7. Jaxon
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.
My brothers head off to help Ada Mae, since there’s only room for the two of us.
I watch the old man slide into the driver’s seat, taking his time.
He’s got a head of white hair and a thick, matching mustache that covers his top lip.
But you can see the man he once was, tall with broad shoulders now stooped, and huge hands that are gnarled and dotted with age.
He’s moving slower, but he’s still sharp enough to give me a detailed tour of the property.
I can’t remember the last time I toured this place from one end to the other.
We head down the dirt road where he gestures from the four-wheeler, pointing out every building, pasture, and horse we pass.
“There’s the new fence your dad replaced before he died.” He motions toward the back pasture. “Took down some dead trees but left the big oak you kids used to climb.”
The weathered oak with its knobby limbs and remnants of a treehouse still stands proudly in the field. I loved coming out here, climbing the rope ladder and shading myself from the Kentucky sun.
From a distance, I see a neighboring fence that’s black, not the usual white. “Whose land is that?”
“Hank Branford’s,” Earl says.
It takes me a few seconds to remember where I’ve heard that name. “Of Branford Farms?”
Earl nods. “That’s him. Big operation now.”
“I thought his place was closer to Lexington.”
“That was his dad’s. This is the oldest son who inherited his father’s operation and has a second location here. He’s been buying up everything in the county. I’m sure he’d like to get his hands on Lucky Chance, given the opportunity. But your dad said he’d never sell to the Branfords.”
“Why not?”
“His father cheated him out of a horse once. Sold him a mare he claimed was a stakes winner. Turns out she didn’t have any papers. Almost cost your parents their farm in the early days. He didn’t trust any of the Branfords after that.”
Earl starts the four-wheeler again and drops me off at the house before heading over to the office to finish up some work.
Dinner’s ready when I arrive, and the kitchen smells just like it did when we grew up. Ada Mae sets a platter of fried chicken in the center of the antique oak table, and a minute later she’s back with sweet corn and a basket of rolls.
Ada Mae has been helping Mom for as long as I can remember—making lunch for the farmhands, helping with the foals, and keeping the house from falling apart.
She and Earl were always paid employees, but she ran this place more like our grandmother than hired help, keeping us in line when Mom needed an extra set of hands.
Apparently that hasn’t changed, even now that we’re grown men who know how to feed ourselves.
“Now you boys eat up.” She shoos us out of the kitchen toward the dining room. “There’s plenty for seconds, so don’t be shy.”
“Anyone else coming to dinner?” Wyatt asks.
“Nope. Just you four.”
The four of us gather around the table, grabbing drumsticks and chicken wings and slathering butter on the sweet corn that came straight from Ada Mae’s garden. The house feels too quiet without Mom and Dad, and nobody says anything for a few minutes.
Wyatt watches me over his glass. “What are we going to do about Lucky Chance?”
Rhett puts down his drumstick. “No idea. Pretty sure I’m allergic to manure.”
Grady points his chicken leg at his twin. “You are not allergic to manure.”
“I might as well be. Hockey season starts soon and my offseason is only three months.”
“Listen, nobody’s asking you to give up your career.” I reach for a roll. “We just have to count our time here.”
Grady nods toward me. “You’re the only one who has to stay on the property.”
“I know that,” I grumble, splitting open a roll. “I’m just not happy about it.”
Grady picks up his sweet tea. “Let’s face facts. We don’t know how to run this place. And the one person who does know is someone you can barely stand to be in the same room with.”
“I can be in the same room with her,” I say.
“Without arguing?” Grady lifts an eyebrow.
“Of course,” I say, taking a bite of my roll.
Rhett smirks. “Says the man who almost got kicked by a horse because he couldn’t ask for help.”
“Ask who for help?” Ada Mae says as she sets a fresh pitcher of tea on the table.
“No one,” I mutter.
“Summer,” Wyatt answers.
“This is not about her,” I say. “It’s about the fact that she’s as stubborn as that mare.”
“That’s exactly why it’s about her,” Wyatt says.
I give him a warning.
Ada Mae looks between us. “You think Earl and I don’t argue? That man has been wrong about things for fifty years and I still haven’t left.” Then she disappears into the kitchen.
Wyatt tosses what’s left of his chicken on his plate. “Fifty years is pretty impressive, considering it’s Earl.”
Grady nearly spits out his sweet tea.
“Just so you know, Summer and I are nothing like Ada Mae and Earl.” I wipe my hands on a napkin. “She wants to live in Golden Springs for the rest of her life. I want to find a coaching position anywhere but here.”
Rhett puts down his fork. It’s the first time I’ve brought up going back into hockey in a different role.
“Do you have any leads?” Rhett asks.
“I’m waiting to hear back. But I can’t take a coaching position if I’m running a five-hundred-acre farm.”
Wyatt and Rhett don’t say anything. They know getting a coaching job is a shot in the dark. A very long shot.
“I don’t want to stay in Golden Springs.” I pick up the pitcher just to give myself something to do. “I can’t manage the horses—”
“Or Summer?” Wyatt asks.
“Would you stop bringing up Summer?”
“You’re the one who keeps talking about her,” Rhett says.
Grady sets down his corn. “Can I say something?”
“You always do,” I mutter and drink my tea.
“You’ve only been home a short time and you’ve already identified all the reasons why you can’t stay.”
I shrug. “They’re legitimate reasons.”
“They’re also some of the same reasons you had at eighteen. And every other time you came home.” Grady leans back in his chair. “You’ve gotten pretty good at leaving. Probably could make a career out of it at this point.”
Wyatt snorts into his glass.
I set my glass down. “Okay. Let’s say I stay. Why couldn’t we hire the help we need?”
“You know how hard it is to find reliable farmhands around here?” Grady grabs another roll. “After the last manager got fired, Mom was reluctant to ask anyone but Earl to come back.”
“Fired?” I blink. “I thought he quit.”
Grady shakes his head. “Mom let him go after he stole money from Lucky Chance.”
“Seriously?” I stare at my brother. “And you knew about this?”
“Yeah. Earl told me that the manager had been skimming money,” Grady says, adding some fresh strawberry jelly to his roll.
“Three years before he died, Dad handed over the financials to a new guy. Dakota Lightning was taking up Dad’s time, so he didn’t catch it.
The guy inflated invoices from vendors, while he collected boarding fees that disappeared from the books.
He also padded the feed and supply costs and pocketed the difference.
Mom realized it after Dad died, but it was too late by then. ”
Anger burns in my chest. My parents were always generous to their workers, treating them like family. Sometimes they even sacrificed part of Dad’s paycheck so they could pay their employees first. They didn’t deserve to be treated like that.
I lean back in my chair, folding my arms. “Seems like Mom didn’t tell us a lot of things. First, the loans. Now I find out some scumbag was cheating them.”