11. Jaxon
Jaxon
I watch Summer walk away and make a decision Colleen isn’t going to be happy about. I turn to the line of people. “Hey, everyone, I’m sorry, but I need to cut this short.”
Colleen’s face drops. “When will you be back?”
“Not sure yet. But I’ll let you know.”
I spot James over by Bushy’s vegetable stand, picking out a couple of fat, ripe tomatoes. I’ll bet he could introduce me to a few potential clients.
“James,” I call, catching up to him. “I was wondering if you’d do me a favor?”
“Sure,” James says as we turn and stroll the market.
“Could you introduce me to anyone you think I should know?” I drop my voice. “You know, someone with horses who might be useful for our situation?”
James is one of the few people who knows everyone in the horse industry in these parts.
He gives Bushy a few dollars for the tomatoes. “Hank Branford might be worth talking to.”
“Branford Farms?” I remember what Earl told me about the Branford family—that my dad would never do business with them after they cheated us.
“He’s one of the fastest-expanding horse farmers,” James says, “buying up land and horses all over the area for the past decade. And he’s already reached out to your mother once about Lucky Chance Ranch after your dad passed, just to see if she’d sell off any horses or land.”
He already reached out while Mom was still grieving?
I push back the frustration boiling inside me. “My brothers aren’t going to decide anything until we have full ownership,” I tell James. “But I need some advice about getting out of debt now.”
“He’ll probably be here at the market today. He usually comes.” James scans the crowd. “Actually, there he is. In the black cowboy hat.”
Hank Branford wears snakeskin boots, a big silver belt buckle, and a Stetson that barely looks used. He tips his hat as he walks by.
It was his father who cheated Dad out of a horse in the early years, but Hank Senior has been dead for years, and the man working the crowd right now is his son.
“Would you like me to introduce you?” James asks.
“Sure.” I just want to know who I’m dealing with for myself. And I need to learn from successful men like the Branfords if I’m going to make this farm work for the next two years.
“Hank,” James says as we approach the man in the black hat. “This is Jaxon Chance, John and Miriam’s oldest.”
Hank Branford turns to me. “Sorry to hear about your parents. I heard your dad was real proud of you boys.”
“Thank you,” I say. “He was.”
He’s a barrel of a man, probably mid-forties and still solid as a rock, even though I doubt he’s doing much of the physical labor anymore. He probably has a huge payroll.
“So all you boys are home now?” he asks.
“My brothers are only here for a short time due to their contracts. I just retired, so I’ll be staying a while.”
“Your momma mentioned that you boys had all gone the professional athlete route. Not really interested in the farm side of things.”
I tilt my head. “We were all interested in pursuing our sports careers first. Athletes aren’t allowed to get old.”
“Neither are farmers, but we still do.” He gives me a wide smile. “Well, if you’re ever thinking about sellin’, let me know. I’ll make you a good deal.”
“We’re not looking to right now,” I say firmly.
He narrows his gaze. “Really? What would a hockey player do with horses?”
“Actually, we’re looking to expand our operations.”
Hank lifts an eyebrow. “How so?”
“We’ve got a healthy business with the mare barn and stud operations.”
Branford’s smile becomes a little cooler. “Well, expanding is a big risk too. Can really ruin a farm if you don’t gamble on the right horses. Think your daddy learned that a time or two.”
“I think all farmers learn that at some point,” I add.
He searches the crowd, hands on hips, before fishing a business card from his pocket. “You know, I could always make your situation a little easier. Call me if you want to talk.” He passes me his card. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He tips his hat before he moves back into the crowd.
I turn it over in my hands, rubbing my thumb over the embossed logo.
Something in my gut tells me that Hank’s not someone to mess with.
I’ve played enough hockey to know when someone’s coming in for a hit, and Hank Branford has that same look.
Even if he could help me, I have a feeling it would come with strings attached.
Men like Hank aren’t generous out of the goodness of their hearts.
