Flight. If any of them remembered that Potee was once Cookie's pots and pans man, they forgot about it after Frontier Days. Potee was celebrated and toasted as the Lazy R's own.

Before heading back to the ranch, Del treated everyone to a Golden Corral feast. Potee was the guest of honor and he got to make his first speech.

"I, ah, like it a lot. I hope you liked it. Is there any more shrimp?"

It started.

Pardo smiled. Potee waited to slide down on Topsy in Laramie. It went slower the second time around. The bronc buster knew what would happen the second time. The thrill of it was still there. He listened for the buzzer. He looked for the pickup rider. He ended up back on the ground in a smaller arena and with far fewer fans. Laramie wasn't the event Frontier Days was in Cheyenne.

Del drove behind them to Denver and Potee drew Lemonade. Denver wasn't as big as Cheyenne, but Potee couldn't tell. There were ten thousand people. It was difficult for him to see the difference between ten and twenty thousand people. It looked like a lot to Potee.

He kept his sweeping move with his hat, when he took his bow. He'd lost his hat, but one of the pickup riders took it back to him. The joy wasn't as extensive and thinking about what he'd done became easier to remember and think about.

"We'll start in Houston next season. We'll go to St Louis, Kansas Cit, Omaha, Fort Dodge, the Calgary Stampede. After Portland, Spokane, and Coeur d'Alene, and Helena, it's back to Cheyenne for Frontier Days."

It was on the road back from Denver when Potee began seeing a larger picture.

"I never been to any of those places. I was in North Carolina once. I think I was born there."

*****

At twenty-three, Potee was on the way to where he didn't know. It was still new. Pardo was his rock and nothing phased him. He was always waiting when the ride was over. He was there to make sure Potee had a soft landing.

In Houston, another mad house, he came off of Atomic a tick too soon. The buzzer sounded as he was hitting the ground. It wasn't a good ride.

"Three out of four ain't bad," Pardo said.

"Three out of four what?"

"You've ridden four bucking broncos, one tossed you. That's 75% success."

"I can't win the championship now?" Potee asked, looking at Pardo's face as they drove up Interstate 35 toward College Station.

"Championship? You've ridden four horses, Cowboy. You might need a bit more experience before you win your first championship."

"Three," Potee corrected.

Being a bucking horse rider was taking on new meaning.

They left Houston for St Louis. It was well over a thousand miles home. Del told them to go ahead to St Louis. By the time they drove back to the Lazy R, it would be time to drive to St Louis.

"Can we stop?" Potee asked.

He'd taken a good look at his man while coming down from his Houston ride.

When Pardo looked at Potee, he knew that look. There was plenty of time. Potee being a bronc rider turned Pardo on, big time.

There was a motel beside an exit on I-35 as they got a half hour beyond College Station. There was a food stand in the parking lot. They only sold barbeque sandwiches on a hamburger bun. The one pound wonders were $5,00 a piece. Pardo bought four. That should get them through the night. They took extra soda to the room, filling the sink with ice.

They didn't intend to come up for air until it became absolutely necessary.

After screwing all night, Pardo slipped out of bed to get a shower. That always woke him up. Once Potee noticed his man had given him the slip. He went to take a piss and he found Pardo in the shower. They ended up showering together. Well, there wasn't much showering, even if the water ran.

They fell asleep and didn't wake up until late afternoon. They kept the room for another day, and they got two more sandwiches before settling in for a good night of sex, but Pardo did make sure they got on the road in the morning.

Pardo was wide awake, but Potee slept after they stopped for breakfast. As they were passing through Dallas, Potee woke up and stared at Pardo.

As they put Dallas in the rear view mirror, Potee sat up straight and said, "Stop."

"Stop for what?"

"There's a motel. I want to stop. What day is it?"

"It's Monday."

"How far is St Louis?"

"Six hundred miles."

"We've got plenty of time. Stop."

"They left Denton, Texas Wednesday morning, and they stopped in Rollo, Missouri. St Louis wasn't that far, but on Saturday morning they were still in Rollo. It was only two hours to St Louis. They stopped for breakfast. They still had three hours to get a hundred miles. It was plenty of time until they hit bumper to bumper traffic on I-44 forty miles from the city.

