Page 1 of One Wild Chance

Chapter 1

Summer

The problem with surprises is that they never arrive at a convenient time.

Mine arrives right at the end of a summer that’s already been bad enough. I have twenty-two mares to check on, fifteen yearlings to prepare for sale, and a flower order due in two days that I haven’t started yet. I’m running on fumes and already on my third cup of coffee.

Truthfully, I’ve stopped expecting good surprises. My work at Lucky Chance Ranch and my flower business are enough for me. Most days, I put more energy into the horses than I ever have into my love life.

Horses, in my experience, are considerably easier to deal with than men.

They don’t care what you look like when you roll out of bed, nor do they question whether the pants you’re wearing now are the ones you left on the floor yesterday.

Which is good, considering I’m completely filthy from spending the morning weeding five rows of zinnias and sunflowers. My phone buzzes, and I’m expecting a message about a mare or a broken fence, but it’s from Larissa.

Today is the day, right? Tell me everything the second you walk out of that office. If Miriam put you in the will, I am going to SCREAM. Also, wear something nice. Just in case.

Just in case of what? It’s a will reading, not a first date. But that’s Larissa. She writes love songs for a living, convinced that today could be the start of one.

I send a text back: I’m covered in dirt and staying that way.

A second text comes through almost immediately: I’m hoping this happens for you. You deserve it. Miriam knew that.

I add a heart emoji before slipping the phone into my pocket. My zinnias are in full bloom, sunset red, cherry blossom pink, and golden apricot, with sunflowers towering over them at the end of the rows. For the past year, those fields have belonged to me in every way except on paper.

I’ve been doing a decent job of not thinking about today’s will reading. But every time I wonder what happens to Lucky Chance Ranch now that the owners are gone, my stomach ties itself in knots. They weren’t my biological parents, but they’ve been a second family to me since the day they hired me on their thoroughbred farm back in high school.

I still expect Miriam to come out to the wildflower field and join me pulling weeds. It’s only been a month since she died in a car accident, and I can’t stop reaching for my phone when I have a question about the mares.

But only Ada Mae’s in the kitchen when I come inside today, taking out fresh biscuits from the oven. “Morning, Summer. Can you believe this heat? And it’s almost September,” she says, wiping her hands on a flour-covered apron. “That’s Kentucky for you.”

She pours me coffee and slides the mug toward me. “Good news is that three out of four of the Chance boys are back for their meeting with the lawyer today.”

I take the coffee, trying to pretend I’m not interested, even though every cell in my body pricks up at the mention of their arrival.

“Only one missing is Jaxon,” she adds, passing me a hot biscuit, slathered with melted butter. “Probably won’t show until the last second.”

Sounds like him. When he still lived here, Jaxon Chance never arrived early at the barn for chores either.

Miriam and John had four boys over five years, and the last two were twins. All four of them became professional athletes, which seems remarkable until you consider their parents. John Chance was a former college quarterback, and Miriam had been a nationally ranked barrel racer in her twenties before she traded it all in for this farm. The Chance boys didn’t just inherit good genes; they inherited two parents who knew that talent without a hard work ethic was wasted potential. Jaxon, the oldest, played hockey, and one twin, Rhett, followed him into it. Wyatt became a quarterback like his dad, while Grady, the other twin, chose baseball.

“How long are they staying?” I ask, biting into the warm biscuit that melts in my mouth.

“Wish I knew. There’s a lot to sort out around here without their folks.”

Nobody has to tell me that. I’ve been managing the broodmare barn since John died a year ago, on top of starting my flower business. Earl, Ada Mae’s husband, is trying to act as farm manager for the time being, but he’s been retired for four years already.

The question nobody seems to know the answer to is what four professional athletes are actually going to do with a five-hundred-acre thoroughbred operation. None of them know the first thing about what it takes to run this place. And they sure won’t stop to ask me.

I drain the rest of my coffee. “I’m taking Sally out for a ride before I head to town. Thanks for the biscuit.”

“Summer—” Ada Mae says, whirling around. “Don’t worry about today. The boys will accept their mother’s wishes.”

“Right.” I nod once and let the screen door slap behind me.

I saddle Sally, then take her out by the lead line, letting her walk beside me along the path that follows the fence row. This is the fifteen minutes I protect for myself above everything else. No to-do list or obsessing over how today’s meeting will go.

When I come around the barn, I see a truck: a pristine black F-150 that I don’t recognize, parked along the dirt lane. There’s not a speck of farm dust on it, which tells me it’s not from around here.