Page 69 of One Wild Chance

“Didn’t Larissa say we should be in several photos together?” he asks.

“We have one.” I slide the phone into my pocket.

“Pretty sure she meant more than that.” He walks toward me, never taking his eyes off me.

I take a few steps back, putting my hands up to protest. “Jaxon.”

“Larissa said we have to.”

“I don’t need to be in another picture.” The look on his face tells me he disagrees. “I’m really more of a behind-the-camera person, I’m not⁠—”

Then he scoops me up, one arm under my knees and his other at my back. All at once, I’m looking at him like a bride being carried over a threshold. Except the threshold is an old barn door, and I’m in dirty cowboy boots and my hair is a disaster.

“What has gotten into you?” My laugh echoes inside the barn.

“It’s not for me. It’s for the business,” he says, repeating my own words back to me. “Think of all the brides who enjoy watching a man carry a woman.”

I pretend to be offended, but I can’t ignore how right his hands feel on my body. “I can’t believe you’re using my words against me.”

“You said them first,” he says, grinning now. “Take the picture.”

I hold my phone out and take the shot. Then another one because we’re both laughing now, and I can feel the deep rumble in his chest moving through my body.

He sets me down on my feet, and his hands don’t leave my waist. They flex against my sides, holding me close as I breathe him in. For a second, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let me go.

“One last shot.” He takes out his phone and brings his face close to mine so we’re both in the picture. If I turned my face just a little, our lips would brush, and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from giving in to the tension between us. But if I do that, there’s no going back. I might want this man, but I can’t have him. If I let this happen, we’d only have to face the mess afterward.

But seeing our faces on screen, we look like two people who can’t get enough of each other. Two people who could be happy together if things were different. Brides are going to lose their minds over these photos. I just need to make sure I don’t lose mine.

Chapter 19

Jaxon

Slow down, man.

I blow out a heavy breath, but it doesn’t help. Summer left to check on the broodmares with a flush on her cheeks, while I’m pacing the floor, hands still warm from touching her. All I can think is how good it felt to have her in my arms and how close I came to angling my face and putting my mouth on hers. After that last picture, I stepped away before I lost control.

I wipe the sweat from my neck and blame it on the weather. Kentucky does this every year, teasing me with fake fall and the entire pumpkin-spice version of September, before “real” fall shows up when it’s good and ready. The cool nights are the only sign it’s coming. Well, that and the Keeneland sale.

When I reach the office, there’s a letter from the bank sitting on the mail pile. A week ago, I asked for an extension on one of the loan payments. I knew the odds were slim, but I needed to try anyway. I tear the envelope open, skim through the letter, and get to the decision part.

Denied.

I crumple it in my hands. The clock is ticking now, which means we can’t afford for anything to go wrong at Keeneland. All our yearlings need to do well to pay off this debt, and the new wedding venue can’t be draining our funds either. I hate that I’m doing the math on Summer’s dream, like I only care about the bottom line, but it’s my job to care about numbers now.

I stare out at a horse trotting across the field and remember all the times I used to sit here, half listening to my dad while I daydreamed about the NHL. Now, all of that is gone—my career and my father.

Reaching into the desk drawer, I see a ceramic horse figurine near the back, partially hidden behind a paperclip holder. I flip it over and see my childlike scrawl on the bottom—Lucky Chance Ranch. It was a Christmas gift for my father when I was six years old. Saved all my money doing chores, then went to the general store and picked it out.

I was so proud of that gift, and Dad made such a big deal when he opened it. It’s just a cheap, ceramic trinket. But the fact that it’s still here tells me he kept it for a reason.

Dad might not have been perfect, but he built this farm into something even his own grandfather couldn’t have imagined. I didn’t understand any of that as a teenager. Back then, it felt like he was forcing something on me I didn’t want. As the oldest son, I was supposed to care about Lucky Chance and its history tracing back to 1920. But I didn’t care all that much. I just wanted to play hockey.

He never said outright that he wanted me to take over, but he’d walk me through the barn and explain things he never bothered telling my brothers. There was an unspoken pressure for me to follow in his footsteps, and the more I felt it, the harder I pushed back. I wanted to make my own path, not take the one my father had taken. My brothers got to figure out who they were—why couldn’t I?

I thought if I came back to Lucky Chance and failed to live up to what my dad had wanted, I’d have disappointed four generations of Chances.

They say when one door closes, another door opens, but I always hated that phrase. What if it’s a door you never wanted in the first place?