Chapter Two
The morning sun is harsh today. It bites the back of my neck and glints off the metal railings like it’s trying to blind me. I’m standing in the arena with a gentle older chestnut mare and my new geriatric client, Pearl, who looks like she’s one wrong move away from needing a hip replacement.
“Keep your heels down,” I call, watching her wobble in the saddle. “You’re sitting too far back. You’ve got to move with her, not against her.”
Pearl nods, biting her lip, eyes wide under her helmet. She may be in her seventies, but she rides like a nervous twelve-year-old.
The mare, Sweet Pea, is patient—thank God—but she’s starting to lose interest in this slow-motion circus. I can tell by the way her ears flick back, like she’s saying, You’re boring me, lady.
“That’s better,” I say when Pearl finally finds some rhythm. “Now breathe. Horses can tell when you’re holding your breath.”
Pearl lets out a shaky exhale, and Sweet Pea’s whole frame relaxes a little. They finally move as one for a few beautiful strides, and Pearl’s face takes on an expression of pure elation. It’s the kind of moment that makes all the yelling and sweating worth it.
When we’re done, I meet her at the gate, give her a smile, and pat the mare’s neck. “See? Not so bad.”
“I felt like I was going to die for a second there, but then it felt like I was flying, even though we were barely moving,” Pearl admits with a whimsical laugh.
“That’s the sweet spot,” I tease. “Means you’re conquering your fear.”
She laughs harder, cheeks flushed. “I don’t know about that. I was still shaking like a leaf.”
“I’ve been doing this since before I could tie my shoes,” I say, taking the reins. “A little bit of fear is good. It keeps you alert. Reminds you to respect the animal. You just have to learn to control it and not let it control you, is all.”
Pearl thanks me and promises to bring a batch of her famous dark chocolate peanut butter chip cookies next week before heading out.
By the time I have Sweet Pea unsaddled and hosed down, the sound of a diesel engine pulling into the yard makes me glance toward the main drive.
A long silver trailer rolls in, kicking up a storm of dust behind.
The truck is clean—too clean for ranch work—and parks straight as a ruler.
Its side is emblazoned with a silver horse head with red flames in the eyes.
Ironhorse.
Of course it’s one of theirs.
I lean against the barn door, wiping my hands on a towel as the truck door swings open. Caison climbs out, looking like a cowgirl’s dream—jeans hugging him in all the right places, crisp white shirt, black Stetson covering his dark hair and shading that annoyingly handsome face.
Matty steps out from the office, her braid swinging behind her as she waves.
“There she is,” Caison calls, grinning wide as she walks toward him.
I toss my towel over a rail and join them, just as the driver lowers the ramp on the trailer. Inside stands one of the most beautiful horses I’ve seen in years. He’s a deep, glistening black with a sharp white blaze, muscles tight and lean under his coat. His eyes are bright, alert, but calm.
Smart horse. Expensive horse.
“He’s stunning,” I say, stepping closer. “What is he?”
“American quarter horse,” Caison answers. “Four years old. His name’s Midnight Storm.”
“Midnight Storm,” Matty whispers as she beams up at the majestic beast.
“Yep,” Caison says as his arm goes around Matty’s shoulders, and he kisses her head. “How could I not buy him once I saw his name?”
Her eyes flick up to his, and I can practically see her panties melt right off of her as he smiles.
I clear my throat.
“Get a room,” I murmur, then circle the horse slowly.
Midnight’s curious eyes follow me, his ears pinned back, tail clamped between his legs, body rigid. He lets out a warning breath before taking a step back. I widen my circle to give him room to assess me as I watch his body language.
“Hi, Midnight,” I say softly.
I raise my hand slowly as I stop in front of him.
I stand still, not making eye contact, and keep my arm extended for a few seconds.
Giving him time to familiarize himself with me.
After a few tense beats, he bends to sniff my fingers.
Once his head rises, I cautiously run my hand down his muzzle.
He allows it, but his ears are still pinned, and his nostrils are slightly flared.
