Chapter Three
Jovie
I pull my SUV through the open gates of the Wildhaven Storm Ranch, navigate toward the Raintree-Storm Rodeo Academy, and quickly slow down, taking it all in.
The place is massive.
Not in the polished, country-club way some sports facilities are. This place feels real. Warm. A true nod to Western working and living. Built by people who actually understand rodeo instead of businessmen trying to capitalize on it.
Fresh split-rail fencing stretches across rolling pastureland.
The main arena rises in the distance, all steel beams and weathered wood accents, with banners already hanging for the summer program.
Beyond it sit the barns, outdoor practice pens, and a line of bunkhouses tucked beneath towering cottonwoods.
And everywhere I look there are horses.
The smell hits me next—hay, leather, dirt, sunscreen, and warm Wyoming air.
I smile before I can stop myself.
Aurora, Colorado, has been good for me. My doctoral program is intense and thrilling and exactly where I need to be professionally, but, God, I’ve missed this. Missed Wyoming. Missed the Teton mountains and open skies and people who have known you your whole life, waving from pickup trucks.
Missed Wildhaven.
Missed my family.
Missed my friends.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I follow the gravel road toward the medical clinic building Bryce Raintree had constructed near the indoor arena.
Cabe sent me pictures while it was being built, bragging about how Bryce and Matty were “doing this thing right.” At the time, I teased him for sounding like an infomercial spokesperson.
Now?
I can see he wasn’t exaggerating.
The building looks incredible with dark-stained wood siding and black metal roofing that matches the rest of the academy structures. A sign beside the entrance reads: Raintree-Storm Sports Medicine & Trauma Center.
I park beside a black Ram truck that I’m almost positive belongs to Dr. Seth Stoke and kill the engine.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach.
Not nervous exactly. Excited.
This internship is a huge opportunity. Most PT students would kill for direct sports medicine experience like this, especially in a specialized athletic environment.
Rodeo athletes are different from traditional athletes.
Their injuries are unique. Their recovery demands are brutal.
Their pain tolerance is borderline superhuman.
And I understand them. Because I grew up around them.
I grab my purse and overnight bag before climbing out into the warm June morning. The wind brushes my hair across my cheek as I look around again.
Somewhere out here, Cabe Trust is probably on the back of a horse.
We’ve been texting constantly for months. Calling too. Late-night conversations that somehow slipped back into the easy rhythm we used to have before life took us in separate directions.
Before college.
Before distance.
Before we decided loving each other and building separate futures at the same time was too hard and concluded we should just be friends for now.
Best friends.
Although I got a feeling when I was home last fall break that he might be hoping for more again.
I blow out a breath and head toward the clinic doors before my mind can spiral too hard into that particularly complicated situation.
The second I step inside, cool air-conditioning washes over me.
“About time you got here.”
I grin instantly at the familiar voice. “Seth.”
He steps out from behind a desk with a smile that deepens the lines around his eyes.
He looks almost exactly like he did back at Bradley Spine and Injury Center in Laramie—tall and broad-shouldered with salt-and-pepper hair and the permanent tan of a man who spends half his life outdoors.
At fifty-something, Dr. Seth Stoke is still ridiculously handsome in that rugged-older-cowboy way.
The wedding band on his finger has never once stopped half the nurses in Wyoming from flirting with him.
Not that he notices.
Or cares.
His wife, Diane, has his heart securely locked down.
“There’s our girl.” He pulls me into a quick hug. “Doctor-to-be.”
“Don’t jinx me. I still have another year.”
“You’ll survive. You were one of the smartest student assistants Bradley ever had.”
I laugh softly. “That feels like a stretch.”
“It isn’t.”
Warmth spreads through my chest at the praise. Seth was one of the first medical professionals who ever treated me like I genuinely belonged in this field instead of just being a ranch girl with good grades.
“How was the drive?” he asks.
“Easy. Pretty. I missed Wyoming.”
