Page 78 of One Wild Chance

“That’s a bold statement from someone whose pulse flatlined while reading that email,” I fire back.

Her frown deepens. “You have no clue what my pulse did.”

I let out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I could absolutely tell. Your face was ice cold when you read his email. Even on a slow day, I’m certain I could do more damage to your pulse than that man ever could.”

She blinks, speechless. Then she pushes away from the table, the chair screeching against the floor like nails on a chalkboard before she storms toward the door, almost directly into Earl.

“Whoa!” Earl wheezes with a furrowed brow. “You all right?”

“Fine,” she snaps, sidestepping him before rushing out. “Sorry, Earl.”

Earl looks over his shoulder as he lumbers toward the coffeepot. “What’s gotten into her?”

“No idea,” I mutter, even though I know why she’s rushing out of here.

I close the laptop, frustration pulsing through my veins. I need to find something to distract myself before I find Blaine and punch him in the face.

“I’m going for a ride,” I grumble to Earl, dumping my plate in the sink. “Scout needs to run off steam.”

“I don’t think it’s the horse that needs to run off steam,” Earl says with a low chuckle, “but you enjoy that ride.”

Chapter 22

Jaxon

Somebody once said, Good fences make good neighbors. But that’s only when they’re on the right property, which is why Hank Branford has twenty-four hours to move his stakes before I get my lawyer involved.

Not that James wants to get in the middle of a land dispute. For a lawyer, he’s the most peace-loving man I’ve ever met. But I won’t hesitate to use the law to defend what rightfully belongs to Lucky Chance.

So when Hank says he wants to stop in to talk about the misunderstanding, I already know he’s not here to make amends. As far as I’m concerned, there is no misunderstanding. It’s our land.

Hank shows up outside our stallion barn at eight sharp the next morning, wearing a black Stetson and boots as shiny as a new Chevy.

“Hank.” I extend my hand because that’s the nice thing to do, but really I want him to understand who he’s dealing with now—the eldest son of John Chance.

“Jaxon, good to see you.” He grips my hand harder than what’s usual for neighbors. “How’s the farm?” He takes in the property, rubbing his thumb across his palm. “Doesn’t look like much has changed since I was last out here.”

“We’ve got some plans we’re working on,” I say.

“Interesting.” He gives me a tight smile. “Are you looking for more cash to get these plans off the ground?”

“I’m not looking to give up my fence line, if that’s what you’re asking.” I give him the same tight smile back. I don’t care if he offered to pay our entire loan—he’s not getting any part of Lucky Chance Ranch.

“Listen,” he says, putting up a hand. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding with the new fence. I’ll get my guys out there to fix it tomorrow.”

That seems too easy. I didn’t think Hank would give in without at least making an offer.

“Thanks,” I say. “Appreciate that.”

“No problem,” he says. “That’s what neighbors do.”

Something in his tone tells me not to trust Hank’s goodwill, even if we didn’t already have reason to distrust the Branfords after Dad’s sour business deal.

“I also wanted to talk to you about horses,” he says smoothly.

Ah, there it is.

He nods toward the stallion barn. “Mind showing me around?”