Page 102 of Riding the Storm
They launch into a million questions about our meeting this afternoon, and Matty patiently explains how we hammered out the details of the new rodeo school, how Wildhaven Storm Ranch will provide the land and foundation, and how I’ll provide the funds and oversee the hiring and instruction, marketing, and brand partnerships. It’s a perfect balance, a blend of history and vision, past and future.
Charli listens intently. Every so often, she looks at me, and I can tell she’s seeing it all play out in her mind—the arenas, the students, the horses, the dust and the glory.
When Matty finishes, everyone cheers. Boone pounds the table, Earl nods with pride, and Charli raises her glass.
“To the next chapter,” she says softly.
We drink to that.
And as the chatter swells again, I lean back for a second, just watching.
This family—it’s chaos and beauty, wrapped into one. A tangle of stubborn hearts and open hands. They fight hard, love harder, and never give up on the people they care about or each other.
When I first got here, I didn’t think I’d stay a week. I was carrying a chip the size of Texas on my shoulder, convinced I didn’t belong here and determined to be miserable.
But these people … they broke me down.
Not with judgment. Not with pity. With laughter, teasing, and second chances. With family dinners and early mornings and the kind of work that leaves you too tired to overthink.
And Charli—hell, she broke me wide open.
I glance at her across the table. She’s laughing at something Shelby said, head thrown back, her eyes crinkled at the corners. She’s beauty, pure and wild. The kind a man stands in awe of.
Earl nudges my shoulder. “You look like a man in love, son.”
“I am,” I say quietly.
He grins, slow and knowing. “Then you’re one of us.”
Dinner rolls on with seconds and stories from the workday while Evelyn serves up dessert.
By the time dishes are cleared and everyone starts to drift toward their separate spaces, the sun’s dipping low behind the barn. The sky’s painted in pinks and golds.
Charli slips her hand into mine. “Come on,” she whispers. “I wanna show you something.”
She leads me past the barn, down to the fence line overlooking the lower pastures. The horses are grazing, their coats glinting in the fading light. She leans against the rail, and I move behind her, resting my hands on her shoulders.
“This,” she says quietly, “is what it’s all about. Not the fame or the name or even the school.”
I follow her gaze back toward the house, where the windows glow warm with lamplight, shadows moving inside.
“This is what it’s all about,” I echo.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the promise I want to make. “Thank you, for sharing this with me. It feels like home. And I haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
Her eyes glisten in the twilight. Her forehead resting against mine. “Good. ’Cause you’re on chore duty in the morning.”
I chuckle. “Yes, ma’am. You’re the boss.”
Five Months Later
One month. That’s how long it’s been since Bryce left for his last string of appearances—bull riding clinics, brand events, interviews, and rodeos in Texas, Montana, and Nevada.
Thirty-six days, to be exact.
Thirty-six days of video calls and phone sex.
This girl is ready for the real thing.
