31. Summer
Summer
I should’ve known Jess Connors would put our picture on the front page of the Golden Springs Gazette.
Not even the Chance brothers’ picture on page two could top it.
There, front and center, is a color picture of Jaxon and me standing in the barn doorway, looking adorably cozy with his jacket around my shoulders.
I probably won’t be able to show my face in Golden Springs now without someone asking about a future wedding date.
Larissa calls before I’ve finished my first cup of coffee. “I’m looking at the paper online right now,” she says, without saying hello. “SUMMER.”
“I know, I know,” I sigh.
“You look like you’re in a movie. Like the cutest rom-com ever.”
“Stop.”
“And wearing his jacket?” she gushes. “How adorable are you two?”
“Larissa, it’s not a proposal. We were posing for the camera.”
“Did you read what Jess wrote?” she asks.
“Jaxon Chance and Summer Daniels never imagined they’d find love when they set out to establish the area’s first wedding venue at Lucky Chance Ranch.
But it turns out the luck rubbed off on them, because Wildflower Weddings may have brought more than brides to the barn.
It brought them together.” She sighs like the romantic she is.
“Summer, she basically announced your relationship in the Golden Springs Gazette.”
“I know,” I say, the nerves in my stomach multiplying. “I just hope it brings brides to the open house.”
“Oh, it will,” Larissa says confidently. “That picture alone is worth a hundred inquiries. Trust me.”
I hope she’s right. For now, I need to put the relationship issue out of my mind until we get everything ready for the big sale.
The week leading up to Keeneland passes in a blur of yearling prep, vet appointments, and to-do lists.
Jaxon and I barely cross paths, trading updates over texts about horses along with some very obnoxious flirting.
We don’t have time to see each other with everything we have going on, but every morning when I arrive, my coffee is already waiting in the farm office.
I’ve stopped pretending I’m not secretly thrilled about the special things he does, or the man who brings it to me, especially when he adds one of Ada Mae’s cinnamon rolls.
He knows I don’t eat breakfast unless someone puts it in front of me, and he remembered these are my favorite because I mentioned it once in passing.
Next to the plate is a sticky note with the words: Dinner this evening?
We’re leaving for Keeneland at the end of the week, which means this might be the only time I have with him.
I used to keep a running list in my head of all the reasons this thing with Jaxon wouldn’t work.
Somewhere in the last month, though, I stopped counting those reasons and started counting all the ways I love this man.
By the time evening rolls around, I’m rushing back to the barn where I find Jaxon waiting at my office door, boots and cowboy hat on—the custom one Wyatt had designed that makes him look like he’s an extra on the set of Yellowstone.
The sight of him stops me short.
“Well?” he says, one side of his mouth tilting. “Are you going to have dinner with me, or do I have to steal you away?”
“That depends.” I lean against the doorframe. “How good are you at the art of persuasion?”
He steps closer, his warm breath fanning over my ear. “Very,” he says, kissing my earlobe, turning my body molten. “But I’ll let you be the judge.”
He kisses my neck, my jaw, my temple, memorizing every spot.
My lashes flutter closed. “I’m thoroughly convinced.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmurs against my cheek. “Because our horses are already saddled and dinner is at my favorite picnic spot.”
I pull back enough to peer up at him. He planned all of this before I’d even said yes. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, cowboy.”
He tips his brim. “I thought the hat might sway you.”
I laugh. “Definitely didn’t hurt.”
We set out on horseback on a gorgeous fall evening, the kind Kentucky puts on a postcard—that slow, golden burn before the chill of dusk makes you reach for a jacket.
We ride out through the gate, the horses picking their way through the faded grass next to the fence.
The tree line in the distance is already showing the first of fall’s colors, stunning shades of rusty orange and rich goldenrod.
Since we’ve been preparing for Keeneland and the open house, I’ve missed my daily rides with Sally.
Horses have a way of slowing us down so we don’t miss the surrounding beauty.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He points toward a wide, gnarled oak tree in the distance. “My favorite tree.”
“You have a favorite tree on a five-hundred-acre property?”
He grins. “Of course I do. Chose it when I was about eight years old. It’s great for climbing and for escaping from my parents when the occasion called for it.”
I’d noticed the tree before, with its weathered treehouse and a rope ladder still dangling from the limb below. I’d imagined Jaxon and his brothers playing here when their parents were working long hours. They grew up wild and free, roaming the pastures and barns like stray cats.
“Did you come here much?” I ask.
“All the time,” he says. “Especially when I needed to think. I even came here before I signed my NHL contract.”
“Really?” I look over at him. “You had to think about it?”
“Not really,” he says with a chuckle. “But I knew I was leaving, and that felt important to think about…for at least five minutes.”
I study Jaxon’s relaxed posture in the saddle, his body moving easily with the horse. His face is tan from the sun, and his hair has grown out, curling at his nape so I can thread my fingers through it. There’s a peace about him now, a contentedness that he didn’t have when he first arrived.
A smile tugs at my lips. “Farm life suits you.”
