Chapter Thirty
The ranch is quiet when I step out into the evening air. The rain’s finally stopped. Crickets hum in the grass, and the last of the sunlight is dipping behind the mountains, washing the whole place in shades of violet and gold.
Damn, I love it here.
Charli’s got a way of making every-damn-thing complicated. One minute, she’s laughing with me, sparking with that fire I can’t get enough of, and the next, she’s pulling away like she never wanted any of it. Like none of it meant a thing.
This doesn’t mean anything. Those were the words she said our first night together.
But it meant something to me.
And I’m done pretending it didn’t.
I shove my hands into my jeans pockets and start across the yard, heading toward the barn. I’m not sure where she is exactly, but I figure I’ll start where she usually is—near the horses. Maybe she’s out working late, doing what I do when I’m angry.
Halfway there, I see movement by the far paddock. Headlights from a pickup flash across the gravel. Someone’s loading a horse into a trailer.
Midnight Storm.
I’d know that black coat and white blaze anywhere. The stallion lifts his head as I approach, ears twitching, nostrils flaring.
“Hey, boy,” I call softly.
He lets out a low snort, stamping once before turning his gaze toward me like he recognizes my voice.
Two men are standing nearby, Caison and another older guy, who’s gray around the edges with deep lines around his eyes. Caison’s steadying Midnight’s lead rope while the older man checks the latch on the trailer door.
Caison looks up when he hears me. “Evenin’, Bryce.”
I nod. “Evenin’. Didn’t realize Midnight was heading out tonight.”
“Yeah,” Caison says. “Charli said he was ready, so we’re moving him over to Ironhorse until the stable is up on my property.”
I walk to Midnight’s right side. “Guess this is it, then, buddy,” I say as I snatch his neck. “Thanks for taking it easy on me.”
The older man glances at me, studying me with something like curiosity. “You’ve been working with this fella?”
“Yeah,” I say, stepping closer, reaching to stroke the stallion’s muzzle. “Spent a lot of mornings with him actually. He’s got more attitude than sense sometimes, but he’s a good boy. Strong. Proud.”
Midnight tosses his head, snorting like he knows exactly what I’m saying.
The older man chuckles.
Caison wipes his hands on his jeans and nods toward him. “Bryce, this is Giles Godwin. Head trainer over at Ironhorse.”
The name makes my jaw tighten. I remember Charli’s words clear as day—the way her voice shook when she told me about him leaving, about how betrayed she felt.
“He was like family. Then he walked out on us. Took everything he knew and handed it to Ironhorse.”
So, this is him. The traitor.
“Ah, yes, the famous bull rider,” Giles says. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I narrow my eyes, giving him a once-over. He doesn’t look like a villain. Just an old cowboy—worn boots, denim shirt faded to the color of the sky, hands rough from years of work. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt them.
“You’re the asshole who left Wildhaven,” I say flatly.
His expression shifts, a shadow passing through his eyes. “That’s me.”
“Charli told me about you.”
He nods slowly, gaze dropping to the dirt. “I figured she might have.”
“She called you a traitor.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t defend himself right away either. Just lets the words hang there between us, heavy as a thundercloud.
Then, finally, he says quietly, “I love those girls. All four of them. Been with Wildhaven Storm since Matty was knee-high to a grasshopper. They’re like family.”
“Family?” I shoot back. “Then why’d you leave them? Oh, wait, I forgot. Ironhorse offered to pay you an ungodly amount of money.”
He looks up, meeting my eyes with a tired kind of sadness. “They did.”
I snort. Taking in his laid-back appearance. There’s nothing flashy or highbrow about him. “You don’t look like the kind of man who would choose money over family.”
“I’m not.”
The words are so simple, so heavy with regret, that I don’t know how to respond.
He lets out a breath and glances toward Midnight Storm, who’s watching us quietly, tail swishing. “Maybe I realized it was time I got out of the way.”
“Out of the way?” I echo.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Charli’s a great trainer.
Always has been. She has a natural ability and a wild spirit, just like Miriam.
But as long as I was here, Matty was never gonna see her.
And my ego was always gonna keep her under my thumb.
I had to step aside so the sun could shine on her.
And look at how she’s blossomed,” he says, his voice full of pride. “She’s training a world champion.”
For a moment, the only sound is the rustle of leaves in the cottonwoods and the distant creak of the barn doors.
Caison’s quiet, too, hands resting on his hips.
Giles turns to me again. “Sometimes, loving folks means sacrificing, son.”
I glance at the stallion again, then back at him. “You think they’ll ever forgive you?”
“I don’t expect them to,” he says with a sad smile. “But I hope, one day, they’ll understand.”
He pats Midnight’s neck, then steps back. “Take care of yourself, Bryce.”
He nods once to Caison and climbs into the passenger seat of the truck.
I help Caison load Midnight into the trailer. I stand back and watch it disappear down the long gravel drive until all that’s left is the soft hum of the crickets again.
Midnight Storm’s gone.
And suddenly, the whole place feels emptier.
I turn on my heel and continue my search in the barn and stables, but Charli is nowhere to be found.
