Page 28 of Riding the Storm
Then her gaze lands on me, and her keen eyes assess me. “Oh my word. Who is this tall drink of coffee you’ve brought with you?”
“Imma Jean, this is Bryce Raintree,” Cabe says, clearly amused. “He’s stayin’ out at the ranch. Been workin’ with Charli.”
“Bryce Raintree?” she repeats, squinting like she’s trying to place me. Then her eyes widen, and she lets out a squeal that rattles the glass cases. “TheBryce Raintree?”
“Guilty,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck, a little embarrassed. “But you can call me Ry.”
“Well, I’ll be.” She clasps her hands over her mouth. “I’ve seen you on television!”
Cabe grins. “Didn’t know you were such a rodeo fan, Imma Jean.”
Imma Jean waves a hand. “I’m not, but I can appreciate a handsome face as much as the next gal,” she tells him. Then she says to me, “My late husband was such a fanatic. He used to yell at the screen every time you came on. It wasn’t really my thing. Too brutal. I nearly had a heart attack, watchin’ you boys ride those bulls. And the blood—my goodness.”
“It can be a bit gory at times,” I admit.
The chimes tinkle again.
“Go sit down now, both of you. I’ll bring coffee right over,” she says before greeting the newcomers.
“Yes, ma’am,” Cabe says, laughing.
We slide into a corner booth. She’s here a minute later with a carafe, two mugs, and a plate of lemon bars.
“We were thinking sandwiches,” Cabe says as she sets the pastries in front of us.
“Wonderful. I’ll get a couple of my famous cowboy breakfast sandwiches going for you. These can just hold you over.”
She sets a mug in front of each of us and pours us both a steaming cup.
“You said you’re workin’ with Charli?” she asks, pouring extra cream into my coffee before I can protest.
“Yes, ma’am. My team hired her to teach me a few new rodeo tricks,” I say, choosing not to go into the whole drawn-out story.
“Oh, my girl. Smart as a whip. Got more talent with horses than most men twice her age. You listen to her, and she’ll teach you more than a few tricks.”
I smile into my mug. “I don’t doubt it.”
“She can be tough,” she continues, “but it’s just because she’s passionate.”
“Passionate is a nice way of saying she’s a bossy hard-ass,” Cabe quips.
Imma Jean swats him with her towel. “Don’t you call your cousin names. She and her sisters run that ranch with class. Ask anyone.”
Cabe leans back, grinning. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pats his cheek fondly. “You Trust boys aretrouble.”
When she bustles off, Cabe shakes his head. “Told you. She’s somethin’, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling after her. “She seems to radiate joy, and she’s sure fond of your family.”
“She’s always like that. Adopted half this town one cinnamon roll and slice of apple pie at a time, but she really loves the Storm girls. And she’s pretty sweet on their father as well.”
I raise a brow. “Albert?”
“Oh, yeah. Not that either of them would admit to it.”
We dig into our sandwiches when they come—thick slices of peppered bacon, thin patties of sausage, and country ham piled high with eggs and cheese on homemade sourdough bread. I’m halfway through mine when the door chimes and a gust of cool air sweeps in.
