Page 19 of One Wild Chance

My brothers head off to help Ada Mae, since there’s only room for the two of us. I watch the old man slide into the driver’s seat, taking his time. He’s got a head of white hair and a thick, matching mustache that covers his top lip. But you can see the man he once was, tall with broad shoulders now stooped, and huge hands that are gnarled and dotted with age. He’s moving slower, but he’s still sharp enough to give me a detailed tour of the property. I can’t remember the last time I toured this place from one end to the other. We head down the dirt road where he gestures from the four-wheeler, pointing out every building, pasture, and horse we pass.

“There’s the new fence your dad replaced before he died.” He motions toward the back pasture. “Took down some dead trees but left the big oak you kids used to climb.”

The weathered oak with its knobby limbs and remnants of a treehouse still stands proudly in the field. I loved coming out here, climbing the rope ladder and shading myself from the Kentucky sun.

From a distance, I see a neighboring fence that’s black, not the usual white. “Whose land is that?”

“Hank Branford’s,” Earl says.

It takes me a few seconds to remember where I’ve heard that name. “Of Branford Farms?”

Earl nods. “That’s him. Big operation now.”

“I thought his place was closer to Lexington.”

“That was his dad’s. This is the oldest son who inherited his father’s operation and has a second location here. He’s been buying up everything in the county. I’m sure he’d like to get his hands on Lucky Chance, given the opportunity. But your dad said he’d never sell to the Branfords.”

“Why not?”

“His father cheated him out of a horse once. Sold him a mare he claimed was a stakes winner. Turns out she didn’t have any papers. Almost cost your parents their farm in the early days. He didn’t trust any of the Branfords after that.”

Earl starts the four-wheeler again and drops me off at the house before heading over to the office to finish up some work.

Dinner’s ready when I arrive, and the kitchen smells just like it did when we grew up. Ada Mae sets a platter of fried chicken in the center of the antique oak table, and a minute later she’s back with sweet corn and a basket of rolls.

Ada Mae has been helping Mom for as long as I can remember—making lunch for the farmhands, helping with the foals, and keeping the house from falling apart. She and Earl were always paid employees, but she ran this place more like our grandmother than hired help, keeping us in line when Mom needed an extra set of hands.

Apparently that hasn’t changed, even now that we’re grown men who know how to feed ourselves.

“Now you boys eat up.” She shoos us out of the kitchen toward the dining room. “There’s plenty for seconds, so don’t be shy.”

“Anyone else coming to dinner?” Wyatt asks.

“Nope. Just you four.”

The four of us gather around the table, grabbing drumsticks and chicken wings and slathering butter on the sweet corn that came straight from Ada Mae’s garden. The house feels too quiet without Mom and Dad, and nobody says anything for a few minutes.

Wyatt watches me over his glass. “What are we going to do about Lucky Chance?”

Rhett puts down his drumstick. “No idea. Pretty sure I’m allergic to manure.”

Grady points his chicken leg at his twin. “You are not allergic to manure.”

“I might as well be. Hockey season starts soon and my offseason is only three months.”

“Listen, nobody’s asking you to give up your career.” I reach for a roll. “We just have to count our time here.”

Grady nods toward me. “You’re the only one who has to stay on the property.”

“I know that,” I grumble, splitting open a roll. “I’m just not happy about it.”

Grady picks up his sweet tea. “Let’s face facts. We don’t know how to run this place. And the one person who does know is someone you can barely stand to be in the same room with.”

“I can be in the same room with her,” I say.

“Without arguing?” Grady lifts an eyebrow.

“Of course,” I say, taking a bite of my roll.