Page 20 of Riding the Storm
“You heard me.”
That heat in my chest flares. I drop the rope and turn away. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. I didn’t come here to play horse whisperer.”
“Bryce.” Her tone is sharp enough to stop me mid-step.
I turn halfway back, jaw clenched. She’s already inside the pen, closing the distance fast.
When she gets close enough, she doesn’t look up at me like most people do. She squares off, chin high, fire in her eyes. “You don’t get to walk away just because something bruises your ego.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Isn’t it?” she challenges, eyes locked on mine. “You’ve been at the top too long. You’re used to people treating you like your shit don’t stink and everything you do or say is golden. But you’re not in a bull pen anymore, Bryce. This is a whole different game.”
“I know that!” I spit, taking a step closer.
“Then act like it.”
Her words hit hard. She doesn’t yell. Doesn’t flinch. Just stands there, steady and calm, and somehow, that gets under my skin worse than if she screamed at me.
“You think I’m trying to humiliate you?” she says quietly. “I’m trying to reprogram you. Bronc riding might look like bull riding, but it takes a different mindset. A new set of skills. You’ve gotta relearn the rhythm of a horse—how it moves, how it reacts. That starts here, on the ground.”
I scoff. “You act like I don’t know anything about horses. I’ve been riding since I could walk.”
“Not competitively.”
“So, you’re saying you want me to train like a fucking beginner.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Her words hang between us. The horse shifts behind me, restless, as if he feels the tension too.
She folds her arms again, eyes narrowing. “We’re starting at the bottom, which means groundwork. Then we’ll move to riding broke horses so I can see if you have the fundamentals. After that, we’ll start reviewing footage of top bronc riders—see how they move, where their balance sits, what they’re thinking when they ride.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “You’re kidding. Watching videos? That’s your idea of training?”
“Mental preparation is just as important as the physical,” she says simply. “You, of all people, should know that.”
I take a step closer, crowding her space this time. “There’s nothing wrong with my mental focus.”
Her lips twitch. “Then prove it. You set the pace for all this. We can move through steps quickly if you show me you got them down. And then, and only then, will I bring an actual bronc into an arena.”
For a second, the only sound is the horse snorting and pawing atthe sand. We’re toe to toe, breathing the same air, neither one of us backing down. Her gaze doesn’t falter. There’s heat there—challenge, maybe more—but she’s not giving me a damn inch.
Finally, she breaks the silence. “That’s enough for today.”
I blink. “What?”
“You heard me. You can lead the horse back to the stall, give him a good rubdown, and turn him out in the paddock. Then you can find Cabe, help him with evening chores.”
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, Chuck, but I’m not a ranch hand.”
“Everyone pulls their weight around here,” she says coolly. “Even spoiled superstars.”
Spoiled?
