Page 18 of One Wild Chance

“You know I’m not staying in this town after graduation,” he said. “There’s nothing here for me.”

And that’s when I realized I was part of that nothing.

Whatever I thought I’d felt the afternoon I jumped off the rope swing into the pond, I’d read him completely wrong.

Chapter 7

Jaxon

Earl arrived in the nick of time to take off Rebel’s saddle. I may have stared into some of the meanest faces in hockey since I was eighteen, but I’ve never been so nervous about touching an animal in my life.

Does that make me a chicken?

Yes. Yes, it does.

Do I care that a horse just made me look bad in front of my three younger brothers?

Also, yes.

But within two minutes, Rebel is free and nobody got hurt, even though the back of my neck is damp with sweat.

“She’s a skittish one,” Earl tells me dryly, handing off the saddle to Grady. “Gotta let Summer help if this happens again.” His wiry eyebrows furrow as he studies me. “Are you okay with asking Summer for help?”

“Yep.” I nod stiffly.

Rhett lifts a brow.

“I mean, we have a working relationship,” I add. As in, it doesn’t work.

Earl points a leathery finger at me. “Whatever y’all’s problem is, better work it out. You need her on your side.”

She’d rather push me off a cliff than take orders from me. “Can you show us the horses, so this doesn’t happen again?”

Earl chews on his gums, then harrumphs. “Follow me.” He takes us to the stallion barn first, pointing toward an enormous jet-black thoroughbred with a glossy coat. “That’s Kentucky Gent. Most valuable horse on the property. Still brings in a decent stud fee.” He moves toward a chestnut stallion next. “This one’s Dakota Lightning.”

I lean toward Wyatt. “That’s the one Dad made a bad investment on.”

Earl grunts. “That’s the horse business for you. Always risky.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have taken on so much debt.”

Earl stops and turns to me. “Who made you the expert?” Then he spits out the side of his mouth, and my brothers take a collective step sideways.

His eyes narrow, his skin creasing like old leather. “Your daddy built something here he was proud of. Maybe hold off on the critique until you’ve worked here a week.” Then he heads out the barn doors.

I follow Earl over to a four-wheeler parked by the farm office.

“Have you seen the property in a while?” he asks. “Your dad put a lot of work into this place.”

“I know what it looks like,” I mutter.

“Not recently you don’t.” He waves for me to get in. “We’re going for a ride.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I tell him.

“This,” he says, “is the only thing you have time for right now. So stop your whining or I’ll start calling you Little Jax.”

He knows I hate the name he called me when I was five years old and following him around this barn, asking questions about every horse he passed.