“It’s okay, big boy. You and I are going to be good friends,” I whisper before taking several steps backward.
“He’s magnificent,” I tell Caison.
“Exactly what I thought,” Caison says. “He’s got the speed and the muscle.”
I cut my eyes to him. “And you want him trained to be a riding horse?”
“Yeah. Why? You think that’s a bad idea?”
I shake my head. “Not necessarily. It’s just that you could have chosen a gelding for that. Seems this guy could be so much more.”
Caison smiles. “Well, I’ll be using him for work as well as pleasure.
So, his strength and agility will come in handy if I need him for cutting or wrangling.
He’ll be my primary transportation to and from the ranch from my house once it’s finished, so he needs to be a good trail horse. And I plan to breed him at some point.”
I nod. “Okay. Let’s get him settled into a stall. I’ll start working with him tomorrow, and I’ll let you know when we’re ready for you to join us.”
“Thanks, Charli. No one I’d rather have training him than you.”
I arch a brow at him. “Flattery?”
He laughs. “Guilty.”
Once we get Midnight settled into an open stall, Caison heads back to Ironhorse.
I hang the horse’s water bucket and glance at Matty. “He should do fine here. He’s got a steady temperament—standoffish, but not menacing.”
“Sounds like you two will get along just fine, then,” Matty says with a grin.
“Just for that, you’re on mucking duty.”
She turns and starts for the exit. “Sorry, I’ve got important manager shit to do.”
I laugh. “Cop-out.”
She stops and turns back to me. “Actually, before I run off, do you have a minute?”
I give Midnight a last once-over before answering, “Sure. I was just going in for a snack before my next appointment.”
We walk toward the main house.
“So, what’s up?” I ask.
“You got any room in your schedule for new lessons?” she asks. Her tone tentative.
I glance at her sideways. “Depends. What kind of lessons are we talkin’?”
“Just … someone who needs specialized training.”
“Define specialized.”
She huffs out a breath. “Do you have the time or not?”
“Some,” I admit. “Most of my students at the moment are kids or teens. I’m slammed from about three to six, but mornings and early afternoons are manageable. Why?”
She hesitates, which is not something Matty does often. “Because our cousin Axle called me last night.”
“Axle?” I say, confused. “What’s he got to do with it?”
Axle is Cabe’s older sibling. He and their other brother, Royce, are always on the road following their rodeo dreams from one town to the next.
They’re members of Professional Bull Riders, Inc.
, or Pbr, an international professional bull riding organization headquartered in Fort Worth, Texas.
It’s the largest bull riding league in the world, sanctioning hundreds of events every year.
“Nothing really. He called because he shares an agent with Bryce Raintree.”
I stop walking. “Hold up. The Bryce Raintree? The pro bull rider who’s been on every sports magazine cover for the last decade?”
“That’s the one.”
I whistle low. “Wow. Axle must be doing better in the Pbr standings than I realized if he’s caught the eye of the same agent as a celebrity cowboy with a god complex.”
Matty frowns. “God complex?”
I roll my eyes. She’s so clueless. “Yeah. Bryce Raintree is in every gossip and news site for the Pbr. The man’s always in trouble or stirring it up. Goodness, Matty, you really need to pull your head out of the paperwork every now and then.”
“Shit,” she says, biting the corner of her mouth.
“Matty …”
She starts talking faster. “The agent mentioned to Axle that because of all the injuries Bryce has had, they’re looking to transition him from bull riding to bronc riding.
Axle talked Wildhaven Storm up to the agent and Bryce’s management.
They came to the table with a very lucrative offer. They want to hire you to train him.”
I blink at her. Then I laugh—loudly. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“Matty, I train horses, not cowboys,” I say, shaking my head.
“You train horses and riders,” she corrects.
“Horses, yes. Riders, yes. But not bucking broncs and definitely not rodeo hotshots with overinflated egos.”
“You started training Leon Brewster this year,” she points out.
