Page 31 of One Wild Chance

“And you’re getting a free ride.” I tap the logo on the side of the truck. “Which means today you’re on my time clock.”

He drops into the passenger seat, silently inspecting the inside of my truck. So maybe it has seen better days. The seat is ripped, the radio doesn’t work, and I have a pen stuck into the broken lever that controls the windshield wipers, but other than that, it’s perfectly fine. Plus, the old teal color is my favorite, even with rust on the bumpers and wheel wells.

“Where’d you get this rust bucket?” he says, snapping his seat belt into place.

“Excuse me, but I like the rust. It’s called character.” The engine rumbles to life.

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” He grins. “I’d just call it junkyard ready.”

I roll my eyes. “My truck has served me well since I started this business, and I won’t hear a word against her. She’s vintage farm chic, exactly the vibe of Wildflower Farms.”

I ease onto the main road, taking it slowly so I don’t injure the flowers.

“And people actually pay good money for these?” he asks.

I bite the inside of my cheek. These flowers have helped pay for Mom’s care this year. “I sell out most Saturdays. And this is just phase one of my plan.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Phase one?”

“I don’t want to sell flowers at the market forever.” I glance in the rearview at a cloud of dust rising behind us. “Eventually, I’m hoping to buy a building and open a wedding event center.”

“In Golden Springs?”

I give him a look. “I know how it sounds.”

“That’s a big swing for a town this size.”

I grip the wheel of my truck tighter. “There are only two places to get married in the entire county—the church and the courthouse. Most couples who want something special drive to Lexington or Louisville and spend a fortune on a venue that’s not even close to where they live.”

I slow down for the turn onto Main Street. “Brides want an experience these days. Something beautiful that has history with it. Not some fake rustic venue off the interstate that charges twelve thousand dollars to rent a room with a saddle on the wall.”

“Okay. So where’s the venue?”

“That’s the problem.” I pull into a parking space along a side street and cut the engine. “There’s nothing in town that would work. I’ve looked. Even the buildings that could be renovated are too small, too expensive, or owned by people who aren’t interested in selling.”

“So it’s a dead end.”

“For now.” I unbuckle my seat belt. “But not forever.”

I’ve thought about this dilemma for months, and the only space within twenty miles that would be perfect is sitting right there on Lucky Chance Ranch, mostly empty except for my flower supplies, with the original wide-plank floors and hand-hewn beams. Every day I walk into the old barn, I think about what it could be with a little work.

Lights strung from the beams, lanterns in the big center aisle, the married couple kissing in front of the barn doors. My flowers would add the perfect touch—greenery wrapped around the wooden posts, wildflower bouquets everywhere, and an enormous arbor featuring spray roses and peonies. Add the backdrop of horses grazing as the sun sets over the rolling hills, and you have the ideal location. So perfect, not even a photograph could do it justice.

But the barn is technically part of the Chance estate, which means in two years Jaxon and his brothers will have full say over what happens to it. If I tell him I want to turn his family’s barn into a wedding venue before I’ve earned his trust, he’s going to think I’m trying to claim one more piece of property that belongs to the Chance family.

Jaxon shuts his door, then stares at the scene on Main Street. “Half the town’s here already.”

The entire block is filled end to end with booths and people and scents. Breakfast sausage and nutty coffee. Cinnamon rolls from the First Baptist Church’s bake sale. Dogs in bandanas, sniffing for scraps. Rainbows of vegetables spill from wooden crates. Somebody’s radio plays Alan Jackson on low.

Jaxon moves to the truck bed. “Where do you want these?”

“I usually set up in front of the coffee shop.” I nod toward the renovated building.

As soon as we start unloading, people openly stare at Jaxon. Colleen Cromwell bustles over first, brushing a hand over her graying curls. “So it’s true, Jaxon Chance is actually home!”

“Hello, Ms. Cromwell,” he says with a nod.

She watches him heft a huge load from the bed. “Well, look at you all grown up.” Her gaze scoots over his shoulders. “I bet Summer appreciates a man like you.”