Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Man, am I glad to see you two,” Cabe says as he jumps out of his truck and takes Charli’s suitcase. “I’ve had zero help for five days.”
“How is that different than every other day?” Charli asks as she hops into the back seat, letting me have shotgun.
Cabe climbs behind the wheel. “Ry and I have a routine. I muck, and he lays new bedding. He hauls feed, and I pump water. He turns out the horses, and I bring them back in.”
“Um, you do realize he doesn’t actually work for us, right? He’s only been helping because I forced him to.”
Cabe cuts his eyes to me. “Nah. Maybe in the beginning, but he enjoys it now. Right?”
“Yeah. Shoveling shit at five in the morning is a fucking blast,” I deadpan, glancing at Charli over my shoulder.
She has to bite her lip to keep from bursting out laughing, and damn if the sight doesn’t have me wishing I were the one sucking that lip between my teeth.
It was torture as I slept on the couch last night, knowing she was curled up in my childhood bed.
I liked having her tucked in next to me this week.
It did, however, give me time to think. Momma found me wide awake in the wee hours, so she made us each a mug of warm milk, and we had a conversation.
She laid out her fears, and I laid out mine.
Then I told her about a dream that’d been brewing inside me the last couple of years.
One that I’d always shelved under Someday.
Now, I’m thinking that someday may be here.
Time to let go of one dream and move on to another.
And the truth of that doesn’t scare me like it used to. In fact, I think divine intervention might have landed me at Wildhaven Storm Ranch so I’d have the time and space to sort some things out.
“It’s a lot more fun when you have company. That’s for sure,” Cabe continues. “Now tell me all about Oklahoma. Axle said you almost got in a fight with some jackass rookie, and he wished you had stomped him.”
“Axle is just sore because that rookie bested him,” Charli says.
“He drew a cakewalk bull,” I quip.
“I don’t think any bull can be called a cakewalk. It looked just as brutal as the rest of them,” she notes.
I turn all the way around and glare at her. “It was practically a starter bull. It had less power than Axle’s, and it was predictable. The damn thing had a consistent bucking pattern. Any bull rider worth his salt could have ridden it, blindfolded.”
“If that’s the case, why did the judges score him so high? Don’t they take the bull’s performance into consideration?” she asks.
I huff out a breath. “They’re supposed to, but they don’t always get it right. Just like refs at a football game, they miss shit,” I say, then turn back to Cabe. “And as far as the fight goes, it was nothing. He just had too much alcohol and got mouthy. He apologized.”
“He did?” Charli asks, surprised.
Cabe nods. “Axle said he called you. Something about respect and cowboy ethics.”
“What’s that? A respect your elders rule?” she teases.
I turn back to her and narrow my eyes. A warning that says, I’ll show you who’s an elder.
Her lips twitch. The minx reads me loud and clear.
When we make it to Wildhaven, I roll down the window and take a deep breath. Flying and staying in a hotel was fun for a few days, but I’m glad to be back. It might not be home, but I’ve grown fond of that little cabin in the woods.
I unpack my duffel and go out in search of Albert. Charli decided she needed a long bath and nap after the early wake-up call and long morning of flying, so it’s the perfect opportunity for me to catch up with him.
Albert doesn’t say much when I ask if I can take him to a late lunch. He just studies me for a long second, like he’s trying to figure out what I could want to discuss in private. Then he gives one small nod.
“Sure,” he says. “Jeep’s out front. We’ll go grab a bite at the diner.”
We walk across the gravel drive toward his old green Wrangler. He climbs behind the wheel, and I slide into the passenger seat, trying to look relaxed even though my heart’s hammering like I just drew a rank bull.
The engine grumbles to life, and we pull out, bumping down the long gravel road that stretches from the Storm property to the highway.
“So,” Albert says finally, glancing at me over the top of his sunglasses, “what’s this all about?”
“I was hoping to run an idea by you,” I say. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a while now.”
“All right.”
We drive in silence for a few miles. The hum of the tires and the steady rattle of the Jeep fill the space between us. Out here, there’s nothing but open land—sagebrush, scattered pines, and fences that go on forever. Cows and horses graze in the distance.
The old diner comes into view—a squat little building with a faded red sign that reads The Golden Griddle.
Albert turns into the dirt lot and parks under the shade of a cottonwood.
“It ain’t fancy, but trust me, the food’s good,” he says, killing the engine.
Inside, the diner smells like deep-fried grease and coffee that’s been sitting on the burner a little too long. The walls are lined with old rodeo photos, all curled at the corners. Old cowboys caught midair, spurs flashing, ropes flying. I instantly feel right at home.
We slide into a booth near the front window. A waitress with silver hair and eyebrows that look permanently painted on drops off two menus and a pot of coffee.
“Usual, Albert?” she asks.
“Yeah, that’ll do,” Albert says and looks at me.
I take a quick look at the menu.
“I’ll take a cheeseburger with extra pickles and fries.”