When Pardo dropped Potee off in the front of the arena, he could hear the crowd roaring inside. The rodeo started at noon and it was almost two. Did they miss the bronc riding?

Pardo took his truck to the closest place he could find parking, across the highway. When Pardo took the half hour walk back to the rodeo arena, he heard the announcer calling a bronc rider coming out of chute 4. He was going to miss Potee's ride. He'd never missed one of Potee's rides. He wasn't going to miss this one.

He ran for the back of the chutes and climbed up in the middle of the chutes the broncs came out of. A cowboy was just then riding a bucking horse into the middle of the arena. It was Potee.

"Potee of the Lazy R on Hurricane."

It was a beautiful ride. Potee looked like a million bucks. As far as Pardo was concerned, it was Potee's best ride ever, and there was the sweeping of the hat and the bow before Potee spotted Pardo.

"Where were you? You weren't here for my ride," Potee complained.

"I had to park over next to the NAPA store. Took forever to get back over here."

"Is there a motel over there? We have a week to get to Kansas City. I could walk there in a week, Pardo. I have a perfectly good pickup truck. Why don't we ride and it'll give us more time to make love to each other, if you want to do that kind of thing."

They climbed down behind the chutes after the final bronc rider came out. They held hands and Potee leaned to kiss his man.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here is today's finishing order. Winner, Potee, of the Lazy R. Second ..." Potee began leaping in the air. He jumped, he danced, he grabbed Pardo and went in a circle with him in his arms. They fell down in the dirt and they laughed and rolled and laughed some more.

"You cowboys lost your mind?" an official asked, looking down at the celebration.

"It's my first win. I never won before," Potee yelled for all to hear.

"I suppose you don't know where the podium is?" the official said. "Come on. I'll take you."

Potee held the trophy and check that went with it. He laughed and he kept repeating, "I won."

Pardo had no desire to stay near the rodeo grounds. He wanted to at least get on the highway to Kansas City, and they could stop as often as they wanted.

They stopped just beyond Columbia, Missouri. They were halfway to Kansas City.

"Del, he won St Louis. Our boy won," Pardo yelled.

Potee grabbed his man and pulled him back down on the bed. He thought it was a fine time to perform oral sex on his man. He couldn't get enough.

As Pardo reached the point of no return, he said, "Got to go, Boss. Got to go."

Del heard a gasp. He wondered where he was calling from. It sounded like he reached the highest point on a roller coaster, and it plunged toward the ground at top speed.

Potee was practically invisible before he started to ride broncs. He'd been seen and all his appetites were growing. He finished fifth on Amalgamated, third on Nicole, second on Bob.

They saw cities and arenas from one end of the country to the other. Del came to the rodeos he could get to. Business kept him away from a lot of Potee's rides.

After twelve rodeos, it was Calgary Stampede and Yo Yo. It was another second place. Del flew to Calgary for what was the biggest deal after Frontier Days in Cheyenne for the owner of the Lazy R

"Where am I in points?" Potee asked as they left Canada.

"Fifth."

"Where do we go next?"

"Portland."

"I want steak. I want you, Pardo. Let's find a motel. We can eat later."

Pardo loved being loved. He didn't know what to make of the new Potee. He was never like this before. Oh, he'd want to make love all night some nights, and Pardo supposed it was a little like riding a bucking bronco at times, but the intensity increased. When he won on Son of Dynamite in Spokane, they spent two days in a hole in the wall near the Idaho line. They lived off of Taco Bell and love.

Potee had never been more passionate.

Just before he turned twenty-four, he finished fourth in the all around bronc busting points.

"I'll win next year?" Potee guaranteed, leaving the podium with his biggest check yet.

"Sure you will, Potee," Pardo said. "You get better every time you ride."

Just before turning twenty-five, Potee finished second that year in bronc riding. He was on the podium for that one. He didn't look happy. There was a big sign on Del's house when they arrived back at the Lazy R after the awards dinner.

"Potee, Second Place."

Del's pride in his bronc rider was no secret. He'd watched Potee go from washing pots and pans to being a cowboy, to breaking mustangs on the Lazy R, to second place in the bronc riding championship. He'd have loved it if he'd come in first, but finishing second was OK too.

For now, it was back to being a cowboy. As far as Pardo and Potee were concerned, they'd had more driving around the country than they needed. Being back on the Lazy R was wonderful.

