Page 30 of Riding the Storm
I grin. “Last I checked.”
“Holy crap,” he says, eyes wide. “Can I get a picture?”
“Sure thing.”
By the time we snap one, a couple others have noticed. Someone asks for an autograph, then another. I sign magazines, receipts, the bill of a kid’s ball cap. Cabe’s laughing as he watches me finally step out of the line.
“Damn, does this happen a lot?” he asks as I hand him my basket.
“At events, yes. Not usually in the middle of the grocery store. Not in Texas at least.”
I don’t mind it though. Never have. These folks aren’t screaming fans or paparazzi. They’re ranch kids and families, genuine in their love of rodeo. I shake hands, take a few more selfies, and thank them before heading back to Cabe, who’s at the register.
The clerk, a woman with kind eyes and a gray braid, rings me up. “You know, my husband used to ride bulls back in the day,” she says. “He’s gonna be tickled when I tell him I met you. Jealous he wasn’t here.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I say sincerely. “I’ll be around for a while. Maybe we’ll run into each other.”
Cabe helps load the bags into the truck, still grinning. “You handled that pretty smoothly, superstar.”
I shrug. “It comes with the job. Folks make this life possible. Always good to give ’em a minute.”
He shakes his head. “Whew. If that’s the commotion your presence causes in the market in the middle of the day, tonight at the bar is going to be interesting.”
We walk into Ryse & Shine Café, and Imma Jean comes barreling toward us. The woman is always in motion. Like a wave crashing into the shore and then pulling back, only to crest again.
“My girls,” she says as she wraps her arms around both our shoulders and pulls us to her.
“Hi, Imma Jean,” I mumble into her neck.
“Are they ready?” Shelby asks once she releases us.
“They are. Packed and waiting in the kitchen,” she informs us. “Did you two get everything else on Caison’s list?”
“Yep. Picked up the bracelet from the Western store this morning, and all the rest is hiding in the back of Daddy’s Jeep.”
She claps her hands together. “Excellent. Now, you two sit down, and I’ll get you some lunch. Soup of the day is creamy chicken and wild rice.”
“My favorite,” I say, and she winks at me.
We settle in at the counter, and Leanne—Imma Jean’s good friend who works for her part-time—places two glasses of tea in front of us before turning to ladle two deep bowls from the soup kettle behind her. Imma Jean returns a few moments later with grilled cheese sandwiches.
“You just missed the boys,” she says as she slides the plates of sandwiches in front of us.
“Boys?” Shelby says as she blows a cooling breath over a spoonful of piping hot soup.
“Cabe and Ry,” she clarifies.
Ry?
“They came by and had a late breakfast,” she continues. “Ry said you were working with him, Charli. Teaching him some new tricks. I bet you’re enjoying that.”
“Not particularly,” I quip before taking a bite of my sandwich.Imma Jean makes the best grilled cheese on the planet. She uses cheddar, provolone, and Brie on thick slices of her homemade sourdough to create the perfect ooey-gooey masterpiece.
“Why on earth not? The man is as handsome as the devil and sweet as honey.”
I swallow and swipe at my mouth with a napkin. “The only bit of that sentence that’s true is the devil part,” I say.
She pins me with assessing eyes.
