Chapter Twenty-One
Axle
I lean my forearms on the fence surrounding the outdoor arena, watching Royce work with a pair of saddle bronc riders.
The afternoon sun hangs high over Wildhaven, baking the dirt and filling the air with the familiar smells of leather, sweat, and horses. One of the students breaks from the chute, his bronc hopping hard to the left.
Royce starts shouting corrections before the kid is even finished with the ride. “Lift. Lift. Lift. Spur. Spur. Lift. Keep your feet up!”
The teenager hits the dirt.
“Not that damn high!”
A few laughs ripple through the arena.
I grin.
Royce has always been a better teacher than he gives himself credit for, and the students love him.
The kid climbs to his feet, dusting himself off. Then Royce gestures for him to bring his horse around and try again.
“You enjoying yourself?”
I glance over my shoulder.
Bryce steps up beside me and hooks his arms over the top rail. “Thought you weren’t supposed to be anywhere near an arena for a few weeks.”
I smirk. “It’s a bruised rib. Pretty sure you know better than anybody that ain’t bad enough to keep me from riding.”
“I heard it was a broken rib.”
I roll my eyes. “Geezus. If a bull tagged me at a Pbr event, I’d still be getting back on my next draw unless I was unconscious.”
Bryce snorts. “True enough.”
He studies me for a moment.
“Jovie’s young. Still new. Still playing by the book.” His eyes move toward the arena. “Give it a few years. She’ll be slapping Band-Aids on reckless cowboys and shooting cortisone into bad knees before sending them back into the chute.”
I bark out a laugh. “I don’t know. I think she might be a tough one.”
“Good.” Bryce scratches his jaw. “That’s what the boys on the circuit need so they aren’t forced into early retirement.”
That gets another laugh out of me.
The kid in the arena takes another ride on the bronc and does better this time.
Royce nods approvingly.
Bryce watches him for a second before speaking again. “I wanted to thank you.”
The sincerity in his voice catches my attention.
I look over. “For what?”
“For stepping in the other day.” His expression grows serious. “Protecting that student.”
The image flashes through my mind—the loose bull, Natalia’s panicked face, and that split second when everything could have gone sideways.
My rib throbs at the memory.
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
Bryce shakes his head. “Yes, it was.” His voice is firm. “That’s exactly why I wanted you and Royce here. You two know how to ride.”
“Hell, lots of people know how to ride,” I say.
His eyes stay fixed on the arena. “Yeah, but you also know how to see everything happening around you.”
I know what he means.
The best riders aren’t just athletes; they’re observers, students of the rodeo chaos. They learn to read animals, people, and situations. They can spot danger before it happens.
Bryce nods toward the students. “That’s something these kids need to learn.” His voice softens. “And it’s something they can only learn from people who’ve lived it.”
I nod. “Appreciate that.”
Bryce grins. “Don’t get emotional on me.”
“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”
We stand there in comfortable silence for a minute, watching Royce do his thing.
Then Bryce clears his throat. “So …”
I glance sideways. “What?”
“I was in California last week.”
“I heard,” I say. “Hope you had some fun.”
He snorts. “Too many meetings and too many people wearing suits.”
I shudder dramatically.
Bryce laughs. “I met with Shawn.”
That gets my attention.
Shawn Norris has represented Bryce for years. He’s one of the biggest sports agents in the industry.
He’s also my agent.
“How is ol’ Shawn?”
Bryce shifts his weight against the fence. “He’s fine. Still complaining about his wife complaining about him working too much.”
“Which causes him to work more just to get away from the complaining,” I say.
“Bingo.”
He chuckles under his breath and then continues, “We were talking sponsorships and how I want to cut down on mine.”
That surprises me.
I turn fully toward him. “What?”
Bryce shrugs. “I’m heading into my final year.”
The words hang there.
Final year.
Even though we’ve all known retirement was coming, hearing him say it still feels strange.
Bryce Raintree has been part of the sport for as long as I can remember. A Pbr legend. And the man earned the title.
Seeing him retire is going to feel weird.
He must read something on my face because he laughs. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not dying.”
“No. But it’s gonna be the end of an era for sure.”
“Yeah,” he agrees before continuing, “That’s why I’m simplifying things.” He starts counting on his fingers. “Bull Rope Whiskey, Raintree-Storm Rodeo Academy, and commentary.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Commentary? Really? Rodeo or Pbr?”
“Both. Maybe. Pbr for sure.”