He glances over. “What makes you say that?”
“You just look different. More settled with everything.”
“I spent most of my life in ice rinks with no windows or fresh air. I forgot what it felt like to be out in the wild.” He looks out across the pasture. “The ice rink can’t hold a candle to this view.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Didn’t think I would,” he says with a chuckle.
When we get to the oak tree at the far edge of the back pasture, there’s already a blanket spread at the base of it, with Miriam’s old picnic basket sitting on top.
“You came out here earlier?” I ask.
“Don’t be too impressed. I took the Kubota,” he admits.
“Well, I am. You’re spoiling me.”
“Good.” He holds out a hand to take Sally’s reins. I haven’t always been good at letting him do things without arguing, but I’m growing too.
We settle on the blanket, and he opens the basket: sub sandwiches, potato salad, coleslaw, and a jar of Ada Mae’s homemade applesauce. He hands me a plate before he takes one for himself.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Starving.”
He looks at me with the same worried expression as the night I fainted. “You did eat today, right?”
“I had the cinnamon roll you left for me.”
He shakes his head.
“And a granola bar for lunch!” I say. “I was busy with the yearlings.”
“Ada Mae cooks for us for a reason. So you have no excuse.” He gives me a look that tells me he’ll be leaving another cinnamon roll tomorrow. “You’re more important to me than any horse.”
We eat as the horses graze nearby and the oak tree throws its dappled shadow across the blanket. When he finishes, he reaches over to pick a few wild daisies, braiding them together into a flower crown and setting it on my head.
“There.” His eyes take in my face. “It suits you, Wildflower.”
I smile and look away, because when he looks at me like that, I can’t concentrate. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he answers, linking his hand with mine.
“When you picture this place a few years from now, what do you see?”
He leans back on his elbows, still holding my hand, and studies the pasture.
“More horses. Bigger operation, and Wildflower Weddings booked out twelve months in advance.” He bites his lip in a half smile.
“You harassing the farmhands about something. Me getting in your way.” His eyes find mine as he kisses the back of my hand.
“Always on purpose, just because I can’t not be near you. ”
My heart swoops in my chest. “So you’ll be a constant distraction?”
“Obnoxiously so.” He flashes a smirk my way. “I’ll find any excuse to touch you, then pull you down in the hay to kiss you.”
“Jaxon.” I blush. This man has a way of sparking heat through my veins.
“You asked,” he says, with a look that tells me he’s more than happy to oblige.
He reaches over and tucks a daisy that’s come loose back into the crown. His hand brushes against my hair before it falls away.
“I want you to be happy here,” I say, looking over at him.
“I am.” Then he gazes at the pasture, his expression shifting as he pulls a blade of grass.
“There’s something I need to tell you, Summer,” he says, watching the horses graze. “I got a phone call from the Michigan Mavericks. They wanted me to come out and interview for an assistant-coaching position.” He rolls the blade of grass between his fingers. “I told them I couldn’t.”
I sit up straighter. “You turned down an NHL coaching interview?”
“Yep. Already knew my answer.”
“Jaxon.” My brows furrow. “Are you sure about this?”
“I am.” He nods. “I keep waiting to feel like I made the wrong call, and I don’t.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “I want to be here with you, Summer. I don’t want to leave Lucky Chance ever again.”
I look down at our threaded fingers, the way this decision spirals through me. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t want you to feel guilty about it.” His thumb moves across my knuckles. “You’re the one who made the answer about the interview clear to me.”
I’d been so careful not to put too much hope into him staying, and here he is, handing it to me like a gift. My dad made me feel like I wasn’t worthy of his love. But I never had to prove my worth to Jaxon. He’d already decided before I even knew about the offer.
The sky has turned deep violet, with shades of petal pink and pale tangerine where the sun has sunk behind the hills. Sitting under an oak tree with the flower crown he braided, learning he’s chosen me, makes the emotion catch in my throat. “I’m glad you told me.”
“The choice wasn’t hard.” He lifts my hand and presses his lips to my knuckles before his other hand cups my face.
I lean my cheek into his palm, closing my eyes.
“I love you,” he says, brushing a kiss over my temple. “I should’ve said it sooner because I’ve known it for a while. I just didn’t want to scare you away.”
I shake my head. “You could never scare me away, Jaxon Chance.”
Closing the distance between us, I move onto my knees, and he meets me there, his hands coming up to cup my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. His mouth slants over mine, and he kisses me with an intensity that tells me he means it.
When I pull back, I tip my forehead against his. “I love you too,” I say against his mouth. I want to remember this kiss, the feel of his hands holding me close.
He pulls me down onto the blanket beside him, wrapping an arm around me. I tuck my face against his chest and listen to the thrum of his heartbeat.
Keeneland is in a few days, then the open house right behind it. Life is barreling toward us, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried about how it’s all going to shake out.
But here, with his arms around me and nothing in the world urgently calling to us, I let myself forget everything else for a little while.
He presses a kiss to my head, one last promise before the sun sets. “You’re the only future I want, Wildflower.”