Page 8 of One Wild Chance

James rests his elbows on the desk. “That was the point of the trust. Not to punish you, but to ensure that you all come home and actually learn how to run a horse farm instead of selling it outright. This farm has been in the Chance family for four generations. He wanted you invested in the place before you decided its future.” His gaze lands on me, like he already suspects which one of us wants to sell.

“What if we don’t want to learn?” I ask.

James sets his glasses down. “Then you forfeit your individual share. The trust transfers ownership only to those who complete their participation requirement. If all four of you meet the stipulation, you each receive a twenty-five percent membership interest in Lucky Chance Ranch LLC. Any share that’s forfeited is divided among the brothers who complete.” He leans back in his chair. “Your father hoped all four of you would qualify. The provision exists to prevent someone from getting an inheritance without participating.”

Wyatt murmurs under his breath, “So it’s kind of like a competition. Complete the steps, win the prize.”

“Yes, although your father would hate hearing it described that way.”

I exhale. “Leave it to Dad not to make it easy on us.” He knew we were all competitive enough that we wouldn’t want to let one of our brothers win. Genius on his part.

“One more thing.” James takes out one last paper. “Your mother held a limited power to amend the trust after your father died. She used it two months before she passed, through a separate attorney in Lexington, not long after Jaxon’s injury. I wasn’t involved in drafting this part.” He reads from the paper. “One beneficiary shall serve as manager-in-residence for two years following the death of the surviving parent. He shall actively oversee the operation of Lucky Chance Ranch and maintain primary residence on the ranch property.” He sets the paper down. “It doesn’t name anybody. It says the beneficiary without an active professional contract.” He glances at me. “Your injury decided it for you.”

Rhett leans toward me. “It seems Mom planned your retirement.”

I lean forward. “What if I don’t want to be that thing you said…manager-in-residence? Can we contest the terms?”

“Possibly. But even if I could find a loophole, I don’t think it’s what you actually want to do. This farm is worth a great deal of money, but only if you still own it. So fulfilling the two-year requirement would be a short-term sacrifice for a long-term gain. I’d look at this as part of a wise athlete’s retirement plan.”

Wyatt’s brow furrows. Grady taps his lips, deep in thought. Rhett just stares at our lawyer, mouth open, like he’s waiting for James to say it’s all a joke. But the joke’s on us. We’re all going to be tied to this farm.

“And, Summer…” James turns toward her. “We can talk later if you have questions.”

She nods, then hurries out of the office, the scent of jasmine lingering behind.

My brothers hang back to talk with James as I follow Summer out the door.

“Hey!” I call as she heads down the sidewalk toward an old pickup that looks like it might fall apart from rust. “Can you hold on?”

She whirls around, and I’m caught up in how blue her eyes are, as pure as the Kentucky sky.

“You knew about this, didn’t you? The land my mom was giving you.”

She looks away and bites her lip. She did know.

“I didn’t know whether she’d actually go through with it, though,” she says.

I close my eyes. What was Mom thinking, handing out four generations of Chance land like it was candy?

I know they had a special relationship. After four boys, Mom took Summer under her wing like the daughter she never had and taught her everything. Finally, Mom felt like someone loved this farm as much as she did. She even gave Summer a filly at graduation after she’d worked here for two years.

But Mom’s charity has gone too far. Five acres of prime property right next to the house, with the potential of leaving Chance hands forever if Summer actually lasts two years. My plan was to sell the operation and split the proceeds four ways, clean and simple. Now there’s a wildflower farmer standing between me and that plan.

“You think you can handle working alongside me on the farm?” I ask.

She lifts her chin. “I think the real question is whether you can handle managing it that long.”

She doesn’t think I’ll last. I fold my arms across my chest. “You have no idea what I can handle.”

“We’ll see if you can.” She tilts her head. “If you decide to stick around.” She pauses, letting that statement sink in. “I’ll give it eight weeks before you’re back on a plane to South Carolina.”

“Really?” I rub the stubble on my chin, and her eyes track the movement. “Six months. That’s what I give you before this flower business folds.”

“Huh,” she says, crossing her arms. “You must forget how much persistence I have.”

“Well, you’ll need it. Things are about to get real interesting around here.”

“Oh, I can handle interesting.” Her smile has a hint of fire underneath, like hot honey. “Cowboy.”