Page 9 of Awaiting the Storm (Wildhaven #1)

B lackey’s Barbecue smells like heaven—smoke, spice, and grease—and has my mouth watering. The low thrum of a steel guitar bleeds out from its walls. I’m halfway down the sidewalk, about to pass the big front window, when I see a familiar figure open and walk through its front door.

Albert Storm.

The sight of him stops me in my tracks. Tall, broad, his hat pulled low, with the gait of a man who’s spent more time in a saddle than he ever did in an office chair. It’s the first time I’ve spotted him alone since I introduced myself at Wildhaven Storm.

My boots pivot, and I follow him. This might be the perfect opportunity.

Matty’s father carries more influence than either of them lets on, and if I’m going to convince her that selling part of Wildhaven Storm to Ironhorse isn’t surrender but a perfect survival strategy, I need all the leverage I can get. Holland told me as much. Giles too, in his own way.

The bell above the door jingles as I step inside.

The air’s thicker in here—meat on the smoker, sweet tea in big mason jars, the hum of conversation from the booths against the walls.

A large man is at the register, hollering orders to the cooks behind him.

I scan the room and spot Albert settling into a booth toward the back.

I walk over before I can talk myself out of it.

“Mr. Storm,” I say, giving him a polite nod.

He looks up, takes me in. His eyes are sharp, but not unfriendly. “Galloway, right?”

“Yes, sir. Mind if I join you?”

“Have you ordered?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Blackey makes the best smoked ribs in the state. That’s him behind the register.” He gestures with his chin. “You have to order first, and they’ll deliver your food when it’s ready.”

I pause. Then, taking his cue, I walk over and order half a rack and a beer. After paying, I walk to Albert, and he gestures to the other side of the booth.

“It’s nice to see you again, son. Have a seat.”

I smile and slide into the cracked pleather bench. A waitress appears like magic with a tea for Albert and my beer. Once she disappears, I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table.

“I appreciate you letting me sit down. I was planning to come out and visit you again. I’ve been wanting a word.”

Albert’s eyes narrow slightly, not suspicious, just curious. “About?”

“Matty.”

He blows out a breath. “About one of my daughters. I figured as much.”

I nod. “Yes, sir. And about Wildhaven Storm.”

He exhales through his nose and glances out the window. “I can guess what your interest in a daughter might be, but I’m not sure what your interest in our ranch could be.”

I chuckle. “I bet you have to deal with a lot of men sniffing around your girls. But that’s not what I’m about.”

His brows rise in question.

“I won’t waste your time,” I say. “I know things have been tough for you all. Folks are talking, and I’ve seen some of it for myself. I know you’re proud of that land—and you should be—but I also know you’re watching your daughter wear herself thin, trying to keep it all going.”

Albert doesn’t answer right away. He tugs off his hat, sets it on the bench beside him, and scrubs a hand over his weathered face.

“You’re not wrong,” he says finally. “She’s too proud to admit it, but I see it.

Every morning before the sun’s up, she’s already out on the ranch.

Fixing what’s busted. Figuring out how to hold things together with duct tape and a prayer.

Juggling bills. Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

Hell, last week, I caught her sleeping in the tack room ’cause she hadn’t had the energy to walk back to the house. ”

That hits me hard. I knew Matty was overworked, but I didn’t picture her curled up, napping beside the bridles.

“I don’t want to take anything from her or you,” I say.

“I want to offer something that might help. That piece of acreage on the western ridge—Holland and I want to expand there. There’s room, and it’s close enough to Ironhorse to make sense.

We need a thousand acres—that’s all—and we’d pay fair market.

Maybe even above it. She wouldn’t be selling the heart of Wildhaven Storm. Just a corner of it.”

Albert’s quiet. Thoughtful. I can see the wheels turning.

“What kind of expanding are you guys doing over there?” he asks.

I take a deep breath and choose my words carefully because this could make or break everything.

“We want to build new arenas. Outdoor and indoor.”

“Arenas? For what?”

“To train thoroughbreds and host events. We also plan to put in a training facility.”

“Horses? Since when is Ironhorse in the horse trade? Despite its name, that ranch has always been a cattle ranch,” he points out.

“It has. But Holland wants to expand into the equine businesses—training, breeding, even owning his own racehorses. He’s bought a share in one of next year’s favorites. He has his sights on the big three—the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes, and Belmont Stakes.”

He leans back in his seat and lets out a low whistle. “The Triple Crown? That’s awfully ambitious for a first-time owner.”

I laugh. “Yeah, but you know Holland.”

“I do indeed.” He leans in and glares at me. “What do you get out of this?” he asks.

I don’t flinch. “Space to grow. Room to train more horses. We’re building something serious at Ironhorse—bringing in racers, thoroughbreds. The best jockeys in the world. I need facilities that match the talent.”

He nods slowly, folding his hands on the table. “You want me to help convince her.”

“I want you to support the conversation,” I say carefully. “I’ll bring her the proposal myself. I just … I think she might be more likely to hear me out if she knows you’re not dead set against it.”

“You’re talking about not only purchasing a big chunk of our land, but going into direct competition with our horse business,” he says.

“Not true. We’re talking high-stakes, big-money horses with bloodlines.

What you guys do is small potatoes next to what Holland has in mind.

I don’t mean that disrespectfully. I just don’t think it will have any bearing on your ranch’s success.

