In Sterling Jackson Sr.’s reckoning, no rodeo except the NFR at Oklahoma City topped the San Francisco Cow Palace’s competition. Though he’d never qualified for the Grand National himself, his son seemed to ride for him.

Before the National kicked off, the gaunt, silver-haired rancher would tour the city or its environs. Sterling might stop at Fisherman’s Wharf to watch the boats come off the Pacific Ocean, smelling the sea, fumes or exotic cargoes as longshoremen unloaded massive ships and barges. Sometimes he stood atop sandstone headlands, where waves beat down the soft cliffs below him, reminding Sterling of his business conquests. Often he’d stroll along a tangle of winding trails among the redwoods, through the great trees which defied time and trials to rise high and proud. Perhaps Sterling loved this area most of all.

But now he was saddled with his grandson, who wanted nothing more than to sit in the grandstands and watch everything that went on in the arena–never mind that the Grand National wouldn’t commence until 8 P.M.

When Sterling and the boy had set out from the hotel that morning, the old man thought it only natural that the first thing Forrest asked to do was go to the Cow Palace. But after traipsing over the entire arena, examining the grandstands, rest area, chutes and every other inch the boy could think of, Sterling Sr. was hoping he could leave his grandson with the rodeo secretary or some other custodian.

It was a fine thing for Forrest to be so absorbed with the Palace, but it cramped his grandfather’s style, not to mention his back and legs. The old man wondered if he’d be in any shape to sit through the National once it began. With hours yet to go, Forrest still wanted to keep his grandstand perch.

Sterling Sr. raised himself cautiously, working the hitches out of his joints. “Stay put until I get back.” He tottered down the aisle without giving his grandson a second look, knowing the boy would obey.

In the rodeo office, papers fluttered and exchanged hands as ringing phones interrupted hurried conversations. Sterling Sr. charged into the room like a bull approaching his herd. “Hey, Mary,” he addressed the middle-aged head secretary. “Your mama still living in the City?”

The woman grabbed one of several pencils sticking out of her yellowish-blonde pile of hair, scribbling a message she probably heard from the receiver held to her ear.

“Mary!” Sterling Sr. bellowed, leaning over the counter and spearing the air with his thin arms. “You don’t answer me this minute, I’m going to make your nice, white floor a different color. Where’s the spittoon, woman?”

Mary mouthed, “O-ver there.” Her pencil pointed behind the door. She’d finished her phone conversation by the time Sterling Sr. turned toward her. “You’re sassy as usual, Sterling, but a little grayer, I think.” Smiling, she strode to the counter and extended her hand. “Good to see you.”

“Don’t go in for handshakes ‘less it’s business, but you can plant one here.” He grunted and presented his grizzled cheek.

Mary laughed. “But it is business, isn’t it? What else do you want with my mother?” One painted eyebrow lifted. “Or are you trying to start things again?”

“Not starting anything.” The old man tapped his cheek. Mary kissed it. “That’s better. No, I just thought maybe she’d look after my grandson ’til the National gets going. She’s not busy, is she?”

“‘Course not. She’s been spending her time knitting since she last saw you.” Mary put her hands on her hips in rebuke. “She’s got her own business, Sterling, remember?”

“The souvenir shop down at the wharf?”

“That’s right.” Mary marched back to her desk.

“Call her.”

“What?”

“Go ahead. And tell her it’s worth a hundred to me.”

‘I’ll tell her two, not including expenses.” Sitting, Mary picked up a handset. “Maybe you’ll have a chance then.” The eraser end of her pencil paused above the dial. “I’m not sure I should be doing this at all.”

“I’m sure enough for both of us,” the old man riposted. “Tell her it’s only for today. I’m packing the boy home tomorrow. Either that, or his daddy can worry about him. Don’t get away from the ranch too often, and I mean to have some fun my own size.’

“Mother will be glad to hear that, anyway,” Mary said, placing the call.