Chapter Eight #2
Imma Jean waves a hand. “I’m not, but I can appreciate a handsome face as much as the next gal,” she tells him.
Then she says to me, “My late husband was such a fanatic. He used to yell at the screen every time you came on. It wasn’t really my thing.
Too brutal. I nearly had a heart attack, watchin’ you boys ride those bulls. And the blood—my goodness.”
“It can be a bit gory at times,” I admit.
The chimes tinkle again.
“Go sit down now, both of you. I’ll bring coffee right over,” she says before greeting the newcomers.
“Yes, ma’am,” Cabe says, laughing.
We slide into a corner booth. She’s here a minute later with a carafe, two mugs, and a plate of lemon bars.
“We were thinking sandwiches,” Cabe says as she sets the pastries in front of us.
“Wonderful. I’ll get a couple of my famous cowboy breakfast sandwiches going for you. These can just hold you over.”
She sets a mug in front of each of us and pours us both a steaming cup.
“You said you’re workin’ with Charli?” she asks, pouring extra cream into my coffee before I can protest.
“Yes, ma’am. My team hired her to teach me a few new rodeo tricks,” I say, choosing not to go into the whole drawn-out story.
“Oh, my girl. Smart as a whip. Got more talent with horses than most men twice her age. You listen to her, and she’ll teach you more than a few tricks.”
I smile into my mug. “I don’t doubt it.”
“She can be tough,” she continues, “but it’s just because she’s passionate.”
“Passionate is a nice way of saying she’s a bossy hard-ass,” Cabe quips.
Imma Jean swats him with her towel. “Don’t you call your cousin names. She and her sisters run that ranch with class. Ask anyone.”
Cabe leans back, grinning. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pats his cheek fondly. “You Trust boys are trouble.”
When she bustles off, Cabe shakes his head. “Told you. She’s somethin’, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling after her. “She seems to radiate joy, and she’s sure fond of your family.”
“She’s always like that. Adopted half this town one cinnamon roll and slice of apple pie at a time, but she really loves the Storm girls. And she’s pretty sweet on their father as well.”
I raise a brow. “Albert?”
“Oh, yeah. Not that either of them would admit to it.”
We dig into our sandwiches when they come—thick slices of peppered bacon, thin patties of sausage, and country ham piled high with eggs and cheese on homemade sourdough bread. I’m halfway through mine when the door chimes and a gust of cool air sweeps in.
I look up, and in walks a tall man with a confident stride, brown hair brushing his collar, easy smile.
Cabe straightens. “Hey, Caison.”
I know the name immediately. Charli told me all about him. Ironhorse ranch manager. Midnight Storm’s owner. Matty’s beau.
Caison spots us, smiles, and heads our way. “Cabe,” he greets, slapping him on the back. Then he looks at me, and recognition flickers. “You must be Bryce.”
“That’s me.” I rise to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he says warmly. “Matty told me you were in town. I’ve gotta admit, I’m a big fan. Watched you ride many times down in Texas when I was living there. Hell of a talent.”
“Appreciate that.”
Cabe slides over so he can join us.
“So, you’re workin’ with Charli?”
“I am,” I say. “Tryin’ to make the switch to bronc ridin’ before the next circuit season.”
He nods. “You’re in good hands, then.”
“So everyone tells me.”
Imma Jean comes back with another mug and gushes all over Caison before heading off to make his breakfast. The conversation drifts—horses, rodeos, the house he’s building and the one he’s having built on his property for his mother.
When we finish eating, Caison stands. “I’ve gotta get back to the ranch.” He claps my shoulder. “Good luck, Bryce. I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ what you and Charli pull off out there.”
“Thanks,” I say.
He nods to Cabe. “I’ll see you guys tonight. We’re having supper at the ranch before heading to The Soused Cow.”
I glance up at him. “The Soused Cow?”
“Yeah, it’s a watering hole here in town. Apparently, we’re all going dancing to celebrate Matty’s birthday.”
“Does she know that?” Cabe asks.
Caison smirks. “Not yet. She thinks we’re just having a celebratory dinner at Wildhaven Storm and then a quiet night at my place, but I got a text from Charli last night with the plans, and she wasn’t taking no for an answer.”
Cabe snickers. “Figures.”
Caison leaves. Cabe finishes his coffee and leans back. “Well, looks like we’re going out tonight. You in?”
I raise a brow. “I wasn’t exactly invited.”
“I’m inviting you. Those girls are hard to wrangle on a good night. You add shots, and it’s like herding cats. I welcome the backup.”
I grin. “Count me in.”
The Wildhaven Market is only a few blocks away—a small, family-run store with a big porch and baskets of locally grown produce and fresh-cut flowers out front. Inside, the air’s cool, and the aisles are small.
I grab a basket and start tossing in essentials—coffee grounds and filters, bison jerky, a six-pack of beer, and enough snack food to sustain me for a week. Cabe trails behind, critiquing my choices.
We’re halfway through the checkout line when I feel it—the familiar prickle of attention.
Two teenagers near the cooler are whispering, looking my way. A woman in line ahead of us keeps glancing back between us and the rack holding a copy of Modern Cowboy Magazine. My smiling face plastered on the cover. Then a curly-headed kid gets brave enough to approach us.
“Excuse me,” he says, holding out his phone. The screen shows a picture of me, along with my stats. “Are you Bryce Raintree? Like … the bull rider?”
I grin. “Last I checked.”
“Holy crap,” he says, eyes wide. “Can I get a picture?”
“Sure thing.”
By the time we snap one, a couple others have noticed. Someone asks for an autograph, then another. I sign magazines, receipts, the bill of a kid’s ball cap. Cabe’s laughing as he watches me finally step out of the line.
“Damn, does this happen a lot?” he asks as I hand him my basket.
“At events, yes. Not usually in the middle of the grocery store. Not in Texas at least.”
I don’t mind it though. Never have. These folks aren’t screaming fans or paparazzi. They’re ranch kids and families, genuine in their love of rodeo. I shake hands, take a few more selfies, and thank them before heading back to Cabe, who’s at the register.
The clerk, a woman with kind eyes and a gray braid, rings me up. “You know, my husband used to ride bulls back in the day,” she says. “He’s gonna be tickled when I tell him I met you. Jealous he wasn’t here.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I say sincerely. “I’ll be around for a while. Maybe we’ll run into each other.”
Cabe helps load the bags into the truck, still grinning. “You handled that pretty smoothly, superstar.”
I shrug. “It comes with the job. Folks make this life possible. Always good to give ’em a minute.”
He shakes his head. “Whew. If that’s the commotion your presence causes in the market in the middle of the day, tonight at the bar is going to be interesting.”