The porch light glows soft and warm when I reach the main house. It spills across the steps, catching the swing that hangs from the far corner—Charli’s favorite spot when she’s had a long day.
And there she is.
Glass of wine in hand, hair pulled in a loose ponytail, the wind tugging a few strands across her face. She’s barefoot, her pink-tipped toes dragging across the wood as she pushes off.
For a second, I just stand there, watching her.
She’s beautiful in that raw, natural way—the kind of woman who doesn’t need makeup or fancy clothes to be noticed.
Her eyes lift, catching sight of me. They’re tired, guarded. “Bryce.”
“Hey.”
She doesn’t tell me to leave, which is a start. Just takes a slow sip of her wine, waiting.
“I just saw Caison. He loaded Midnight Storm.”
She nods, and I see the unshed tears clinging to her eyelashes.
“I know.”
“You’re gonna miss him, aren’t you?” I ask as I slowly climb the steps.
She shrugs. “That’s the job. You take ’em in.
You spend every day with ’em. You build a friendship and trust. Train them the best you can,” she says, turning her eyes to me as the tears finally start to fall.
“And then you let ’em go. Because that was the plan all along.
They were never yours. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with ’em. ”
Shit.
“Can we talk?”
She sighs, setting the glass down on the little side table. “I really don’t want to fight. Not tonight.”
I shake my head. “I’m not here to fight.”
I step closer, but not too close. I don’t want to spook her. I’ve learned she’s like a wild horse that way—push too hard, and she bolts.
She exhales slowly, rubbing her hand over her face. “Why are you here, then?”
I take another step closer.
Her eyes meet mine again, and for a long moment, neither of us says anything. The air between us feels heavy, charged.
“Because there’s something I need to say.”
Her brow furrows. “What?”
I swallow hard, my pulse thundering in my ears. “I want to talk about us.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “There is no us, Bryce.”
I nod slowly. “Yes, there is.”
She lets out a sharp laugh, but it sounds more like a defense than amusement. “You’re delusional, cowboy.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But I’m not blind. I know you feel something. You can try to hide it, push me away, throw all your walls up, but it’s there.”
Her expression falters, just a flicker, before she looks away again. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do.” I take another step forward, until I’m standing at the edge of the porch. “I’m not a horse, Chuck. No one’s coming with a trailer to load me up and take me away. I don’t belong to anyone else, and the only thing that’s driving me away from here is you.”
“Bryce—”
“No, let me finish.” My voice softens. “I’ve been thinking about my future.
About where I’m headed after all this. And for the first time in a long damn while, I don’t want to keep running from one rodeo to the next.
I don’t want to live out of a suitcase. I don’t want the noise, the fame, the pressure.
I want something real. Something that feels like home. ”
She stares at me, caught between disbelief and something else that looks a whole lot like fear. “I saw you,” she says. “I saw how much you love it.”
“I do,” I say. “I always will. But I know that I have an expiration date that’s rapidly approaching. I have to face it, come up with an exit strategy, and pivot.”
“Bryce—”
“I’m not saying it’s simple,” I go on. “Hell, I don’t even know what it looks like yet. But I know one thing: every time I think about leaving this place, it feels wrong. And every time I look at you, it feels right.”
Her breath catches, and I can tell she’s fighting it—the part of her that wants to believe me and the part that’s too damn scared to.
“Don’t do this,” she says finally, voice trembling. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I mean every word.”
“You’re a bull rider, Bryce. It’s who you are. That’s not something you just turn off.”
“You’re right. I am a bull rider, but I’m tired of it being all I am. I want more. I want a home. Something that’s gonna last and live on long after me. I want you.”
She looks down at her hands, twisting them together. “And what happens if you change your mind? What happens when the next big sponsor calls or when you get bored and need something new?”
I take a breath, then step up onto the porch. “Something new? Hell, Chuck. All I have to do is roll over because I never know what version of you I’m getting from day to day.”
Her eyes narrow on me, and for the first time, the weight in my chest lifts.
“So, what exactly is your exit strategy?”
“I have another two years on my current Pbr and sponsorship contracts. I’m going to finish those. Call it my farewell tour.”
“Pbr,” she repeats.
“Yeah. I’ll be careful. Careful as any rider can be so I can come home to you in one piece. And, fuck it, if it makes you and everybody else happy, I’ll even wear a damn helmet.”
Her lips twitch. “I bet you could sweet-talk some helmet company into offering you a partnership. Have some trashy model sit on a fence, you standing there between her legs, kissing her while wearing it. That’d have every cowboy itching to have one.”
I shake my head. “Still pissed about Monica.”
I reach out slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop me.
“You scare the hell out of me, Charli Storm,” I admit. “You’re stubborn, sharp-tongued, impossible to read. But I can’t get you out of my head. And I’m tired of pretending I can.”
Her breath shudders out. “Ry …”
She stares at me for a long moment, then shakes her head slightly, like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “I don’t even know what you’re asking me for.”
I bend to a knee so we’re eye to eye. “Everything.”
The swing creaks softly as she shifts, looking out into the dark pasture, where the stars are starting to burn through the sky. Finally, she says, almost too quietly to hear, “Well, if you want everything, you’d better cowboy up because it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say before taking her lips with mine.