Having the cowboys stop to talk to the Lazy R bronc rider became part of the job.

*****

The new season and the two day drive to Houston had both of the boys tired before Potee sat astride his first bronc that season.

Potee won Houston on Tiptoes. He won St Louis on Crazy Horse. He won Kansas City on Citation. His wins outnumbered seconds and third. He didn't finish lower than third that season. The drives went faster, and the circuit didn't get either of them down the year Potee was twenty-five.

Del and most of the cowboys from the Lazy R were at Frontier Days. Potee stayed out of view while preparing to ride. This had become how he approached each competition. Once he came into clear view of cowboys from the Lazy R, they rushed him and offered him well wishes. He nodded and tried to smile, but he said nothing.

As the waited for him to ride, Potee held Pardo's hand behind the chutes. He hadn't said anything for an hour.

"Where am I in points, Pardo?"

"Same as the last time you asked."

"I'll win today. I can feel it. I like the name Quiz Kid. How many more rodeos?"

"Three including today. I might not win them all, but I'm winning today. I can feel it."

It was one of the biggest crowds of the season. Potee dropped down on Quiz Kid and came out of the chute in a hurry. He felt good. The rope felt good in his hand. The horse couldn't move him. It was a good ride and the buzzer sounded, and Potee was back where he started.

Pardo watched the bow and the crowd absolutely roared.

"Potee's currently first in points. Good ride, Potee," the announcer said.

Potee climbed up and he wanted to be with Pardo. He didn't need to go anywhere or do anything. He wasn't hungry and he wasn't horny. He was waiting to finish the season exactly as he started it. He intended to win every competition.

After winning at Frontier Days, Del had the Lazy R cowboys to dinner at one of the best restaurants in Cheyenne. He'd made reservations for after the rodeo. He knew the rodeo crowd would all be looking for places to eat. He planned ahead. He didn't know Potee would win, but he did.

"We're here for our bronc rider," Del said. "Would you like to say a few words, Potee?"

"It's not done yet. I'll see you guys in Denver. You can help me carry the trophy back home."

As speeches went, that was Potee's longest. It certainly was the most optimistic.

"You going to be OK, Potee?" Pardo asked, worried about Potee's withdrawal.

"I'll be fine after Denver."

Pardo wasn't sure which was the best way to handle the quiet. He knew what had Potee so quiet. He didn't know what to do about it. He wanted to be a help to his man. How to do it was a mystery.

"Where am I in points?" Potee asked as Pardo turned on to the Interstate.

"Same place you been since Houston. You know where you are. You're number one."

Potee began to laugh.

It made Pardo laugh.

His man hadn't laughed in the past few weeks. Potee became more serious after he won in Calgary. Their season was more than half over. Potee wasn't a big talker, but he'd never been this quiet.

"I'm number one, Pardo. Do you know what that means?"

If Potee stayed on his draw in Laramie in two weeks, he'd be bronc riding champion. No one could catch him if he had one more good ride. He hadn't come off a horse all season. He wasn't going to come off the one in Laramie.

"Stop here," Potee said. "Pull over here."

"We'll be home in twenty minutes."

"Stop here. I can't wait to get home. I want you right now. Stop here. We might not be going home tonight. I'm ready to show my man how much I love his ass."

It was nearly ten when Pardo said, "I got to call, Del. He'll be sending a search party out for us. I told him we'd come over once we got home."

Pardo mostly listened, once Del answered. After a minute, he hung up the phone.

"What did Del say?"

"You're less than an hour from home. What do you mean you're getting a room for the night?"

"Sounds like Del. He'll be figuring it out about now," Potee said.

"Not how his mind works, Potee. His first thought isn't of two of his cowboys getting it on."

By that time Potee was back in his arms and the soon to be champion bronc rider was kissing his chest, and his stomach, and, "Oh, my. You do know how to do that."

*****

They stopped on the way back from Denver, but they couldn't stay and make love all night. Del left right after the competition, and there would be a feast tonight and again on Sunday afternoon.

Potee sat on the edge of his seat as Lazy R cowboys lined the road, waving their hats as they drove toward Del's. All the cowboys were out there. Most were in Denver for the afternoon competition.

