Page 21 of Riding the Storm
“Pretty sure my management and I are paying you a small fortune for the training. I don’t owe labor on top of that.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Dinner’s at seven. If you want to eat tonight, I suggest you get started.”
And with that, she turns and heads toward the gate.
I watch her go, jaw tight. Her long, wavy hair rustles in the wind, her hips swaying with every step, making it impossible for me not to stare.
She unlatches the gate, pauses, and glances over her shoulder. “Oh, and, Bryce?”
“What?” I mutter.
“Buck up, cowboy. We’re just getting started.”
Then she’s gone.
By the time I finish brushing the stallion down, I’m drenched and covered in grit. The horse’s coat gleams under the overhead lights of the barn, black as midnight.
I pat his neck and mutter, “You sure are handsome, buddy.”
He flicks an ear at me, and I lead him to the back and release him into the paddock.
Cabe strolls in, carrying a pitchfork, and his eyes fall on me. “You’ve been put to work, huh?”
“Evidently,” I grumble, grabbing a shovel. “Shoveling crap is part of the Charli Storm training program.”
“Welcome to Wildhaven Storm, man,” he says with a laugh. “Ain’t no free rides here. But rest assured, those girls work just as hard, if not harder, than anyone else on this ranch.”
I don’t answer. Just start mucking out a stall, trying not to think about how I went from being the best bull rider on the circuit to cleaning horse shit in nowhere, Wyoming.
How the mighty have fallen.
Every scrape of the shovel against the stall floor grates on my nerves. The sound of it against the concrete is like nails on a chalkboard. Cabe hums some country tune under his breath in the stall next to me, like he’s fucking enjoying himself.
When the stalls are finally clean, new hay is laid, the feed’s set up, and the sun’s dropping behind the ridge.
I lean on the handle of the pitchfork now in my hands and look out toward the training arena. The dust has settled. The round pen’s empty. But I can still see her standing there in my head—arms on the railing, boot kicked up, watching me with that mix of judgment and amusement. I can read her mind. She thinks I can’t do this. She thinks I’m beyond hope. And damn if I don’t want to prove her wrong.
“You ready to head in?” Cabe asks as he tugs the gloves off his hands. “I’m starving.”
Dinner’s in the main house. I’m inclined to skip it out of spite, but my stomach overrules my pride. By the time we make it inside, everyone’s already seated. Charli’s at the far end of the table, talking with her sister Shelby. She doesn’t even look up when I walk in.
I take the open seat across from her and mutter a, “Thanks,” to Evelyn as she offers me a glass of tea.
Albert’s voice cuts across the table. “How was your first day, Bryce?”
“Fine, sir,” I mutter, cutting into my steak.
His eyes go from me to his daughter.
Charli finally glances my way, and there’s a damn glimmer in her eyesas she answers, “He’s decent with a horse, I guess. Can even take instruction when he has a mind to.”
Albert’s lips lift into a knowing smile. Like he understands his girl in a way that I couldn’t.
“That’s good. I have a feeling, in time, you two are going to be a great team. If you let her, my Charli girl will have you ready to dominate the bronc world,” he says.
Right.
Charli beams at her father, and he answers with an indulgent wink. Then her attention returns to me.
