Page 29 of Riding the Storm
I look up, and in walks a tall man with a confident stride, brown hair brushing his collar, easy smile.
Cabe straightens. “Hey, Caison.”
I know the name immediately. Charli told me all about him. Ironhorse ranch manager. Midnight Storm’s owner. Matty’s beau.
Caison spots us, smiles, and heads our way. “Cabe,” he greets, slapping him on the back. Then he looks at me, and recognition flickers. “You must be Bryce.”
“That’s me.” I rise to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he says warmly. “Matty told me you were in town. I’ve gotta admit, I’m a big fan. Watched you ride many times down in Texas when I was living there. Hell of a talent.”
“Appreciate that.”
Cabe slides over so he can join us.
“So, you’re workin’ with Charli?”
“I am,” I say. “Tryin’ to make the switch to bronc ridin’ before the next circuit season.”
He nods. “You’re in good hands, then.”
“So everyone tells me.”
Imma Jean comes back with another mug and gushes all over Caison before heading off to make his breakfast. The conversation drifts—horses, rodeos, the house he’s building and the one he’s having built on his property for his mother.
When we finish eating, Caison stands. “I’ve gotta get back to the ranch.” He claps my shoulder. “Good luck, Bryce. I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ what you and Charli pull off out there.”
“Thanks,” I say.
He nods to Cabe. “I’ll see you guys tonight. We’re having supper at the ranch before heading to The Soused Cow.”
I glance up at him. “The Soused Cow?”
“Yeah, it’s a watering hole here in town. Apparently, we’re all going dancing to celebrate Matty’s birthday.”
“Does she know that?” Cabe asks.
Caison smirks. “Not yet. She thinks we’re just having a celebratory dinner at Wildhaven Storm and then a quiet night at my place, but I got a text from Charli last night with the plans, and she wasn’t taking no for an answer.”
Cabe snickers. “Figures.”
Caison leaves. Cabe finishes his coffee and leans back. “Well, looks like we’re going out tonight. You in?”
I raise a brow. “I wasn’t exactly invited.”
“I’m inviting you. Those girls are hard to wrangle on a good night. You add shots, and it’s like herding cats. I welcome the backup.”
I grin. “Count me in.”
The Wildhaven Market is only a few blocks away—a small, family-run store with a big porch and baskets of locally grown produce and fresh-cut flowers out front. Inside, the air’s cool, and the aisles are small.
I grab a basket and start tossing in essentials—coffee grounds and filters, bison jerky, a six-pack of beer, and enough snack food to sustain me for a week. Cabe trails behind, critiquing my choices.
We’re halfway through the checkout line when I feel it—the familiar prickle of attention.
Two teenagers near the cooler are whispering, looking my way. A woman in line ahead of us keeps glancing back between us and the rackholding a copy ofModern Cowboy Magazine. My smiling face plastered on the cover. Then a curly-headed kid gets brave enough to approach us.
“Excuse me,” he says, holding out his phone. The screen shows a picture of me, along with my stats. “Are you Bryce Raintree? Like … the bull rider?”
