He attempted to keep his face blank and only glanced over at Stacia. “Considering the next time he talked about me, he called me ‘African American’ three times in one sentence, I figured somebody had a little chat with him.”

She took a drink of her beer. “No idea what you mean.”

He shifted his weight, his elbows grinding into the fence as his arms tightened. She meant well. Funny how that didn’t help when all he wanted was to be introduced by his name and home state, like all the other cowboys.

LJ swallowed and tried to shake it off. Getting mad was only going to make him stand out even more. He looked over at the roping chutes, his eyes searching for black hair and a golden shimmering shirt.

Stacia said something else, but he missed it as Andra backed Gracie into the corner of the starting box, the mare’s hindquarters tucked tight against the pads on the fence. Bill’s Roman-nosed sorrel fidgeted, his hooves dancing in place. In contrast, Andra’s palomino mare stood alert, her ears pricked straight forward and all the motion in the world poised in her stillness. Andra swapped glances with her dad and then nodded to the guy operating the calf chute.

The calf leaped free, and Gracie bolted out of the starting box, her huge strides spraying arena dirt out behind her. LJ shifted to his other foot, and that fast, it was over.

Andra’s loop dropped over the calf’s head, Gracie whipped left in midstride, and Bill’s lariat was already sailing through the air as Andra turned the calf just so. His rope snapped taut on both the calf’s rear legs before LJ could complete a blink.

Then Andra and Bill slowed down a touch, both taking an extra second to adjust their horses to gently catch the calf between the tension of their two ropes without yanking.

“Holy jumping jalapeño!” the announcer yelped. “I think we’ve got ourselves a new arena record! I should have known, folks. I should have known that you do not dare a Lawler unless you are ready to come in last. Well, I still remember the time Bill and I were boys and we both had our eye on the same girl for the senior prom. I bet she’s in the crowd tonight. Can anybody see Sheila Peterson? Sheila Peterson, friends, she—oh, there she is! Just as pretty as high school, folks, and she welcomed her first grandchild into the world last week.”

“The time, Russ! Tell us the time already,” Stacia hollered. She dropped her forehead against the fence. “I’m sorry, LJ. You’re probably mentally packing the U-Haul to move away from this little hick town, aren’t you?”