Chapter Seven
Jovie
The first official day of the academy is barely half over, and I already have a newfound respect for every teacher who’s ever stood in front of a classroom full of teenagers.
Give me a fractured wrist, a dislocated shoulder, or a nasty rope burn any day of the week.
At least when they’re injured, they will sit still and listen to you.
These kids?
Not a chance.
I stand at the front of one of the classroom buildings, remote in hand, trying to keep a dozen aspiring rodeo stars focused on a presentation titled “Fitness & Nutrition for Competitive Athletes.”
The title alone nearly loses half of them.
A boy in the back yawns and tugs the brim of his hat lower, hoping I won’t notice as he starts to nod off.
Two barrel racers in the front row are whispering while scrolling on their phones.
One of the younger bull riders can barely contain his antsy energy. He keeps bouncing his knee so hard that his entire desk rattles and I can feel the vibration through the floor.
Another kid keeps glancing out the window toward the arena, where the morning riding sessions are taking place.
I clear my throat. “Ladies and gentlemen.”
Nobody hears me.
I try again. “Cowboys and cowgirls.”
A few heads turn.
Progress.
“If you’re staring out that window because you hope a bull gets loose and charges through it to rescue you from my boring class, you’re going to be disappointed.”
That earns a few chuckles.
“Now, as I was saying before half of you mentally left the room, strength training isn’t about looking good in a T-shirt.”
One of the boys flexes.
The class laughs.
I point directly at him. “Case in point.”
More laughter.
At least they’re awake.
For the next twenty minutes, I do my best to explain muscle recovery, hydration, proper warm-ups, the importance of flexibility, how nutrition impacts performance, and how exhaustion and dehydration contribute to injuries.
The information is valuable.
But they’re itching to get back outside. Every single one of them came here to train and to fine-tune their skills.
Not listen to a sports medicine lecture.
I can practically see their attention spans evaporating into the afternoon heat.
A girl in the front row raises her hand.
Finally, a question.
“Yes?”
“Is there gonna be a quiz? I forgot to hit Record on my phone, so I don’t have any notes.”
“The folder I gave you at the beginning of class has all the information we’ll be covering,” I tell her.
The sleepy cowboy sits straight up. “Nobody said I was going to have to do homework. It’s summer!” he bellows.
“There is no quiz and no homework assignments. But this is something you all need to learn. Now, do you have any other questions related to the presentation?”
“How much longer is it?”
“Yeah. What time do we get back in the arena?”
“When’s lunch?”
Several students nod eagerly.
I sigh. “That is not a nutrition question.”
“It kind of is.”
“It absolutely is not.”
The room erupts into laughter again.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Lord help me.
The classroom door opens, and every student looks toward it.
Charli Storm steps inside, wearing jeans, boots, and a Wildhaven Rodeo Academy T-shirt.
She pauses by the doorway and observes the scene. The restless students. The bored expressions. My increasing desperation. Her mouth twitches as she tries not to laugh.
Traitor.
“Everything okay in here?” she asks.
I narrow my eyes. “Fantastic.”
A snort escapes her.
The students instantly perk up. I shouldn’t be surprised. Charli has one of those personalities that naturally commands attention—confident, fun, easygoing. The kind of person kids are drawn to.
Oh, and the fact that she is about to become Mrs. Bryce Raintree certainly doesn’t hurt.
She walks toward the front of the room. “Mind if I say something?”
“Please.” I nearly hand her the remote.
She places her hands on her hips and turns toward the class. The chatter dies down.
Interesting.
“All right,” she says, “how many of you want to compete professionally someday?”
Every hand shoots up.
Every single one.
Charli nods. “Good. Now, how many of you think success in rodeo is just about what happens in the arena?”
Several hands remain raised, but a few students exchange uncertain looks as they start to lower theirs.
Charli folds her arms. “Wrong answer.”
The room grows quiet.
“If you don’t take care of your body, it won’t matter how well you ride a bull.”
She points toward one side of the room. “Or how good you are on a bronc.” Then another. “Or how tight you can round barrels.”
The students listen.
Actually listen.