As the house came into sight, so did the sign, 'Bronc Riding Champion of the World. Potee gasped when he saw the sign. It hit him. He was the best bronc rider in the world. He looked at Pardo and his man saw his tears. They held hands and Potee swallowed hard.

He came back with a big trophy and a $25,000 check. There was still the feast at Del's, and there could be more than one, according to how delighted Del was. Potee was like a son to the owner of the Lazy R. Del had kids he never saw, and when Potee came, it was like he had a son.

Now, his son had made good. Del never expected him to be a cowboy, and breaking the Lazy R mustangs didn't come to mind. Winning the bronc riding championship was beyond any idea Del had.

*****

How many did I win this year?"

"Won 9. Finished second six times and third four times. You never came off of one horse, Potee. You are the best god damn bronc rider in the world."

"Yea, it was a tiny bit premature. Potee stayed on Wide Load for eight seconds, and a not too big crowd cheered him as he stood in the middle of the Laramie arena.

"That ride makes Potee, of the Lazy R, champion bronc rider of the world. Let's hear it for our champion, Folks. A big hand for Potee."

Neither Pardo or Potee owned a tie, and they rented the tuxedos.

Pardo was always at Potee's side. They didn't like the dinners but once he was champion the rodeo people booked public appearances where everyone could get a good look at him.

Potee's appetite reached its zenith after he won his first championship. Del had a dinner for his cowboys, and he had one for the ranch owners. Potee smiled a lot and said little. The Lazy R cowboys cheered him, and he told them he planned to win it all again next year.

As Houston was moving closer, Potee became quiet again. They were together much of the time, but talking became less important. Potee had little to say before becoming a bucking horse rider. Pardo liked hearing Potee's voice. He waited for whatever was keeping him silent to pass.

They both stopped to stand in front of the wide black belt with golden belt buckle. It was surrounded by the trophies Potee won over his years as a bucking horse rider. There were 8x10 pictures scattered around. The white hat from the first rodeo hung on the front left support holding the shelves.

"Needs something more substantial now that you won the belt buckle. I'll work on it," Pardo said while hugging his cowboy.

It had a surreal quality to it. The trophies were one thing. The golden belt buckle another.

*****

The winter was long and too cold. All winters were cold affairs. The bronc riding champion rode out to the range with Pardo every day. He sat taller in the saddle these days, but he was still a cowboy, and he rode beside his man no matter the weather.

The first warm day that spring, Potee sat on Thunder, took off his hat, letting the sun shine on his chestnut hair. He kept it short and the sun felt good on his face. Pardo turned Topper to go back toward the chow hall as the sun moved lower in the afternoon sky.

"You look good," Pardo said, easing Topper up so his leg brushed against Thunder before it got to Potee's leg. That's where he stopped moving. He leaned to kiss the man he loved. They leaned together. Thunder and Topper stood without moving.

"Houston in a few weeks," Pardo said.

"I know," Potee said. "I was waiting for you to say something. What's Del say?"

"He'll get to the ones he has time for, but he's involved in the Owner's Association. He needs to work around that," Pardo said.

"You ready?" Potee asked.

"I've got to tell you, I didn't stop feeling like I was moving until after Christmas. You know how much driving around I do. I'm okay now. I'm ready."

"I can help with the driving," Potee said.

"No, you can't. I've seen you drive. I want to live, Cowboy. I'll drive. You ride broncs."

Potee laughed.

Pardo taught Potee everything he knew about horses, cattle, and the cowboy way. He'd picked it all up like he was meant to be a cowboy. The first time Pardo told him to move his old truck out of the way, Potee backed it into a ditch. When Pardo used Topper to get the truck out of the ditch, Potee knocked down the gate and part of the fence. It was the last time Pardo asked him to move the truck.

Potee spent so much time on Thunder, he never thought much about driving. If they went into town, he thought he'd like to help Pardo with the driving. Pardo didn't want Potee's help driving.

It was Pardo's birthday a week before the Houston rodeo. One afternoon Potee took Pardo around the side of Del's house. No one ever used the front entrance, which was called the backyard, but the back of the house was the front, and Pardo didn't know where they were going.

"Where are you taking me? We never go in the front way."

Potee stopped and Pardo bumped into him before he saw it. There was a brand new red pickup truck parked in the middle of Del's lawn. There was a gigantic bow tied around it.

