Page 85 of Riding the Storm
We fall back into silence as I replay the last couple of days in my head. Bryce was in his element. He schmoozed the sponsor with his down-home persona, commanded the crowd at the event, had his fans eating out of the palm of his hand, acted every bit the ornery cowboy at the bar last night, and looked amazing in the footage the crew shot of him riding Ole Bruiser today.
I just don’t know where Wildhaven, broncs, or I fit into all of it.
He turns the truck onto a dirt road that leads to a white farmhouse. A pretty woman with chin-length chestnut hair steps out onto the porch as we park. Her blue eyes light up when Bryce steps out of the truck, sprints up the steps, sweeps her off her feet, and spins her around.
“Hey, Momma,” he says as she laughs.
A man comes from around the side of the house, carrying a weed eater. He’s tall, broad, and wide. His smile is surrounded by a salt-and-pepper beard. His son is the spitting image of him.
“Dad.”
“Hey, son.”
Bryce sets his mother back on her feet and gives his father a quick one-armed hug before they all turn to me.
“Guys, this is Charli. She’s the trainer from Wyoming I told you about. Charli, these are my folks, Chord and Celia Raintree.”
Celia descends the steps and wraps me in a warm embrace. “Welcome, Charli. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Bryce has been raving about you and your family.”
I raise a brow as I glance at him over her shoulder. “Oh, he has, has he?”
“He sure has,” she confirms. She releases me and steps back. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“She’s about half an hour into hangry territory,” Bryce quips.
I narrow my eyes at him, and both he and his father grin.
Yep, chip off the old block.
“Well, come on. Let’s get you two fed, then.”
Bryce wasn’t kidding. Celia has a feast waiting in the kitchen—roast beef, au gratin potatoes, lima beans, glazed carrots, broccoli casserole, and cornbread, with peach cobbler for dessert.
We settle at the dining room table with our plates and talk for almost two hours. Celia fills Bryce in on all the town gossip. Chord tells him about the new field they planted with corn this year. Bryce tells them all about his new endorsement deals. And I soak it all in. Here, he’s not the cocky superstar cowboy; he’s just Chord and Celia Raintree’s son.
And there goes another layer.
Celia asks about my family. Apparently, Bryce told her all about Matty’s engagement. We talk about my sisters, Daddy, and Mom’s passing. By the time dinner is over, it’s like we’re old friends.
Chord takes Bryce out to show him the new combine harvester he bought at an auction while I help Celia with the dishes.
“So, how did Bryce do in Lawton? Did you have to tie him down to keep him from entering?” she asks.
“Almost,” I say. “But thankfully, he was preoccupied with Dry Canyon most of the time.”
She nods. “That boy is like a kid in a candy store when he walks into an arena. It’s all he ever wanted to do from the time he could walk.”
“From what I saw yesterday, I don’t think he’s growing out of it anytime soon,” I say.
“Trust me, I’m aware. My father was an old rodeo cowboy. He loved it till the day he died. He was the one who got Bryce hooked.”
“Does it scare you?” I ask.
I don’t know why I asked. Of course it scares her. She’s a mother. Aunt Irene is always worried Axle or Royce is gonna come home, busted up.
“It’s been hard for me at times. All the broken ribs, torn muscles, fractured vertebrae, and concussions. Every time the phone rang, I would jump, but like my mother used to say, you have to learn to roll with it when you love a cowboy.”
“I guess. It’d be easier if the cowboy could let go of the bull horns and embraced the saddle,” I say.
