Page 65 of Riding the Storm
Charli huffs out a breath. “You send him to a rodeo, and that jackass is going to climb on the back of a bull and hurt himself.”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
Matty sighs. “He’s not participating. He’s going for a sponsor event.”
“Yeah, right.”
That’s my cue. I step up to the doorway and clear my throat. “Morning, ladies.”
They both turn. Matty’s expression is composed, professional. Charli’s … is not. Her arms are crossed, her eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
“Come with me,” I say.
Her brows shoot up. “What?”
“If you’re so sure I’m going to get into trouble, come with me. I can probably get some time booked at the arena with one of the bronc riders on the circuit. You and he can team up, run me through the paces.”
Her mouth falls open for half a second before she snaps it shut. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Bryce. I can’t just pick up and fly to Oklahoma. I have other clients.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself.”
But Matty leans back in her chair, eyes glinting with quiet interest. “Actually, you can. You can reschedule most of them. And the ones you can’t, have Shelby fill in. It might be good for you to see the rodeo in action, and if Bryce can line up time with a professional bronc rider, that’s a golden opportunity.”
Charli looks between us like we’ve both lost our damn minds. “You’re serious?”
Matty nods. “Very.”
“Unbelievable,” she mutters.
“Come on, Chuck. This way, there won’t be any pause in your torture.”
She chews at her bottom lip, but I can see the moment she makes up her mind.
“Fine,” she grumbles.
I grin. “That a yes?”
Her glare could melt steel. “Guess so.”
“Good. I’ll call Shawn and have him book you a ticket.”
A truck pulls up outside, and she straightens. “That’ll be my next student.”
She storms past me toward the tack room. I can’t tell if I’ve won or lost here. Either way, it’s a reaction—and that’s better than the week of silence I’ve been enduring.
She’s been ignoring me ever since the hickey incident.
That damn hickey.
It wasn’t intentional. One minute, we were tangled up and breathless, her nails dragging down my back, and the next, I was moving inside her, losing track of all rational thought. The mark just … happened in the heat of it all. But try explaining that to her.
The next morning, I caught sight of it while she was pulling on her boots. Before I could say a word—before I could even apologize—she was out the door.
And after Matty’s party, she confronted me. Accused me of branding her or some stupid teenage bullshit, and it’s been nothing but cold shoulders and clipped instructions ever since.
She canceled our trip to Jackson Hole and parked me in Matty’s office all week, making me watch old bronc riding videos like some football quarterback watching a rival team’s films. Wouldn’t even look at me unless she had to. I’ve been going stir-crazy.
I find her in the tack room, yanking down a saddle.