“That’ll happen.” He motions deeper into the clinic. “C’mon. Let me show you around before the circus starts in two days.”
I follow him down the hallway, already impressed.
The clinic is far nicer than I expected for a rodeo academy.
Everything smells new. Fresh paint. Clean floors. Untouched equipment.
“This is our admin area,” Seth explains. “We’ll have to handle some charting and intake paperwork for insurance and academy records.”
The desk area is sleek and functional with two computer stations and plenty of storage. Beyond that is a surprisingly spacious central treatment area.
My eyes widen slightly. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” Seth says proudly. “Bryce didn’t half-ass this project.”
Apparently not.
We move through the facility as he points out everything. His desk sits to the right with a folding wall separating it from an exam room to the left, where he’ll perform evaluations and minor procedures. Across from it, behind lead-lined partition walls, is a compact X-ray room.
Then he takes me toward the back. “This’ll mostly be your domain.”
I step into the PT section and start mentally cataloging equipment.
One traction table.
Two TENS units.
Ultrasound machine.
Storage shelves packed with resistance bands, foam rollers, kinesiology tape, wraps, balance discs, and stability balls.
Not huge.
But functional.
Honestly? Better equipped than some outpatient clinics I’ve shadowed.
“There ain’t a ton of room,” Seth says, leaning against the doorway, “but we figured we’ll expand later if the program grows.”
“It’s perfect.”
And it is.
The space feels intentional. Practical. Built by people who actually asked what sports medicine professionals needed.
I run my fingers along the edge of the treatment table. “I can do a lot with this. Although I’m not sure how much with the limited time students are here.”
Seth smirks. “It’s my experience that we’ll be working on the staff as much as we do students. Probably more.”
“Really?”
He shrugs. “Bryce hired some rodeo hotshots to work this summer. So, chances are high.”
I laugh. “That’s great. I’ll get my feet wet with the stubborn cowboys. It’ll be good practice.”
Seth quirks a brow. “That’s right. Bryce told me you are looking to join the rodeo circuit after graduation.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. He said Cabe sold the hell outta you for this internship. He knew you could use the practice and it would be a good fit.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks.
Of course Cabe advocated for me. I knew he talked to Bryce after I mentioned applying, but hearing it confirmed warms my heart.
“He might have exaggerated my abilities slightly.”
“Nah. Bryce called Bradley before we finalized things. And I sang your praises myself.”
I laugh, embarrassed. “Well, now I feel pressure.”
“Good. Pressure builds character.”
I snort.
Seth continues the tour, showing me the break room, tucked across the hall from the bathrooms. It’s small but comfortable with a coffee maker, microwave, dorm-sized refrigerator, and a scarred wooden table.
We loop back toward the front entrance before heading outside again.
The Wyoming sun is bright overhead now, warming my shoulders as we walk along a stone path behind the clinic.
“That building there’s the dining hall,” Seth explains, pointing toward a large lodge-style structure bustling with workers preparing for opening week. “Students and staff eat there three times a day.”
Past it sit several long bunkhouses.
“That’s where the kids stay. We’ve got our first group arriving Sunday afternoon. Program officially starts Monday morning.”
“How many students?”
“Twenty-four this session.”
I whistle softly. “That many?”
He nods. “And the next group comes two weeks later. Then another. And another.” He grins sideways at me. “Hope you like chaos.”
“I grew up around rodeo families. Chaos is comforting.”
“That’s the spirit.”
We continue farther down the path until he stops beside a row of tiny cabins nestled beneath a cluster of pine trees.
“And this is you,” he says, nodding to the second from the left.
I stare at it. “Oh my God.”
Small and rustic with dark wood siding and a little covered porch, complete with a rocking chair. Window boxes beneath the front windows overflow with purple blooms.
“It’s adorable,” I say.
Seth chuckles. “Bryce’s fiancée and her grandmother decorated them.”
I know Charli and Evelyn Storm well. And this looks very much like I’d imagine.
He hands me a key.
