Page 6 of Broken Trust
One Month Later
Ipull my truck through the gates of Wildhaven Storm Ranch just as the sun starts sinking behind the Teton mountains, painting the whole damn valley pink and gold. The familiar gravel road crunches beneath the tires, and for the first time in months, I feel my shoulders loosen.
Home.
Not a hotel room in Vegas. Not an arena tunnel in Cheyenne. Not the roar of twenty thousand screaming fans in Dallas while a two-thousand-pound bull tries to stomp me into the ground.
Just home.
Royce sits beside me in the passenger seat. His baseball cap is tugged low over his eyes, and he’s half asleep, which is rare for him. Usually, he’s talking my ear off after an event, replaying rides and arguing scores like it could change anything about this past weekend’s results.
Tonight, he’s quiet.
Mostly because his shoulder is wrecked, and Dr. Chaz gave him some medication to knock the edge off for the long drive back to Wyoming.
I glance over at him. “You alive over there?”
He grunts. “Barely.”
I snort. “Drama queen.”
“Fuck off. You didn’t get launched into the gate before you could even get seated.”
He pulled the most aggressive bull of the event on the last night of the finals. And the animal didn’t waste any time showing him and the crowd who was boss.
“Yeah, well, I still rode a damn mean bull.”
“You also bled on national television. Again,” he says. “My shoulder will heal, but that gash on your head’s gonna leave a nasty scar.”
I reach up to the butterfly stitches holding the skin above my right eyebrow together.
“Adds character,” I say.
Royce shakes his head slowly. “Momma’s gonna lose her mind when she sees your face.”
“She loses her mind every time she gets a look at either of us,” I quip.
“Fair point.”
The ranch house comes into view first, sprawling and lit warm against the darkening sky. Grandma Evelyn is no doubt tucked inside its kitchen, preparing a delicious meal for the family. To the left of it sit the massive horse barns and the training pens, and farther south are the newer buildings for the Raintree-Storm Rodeo Academy. Which still feels surreal at times.
Bryce freaking Raintree. Six-time world champion. Rock-star rider and future Hall of Famer.
My hero, though I’d never admit that to him.
And now, somehow, family. It’s still hard to wrap my head around that part sometimes.
Lucky son of a bitch just walked away as this year’s winner of the PBR World Finals with another world championship buckle, the half-million-dollar purse, and the million-dollar bonus on top of it.
Like his ass needed another million damn dollars.
I grip the wheel tighter.
Good for him.
Really.
But I’d be lying if I said every rider on tour wasn’t already counting down the days until Bryce finally gets out of our way.