“You got it, sugar,” the waitress says, pouring our coffee before disappearing back behind the counter.
Albert leans back, one arm draped over the booth. “All right, Bryce, let’s hear it.”
Here goes nothing.
“I’ve been thinking about starting a rodeo school,” I say. “A real one. Not just a weekend clinic or a training camp, but a full program. Courses, instructors, livestock, the works.”
His brows lift slightly. “Sounds like quite the undertaking.”
“Yeah, it is.”
I take a sip of coffee, trying to steady my thoughts.
“It’d be coed. I want it to cater to both men’s and women’s events—barrel racing, roping, bronc and bull riding.
Not just the glamourous events, but the tough stuff too.
Each discipline would have specialized training, instructors who know what they’re doing.
The goal would be to get riders ready for the professional circuit, no matter what event they’re in. ”
Albert listens without interrupting, his eyes fixed on mine. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, and that makes me nervous.
“I was planning to do it in Oklahoma,” I admit. “Buy some land, build it from scratch. But the more time I spend here … the quiet, the space, the people—it feels like the right place for something like this.”
He tips his head slightly, still studying me.
“I wanted to see what you’d think about me partnering with Wildhaven Storm,” I continue. “You’ve got the land. And Shelby’s got the skill set for the women’s program. She’s a hell of a rider, and she’s got both rodeo and training experience. She could head up the women’s side of things.”
Albert’s expression doesn’t change, but I see something flicker in his eyes—curiosity, maybe even pride.
“I’d put up the money to expand,” I add quickly.
“Everything we’d need. A bucking chute, a bucking machine for controlled practice, a couple new pens, upgraded safety equipment.
We’d need livestock—sheep for the beginners, roping cattle, some decent broncs and bulls for the advanced classes.
And a team of instructors who’ve been there—folks who’ve lived the life and can teach it the right way. ”
The waitress returns with our plates. My burger’s stacked high and dripping grease. Albert’s got a plate of fried chicken livers, smothered in gravy, and onions that cover half the dish. She sets down the ketchup, smiles, and leaves again.
Albert cuts into a liver, chews thoughtfully, and then sets his fork down. “That’s a big idea.”
“I know,” I say. “But I’ve thought it through. It’s something I can start building now while I’m still on the circuit—get the structure in place, hire the right people, then transition into it full-time once I retire.”
“And would that mean you’d be sticking around?” he asks, his tone even.
I meet his gaze. “It’d mean I’d be here when I’m not on the road.”
“So, you’re going to continue with the Pbr circuit?”
“Yes. I’ve got a contract to finish out. I want to fulfill my obligations—to my sponsors, to my team. I want to end things the right way. But once that’s done, I can walk away, at peace.”
Albert leans back, coffee cup in hand. “Does Charli know that?”
That catches me off guard. I blink. “No. I didn’t even figure it out for myself until this past weekend.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So, she still thinks you’re training for saddle broncs?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “But I won’t leave her hanging. She’ll be paid the full amount she was promised, plus a bonus. She did her part—and she did a damn fine job. She’s a good trainer. But I was just here to pacify management. I was never gonna make that switch.”
Albert takes another slow sip of coffee, then says, “You’ve got guts—I’ll give you that. And vision. But building a business like that takes commitment—time, money, sweat, insurance, liability. You sure you’re ready for all that?”
“I am,” I say. “It’s what I want to do once I’m done competing.
I’ve spent my whole life in arenas. I’ve seen the way some of these kids get into it—unprepared, undertrained, thinking it’s all glory.
They get hurt, or they quit before they ever find out if they had what it would take.
I want to change that. I want to give them a real start.
Teach them the right way, with the right mindset.
“Look,” I say. “I know how it sounds. Some outsider showing up, wanting to partner with your ranch. But this isn’t some stunt or publicity play.
I’m not trying to take anything from Wildhaven.
I want to build something with it. Something that could bring in steady income, bring in young riders, help the ranch and the town too. ”
He nods, still quiet. The lines around his eyes deepen. “And what happens if it doesn’t work?”
“Then I take the loss. Not you.”
Albert studies me for a long while, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he exhales through his nose, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. “I’m sure every cowboy will be champing at the bit to train at any school with your name tied to it. You’ve given me a lot to think about, son.”
We finish our meals, and he waves me off when the waitress brings the check.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
“Least I can do is pay for your lunch,” I argue.
He gives me a look that ends that conversation fast. “I said, I’ve got it.”
He pulls out his wallet and throws a couple of bills down.
“Matty’s the one you’ll need to convince,” he says.
“I figured,” I say.
“She runs the ranch now. I might still have the deed, but she’s the brains behind Wildhaven. If she’s not on board, it won’t happen.”
“I respect that,” I tell him. “I just wanted to get your thoughts before I brought it to her.”
He nods once. “I’ll talk to her. If she’s interested, the three of us can sit down with my attorney and hammer out the details. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
He glances at me again, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “If I were you, I’d talk to Charli before Matty. Storm women are shit at keeping quiet.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”