“If you’re not strong enough to compete, none of that talent matters.”
She lets that sink in.
“Your body is your livelihood. Do you understand what that means? What that takes?”
Heads start nodding, and I can feel a shift happening as they listen.
“Every athlete you’ve ever looked up to trains outside their sport. Strength training matters. Recovery matters. Nutrition matters.”
Then she smiles. “And since I know half of you worship Bryce Raintree …”
Several students laugh.
One kid loudly says, “He’s the GOAT!”
Charli points at him. “Exactly.”
The class grins.
“Bryce works out constantly.”
That gets their attention.
“Being a rodeo athlete and wanting to compete professionally is no different from being a college football star, hoping to make it to the NFL, or an Olympic track star. You have to work hard. Build muscle. Make sure you get proper nutrition. And it’s gonna look different from what your brothers and sisters are eating.
Bryce follows training programs set up by professionals like Miss Asbury.
” She gestures to me. “He pays attention to what he eats at every meal. Making sure he fuels his body properly to be able to withstand getting on the back of a bull every weekend. He listens to what they tell him to do. They know what it takes.”
Now they’re hanging on every word.
“So, if you want your name up in lights someday, you’d better start listening to Miss Asbury.”
The transformation is immediate.
Students sit up straighter.
Pens come out, and they finally open the folders I so meticulously put together for them and start thumbing through the pages.
I stare in amazement.
“What kind of sorcery was that?” I ask.
Charli grins. “They’re rodeo kids. You have to speak rodeo to them for them to understand.”
Apparently, that’s explanation enough.
The remaining half hour flies by.
Now they’re engaged.
Questions start coming one after another.
“What should we eat before competing?”
“Do I really need that many calories?”
“How much water should we drink a day?”
“I didn’t know sleep was that important.”
“Should bull riders lift differently from barrel racers?”
I answer every question.
And for the first time all day, they’re genuinely interested.
By the end of class, the kids are actually learning and seem excited.
I glance at the clock.
Time’s up.
“Before you all leave, one last announcement: The academy gym opens at six every morning.”
A collective groan fills the air.
I guess they aren’t quite that excited.
One kid drops his forehead onto his desk.
I laugh. “Listen to me.”
A few dramatic sighs follow.
“I’ll be available all week to teach proper lifting technique.”
That earns slightly more interest.
“Posture matters.” I point toward them. “Technique matters. If you’re using equipment incorrectly, you’re increasing your risk of injury.”
The room quiets.
“So, if you’d like help creating workout plans or learning proper form, I’ll be there.”
Silence.
Then someone asks, “Six?”
“Six.”
Another groan.
A girl near the front mutters, “That’s basically still nighttime.”
The class laughs.
“I’ll see at least some of you there.”
A few students offer half-hearted promises.
One boy says, “Maybe.”
Another says, “No offense, ma’am, but absolutely not. It’s summer. I’ll start all this new year, new me shit in August.”
More laughter.
I dismiss them.
The room empties quickly.
When the last student leaves, I collapse into a chair.
Charli laughs. “You survived.”
“Barely.”
She leans against a desk. “That was a great class.”
I blink. “You think so?”
“Absolutely. I learned a lot.”
My chest warms. “Thank you.”
She shrugs. “Almost had me convinced to show up at six.”
“Almost?”
“I mean, I’m already fabulous, so …”
I laugh.
Then she adds, “Maybe I should bring my daddy.”
“Albert?”
She nods. “He had a heart scare a couple of years ago.”
My smile softens. “Oh.”
“Grandma Evelyn has had him on a heart-healthy diet ever since.”
“That’s good.”
Charli snorts. “Mostly good.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Mostly?”
“Imma Jean and Grandpa Earl sneak him contraband.”
I burst out laughing. “Contraband?”
“Biscuits.”
“Ah, well, an occasional biscuit won’t hurt.”
“Gravy,” she continues. “Bacon. Fried chicken.”
“Um …”
“Pancakes.”
I wince dramatically.
She points at me. “See? He’s a ticking time bomb.”
I shake my head. “Honestly, that’s okay.”
Charli looks surprised. “It is?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”
She listens carefully.
