“Sheba has been in many a ranch rodeo, but she’s lost a step or two. Like me,” Ian said.

“I can’t wait to see Mel milk a wild cow,” Ariel said. “Is Rusty competing in that too?”

Kristy shrugged. “He only admitted to penning.”

“Then it will be a surprise,” Jewel said.

The McClane ranch was up sixth out of twelve teams, so there was plenty of time for Kristy to enjoy the show and learn what penning was all about. She watched several of the teams before she got the gist of it. “Is Rusty the cutter or one of the penning horsemen?” she finally asked.

“Penning. John is actually the cutter. Used to be my role when we competed,” Ian said.

“And no one did it better.” Jewel smiled at her husband and patted his leg. “Time for the youngsters to give it a go.”

“I know. But I miss it.”

“You still do it on the ranch with the hands when you’re up here.”

“Not the same as competing.”

“But they appreciate your help.”

“Still got it,” Ian said with emphasis.

“You do at that.”

The announcer called the McClane ranch, and four horses carrying handsome cowboys trotted out. Parker jumped to his feet and clapped as he recognized his uncles.

The announcer babbled out the number “9,” which meant, Kristy had learned, the cutter had to separate the three cows that had a9on their collars, from a herd of thirty, while the other cowboys assured that those cut out went to the other end of the arena, where the pen was, and no errant cow got mixed in. Once all three with the same number had been separated from the herd and were down at the far end, all four cowboys moved to that end to herd them into the open pen there.

The horses and riders had to be able to stop on a dime, pivot as needed to contain a cow, and nudge the three yearlings into the pen without letting them break away and join the larger herd at the other end.

The foreman began weaving through the herd, looking for the number on the cow. The horse bobbed and weaved to its own tune before finding one with a 9. That cow was cut from the herd and headed toward the end with the pen enclosure. Rusty was on the side closest to their seats, and Kristy couldn’t take her eyes off him as he reined Misty to and fro.

“I can’t see,” Parker wailed.

“Do you want to sit on my lap?” Kristy asked. It had been a long time since she’d been around kids. Over ten years since she last babysat a child. Looking at Parker’s sweet face, she realized how much she missed being around children.

Parker nodded and climbed up on her lap. He sat down squarely on her, his feet straddling her legs as he looked out on the arena to take in the action. It felt comfortable and right to have his weight on her.

She was lulled out of her contemplations when some whoops from the arena commanded her attention. The foreman had to do a bit more maneuvering to separate out the second yearling, but it too headed for the far end, while the three other penning cowboys stood sentry, assuring that no other cow joined the number 9 yearling. With that, the last cow was cut, and all four cowboys turned their horses to the far end and rode down.

“Now the fun begins,” Ian said.

It was amusing how the cows had minds of their own. One in particular was not having any of it and several times had tried to head for the herd at the other end. Rusty was the one who was slowly moving them around the back of the pen and the side, in hopes that they would slide into the pen opening. Mel was charged with keeping the three yearlings from slipping past the pen and heading for open ground.

Two slipped into the pen opening, but the errant cow tried to dodge and squeeze past Mel’s horse. A quick pivot by rider and horse and the yearling relented, following his brethren into the pen. A score of 59.5 flashed up on the screen.

“Woo-hoo,” Ian shouted. “They’ll be in the money.”

Parker clapped. “Down?” he asked. Apparently, now that his uncles were done, so was he.

She helped him slide off and instantly felt the loss.

“They do this for money?” Kristy asked as Parker scooted back to his seat next to his grandmother.

Jewel smiled as she helped Parker back onto his seat. “Just dinner money, really. Mostly, you do it for bragging rights.”

Kristy watched Rusty and the group trot off. She shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t resist saying something. “Rusty seems really good at ranching. It’s surprising he never wanted to be a rancher.”