Chapter Thirty-Four
I ease my SUV to a stop along the long row of vehicles lining the drive into Wildhaven Storm Ranch.
I sit there, engine idling, staring out over the property.
I’ve been here a handful of times now, but I’ve never seen it like this.
Today, the ranch looks less like a working horse operation and more like the county fair relocated to its front yard.
White tents dot the fields. Banners flap in the breeze. Rows of folding chairs face a makeshift stage near the arena. Food trucks and vendor booths stretch along the dirt road leading toward the barns. Kids run past, carrying balloons shaped like horses and bulls.
Country music blares from speakers mounted on tall poles.
And people are everywhere.
Half of Wyoming and the entire town of Wildhaven seem to have shown up.
I kill the engine. My dad climbs out first, scanning the grounds for cameras. The man loves a photo op.
“Good Lord,” he mutters, impressed. “They weren’t kidding about this being a grand opening.”
Mom steps out behind him, adjusting her sunglasses as she looks around. “It’s like a festival,” she says.
That’s exactly how Harleigh described today. Bryce and Matty gave her the reins, along with a big budget to put it all together.
I walk around the Escalade and fall in beside them as we head toward the main entrance area, where a giant wooden sign reads Raintree-Storm Rodeo Academy.
Red, white, and blue buntings drape the fence, framing the banner announcing the grand opening.
Television cameras sit on tripods.
Reporters hover near the arena gates, waiting for interviews.
Dad’s eyes light up like a kid in a candy store.
“Oh, this is fantastic,” he says. “This is going to be the talk of the state.”
Mom nudges him. “Try to enjoy the day and not just network.”
Mom has yet to figure out that networking—shaking hands and kissing babies—is what he enjoys most.
“No promises.”
We pass a booth selling funnel cakes and fried Oreos.
Another vendor has handmade leather belts and rodeo gear laid out across tables.
We stop at a man who makes boot jacks.
“We should get a couple of these for the hotel,” Dad says as he admires the craftsmanship.
I place a custom order, adding one for Granddad with the original Silver Spur Ranch logo.
A dunk tank is set off to one side, where a group of teenagers is trying to drown a middle-aged man who is heckling them.
Kids chase each other on broomstick horses, wearing foam cowboy hats.
It’s loud. Busy. Alive.
And somehow, the entire place still feels unmistakably like the Storm family ranch.
I spot the first familiar face near the front pasture.
Cabe is perched on the seat of a bright red tractor, pulling a trailer stacked with square bales of hay.
Beside him stands his father, Boone, helping the smaller kids climb aboard.
Cabe spots me and tips his hat with a grin.
“Porter!” he hollers. “You wanna ride?”
“Maybe later,” I call back.
A grandmother with a camera yells, “Smile for Grammy,” and starts snapping pictures of the hayride as the tractor lurches forward and rattles down the path.
We continue toward the barn area, where most of the demonstrations are happening.
The arena is already packed with spectators.
Inside, Shelby sits tall in the saddle of a chestnut mare while a barrel pattern is set up in the dirt.
A voice over the loudspeaker announces her. “And here we have Wildhaven Storm’s own Shelby Storm showing our future students how a former champion does it.”
The gate swings open.
The horse explodes forward.
Shelby leans low over the saddle horn as they tear toward the first barrel.
The crowd cheers as she whips around it so tight that the horse’s hooves spray dirt toward the stands.
Mom gasps. “Oh my. She’s talented.”
They fly through the pattern in seconds.
By the time Shelby skids to a stop, the stands erupt in applause.
Beyond the arena, another crowd has gathered near the bullpens.
A voice comes over a loudspeaker to announce Axle and Royce Trust.
I glance over just in time to see who I assume to be one of Cabe’s older brothers, whom Harleigh said were currently on the rodeo circuit but who would be helping Bryce at the school from time to time, swing himself onto the back of a massive bull while another man who looks just like him stands nearby with a rope coiled in his hand.
The gate bursts open.
Eight seconds of chaos follows.
The bull twists and bucks while Axle hangs on like he’s glued to the animal.
The crowd roars.
Royce is up the moment Axle exits the pen, rope flying through the air to demonstrate steer roping for the audience.
Mom grips my arm. “These people are fearless.”
“They are,” I agree.
We continue walking toward the main ranch house, where there’s a long line of people waiting near tables covered in drinks.
Earl and Evelyn Storm are sitting comfortably in rocking chairs on the wide front porch, like they’re the king and queen of the ranch.
In front of them sits a large wooden table, stacked with mason jars of lemonade and sweet tea.
A hand-painted sign reads Free.
We climb the porch steps.
Evelyn looks up first.
“Well, hello, Porter,” she says. “Who do you have here?”
I smile. “Evelyn, Earl, this is my mom and dad. Della and Barron Garrison.”
Mom steps forward and extends her hand. “Nice to meet you, Evelyn,” she says warmly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Evelyn shakes her hand with a firm grip. “You must be Josiah’s girl.”
Mom nods. “I am.” She glances toward the table of pies stacked behind them. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to thank you.”
Evelyn tilts her head. “For what?”
“For feeding my father,” Mom continues. “He told us you and your friend Imma Jean have been bringing him pies and casseroles since his surgery.”
Evelyn waves a hand dismissively.
“Feeding folks is their love language,” Earl says.
“Just remember that he’s diabetic,” I remind her.
She fixes me with a glare. “Son, that man is eighty-one years old,” she says firmly. “If he wants a slice of pie and it makes him happy, then he darn well should have a slice of pie. We check his sugar.”
