The academy grounds are buzzing with activity.
Parents hauling luggage. Kids carrying gear bags. Horses being unloaded from trailers. Staff moving equipment.
Excited chatter fills the air.
The atmosphere feels familiar.
Different place.
Different circumstances.
Same rodeo energy.
Every kid here has a dream. I can see it on their faces. It’s the same hunger I had at their age.
That same stubborn belief that they’re about to become something special.
I remember the feeling well. Hell, I still feel it now. Every time a bucking chute swings open and the crowd goes wild.
Some of these kids will make it to that moment. Most won’t. That’s just the cold hard truth of it. Rodeo is cruel like that. Talent and heart matter, but you have to be willing to put in the work. Even when the injuries start to outweigh the winnings. Even when you start to forget what home feels like.
And even when you give it all you have, sometimes, none of it is enough. And you never know when the next ride will be the last ride.
But every single one of them deserves a chance to find out.
The covered arena is packed by the time Royce and I arrive.
Students fill the bleachers.
Boys.
Girls.
Tiny little eight-year-olds with oversize hats and teenagers trying to look tough.
Future champions and future quitters. The next Bryce Raintree and the next generation of busted cowboys with shattered bones and broken hearts.
Bryce stands in the middle of the arena, holding a microphone.
The superstar owner of the academy somehow manages to look polished and completely cowboy at the same time.
He waits until everyone settles down.
Then he smiles. “Welcome to Raintree-Storm Rodeo Academy.”
The cheers nearly blow the roof off the place.
Bryce grins. “That’s what I like to hear.”
More cheering.
More applause.
The excitement is contagious. I even find myself yelling and whistling.
Bryce raises a hand, and the arena quiets to a low hum.
“Before we get started, there’s something every cowboy and cowgirl needs to understand,” he says. “Rodeo has five golden rules.”
