Off to the Races (Gold Rush Ranch, #1)

by Elsie Silver

Two weeks ago, our grandfather, Dermot Harding, the man who practically raised me when everyone else had tapped out, died from a massive heart attack.

The name Cole flashes on the screen with a picture of a G.I. Joe toy—an image that usually makes me smile. But not today. Today, I’m not in the mood to talk to my big brother.

Gold Rush Ranch has been in our family for generations. Once my grandmother Ada’s family cattle ranch and now one of western Canada’s premier racing facilities. This place had been my grandmother’s dream—or at least that’s what Dermot always told me.

I only tolerate my mother’s meddling because it’s the only attention I get from her. Which sounds pathetic—I know (hello abandonment issues!)

Plus, if Cole can duck and run to the army in the wake of our father’s death, I can duck and run to the ranch. Fair is fair.

“Okay, first of all, I am downright fascinated by your blow-up doll preference. Can we table that for now but revisit it someday?” A sneer touches his lips. Ha. Didn’t like that one. “Second, I’m a grown-ass woman, don’t call me a girl. And third, when you’re finished having this epic man-child meltdown,” I wave my hand up and down his body like he did to me, “can you please let Hank know that Billie Black is here for her job interview?”

Sometimes you’re born into a family, and other times you choose them. And when you choose them, you know in your bones that they’re right for you. And that’s Hank for me. The family I’ve chosen.

Billie Black isn’t a done-up kind of hot, she’s just… naturally alluring.

“To get Double Diablo in shape to win his first race of the season. He wins, we extend your contract to a permanent position. He loses, and you receive a glowing reference and an extra paragraph to beef up your resume.”

“Well,” I say, gazing ahead, “why don’t you introduce me to the new man in my life?” He turns towards me slowly with a grave look on his face. “He’s going to be a lot of work, Billie.” “Of course, he is, Hank. Men always are.”

Double Diablo stands there, staring at me, snorting so heavily I can feel the damp heat of his exhalations across my down-turned forehead. He eventually stomps his foot, which makes me chuckle. Seems to be an ongoing theme. The young stallion eyes me warily as I say, “You remind me of someone else I met today.”

Fucking my employee is off the table. The farm is in too much trouble. But fucking with my employee… now that’s another story altogether. Off to the races, honey.

I’ve always had this theory that there are two types of men. The ones who look edible in a suit, and the ones who look edible in their birthday suit. Suit guys are a little more slender than I like. Naked guys, a little too bulky to pull off that GQ suit look. I’m not saying I’d kick either out of bed if they knew what they were doing, it’s just an observation. Like Goldilocks, my ideal man is somewhere down the middle. And Vaughn Harding is right down the middle.

I stretch my left arm out to check the time again, almost in disbelief that she’s already here. And that she’s sitting so casually beside a horse that everyone has told me is crazy. A match made in heaven, those two.

When I crawled out here for some fresh air and to peek in on how the farm runs in the morning, Hank walked up to me and said, “Billie girl, you look like death warmed over.” I grumbled back something about, “No, you do.” Because I am very witty and mature like that.

Looking up, I see a young woman, with a serious look on her face, walking towards me. “Hi. I’m Violet Eaton,” she says quietly, getting close enough to shake my hand.

“So, where are you from originally?” I ask. Violet rolls her eyes. “A small town you’ve probably never heard of. Chestnut Springs. It’s just south of Calgary, Alberta.”

I swear the air around us crackles with unspoken tension. Yup, Boss Man and I have some crazy volatile chemistry. Dangerous chemistry.

She scoffs. “Typical trust fund baby behavior.” I. See. Red. I hate that implication.

Vaughn rises and with one large side-step moves between my legs. When he almost instantly wraps his steely arms around my waist, I can’t hold back the sigh that escapes my lips. He feels so warm and solid pressed up against me—soft and vulnerable. I snake both my arms around his neck and we melt into each other. I’ve never hugged a person who needed to be held so badly. It should feel strange, hugging your boss like this, but wrapping myself around Vaughn Harding in the middle of my kitchen feels like the most natural thing in the world.

When he gently feathers the tips of his fingers up the side of my neck, goosebumps pour down between my shoulder blades. He strokes the bottom of my chin, and I tip my face up to bask in the heat of his gaze. My body follows the lead of his, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And when his warm lips descend onto mine, I sigh, like we’ve done this a million times before.

“And this,” he almost growls, “is Cole Harding. My brother and co-owner of Gold Rush Ranch.” His icy gray eyes hit mine and the differences between the two brothers multiply by the moment. This guy is cold as fuck. Where Vaughn is detached and smug, Cole is downright glacial. If I were a wimpier woman, it would intimidate me.