I guess she told me.
“Then why do I have to eat roughage and whites all the time?” Albert asks as he comes through the screen doors.
Her eyes cut to him. “Because you’re still a young man and you need to take care of your heart. And because I’m your momma and I said so.”
Earl snickers. “Young man. He’s a grandfather now.”
Albert introduces himself to my parents.
“He’s Harleigh’s father,” I add.
“Ah, great gal you have. Hard worker,” Dad says as he shakes Albert’s hand.
Albert beams with pride. “Yep. I’m a lucky man,” he agrees. “All my girls turned out great. They’re the ones who made today possible.”
Evelyn offers us a glass, and we leave them to their drink station and continue down the porch steps.
Mom leans close to me. “I adore that woman.”
“Everyone does.”
We wander toward the livestock pens, where another crowd has gathered.
Charli stands inside the fence with a microphone while several beautiful horses stand behind her.
She’s clearly in her element.
“These are some of the animals our students will work with,” she explains to the crowd.
She gestures to a sleek black horse. “This here is Vader. He’s a ten-year-old American quarter horse and an excellent roper.”
A few minutes later, she spots me and winks.
I shake my head.
Charli Storm is chaos in boots.
Just beyond the pens, I finally spot the person I’ve been looking for.
Harleigh.
She’s sitting on the back of a tall gray horse at the head of a small group of riders, preparing for a trail ride.
Her long hair spills down her back beneath a cowboy hat.
Sunlight glints off the silver buckle at her waist.
Even from fifty yards away, I feel that familiar pull in my chest.
Mom notices where my attention has landed.
She smiles knowingly.
Harleigh turns her horse slightly, and our eyes meet across the field.
For a brief second, her lips curve into a secret smile meant only for me.
Then she nudges the horse forward and leads the group toward the tree line.
Dad appears beside me again. “This ranch is incredible,” he says.
The statement surprises me. My father has never seen the potential in rural real estate.
Never found them to be profitable enough to be worth the time or money needed to operate a farm or ranch.
But there’s something rewarding about working generational land.
Getting to know Harleigh and her family has shown me that.
“I told you.”
He nods.
By the time two o’clock rolls around, the crowd has gathered near the makeshift stage set up beside the arena.
Rows of folding chairs fill quickly.
Camera crews take positions.
Dad moves closer to the front, ready for the big introduction.
Onstage stand Matty Storm and Bryce Raintree. Between them stretches a bright red ribbon, tied between two wooden posts.
Dad climbs the steps to join them as one of his female staff members announces him. He takes the giant pair of ceremonial scissors from her and walks over to the microphone.
Albert Storm stands nearby, along with several other ranch hands.
The crowd quiets as Bryce joins Dad at the microphone.
“Thank you all for coming today,” Bryce begins.
He talks about the academy.
About giving young riders a chance to learn the sport and preserving the traditions of rodeo.
Then Matty steps forward.
“This ranch has been in my family a long time,” she says. Her voice cracks with emotion. “And today, we’re proud to open our gates to the next generation of rodeo hopefuls, where we intend to teach not only athletic excellence, but also respect for the animals, the land, and for each other.”
Applause ripples through the crowd.
Dad’s voice rises next. “Hello,” he says. “I’m Senator Barron Garrison, and it’s my pleasure to be here today to represent the leaders of the great state of Wyoming.”
The crowd claps.
“Without further ado, let’s make it official.”
He turns to Bryce. “The state of Wyoming and the town of Wildhaven are proud to welcome you and declare this academy open for business.”
He passes the scissors to Bryce, and he and Matty lift them together.
The ribbon stretches tight between them.
“Three … two … one.”
The blades close.
The ribbon snaps.
Cheers explode across the property.
The Raintree-Storm Rodeo Academy is officially open.
Reporters push forward, snapping photos as Matty and Bryce shake hands.
To my surprise, Dad looks genuinely charmed.
He chats with Albert.
He laughs with Boone.
He compliments the ranch.
Mom and I exchange a quiet glance.
Because this reaction?
Neither of us expected it.
I hope it’s genuine and not just an act for the cameras.
Dad has always been … particular about people.
But right now, he seems completely taken with the Storm family and everything they’ve built here.
And honestly?
That’s a very good thing.
Because tomorrow morning …
I’m going to sit down with him.
And I’m going to suggest something that might raise a few eyebrows at the Belicourt.
Updating the company’s employee fraternization policy.
Mom already knows why.
She’s known for weeks. But Harleigh and I have done everything we can to keep it quiet at the hotel. Stolen glances. Brief touches as we pass in the hallway. Standing close in the elevator.
I don’t think anyone suspects we’re more than co-workers.
Except maybe Diana.
Miss Fairchild has stepped up her game. She clearly believes she has some sort of special claim to my attention. I never really noticed it before, but I guess it’s always been that way. I just didn’t mind until now. The possessiveness … the flirting … it all needs to stop.
So, it’s time to go public with Miss Storm.
Mom’s gaze slides toward the trail where Harleigh disappeared earlier.
Then back to me.
She gives a tiny smile.
Dad, however, remains blissfully unaware.
He’s still chatting happily with Albert Storm and Holland Ludlow.
Taking pictures.
Laughing.
And I realize something as I watch him.
Maybe this conversation tomorrow won’t be quite as explosive as I originally feared.
Because somewhere out there, on a trail winding through these hills, is my future.
And whether my father realizes it yet or not …
These people are going to be family someday.