“Damn. Never thought I’d see the day you settled down in one place.”
Micah grins. “We all gotta grow up sometime. Besides, I missed your ugly asses.”
That’s the thing about family. You miss them when they’re gone—when you’re gone—and nothing beats coming back together.
In the distance, I can hear the faint sound of hammers from another project happening somewhere on the ranch.
I glance toward the ranch house again and the rolling fields beyond it.
Wildhaven Storm keeps evolving. Every year, something changes. Every year, the place gets a little bigger. A little stronger. A little harder to recognize.
But maybe that’s not a bad thing.
Maybe that’s what surviving looks like. Not staying the same, but getting better. Finding new ways forward for the next generation.
Because this land—our family—is what matters most.
And Wildhaven Storm is home.
Which means, if they need help building a cattle operation out of a horse ranch, I’ll be there.
I’ll be complaining every second of the way.
But I’ll be there.
Jovie
It has been a crazy week.
Monday felt endless. Tuesday somehow longer. By Wednesday, I was surviving on caffeine, stubbornness, and the occasional reminder that I actually love what I do.
The rodeo academy finally hit its stride after the slower start. Once the students settled in and the schedule found its rhythm, the clinic stayed busy from sunrise to supper.
I gained a lot of hands-on experience, assisting Dr. Seth with physicals, blood draws, X-rays, medication administration, suture removals, charts, and paperwork.
Enough paperwork to make me question every choice that led me here.
Not that it was all boring.
I got to put my physical therapy knowledge into practice with a bull rider suffering from a pinched lumbar nerve. Watching the relief on his face after traction therapy was incredibly satisfying. Then there was a steer wrestler whose upper back was locked up tighter than a bank vault. We used EMS treatment on him and had him moving normally again by Thursday.
Those moments remind me why I love sports medicine.
The paperwork?
Not so much.
By Friday afternoon, the clinic is unusually quiet.
Dr. Seth appears in the doorway while I’m updating patient notes.
He glances toward the empty waiting area and treatment space. “It’s Friday.”
I look up. “I’m aware.”
“Go enjoy yourself.”
I shake my head. “Clinic doesn’t close until the arena does.”
