Page 75 of One Wild Chance

Me: If I post this, we’ll have another five thousand followers by morning.

Jaxon: You’re welcome.

Me: Brides are going to fall in love with this place before they even see it.

Jaxon: But the barn isn’t in the picture.

Me: It doesn’t need to be. It’s you on a horse. That’s all I need.

I hit send before I realize how that sounds. The video is pure bait, but hopefully Jaxon doesn’t recognize that. I quickly backpedal.

Me: I mean, a man on a horse sells the rustic vibe, right? I’m just surprised to see you in a cowboy hat.

Jaxon: Wyatt sent it to me. I’m not thrilled about it.

Me: It looks good, cowboy.

Jaxon: You talk like that, I might keep wearing it.

Is he flirting with me? Because I’m smiling at my phone like I’m a teenager again. He knows exactly what he’s doing with that hat.

Me: Enjoy your ride. Just don’t fall off.

Jaxon: I’ll leave that to you, Wildflower.

Me: That was one time!

Jaxon: Worth it for the ride back.

My pulse riots as I think of him riding behind me, his breath warm on my neck, arms bracketing my sides, reins in his hands.

Another picture comes through, a still photo of Jaxon on the horse, grinning. Warmth spreads through my chest like butter over hot biscuits.

There’s something about his smile, like it’s just for me. I stare at it too long.

He took these for the wedding venue, I tell myself. He wants it to succeed.

I post the video, saving the picture for myself. Then I set my phone down and get back to work, refusing to look at it again for the rest of the night. If we’re lucky, we’ll get five thousand more followers this week.

By morning, we’ve added twenty thousand.

Chapter 21

Jaxon

I know this farm now. Not the way my parents did, of course, but good enough to keep it running. I’ve started figuring out horse schedules, organizing hay deliveries and farrier visits, and following up on vet appointments. Most nights I fall into bed so exhausted, I don’t even remember closing my eyes. During hockey season the schedule was brutal, but things eased off during offseason. Since a horse farm never has an offseason, I’m still learning how to pace myself.

I’m up before daybreak every morning because horses can’t wait. Summer always stops in the farmhouse for coffee, which is the best part of my day. She used to do the same with Mom, discussing any changes with the foals and mares, while Mom shared the latest gossip from Wanda Roy at the gas station. Now it’s become our morning habit, minus Wanda’s gossip. Somehow, I think Mom would like that I’ve continued in her place.

When I hear the screen door’s usual smack, I call out, “Good morning, Wildflower,” before she even steps foot into the kitchen. It’s become a game to see who says it first. Another of our many unspoken rivalries.

“Good morning,” she says, heading straight for the coffeepot. She gives me a smile that feels like sunshine through a window. “Sleep okay?”

“Like the dead.” I turn back to my open laptop on the table. “No wonder Earl takes a nap every afternoon.”

“I think he’s hoping you’ll fire him for sleeping on the job.”

“I would. Except I need him too badly.” I nod toward the stovetop. “Left you some scrambled eggs if you’re hungry.”