3. Jaxon
Jaxon
Some places are frozen in time, white-knuckling the past while the rest of the world has moved on.
Nothing changes in Golden Springs, Kentucky, and that’s the way people like it.
The shops on Main Street have been there for fifty years, and there’s just a single restaurant willing to stay open past eight—the honky-tonk bar.
The only new thing downtown is Java Jane’s, the coffee shop that opened last year.
It caused such a kerfuffle, you’d have thought someone was building a casino instead of a cafe that offered oat milk lattes.
Folks at Minnie’s Diner devoted weeks to discussing why anyone would willingly drink oat milk.
The debate finally ended when Willie Jennings pulled on his John Deere cap and said, “I don’t drink milk from anything that doesn’t have udders.
” Everyone agreed, and they all moved on.
That’s the way things are done around Golden Springs.
When I finally reach the office, I find my brothers lined up on the leather sofa—three professional athletes who look wildly out of place in a small-town lawyer’s waiting room.
Wyatt’s on the left, the biggest of us now, with a build you’d expect on an NFL quarterback. He’s still got sun-kissed brown hair and a smile that’s always on, except when he’s wearing a helmet. Wyatt attracts friends like a barn attracts cats. He doesn’t even have to try.
Grady is sandwiched in the middle, wearing the same round glasses he’s had since college. He graduated summa cum laude and pitches in the majors, while his twin barely made it out of high school.
Rhett’s leaning back on the couch, legs stretched out, scrolling his phone like he’s not one of the most famous players in the league. He brushes a dark curl off his forehead without glancing my way.
Wyatt greets me with a crooked smile. “Welcome to Golden Springs, big brother.” I might be the oldest, but ever since Wyatt grew an inch taller, he can’t help but rib me about it.
“You bring anyone with you?” Rhett asks, looking past me toward the door, like he’s expecting someone.
I shrug. “Who would I bring?”
“One of the fans blowing up your phone,” he teases. “Heard the sympathy texts have been rolling in.”
“Not anymore.” I look around. “Where’s James?”
“No idea.” Grady looks at his watch. “He’s got five minutes until our meeting. I’d bet money he’s still at the diner.”
The door opens, but it’s not James. A man strides into the waiting room with a leather portfolio. He sports a mustache now, but I immediately recognize him from Golden Springs High School.
“Blaine Callahan?” I hold out a hand. “Jaxon Chance. Went to high school together.”
He blinks before shaking it, like he’s having a ninth-grade flashback of the time I demolished him in dodgeball. Our P.E. class was basically a graduation requirement that imitated Survivor.
“Yes, a pleasure to see you again,” he replies stiffly.
I motion to the waiting room. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m a paralegal for James.” He tips his chin a little. “Went back to school a few years ago and earned my National Association for Legal Assistants CP certification.”
“Sounds…” I search for a response other than boring. “Very official.”
His eyes brighten. “Yes, it is, actually.”
He’s wearing a white dress shirt and tie. In Golden Springs. No one dresses like that unless they’re getting married or leaving in a casket.
“James said he’s on his way.” Blaine gestures toward a snack bar and a fancy new coffee machine that looks sorely out of place. “Help yourself.”
“How soon will he be here?” Rhett asks, moving toward the snacks.
“Why? You have a date?” Wyatt asks.
“No. My agent just sent me a contract, then I need to hop on a video call.”
My brow pulls down. “Another sponsorship?”
He nods. “For Arctic Energy Water, the new sports drink.”
That’s probably a million-dollar deal, while I don’t even have a job yet.
The door opens just then, and James hurries in, his hair wind-blown.
“Hey, boys, sorry to keep you waiting.” He shakes our hands, then waves us toward his office.
It’s a small room lined with dark bookshelves stacked with legal books.
The building itself is showing its age—cracks in the plaster, creaky floors, and a faint musty smell.
A drooping plant sits on the windowsill.
We take our seats while James rounds his desk. “We’re just waiting on one more person.”
“One more?” I look at my brothers. “Are you talking about Cal?”
Cal is our foster brother who came to our family when he was in middle school. He left for Texas to do the rodeo circuit at eighteen and never returned.
“No, Cal couldn’t be here.” James reaches for some papers in a drawer. “Someone else.”
I frown. “Who?”
“Sorry I’m late.”
