The team-roping event began with a red-hot pair from Llano, Texas. Wham! Bam! Done!
They’d be hard to beat.
Danny stood with his hand under Pete’s chin, stroking his cheek on the far side. When their time came, he mounted and rode out into the arena, a half horse-length behind Dad, who had yet to say a word to him.
The muscles in Danny’s jaw were tight. He’d had back-to-back worst days. Lie after lie. It made his hands shake.
When they got to the box, they turned the horses toward the arena and backed them in, Danny on Pete to the left of the chute, Dad on Mandingo to the right.
As Danny built his loop, he glanced at the chute between them. Their steer looked decent. He was thankful for that.
He jiggled the reins lightly, and Pete backed farther into the box.
Header and heeler took note of each other, then focused in on what they were doing now and what they were about to do.
Pete was jacked up and ready, his flank taut. Danny’s hand would tell him when to move. He knew Pete would be screaming to fly out of the box when the gate opened. But he wouldn’t move until Danny gave him the signal.
Danny took one last quick glance to see if Dad was ready. He would not look at or think about him again. If Dad had a problem, he’d call it out.
Concentrate. This one last time.
His team roping days with Dad would crash and burn after this. His lies had killed the trust.
He had to do well. He owed it to Dad. In all their time together, Dad had never once missed catching both heels. He was 100 percent, and proud of it, though he’d never admit it.
Danny wasn’t about to mess him up now.
The steer’s head was not quite forward.
Turn, Danny willed. Face the front of the chute.
Pete quivered like a drawn bow.
Danny leaned forward, coiled rope in his left hand, built loop in his right.
When the steer faced front, Danny nodded.
The gatekeeper slammed open the gate.
The steer burst out and raced into the arena.
Pete jumped ahead, slightly. Danny held until the steer broke the barrier, then flew out after him.
Mandingo burst out a split second later, Dad leaning ahead, riding off the steer’s right shoulder, hazing him left.
Danny rode the left hindquarters, about four feet to the side of the steer. He leaned forward with the rope whirling over his head, focusing on the steer’s left horn, where the loop would end up.
One swing, two.
He threw.
It landed perfectly over both horns. He pulled the slack straight back and made his dally around the saddle horn and pulled the steer to the left, trying to make him hop so Dad could get a good shot at his heels.
Dad threw his loop…caught one foot…wrapped his rope around the saddle horn, and pulled up on Mandingo.
Danny turned Pete and faced the steer with his rope taut.
It was over.
At the signal from the flagger they slacked up and undallied their wrapped ropes. Two wranglers ran out and released the steer.
The Mack team rode out of the arena at a trot, fans clapping politely.
A good show, but not good enough.
The one-heel catch earned them a five-second penalty. They came in second to last, last being a team that had missed the heels altogether.
Danny felt sick.