The cabin is only about four hundred square feet, but the second I step inside, it feels cozy instead of cramped.
A queen-size bed sits against the far wall, covered in a sage-green-and-cream quilt.
There’s a small nightstand beside it with a lamp shaped like an antler.
A tiny kitchenette lines one wall, complete with a mini fridge, microwave, sink, and coffee maker.
A television is perched atop a narrow chest of drawers beside a closet, and a comfy leather chair sits near the window.
Simple.
Comfortable.
Perfect.
I move toward the bathroom and peek inside.
Single vanity. Toilet. Compact stand-up shower.
Again, basic, but it’s all I need.
“This is amazing,” I say honestly.
Seth leans against the doorway. “Glad you think so. You’ll probably spend more time working than sleeping anyway.”
“That’s reassuring.”
He laughs.
Then his expression softens slightly.
“Don’t worry. It’s gonna be a great experience.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’m excited to get started. And it’s so good to be home.”
Aurora is busy and crowded and ambitious in a way I’ve learned to appreciate, but Wildhaven feels like breathing deeper. Like my entire body relaxed the moment I hit the county line.
“My parents are elated too,” I add. “Mom already planned, like, six family dinners.”
“Sounds like a mom,” he says.
“And being close to everyone this summer’ll be nice. I practically grew up on this ranch with Cabe and his cousins.”
Seth gives me a knowing look. “You seen that boy yet?”
“Who? Cabe? Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll find me once his day is done.”
“Mmhmm.”
I narrow my eyes.
Seth pushes off the doorway. “All right, logistics. Breakfast starts at six thirty. Training days officially begin at eight, but instructors are usually moving around before that.”
“Okay.”
“No official end time. Depends on the students and whatever events are happening that day. Some evenings’ll finish early. Some won’t.”
“That’s fine.”
“Weekends are yours unless somebody gets hurt badly enough that they need monitoring,” he says.
“Hopefully not,” I mutter.
“That’s the goal.” He pauses. “And, Jovie?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t need to prove yourself to anybody here. You already earned your spot. Just do what comes naturally, and I’m here to support you.”
Emotion unexpectedly tightens my throat.
I nod once. “Thanks, Seth.”
“Get unpacked. Settle in. Enjoy the calm before the storm.”
Then he tips an imaginary hat and heads back toward the clinic.
I stand in the middle of the cabin after he leaves, listening to the quiet.
Wind rustles through the trees outside.
Somewhere farther off, I hear horses nickering and the faint metallic clang of arena gates.
I sit on the edge of the bed and slowly look around.
For the first time in months, my chest doesn’t feel tight with deadlines and exams and constant pressure.
Instead, excitement buzzes through me.
This summer matters. And deep in my bones, I just know that everything is going to change.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and send a text.
Me: Just arrived. Gonna grab my bags and get settled in.
Three dots appear instantly.
Cabe: ’Bout damn time.
I laugh.
Me: The rodeo academy is ridiculous.
Cabe: Yep. It’s a stunner.
Me: And the clinic is really nice.
Cabe: Glad you think so.
Me: You undersold the cabin though.
Cabe: You like it?
I glance around and smile to myself.
Me: Yeah, I really do.
There’s a longer pause this time before his reply comes through.
Cabe: Good. Want you to be comfortable here.
And there it is.
The same feeling I used to get at thirteen, when Cabe would show up at my parents’ house with a plate of Evelyn’s cookies after a bad day. The same feeling I got at sixteen, when he kissed me at the drive-in theater.
Safe.
Wanted.
Known.
I lie back onto the mattress.
Maybe coming home this summer is a terrible idea, or maybe it’s the best one I’ve had in years.
Another text appears.
Cabe: I’m finishing up fencing on the north pasture. Come find me later?
Me: Maybe.
Cabe: Tease.
Me: Busy professional medical personnel.
Cabe: Fancy way to say tease.
I grin at my phone.
God help me.
This summer could get very complicated.