“You do know that means wearing a sports coat, right?”
“Don’t remind me.”
I nod.
I’ve heard him do broadcast guest spots before. He’s good at it. People listen when Bryce Raintree talks.
“I’ll be doing a lot of press junkets, TV appearances, and promotions this coming year.” He shrugs. “My grand retirement tour.”
Makes sense.
Bryce has always been smart about planning ahead. The guys who struggle after retirement are usually the ones who never prepared for life after rodeo. He isn’t one of those guys.
“That’s not gonna leave a lot of free time. Plus, I’ve got a woman planning a wedding who’d like to see me from time to time.” His grin returns.
“So, something has to go,” I say.
“Exactly. And as you can imagine, Shawn isn’t a fan of walking away from lucrative contracts.”
I chuckle. “I bet not.”
One thing about Shawn Norris: the man wants that commission.
“So, we had a conversation. And we think it’s time.”
“Time for what?” I ask.
He turns toward me fully. “Outlaw Heritage.”
I know exactly who Outlaw Heritage is. Every rider on tour does. They are one of the biggest names in Western headwear. Their hats are everywhere—TV ads, billboards, magazine spreads, and commercials. It’s a huge brand with big money behind it.
And Bryce is the face of the brand.
I blink. “You’re kidding. You guys are giving up Outlaw Heritage?”
“Nope.”
“Whew. For a second there, I thought you’d lost your damn mind,” I quip.
“We want you to be the next face of Outlaw Heritage, Ax. I love the brand. I care about the company. Want to keep it in the family.”
I’m stunned silent.
“Shawn and I met with their CEO and CFO last week, and they’re on board.”
I let out a low whistle. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
My eyes drift back toward the arena, though I’m not truly looking at it anymore. Instead, I see possibilities. Opportunities. The future.
Bryce continues, “It’s a two-year deal. Mid six figures.”
I nearly choke. “You’re screwing with me?”
He laughs. “I’m not.”
Holy shit.
I stare at him.
That’s more money than I’ve ever made from a single endorsement.
Bryce keeps going. “It’ll be print campaigns, television commercials, in-person appearances. And of course, you’ll have to wear one of their hats on that ugly head of yours every time you walk out the door.”
“Of course.”
“Then they’ll renegotiate after two years. Assuming things go well.”
I rub the back of my neck.
This is real money. Life-altering money. Money for my future family. The ranch.
“And if you’re winning …”
I finish the sentence. “They’ll pay more.”
His smile widens. “The more buckles you collect, the more valuable your image becomes.”
“Especially wearing their hats.”
“Exactly.”
I look down at the dirt.
Then back at him.
“I’m ready.”
The words come out without hesitation because I am. I’m hungry for it. I’ve spent years grinding, traveling, getting my ass kicked, winning, losing, getting back up, and working harder than anyone else.
For the first time, it feels like the industry is finally noticing.
Bryce nods. “I know you are.”
The compliment means something, coming from him.
More than it would from most people.
“You’re easily one of the most talented riders on the circuit.” His eyes lock on to mine. “It’s your time, Axle.”
I don’t say anything. Because part of me wants to argue. The other part desperately wants to believe him.
Bryce smiles. “Don’t be hardheaded, like me. Stay healthy.”
My hand automatically goes to my injured rib.
He laughs, and I flip him off with my good hand.
He ignores it, and his voice grows serious again. “Stay healthy for a few more years. Keep winning. And you’ll be able to retire with a nice nest egg of your own.”
No scrambling and wondering what comes next. Just options and freedom.
I nod. “I like the sound of that.”
“I figured you might.” Bryce pushes away from the fence. “Shawn will call later this week. Hammer out all the details.”
“Thanks, man.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he says.
“You opened the door.”
Bryce nods. “You go kick it down.”
I nod.
He starts walking away. Then he stops, turns back, and points at me. “Oh, and, Ax?”
“What?”
He grins. “Can you stay out of the arena for at least a day or two? If Charli catches you doing something stupid and reinjuring yourself, she’s gonna kick my ass.”
I burst out laughing. “One of the toughest men in professional rodeo, and you’re scared of a girl.”
“Terrified.”
I laugh so hard that I nearly double over.
He starts walking backward toward the parking lot.
“Fine. I’ll behave.”
A moment later, he climbs into his truck and drives away.
I turn back toward the arena, but I can’t focus. I can’t stop thinking about what Bryce said.
“It’s your time.”