I turn to find Summer Daniels in the doorway, a little breathless, wearing the same jeans and tank top from earlier, plus a jacket now.
A few tendrils of hair have escaped her ponytail, falling softly around her delicate neck.
As soon as her eyes land on mine, they narrow before snapping back to James.
She looks like she’d rather be anywhere but in this room right now.
“Summer, come in.” James motions her inside. “We’re just getting started.” He gestures toward the only empty chair, inconveniently next to me.
Wyatt shoots me a confused glance, and I shake my head. I don’t know why she’s here, but my gut tells me it’s not good. Even though Summer worked for Lucky Chance Ranch back in high school, it doesn’t make her part of the family, nor does it give her any right to the Chance inheritance.
Maybe Mom left her something small. Something we wouldn’t want anyway.
“Well,” James begins, organizing a pile of papers on his desk, “now that we’re all here—”
“Sorry to interrupt.” I raise a hand. “But I thought this meeting was for family only.”
James sets down the papers. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I invited Summer for a reason.” He folds his hands on the desk. “It was your mother’s wish to have her here. She asked me not to discuss this until you were all together.”
“Discuss what?” Grady asks.
“Your mother had her will amended before she passed,” James says. “And that amendment involves Summer directly.”
My eyes swing over to Summer. She’s staring at the floor, avoiding eye contact. Does she know what this is about? As the oldest brother, I ought to have been made aware of any changes to the will.
“Let’s start with the estate.” James puts on his glasses and starts to read from the first page.
“Jonathan David Chance and Miriam Elizabeth Chance owned Lucky Chance Ranch, five hundred acres of land just outside Golden Springs, founded by your great-grandfather Elijah Chance in 1920. Eleven structures, including the main house, four working barns, the breeding shed, and the guesthouse. The operation currently employs four full-time staff and, depending on the season, eight to ten part-time staff, with contracted veterinary, farrier, and other farm services. At this time, the farm carries one hundred horses: twenty-two owned broodmares, thirty-five boarded horses, three stallions, fifteen yearlings, approximately twenty foals, and a handful of personal horses.”
He pauses and looks at us over his glasses. “Your parents reduced staff over the last several years to keep the farm afloat.”
Grady gives me a look. Did you know about this?
James continues, “In the original will, your parents devised Lucky Chance Ranch and all its operations in equal shares to their four sons: Jaxon, Wyatt, Grady, and Rhett Chance. If we’re able to locate Cal, he’ll be provided for separately in the trust.”
He sets that page aside and picks up another one.
“Two months before Miriam passed, she signed an amendment. There are five acres she held in her own name, separate from the ranch company. Two of them Summer already farms. The other three adjoin it. Your mother placed all five in trust and directed that if Summer operates her business there for two full years, the land be deeded to her outright.”
“What does that mean exactly?” I interrupt. “In trust?”
“It means the trust holds the title. Not you, or the estate, or the LLC. For the next two years, those five acres are trust property, and I’m the one who administers them. You can’t revoke her use of that ground, and you can’t put it to another purpose or sell it out from under her.”
Rhett puts down his phone.
“Just so you understand,” James says, “she is not your employee when it comes to Wildflower Farms. She’s operating on trust land under terms your mother set.
She doesn’t report to you, and you have no say over how she runs her business on that acreage.
It also grants her a right of way along the existing farm road and the continued use of the north well. ”
“With all due respect, James,” I say, my hands gripping the armrests, “we were never told about this change. I didn’t even know she was using our family land for her business.”
Summer looks at me, a fire in her gaze. “You would have known if you’d visited more often.”
“Did you miss the part about my career ending?” I fire back.
Wyatt elbows me gently. “Let’s hear the rest first.”
James adjusts his glasses as he shuffles through the papers.
“There’s a condition on Summer’s side. The conveyance is contingent on her actively operating her business on that ground for the full two years.
If she closes the business or vacates the land, the acreage passes back to the Chance estate. ”
I glance at my brothers. There’s our answer. She has to stay on our land for two years, actively working it for her little business. If she folds for any reason, the land comes back to us.
“So, I have a full two years?” she asks James slowly.
“That’s right.” He nods. “And your employment on Lucky Chance Ranch is separate from the trust. You still work for the farm, and that means these boys become your employers when you’re working with the horses.”
“I understand,” she says quickly, avoiding eye contact with me.