“I will not allow you to talk to me this way, Wilhelmina. Though, it shouldn’t surprise me that Victor Farrington’s daughter is just as trashy as he is.” Billie rears back as though someone has slapped her. Wait. What? Victor Farrington. Like former Prime Minister Farrington?

And thank you? A fucking thank you? After we both just completely incinerated each other? With chemistry like that? I don’t think so, Billie.

Did I seriously just suck on the finger of the man who signs my paychecks?

“Thank you so much, Doctor…?” “Mira Thorne. And you’re welcome.”

No one has ever chosen me. It’s always money, reputation, work, and then I’m somewhere further down the line. Except horses, their love in my life is an unwavering constant.

I’m not a spiritual guy, or into any new age energy kind of shit, but even I have to admit there is a special connection between Billie and DD. A connection you don’t see very often, the kind in books and movies. Her very own Black Beauty.

“Remember that time you made fun of me for having a rich person name?” I try to hold back my laughter, but my shoulders bob, and my eyes water under the strain. “Wilhelmina fucking Farrington,” I blurt out, before dissolving into uncontrolled laughter.

“How long you been staring at me, Boss Man?” she mutters. “Since day one,” I whisper in her ear. “Take the sappy shit somewhere else, Vaughn.” I snort. “There she is.”

“I don’t want to talk. We’re not friends.” His words are like a paper cut. They sting, but don’t produce any blood. “What I want is you, straddling me, and I don’t let friends do that.”

“No, Billie.” His hands stroke me. “I’m going to eat that perfect pink pussy and then put you back to bed. And tomorrow? Tomorrow all you’re going to think about is how good you felt with my tongue inside of you.”

I’ve had good sex and bad sex. I’ll even say that I’ve had great sex. (Irish accents just take dirty talk over the top, ya know?) But last night was otherworldly.

Close a high-stakes business deal? No problem. Fire someone? I’m your man. Talk to a girl you like and respect? I guess I’ll just crumble instead.

“I’ve found a jockey for DD,” is her reply as she comes to sit in a chair across from me. “Okay.” That’s not what I thought we were going to talk about. “It’s Violet,”

That night, I lose track of how many paralyzers Violet drinks. I switch to water after a couple of beers as I listen to her make vague comments about some guy she’s been seeing who is clearly super unavailable.

She ends up telling me more about her family and childhood in Alberta. Her parents and her brothers. How stifling and overprotective they are. How she basically moved out to British Columbia just to see the world on her own.

“Let me redefine that line you keep talking about: you are more than my employee and I am more than your boss. I’m done giving you space that we both don’t want. It’s not at all complicated. You’ll work with me during the day and underneath me at night. Every night. There will be no tiptoeing. There will be no running. There will be no one else.”

His hands drift down the gentle curves of my body before lifting me up and walking across to the kitchen island. “Sit on the counter.”

I recall another couple doing this here

“Eyes open, Billie,” he rumbles as he squeezes my chin and tips it down. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”

His dark fathomless eyes bore into my honeyed ones as he says, “What should we christen next?” It’s a question as much as a request. I garner an eye roll and an affectionate smile when I nod eagerly, “Everything.”

“Stefan Dalca.” I pale. The man is an enigma, practically a recluse. A shady one who showed up in the area a year ago with too much money and no answers about who he is or where he came from.

Stefan Dalca would have to make me one hell of an offer for me to ever even consider taking that horse away from her.

Ugh. Men. Why do I keep coming back for more?

“Violet Eaton, you are a rockstar!” as they come into the bend where I’m standing. I swear one of DD’s pointy little ears flicks towards me in recognition, Violet hears me too. I’ll never forget the smile she gives me. So big it looks like it might hurt, like her cheeks are swollen.

I can’t believe it. We did it. A no-name jockey, a freshman trainer, and a horse that no one wanted to handle. We fucking did it.

Cole shows up too, and despite my best efforts to ignore him and just enjoy the moment, I don’t miss the way he gawks at Violet. The way he leans in towards her and whispers something. And the way her face drains of all color and excitement as she stares back at him-slack jawed.

“It’s not about the number. It’s about the future. The horse isn’t for sale. End of story.” I am going to worship the hell out of that man tonight.

“Among the Romani people we would say that Double Diablo is your Heart Horse. Your equine soulmate. A horse you understand like no one else can.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to quit on me?” Her eyes are watery, and her smile is sad when she looks at me. “You quit on me first.”