I nod. “Bryce got my foot in the door. That’s all this is right now.”
Albert’s expression turns serious. “You know how many bull riders there are in the country?”
“A thousand or so.”
“That’s right. And Outlaw Heritage chose you. It doesn’t matter who planted the idea in their heads; those guys wouldn’t bet on you if they didn’t believe the odds were in their favor. Those men wouldn’t simply sign you because Bryce asked. They aren’t in the business of giving favors. They signed you because they see value in you and they think you’ll make them money.”
I don’t answer.
Because part of me still struggles to believe it. I’ve spent years in arenas. Years climbing rankings. Years getting bucked off and climbing right back on. And I still feel like that kid trying to prove himself.
Albert points a finger at me. “So, you go on and do that.”
I bark out a laugh. “I’m certainly gonna try.”
“You’ve worked your tail off your whole life. Stop trying and start doing.” He cuts his eyes to me. “That means you need to change some things though.”
I look ahead.
I know.
“You can’t stay up all night, chasing beers and women anymore,” he continues. “That’s what men who waste their lives on the circuit and wake up one day broke and broken do.”
I nod because I’ve seen it.
“Keep your head down and your nose clean and do the work. Because you’re worth the investment, Axle. That’s what Outlaw Heritage sees.”
I don’t respond right away.
The only sounds are the hoofbeats beneath us and the birds calling from the trees.
“Thanks.”
He points at me again. “And soon, everybody else is gonna know it too.”
The ride continues north, beyond the old fence lines of the northern grazing pasture. It passes a stretch of open meadow that turns vibrantly green every spring. Then the landscape begins to shift. The grasslands give way to tall cottonwoods and lodgepole pines, and the trail narrows into the tree line.
This section of the ranch has always been one of my favorite places. It feels wild and untouched. Reminding me that Wyoming still belongs to nature, no matter how many fences we build.
We ride beneath the canopy at an easy pace until, somewhere off in the distance, we hear water.
Albert follows without asking any questions. He already knows the general direction we’re headed. But he hasn’t seen the exact location yet.
The trail winds along the base of the mountains until the trees finally begin to thin out and light spills through the branches.
We emerge into the clearing.
My chest tightens the second I see it. The same way it always has.
The river rushes along one side of the property. Crystal-clear water from the top of the mountains tumbles over rocks worn smooth by time.
The Tetons stand proud in the distance. Snow is still clinging to a few distant peaks despite the season. Rolling hills surround the clearing, creating a natural sense of privacy, but the land itself is mostly level. Perfect for building.
We pull the horses to a stop.
The ride took roughly fifty minutes from the ranch house, but as we stand here now, it feels like stepping into another world.
Albert slowly surveys the property—the river, the mountains, the open meadow, and the surrounding woods.
