Page 88 of Riding the Storm
Albert listens without interrupting, his eyes fixed on mine. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, and that makes me nervous.
“I was planning to do it in Oklahoma,” I admit. “Buy some land, build it from scratch. But the more time I spend here … the quiet, the space, the people—it feels like the right place for something like this.”
He tips his head slightly, still studying me.
“I wanted to see what you’d think about me partnering with Wildhaven Storm,” I continue. “You’ve got the land. And Shelby’s got the skill set for the women’s program. She’s a hell of a rider, and she’s got both rodeo and training experience. She could head up the women’s side of things.”
Albert’s expression doesn’t change, but I see something flicker in his eyes—curiosity, maybe even pride.
“I’d put up the money to expand,” I add quickly. “Everything we’d need. A bucking chute, a bucking machine for controlled practice, a couple new pens, upgraded safety equipment. We’d need livestock—sheep for the beginners, roping cattle, some decent broncs and bulls for the advanced classes. And a team of instructors who’ve been there—folks who’ve lived the life and can teach it the right way.”
The waitress returns with our plates. My burger’s stacked high and dripping grease. Albert’s got a plate of fried chicken livers, smothered in gravy, and onions that cover half the dish. She sets down the ketchup, smiles, and leaves again.
Albert cuts into a liver, chews thoughtfully, and then sets his fork down. “That’s a big idea.”
“I know,” I say. “But I’ve thought it through. It’s something I can start building now while I’m still on the circuit—get the structure in place, hire the right people, then transition into it full-time once I retire.”
“And would that mean you’d be sticking around?” he asks, his tone even.
I meet his gaze. “It’d mean I’d be here when I’m not on the road.”
“So, you’re going to continue with the PBR circuit?”
“Yes. I’ve got a contract to finish out. I want to fulfill my obligations—to my sponsors, to my team. I want to end things the right way. But once that’s done, I can walk away, at peace.”
Albert leans back, coffee cup in hand. “Does Charli know that?”
That catches me off guard. I blink. “No. I didn’t even figure it out for myself until this past weekend.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So, she still thinks you’re training for saddle broncs?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “But I won’t leave her hanging. She’ll be paid the full amount she was promised, plus a bonus. She did her part—and she did a damn fine job. She’s a good trainer. But I was just here to pacify management. I was never gonna make that switch.”
Albert takes another slow sip of coffee, then says, “You’ve got guts—I’ll give you that. And vision. But building a business like that takes commitment—time, money, sweat, insurance, liability. You sure you’re ready for all that?”
“I am,” I say. “It’s what I want to do once I’m done competing. I’ve spent my whole life in arenas. I’ve seen the way some of these kids get into it—unprepared, undertrained, thinking it’s all glory. They get hurt, or they quit before they ever find out if they had what it would take. I want to change that. I want to give them a real start. Teach them the right way, with the right mindset.
“Look,” I say. “I know how it sounds. Some outsider showing up,wanting to partner with your ranch. But this isn’t some stunt or publicity play. I’m not trying to take anything from Wildhaven. I want to build something with it. Something that could bring in steady income, bring in young riders, help the ranch and the town too.”
He nods, still quiet. The lines around his eyes deepen. “And what happens if it doesn’t work?”
“Then I take the loss. Not you.”
Albert studies me for a long while, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he exhales through his nose, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. “I’m sure every cowboy will be champing at the bit to train at any school with your name tied to it. You’ve given me a lot to think about, son.”
We finish our meals, and he waves me off when the waitress brings the check.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
“Least I can do is pay for your lunch,” I argue.
He gives me a look that ends that conversation fast. “I said, I’ve got it.”
He pulls out his wallet and throws a couple of bills down.
“Matty’s the one you’ll need to convince,” he says.
“I figured,” I say.