We aren’t going to train cutting horses or trail riders. ”

He snorts. “I seriously doubt Matty will see it that way.”

“That’s why I intend to show her.”

The waitress returns with our food, and for a few minutes, we’re both silent, busy with ribs and cornbread slathered in butter.

When Albert finally speaks again, his voice is lower. “You know”—he wipes his mouth—“Earl, my father, he’d have my ass if he thought I was even considering selling off any part of the Storm property.”

“Maybe so, but I bet he’d want you to do whatever you had to do to save it from falling into bankruptcy. You and I both know that land doesn’t stretch as far as it used to. Not when the costs of upkeep keep climbing and not when you lose a dozen horses to horse thieves.”

He looks me square in the eye. “Matty’s the best of us.

Smart. Strong. Reliable. She stepped up to help me raise her sisters when we lost my wife, Miriam.

And she’s stubborn as a bull. Refuses to accept defeat.

She’s held the ranch together longer than anyone had a right to expect.

If there’s something I can do to make her life a little easier …

” He trails off, then adds, “I’ll do what I can.

Doesn’t mean she’ll listen to either of us, but the support’s yours all the same. ”

Relief settles in my chest. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

His gaze holds mine. “I’m trusting that you’re being honest with me.”

“I am, sir,” I assure him.

He nods and digs back into his plate.

“One more thing, Caison. I may be the owner of Wildhaven Storm, but make no mistake—I won’t make a single move that my girl isn’t a hundred percent on board with. Do I make myself clear?”

I smile. “Crystal.”

Before I can say more, the front door opens, and another gust of cool autumn air spills in.

I glance over my shoulder and spot Giles walking in, pulling off his jacket.

And behind him, trailing a few steps back, is a man I don’t recognize—but I clock the tension that stiffens Albert’s spine the moment he sees him.

“Who’s that?” I ask .

“The older one is our trainer, Giles. The other one is Carl Teague. He used to work for us.”

I quirk a brow. “Used to?”

“Yep,” he says curtly.

Giles spots us and gives a friendly wave. Carl, on the other hand, zeroes in on Albert like he’s got unfinished business. I watch as he mutters something to Giles and then peels off, heading straight for our table.

Albert sits back, unreadable.

“Mr. Storm,” Carl says, stopping at the end of the booth.

Albert doesn’t smile. “Carl. Didn’t expect to see you in town. Are you lost?”

The man winces at the question.

“I’m back,” Carl says, his tone almost … defensive. “Took a job over in Jackson Hole after things went south, but it wasn’t for me. Wildhaven’s my home. I’m here to help again. Make things right.”

Albert blinks. “Well, that’s a surprise.”

Carl glances at me. “Don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Caison Galloway,” I say, standing slowly and offering my hand.

“Carl Teague,” he replies, shaking it. “Albert’s employee and hopefully his son-in-law. One day.”

Something in me stiffens at the statement.

Son-in-law?

I watch as Albert’s expression hardens further.

Carl’s gaze returns to the man. “I know I have a lot to make up for, Albert. And I plan to do just that.”

And maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s just the tone of his voice, but I instantly dislike this guy. The way he’s looking at Albert. Like he’s not here to ask, but to take back what he thinks is his.

He gives Albert a nod. “I’ll be working with Giles again. Just wanted to say hi.”

Albert manages a polite, if tight, “Noted.”

Carl turns and heads back toward Giles, who raises his eyebrows in a what was that all about kind of way. I sit again, watching Carl’s back retreat into the haze of smoke and chatter.

“That was tense?” I say to Albert once Carl’s out of earshot.

He nods, expression unreadable. “He used to be our operations manager. He was also Matty’s sweetheart. He proposed a couple of years ago. Thought he was gonna be part of the family.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“When the horse thieves hit us last year, we were scrambling. I had to let folks go. Matty took it hard—took it all on her shoulders. She shut down, got tunnel vision, tried to do everything herself. Carl … didn’t like it—felt neglected, I guess—and he didn’t stick around.”

I glance back toward the counter. Carl’s laughing now, sharing a drink with Giles. Like none of it weighs on him.

“She didn’t fire him?”

“Nope,” Albert says. “He left in the middle of the night. Left a note in the office that said she didn’t make room for him anymore.”

I shake my head. “He left her when she needed him?”

Albert nods once, slow and grim. “Exactly. Broke her heart.”

I feel something hot flicker beneath my ribs. Protective. Fierce. Maybe unreasonable. But I can’t help it. The thought of anyone walking away from Matty Storm in her lowest moment makes my jaw clench.

“He’s a fool,” I mutter.

Albert just shrugs. “Some men are.”

We finish lunch in silence, both of us seething. Albert doesn’t notice—or if he does, he doesn’t question it. I wouldn’t have an explanation if he did. I have no reason to hate Carl as intensely as I do at the moment. I don’t know the man. I barely know Matty.

Once we’ve finished our food, we stand, and I follow him to the door, keeping one eye on Carl, who watches Albert closely.

When we part ways, he claps me on the shoulder.

“I’m not promising miracles, Caison. But if you’re serious—and you respect her—then, yeah, I’ll stand behind you with Matty when the time comes.”

“I am. And I do.”

He tips his hat and walks out the door.

And I stand there a moment longer, watching Carl through narrowed eyes, wondering why I suddenly feel like I just met the man I’ll have to deal with in more ways than one.