Page 112 of One Wild Chance

“I know,” I say, the nerves in my stomach multiplying. “I just hope it brings brides to the open house.”

“Oh, it will,” Larissa says confidently. “That picture alone is worth a hundred inquiries. Trust me.”

I hope she’s right. For now, I need to put the relationship issue out of my mind until we get everything ready for the big sale.

The week leading up to Keeneland passes in a blur of yearling prep, vet appointments, and to-do lists. Jaxon and I barely cross paths, trading updates over texts about horses along with some very obnoxious flirting. We don’t have time to see each other with everything we have going on, but every morning when I arrive, my coffee is already waiting in the farm office.

I’ve stopped pretending I’m not secretly thrilled about the special things he does, or the man who brings it to me, especially when he adds one of Ada Mae’s cinnamon rolls. He knows I don’t eat breakfast unless someone puts it in front of me, and he remembered these are my favorite because I mentioned it once in passing.

Next to the plate is a sticky note with the words: Dinner this evening?

We’re leaving for Keeneland at the end of the week, which means this might be the only time I have with him. I used to keep a running list in my head of all the reasons this thing with Jaxon wouldn’t work. Somewhere in the last month, though, I stopped counting those reasons and started counting all the ways I love this man.

By the time evening rolls around, I’m rushing back to the barn where I find Jaxon waiting at my office door, boots and cowboy hat on—the custom one Wyatt had designed that makes him look like he’s an extra on the set of Yellowstone.

The sight of him stops me short.

“Well?” he says, one side of his mouth tilting. “Are you going to have dinner with me, or do I have to steal you away?”

“That depends.” I lean against the doorframe. “How good are you at the art of persuasion?”

He steps closer, his warm breath fanning over my ear. “Very,” he says, kissing my earlobe, turning my body molten. “But I’ll let you be the judge.”

He kisses my neck, my jaw, my temple, memorizing every spot.

My lashes flutter closed. “I’m thoroughly convinced.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmurs against my cheek. “Because our horses are already saddled and dinner is at my favorite picnic spot.”

I pull back enough to peer up at him. He planned all of this before I’d even said yes. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, cowboy.”

He tips his brim. “I thought the hat might sway you.”

I laugh. “Definitely didn’t hurt.”

We set out on horseback on a gorgeous fall evening, the kind Kentucky puts on a postcard—that slow, golden burn before the chill of dusk makes you reach for a jacket. We ride out through the gate, the horses picking their way through the faded grass next to the fence. The tree line in the distance is already showing the first of fall’s colors, stunning shades of rusty orange and rich goldenrod. Since we’ve been preparing for Keeneland and the open house, I’ve missed my daily rides with Sally. Horses have a way of slowing us down so we don’t miss the surrounding beauty.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

He points toward a wide, gnarled oak tree in the distance. “My favorite tree.”

“You have a favorite tree on a five-hundred-acre property?”

He grins. “Of course I do. Chose it when I was about eight years old. It’s great for climbing and for escaping from my parents when the occasion called for it.”

I’d noticed the tree before, with its weathered treehouse and a rope ladder still dangling from the limb below. I’d imagined Jaxon and his brothers playing here when their parents were working long hours. They grew up wild and free, roaming the pastures and barns like stray cats.

“Did you come here much?” I ask.

“All the time,” he says. “Especially when I needed to think. I even came here before I signed my NHL contract.”

“Really?” I look over at him. “You had to think about it?”

“Not really,” he says with a chuckle. “But I knew I was leaving, and that felt important to think about…for at least five minutes.”

I study Jaxon’s relaxed posture in the saddle, his body moving easily with the horse. His face is tan from the sun, and his hair has grown out, curling at his nape so I can thread my fingers through it. There’s a peace about him now, a contentedness that he didn’t have when he first arrived.

A smile tugs at my lips. “Farm life suits you.”