James nods toward the business card. “If you decide to sell, you should at least let Hank make you an offer. He doesn’t like to lose.”
“Neither do I,” I tell him.
James chuckles. “You sound just like your dad.” Then he pats me on the shoulder.
I head back toward Summer’s booth, still thinking about my conversation with Hank.
I need to figure out how I’m going to tell my brothers that I basically turned away the biggest breeder in the area.
Maybe in two years I’ll feel differently, but right now the man is a snake in the grass waiting for me to fail. Which means I can’t mess this up.
I’m staring at the Branford Farms card when I hear Summer’s laugh from across the street. I glance over and see Blaine Callahan at her booth, standing so close she has to tilt her head up to see him.
What’s Paralegal Boy doing here?
He’s still wearing a tie, on a Saturday morning at a farmers market, of all places. The guy has no idea how ridiculous he looks. He hands her some papers, then leans in closer, and that’s when something inside me snaps.
“Summer!” I call, zigzagging through the crowd to get to her.
She whirls around and looks at me like she forgot I was even here. “Oh, hey.”
I glare at Blaine. “Callahan.”
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Blaine says. “I figured a farmers market might be beneath you.”
“It’s not.” I nod toward his shirt. “Nice tie.”
He glances down, straightening the paisley tie with his hand. “Thank you.”
“It’s Saturday, you know,” I say.
“So?”
“You got a funeral to go to or something?”
“No.” He stares at me blankly. “I come every week and stop by Summer’s booth, and then I pick up a bouquet for the law office.”
Every week? “That’s dedication,” I say flatly.
He eyes me warily. “Summer’s business deserves support.”
“Sure does.” I narrow my gaze, not buying his explanation. I’m pretty sure I know why he’s here, and it’s not for the flowers.
I turn back to Summer. “I’d like to buy all your remaining bouquets.”
Her mouth falls open slightly. “Um…what did you say?”
“I want your entire table,” I repeat, pulling out my credit card. I’m not going to admit it’s to one-up Blaine and make up for Summer’s losses.
She stares at me for a second. “You can’t have them.”
“Summer.”
“No.” She pushes my card away and turns back to Blaine. “Thank you for dropping off that accounting checklist.”
“Any time you need help with numbers, I’m your man,” he says.
Is that supposed to be romantic?
Then he tips his chin at me. “See you around, Chance.”
The second he’s out of earshot, Summer rounds on me. “What was that about?”
“What, buying flowers?” I study a pink dahlia.
“You just tried to buy me out to prove a point.”
“Maybe I did.” I hook my thumb toward Blaine. “But I think you could do better than Paralegal Boy.”
Her jaw drops. “You tried to buy flowers to win an argument?”
“I’m looking out for you.”
“You’re looking out for yourself.” She folds her arms. “I suppose you think you could do better than Blaine.”
“I could definitely do better than an accounting checklist.” I twirl the dahlia between my fingers. “If a guy’s trying to impress you, he could at least put in some effort.”
Her lips press into a line. “I wasn’t asking for your opinion.” She grabs the flower from me and turns back to her table.
“I know that.” I step around the table, trying to get in her way on purpose. “But if you ever wanted a point of comparison, I could show you what an actual date looks like…”
“The answer is no,” she fires back. “But I’m sure Mollie would be thrilled if you made the offer to her.”
“Whoa, stop right there.” I wave my hands. “You think I’m interested in Mollie?”
“She told you to call her.” She huffs out a laugh. “Like that wasn’t a sign.”
I shake my head. “I’m not interested in Mollie. Except for maybe having an extra vet on call.”
She pauses, and I study the way she catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “Why? Are you jealous?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She stares at me, long enough to tell me I’m right, before turning away.
“I’m still buying all your flowers.”
“They’re not for sale,” she snaps.
“We’ll see about that, Daniels.” I back away with a grin.
She doesn’t even bother looking at me. “Go sign your autographs, Chance.”