I stop dead, plant my boots, and face her. “Leon is six years old. His dad wants to enter him in a junior rodeo, and I’m training him to ride two-handed on a saddle bronc pony. That is not the same as dealing with an almost-thirty-year-old cowboy and a fifteen-hundred-pound bucking beast.”
“A bronc is just a horse,” Matty argues, like she’s explaining something obvious. “You know horses. And the cowboy is just a man. You know men.”
I snort. “You don’t sound so sure about that last part.”
“It’s a lot of money, Charli. And if we don’t accept it, they’re looking at hiring Giles.”
That makes me stop breathing for a second.
Of course.
I look at her, narrowing my eyes. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
“Why doesn’t Shelby do it?” I ask. “She’s the one who trains competition riders.”
“She trains barrel racers, jumpers, and trick riders—not cowboys looking to hold on to an angry animal’s back for eight seconds,” Matty says. “She hasn’t got a clue what to do with a bull rider.”
“Neither do I!”
“Look, he’s a professional. He knows how to ride bulls, but he needs to learn how to ride broncs.”
I stare at her. “So, he’s a cowboy who doesn’t know how to ride a horse?”
Matty sighs like I’m a difficult child. “Of course he can ride a horse, Charli. He just needs to unlearn what he does on the back of a bull and retrain his body for bronc form. You know, different cues, different posture, timing. You’ve trained broncs.
You know how they move, how they react. He needs to learn how to read that.
It’s muscle memory, and you can help him build it. ”
Oh my God. She’s serious.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter.
“Come on,” she says, smiling a little. “You’ve been talking for months about wanting to try something new.”
“Yeah, I meant something like high-speed conditioning of a racehorse, not teaching a cocky celebrity to stay on a bucking horse without dying.”
She laughs. “You always say you like a challenge.”
I exhale hard, rubbing the back of my neck. “Fine. I’ll take a look at him. But you’re gonna owe me.”
Her grin widens. “Once you see your paycheck, you’re gonna owe me.”
I shake my head as we reach the porch. “I swear, I like boss you less and less every day.”
She grins, pushing open the front door. “As long as you still love sister me, I can live with that.”
We step inside, and I let the cool air wrap around me. The smell of tangy fruit and cinnamon hits us—Grandma’s been making apple dumplings. My stomach growls as I follow the aroma, and Matty heads upstairs.
I find Grandma in her apron at the stove, stirring something in a saucepan.
“Any of those done?” I ask as I glance over her shoulder.
“There’s a batch cooling on the counter. Just pulled it out of the oven a few minutes ago. Ice cream’s in the freezer.”
I fill a bowl, grab a cup of coffee, and head to the dining table. Matty appears a few minutes later with a folder labeled Bryce Raintree in hand.
I raise an eyebrow. “You already had a signed contract, didn’t you?”
She smirks. “I was confident.”
“You’re something else.”
“I know.”
She drops the file on the table and goes to the kitchen before returning with her own coffee mug and taking a seat across from me.
I lean back in my chair, arms crossed. “So, when am I supposed to meet this cowboy?”
“Tomorrow morning,” she says without looking up.
“Tomorrow?!”
She nods.
I groan. “You could’ve at least pretended to give me time to say no.”
“You did say no. But then you listened to my stellar arguments and changed your mind.”
“Classic.”
“You’ll thank me later,” she quips.
“Or I’ll kill you later. We’ll see how it goes.”
She smirks.
“So, what time tomorrow?” I ask.
“They’re flying in early. His agent will bring him by around ten, and we’ll get him settled in.”
“Settled in?”
She glances up. “Oh, did I forget to mention that he’ll be staying in Carl’s old cabin for the summer?”
Carl is Matty’s ex-fiancé. He used to work here at Wildhaven Storm but took off like the snake he was when things got rough.
He regretted the decision and tried to work his way back into her life last year.
Too bad for him, Caison Galloway had already made his way to town.
The snake never stood a chance. He slithered off again once it was clear Matty’s heart now belonged to Case.
“Yeah, you did.”
And she doesn’t look the least bit sorry.