Free The Harder They Fall by Doreen Owens Malek

said. “I’ll pick you up and we’ll go together, okay?”
    “What about your husband?”
    “He has to work.”
    “I’ll go, if you don’t tell Chris that we’re planning to attend,” Helene said.
    “He knows I’ll be there. I always go.”
    “Then don’t say anything about me.”
    “All right,” Maria answered. “If that’s the way you want it.”
    “That’s the way I want it,” Helene said, and settled back against the seat as Maria headed out of town toward the ranch.
    * * * *
    Martin had once said that September was the most beautiful month of the year in southern Wyoming and the day of the rodeo convinced Helene that he was right. The sun was bright, still retaining a shimmer of summer’s heat, and the sky was a deep, cloudless blue, the color of gem topaz. The air was clean and fragrant and to Helene the pollution of the eastern cities she knew seemed far away. She and Maria parked in the crowded grass lot on the outskirts of the fairgrounds and then walked with the rest of the crowd to the grandstand, passing under huge banners that read “Twenty-fifth Annual Tri-County Rodeo.” Food and soft drink stands lined their path and the smells of hot dogs and barbecue and cotton candy mixed with the gamy odor of the animals stamping in the stalls nearby. They took their seats on a lower rung of the ascending wooden tiers and gazed down into the arena, where a clown was entertaining the onlookers, capering on the sawdust covered floor while the participants prepared for the main events.
    Helene had never been to a rodeo before and she was fascinated. The immense Brahma bulls, the bucking broncos, the courageous—foolhardy?—men who rode them, had her leaning forward eagerly in her seat. The caller who described the events under a canopy high up in the grandstand spoke so fast and in such specialized lingo that she could hardly follow what was going on, but the visual spectacle was enough to keep her riveted. After a break during which the clown entertained again and the crowd got up to visit the concessions, Maria tapped Helene’s arm.
    “Chris’ event is coming now,” she said.
    “Is that Chris?” Helene asked, craning her neck at the rider who was ready in the stall, mounted, restraining his restive horse with gloved hands.
    Maria shook her head and pointed. “He’s up last,” she said.
    Helene turned to see Chris, outfitted in chaps and jingling spurs, his hat shoved far back on his head with a red neckerchief tied at his throat, pacing in the packed dirt at the back of the stall. He was a study in concentration, hands on hips, staring at the ground.
    “Look!” Maria said.
    Helene turned back to the show as a calf was released into the arena and seconds later a man burst forth from the stall, riding at top speed after it. With a coil of rope in his upraised hand, holding the reins with the other, he waited for the right second and then began to spin the lasso. As the calf dodged and spun, the cowboy released the rope with split-second timing and it whistled through the air, slipping around the animal as neatly as a pinball drops into a slot. The calf fell and the man was off the horse almost at the same moment, pinning it and wrapping its legs, then leaping up with his hands held high to show he was done. The crowd erupted into enthusiastic applause and the caller announced his time.
    “Pretty good,” Maria said judiciously. “Chris is going to have a hard time defending his title.”
    Several other men competed and then Helene heard “champion” and “Murdock” in the midst of the caller’s babble, before his voice was swallowed up in a burst of thunderous screaming and clapping.
    “There he is,” Maria yelled triumphantly over the noise.
    Helene watched as he tipped his hat at his reception, then replaced it on his head, settling back onto his horse and gathering the reins into his left hand. His rope was already looped over his shoulder and Helene felt the anticipation