"What have you done?" Pardo asked, knowing why they came to the side of the house.

"That championship check was burning a hole in my pocket. I decided you needed a new truck. I'm the champion now. We can't show up at rodeos in the old faded piece of junk."

"It's beautiful," Pardo said, going over to look inside.

"Had to order it special. They delivered it this morning. I had them take that piece of junk of yours away," Del said.

There was dinner, cake and ice cream, and Del said he wanted to go to Houston, but he couldn't.

It was the following Thursday they drove out of the Lazy R just after dawn. They were in the parking lot of their hotel before dark on Friday. They hadn't made a stop for anything but gas and food.

*****

Things wasted no time going bad. The season would not go as planned for last year's champion.

They'd driven straight through to Houston.

Potee was up all night the night before the Houston rodeo. They weren't having sex this time. Pardo sat up against the pillows reading a Zane Gray book. Potee paced, stopped to sit on the edge of the bed, and he paced some more as Pardo read, not wanting to leave his cowboy up alone.

"You're not eating. It looks good to me. What's wrong, Babe?" Pardo asked, reaching for a piece of Potee's bacon at breakfast the next morning.

"I don't know. I get the feeling I can't defend it. I mean one and done. A flash in the pan."

"That's Winston Crossly Porter talking. You aren't the kid who came to the Lazy R, and anyone who names their kid that is obviously a lousy parent. You R Potee, world champion bronc rider."

"I keep telling myself that. Am I?"

"You're my champion if you never ride another bronc, Potee. You've always been my champion," Pardo said. "I love you, cowboy."

That was what he was supposed to say about that?

Potee drew Archibald.

He paced behind the chutes before climbing up on to watch early bronc riders ride. Pardo sat beside him, holding his hand as he stared at each ride until it was his turn.

Potee climbed down to look at Archibald, the horse.

"Hey, Arch. I want you to know this here is nothing personal, but I'm going to ride you. I know, you don't think so, but that's what I plan to do."

"What did he say?" Pardo asked, as Potee got ready to ease down on the horse.

"He's not talking," Potee said, as the chute next to chute 9 opened to set the bucking horse free.

"Ready, Cowboy," the official asked as Potee wrapped his legs around his ride.

"Ready."

Chute 9 came open and Archibald took Potee into the center of the arena.

"The current bucking horse champion, Potee folks. Let's hear it for our champion."

Potee went up in the air, coming back to earth on the dirt in the arena.

"Oh, ... better luck next time, Potee."

Pardo met him when the pickup rider set him down. Potee was holding his wrist.

"You're hurt?"

"It's my wrist. I landed on my right arm. Do you think it's broke?" Potee asked, once they were on the other side of the chutes and walking toward the truck.

Pardo took the truck out to park across the street from the emergency room. They were there for three hours before the doctor was looking at the x-ray.

"No break," he said, holding Potee's hand. "Flex it. Wiggle your fingers. Squeeze my hand."

"I'm a bronc rider. I ride in St Louis next week. Will it heal by then?"

"You go back to where you come from, Cowboy. You stop using that hand for six to eight weeks. I'll give you the x-ray. Let your doctor tell you when you can go back to doing whatever it is you are doing. If it heals fast, six weeks. If it doesn't heal, could be six months."

Potee stood beside Pardo with an Ace bandage wrapped around his hand and wrist.

"Yeah, well, we'll start back. There's a motel up above College Station. We'll pull over there. We'll be back in a few days, maybe Tuesday." Pardo told Del.

Pardo hung up the phone.

"What did he say?"

"Are you all right. I told him you were taking it fairly well."

"This will mean no championship this year," Potee said.

"There's always next year. Missing five or six rodeos will put you so far behind in points, you won't be able to catch up," Pardo said.

"If you think you got lucky and I can't fight you off, you got another think coming."

Pardo laughed.

"This from the guy who wakes me up two or three times a night, begging for more of what I just gave you."

"Don't get the wrong idea. I only do that because I love your ass."

"You're going to be okay," Pardo guaranteed.

"They'll forget me by next year," Potee said sadly.

"You are unforgettable to me, Cowboy."

Pardo drove to College Station, and as they approached the ramp with the motel they used last year, he asked, "What to stop, Babe?"