“It’s about moderation.” I stand and gather my notes. “And movement.”
She nods.
“If you ever want to bring him by, I’d be happy to create a low-impact workout plan.”
“Really?”
“Of course. It’s important to make it specific for him so he doesn’t get overwhelmed. Something he can actually do and feel good about.”
“That’d be wonderful.”
We head toward the door.
The afternoon sunlight spills across the walkway outside.
The academy buzzes with activity.
Students move between buildings.
Staff members crisscross the grounds.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear cheering from one of the arenas.
Then a familiar voice calls out, “Well, there are my favorite ladies.”
I turn.
Cabe is jogging toward us, all sweaty and sun-kissed. With a huge grin on his face.
“Why do you look so happy?” Charli asks.
“Because I get to accompany you two beauties to lunch.”
She smirks. “Do you plan on getting free meals at my dining hall every day?”
“As long as Grandma Evelyn is there, absolutely.”
Charli rolls her eyes.
“Not my fault y’all stole my cook.”
“You are a grown man, Cabe Trust,” she says. “You can feed yourself.”
“Since when?”
I laugh.
Charli shakes her head. “Grandma’s only helping for a couple of weeks. Until our permanent chef arrives.”
“What took them so long?” he asks.
“Her son came down with chicken pox.”
Cabe winces. “Poor kid.”
Together, we start walking, and the smell of fresh bread drifts through the air.
My stomach growls.
Apparently, trying to force bored teenagers to learn burns a lot of calories.
The dining hall is busy when we arrive. Students fill tables, and staff members cluster together.
Cabe spots Royce and Axle. They’re already seated. Their plates are loaded with turkey sandwiches, pasta salad, and apples.
Royce waves us over.
“How was your morning?” he asks as I slide into the seat across from them.
“I educated future rodeo champions on the merits of lifting weights and eating their vegetables.”
Royce smirks. “I bet they loved that.”
Cabe disappears toward the serving line.
Charli settles into the chair beside Royce.
I look around the table. “How’s the first day going for you guys?”
“So far, so good,” Royce answers.
“Yeah?”
“Some of these kids are talented.”
Axle agrees. “Couple bull riders caught my attention.”
I glance at him. “That good?”
He nods. “I’m planning to spend extra time with them in the evenings.”
That earns an approving nod from Royce.
A moment later, Cabe returns, carrying two plates, and sets one in front of me.
I blink. “You got my lunch?”
He shrugs. “You were busy talking.”
The gesture is sweet enough to make my chest ache a little.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
As he takes his seat, Charli turns toward Axle. “How’d the rest of your night go?”
Cabe looks over at his older brother and raises a brow. “Why?”
Axle groans. “The plumbing in my cabin exploded.”
Cabe laughs. “No.”
“Yes. Flooded the place.”
Charli gestures to me. “Which means poor Jovie has a new neighbor.”
I nod.
Cabe grins. “Oh, that sucks.”
Axle looks offended. “Why?”
Cabe points at him. “You are the worst neighbor in existence.”
Royce starts laughing.
“What?”
“When we were kids,” Cabe says, “our rooms were side by side. He blasted music until two in the morning.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“Yep. And the odor that came from his room …”
“Fuck off,” Axle says.
“I swear, his gym bag was toxic.”
Royce is laughing.
I shrug. “I live with four college girls in Aurora.”
The table quiets.
“Trust me, I’ve survived worse. Late-night parties. All-night drunken study sessions. Smelly boyfriends. Jealous rages over said smelly boyfriends.”
“Oh, catfight?” Royce asks.
“Unfortunately.”
Everyone laughs.
Axle shakes his head. “Well, I promise to be on my best behavior.”
Cabe leans toward me. His voice drops conspiratorially. “Don’t trust a word he says.”
And as I sit there, surrounded by this ridiculous group—eating lunch, laughing, feeling more at home than I probably should—I realize something.
This academy is going to be special. And not just for the students, but for everyone. Because it’s more than a temporary assignment. It’s building a community.
A family.
And judging by the smiles around the table, I’m not the only one who feels it.