32. Jaxon
Jaxon
We leave for Keeneland so early, the sun isn’t even up. Our first group of yearlings has been at Keeneland for two days thanks to Earl and Colton, but today they’ll go through the ring.
Summer is already waiting for me in the truck, her hair pulled back under a trucker’s cap, looking so incredibly kissable right now, I have to hold myself back from pulling her face to mine.
“Good morning,” I say, handing her coffee in a travel mug.
“Are you ever going to stop being so good to me?” she asks, her face brightening into a smile.
“Never,” I say, then leave a kiss on her cheek.
We don’t discuss the event today. We’ve done everything we can do, and at this point, talking about it just makes the road trip longer.
Instead, Summer tells me that Wanda Roy told Colleen Cromwell that she saw us holding hands downtown, which means we’re practically engaged, according to the current consensus at Minnie’s Diner.
They also added deep-dish apple pie to the fall menu, and Leroy is rejoicing over the news.
Java Jane’s switched dark roasts, and Earl has already declared the new one inferior to the bargain instant coffee from the market, even though he’s never set foot inside a real coffee shop.
Even with my nerves humming under the surface, Summer’s small talk is a good distraction.
By the time we arrive at Keeneland, the sale grounds are already hopping, with buyers moving through the barn aisles and farm managers chatting like they’re at a family reunion.
We’re a mid-sized operation compared to some of the big horse farms at the event. Several of these places have staff who do nothing but prep yearlings for sale. We’re not that big, at least not yet. But we could be someday.
“Are you okay?” Summer asks, looking over as we pass through the barn, trying to track down Earl.
“What do you mean?”
“You just look a little distracted, that’s all,” she says.
I take a deep breath. “It’s overwhelming. The horses, the crowds, being the new guy.”
Even when I played hockey, I hated being the one who didn’t know what came next.
“Jaxon.” She stops and turns to face me. “You’re not the new guy. Lucky Chance has been coming to this sale for decades. You’re just the new proprietor.” She lays a hand on my arm. “There’s a difference. Own it.”
I wish I could believe that as easily as she does. I feel like such a fraud in my dad’s boots.
Earl and Colton are already with the consignor’s crew, and the yearlings have been groomed by the time we find them. Summer checks each of them over carefully, while I stop at the last stall where Gent’s colt is.
He’s standing quietly, the leg that got caught in the fence still showing the faded wound. It’s visible enough that it could affect the outcome, but I’ve been trying not to think about it. What’s done is done.
I turn around just as Hank Branford, wearing his trademark black hat, comes down the aisle with two men I don’t recognize. Hank stops to look at Gent's colt.
“Jaxon, good to see you here.” He nods. “I heard about that horse getting stuck in your fence.” He shakes his head. “Bad luck, huh?”
“He’s healed up fine,” I say. “Dr. Holcomb cleared him.”
Hank kneels to look at the leg. “Buyers see something like that, they start asking questions.” He rises. “Might hurt you in the ring. But I hope not.” He gives me a look that says he’s not too sorry. “There’s always next year.”
He moves on down the aisle with the two other men.
There’s always next year. He probably hopes there won’t be another year for us, so he can scavenge any part of Lucky Chance he can get his dirty hands on.
Summer appears at my shoulder, eyes narrowed as she watches Hank leave. “Don’t let him get in your head.”
But the truth is, that man’s always in my head, along with the debt, my father’s legacy, and whether I can live up to all the pressure.
She turns, studying my face. “He’s trying to make you feel like you don’t belong here. But I believe in you, Jaxon Chance, and so does Earl. If he didn’t, he’d have quit on you long before now.”
“He’s probably considered it,” I say around a laugh.
“Maybe. But Earl told me something once,” Summer says, folding her arms, “before I really knew you, when I still thought you were here to claim the money and run. He said, 'Give that boy some time. He might surprise you.’”
I look across the barn at the old man, talking to a group of farm managers half his age. “Earl said that?”
“Yep.” She straightens the brim of my hat, just slightly. “I’ll make you a bet.”
“What kind of bet?”
“If we clear our total number today, you owe me dinner.” Her face tilts toward mine. “And if we don’t, I pay.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve competed over anything.”
“Sure has,” she says with a hint of a smile. “But I know you well, Jaxon. You need something to win.” She pats my chest once. “So let’s go win.”
On our first sale day at Keeneland, the first three yearlings sell well, better than the conservative reserves we’d agreed on. When the third yearling sells, I begin to hope that our luck will continue so we can make that loan payment.
But our second day doesn’t go as well. When the Dakota Lightning colt goes through the ring, the bidding starts strong, but then wanes before the number gets anywhere near what we’d hoped.
People remember what Dakota Lightning’s yearlings brought here last September.
The bidding stalls forty percent below reserve, and the yearling leaves the ring unsold.
Summer writes down RNA next to the yearling’s number: Reserve Not Attained.
I look across the pavilion at all these people, feeling like I’m standing in a room where everyone else knows what I don’t—the language, bloodlines, insider knowledge, and which sires produce winners.
Sure, I’ve learned everything I could about the horses, asking Earl countless questions I was embarrassed not to have already known.
These other horse owners know things I’ll spend years trying to catch up on.
Even if I learn it all, though, knowing and belonging are two different things, and right now I’m very aware of the difference.
Gent’s colt goes through the ring next, and I already know buyers have checked out his leg ahead of time.
For an agonizing thirty seconds, buyers hesitate just like Hank predicted.
I worry that this sale is going to turn out the same as Dakota Lightning’s colt.
I drag a hand over my jaw when a bid comes from the back.
Then another bid comes in, and a few more.
The auctioneer picks up his pace, the numbers climbing past the reserve, then beyond what we’d hoped for in a yearling with a leg that’s still on the mend.
But Gent has a good reputation. Dad knew that, and purchasing that stallion was one of the best decisions he ever made. I guess that’s the gamble you make on a horse farm. Some horses cost you, while others keep you in business for another year.
Summer grabs my arm when the hammer falls above reserve. I total the numbers in my head from all the horses and realize we made it. Before I can turn toward her, she wraps her hands around my neck and hugs me so tight I can barely breathe.
“Jaxon, you did it!” she whispers in my ear.
“No, we did it,” I correct her.
Across the pavilion, Hank’s gaze meets mine before he turns to leave. There’s always next year, he’d said.
Turns out there’s this year too.