"No, I want to go home," Potee said. "I can help drive. I want to go home."

"The way you drive. No thank you. I'll get us home alive," Pardo said.

It was the next night when they drove into the Lazy R road. They didn't stop at Del's. They were both tired and it was time to get some rest.

Pardo rode out to go to work on Tuesday. He worried about Potee all day. When he rode back into the chow hall, Potee was sitting on the side of the bed holding his wrist.

"It still hurts?" Pardo asked once he saw Potee.

"Yes, it hurts," Potee said like he was resigned to it.

"You need more pills. He gave you enough for a week, Potee. You took them all?"

"I flushed them down the toilet."

"You did what? I'm not going to let the pain beat me. I ain't taking pain meds. I want to feel it. I want to make it stronger than it was before. You'll see. I'm coming back, Pardo. I'm coming back."

It was the scariest damn thing Pardo ever heard and there was nothing he could do.

The television room became the weight room. Potee started to run every day. He was back to working full time, and his wrist stayed wrapped during the day, but as soon as he put Thunder in the stall, he was getting ready for his work out. Rain or shine, hot or cold, he ran and lifted weights every day for the next two months.

Potee collapsed into bed every night and for the first time since shortly after they met, there was a drought where the love was supposed to go. Pardo knew what he was getting into when he took this ride. He'd go with whatever Potee needed. He couldn't live without Potee.

Potee was ready by Oklahoma City. He drew Spanish Moss. As he eased down on his ride, he made sure the glove was as tight as he could get it. He carefully wrapped the rope so it couldn't possibly slip. He squeezed his powerful forearm, and said, "Out."

He came off of Spanish Moss when a pain shot from his hand into his shoulder. It nearly knocked him off of the bucking horse. He landed on his face in the dirt, and he pounded his fist on the ground as the pickup rider got off his horse to help the cowboy get up.

"Better luck next time, Champ," the announcer said. "That was Potee on Spanish Moss. It kind of hangs on you, if you think about it folks. Coming out of chute 7..."

Two weeks later they drove to Calgary, and when they got up the morning of the rodeo, Potee was puking in the toilet and unable to sit up straight. They spent two nights in the hotel before Potee was well enough to travel. They were all quiet rides now. There were no questions, no predictions, and no joy over a bronc rider who couldn't ride.

Potee came off Armour in Cheyenne, and he threw in the towel.

"I'll try again next season. I'll be ready by Houston," he promised Pardo.

There were no stops, no appetites, and very little happiness as the bronc rider sulked through another bitter cold winter.

One morning, before it was time to go out on the range, Pardo looked at his lover. He was twenty-seven and his body was chiseled stone. He worked all day and exercised for hours at night. His forearms were thick and he'd be able to hold any rope under any conditions with his right hand, but the wrist still ached when it was cold, and that made him work even harder.

"Want to do pushups with me, Pardo?" Potee asked one evening.

"No, I'm going to drink my tea and watch TV. You go ahead. Knock yourself out."

Potee laughed.

It was a good sign. There hadn't been much laughter over the kitchen for months. Potee was sure he was back and Houston wasn't that far off. He'd be ready once it was time.

He was twenty-seven, and he planned to be called Two Time, by years end.

Pardo cringed. He was along for the ride, but he had a feeling it wouldn't end well. Potee was his man. It was his job to pick him up when he fell. He hoped he was strong enough.

At dinner at Del's, Potee mapped out his season, starting with Houston.

"Your twenty-seven, Potee. You've been hurt since Houston last season."

"What are you trying to say, Del?"

"Bronc busing is a young man's game. Hell, half those riders don't shave yet. They're hardly more than children. It's a young man's game, Potee."

Del was always realistic. Potee never was. He walked out and left the two sitting at the table.

"What did I say? He's twenty-seven. There aren't two or three riders that old, are there, Pardo?"

"It's not on you, Del. He's been like this since he got hurt. He has gotten a taste of something that's different from anything he's ever known. He likes it. He doesn't think the ride is over."

"What do you think, Pardo?"

"I don't think. I love him. I'll stick with my man and accept what is coming my way."

"You'll pick up the pieces?"

"I'll try, Del. I'll surely try."

"You know how it's going to end," Del said. "He's too old to come back."


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

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