A Photo Finish (Gold Rush Ranch, #2)

by Elsie Silver

“So, I told them about us instead,” she rushes out, looking at me pleadingly. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I go still. Stuck in place. “I swear it was all just really general.” “Them?” She flinches at the bite in my tone, and I’m instantly filled with self-loathing. “Okay. So, I really only told Billie. I didn’t know Vaughn was listening.”

Life courses through her so vividly and almost tangibly—like I could reach out and touch it, bottle it up and drink it, or just keep it. Possess it, knowing I have the option to consume it whenever I want.

Money can’t buy this brand of vitality. This is bone deep—soul deep. She shines like the sun, golden and bright.

I cross my arms and widen my stance, wanting to make it clear to her that I’m serious. Although, I’m getting the sense I don’t intimidate Violet as much as I thought. She’s tougher than she comes off. More resilient.

choosing to leave out the part where my most vivid memory of them is watching my father fall to his death beneath their hooves.

But I can’t walk away from her. I live in the shadows, and she’s like this ray of light that brightens my day. I’m so fucking greedy.

My lips twitch. But I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of making me laugh again. Mostly, I want to thank her for ditching the veteran talk. For not looking at me with pity. For just throwing me a fucking bone without starting the Spanish Inquisition into my past.

“Get a drink.” Her eyes are twinkling now. “Beer is fattening.”

“I think your abs will survive to see another day,” she gasps out from behind her hands. And then she clamps them down harder over her mouth, and her eyes bulge out of her head, like she can’t quite believe she just blurted that out. She looks mortified. And I can’t help it. I laugh. A genuine laugh. It erupts from me like an animal that’s been caged up for too long. Like a racehorse shooting out of the gate.

Like a spark on dry grass that sends flames dancing across arid

land. Fast and out of control. After all, wildfires are dangerous.

She looks like she did that day after she won the Denman Derby. Happy. And for once, I don’t want to ruin it. For once, I don’t want to lie down and bask in my own shit.

I didn’t notice because my mind has been fixated on the same girl for two damn years.

You’re half the man you were when you left. That’s what Hilary said to me that night. That’s the sentence that’s stuck with me, that’s made me want to hide myself away.

“Women are never into me,” I grumble as I look down at the carpet.

“No chance. I’m too old.” She snorts. “You’re not.” I finally look up and shrug. “I have to be at least ten years older than her.” “You’re ten years older than me.”

“And?” I take a sip of the malty black beer and sigh inwardly. It tastes so fucking good.

“It didn’t seem to bother you with me.”

My cheek twitches at that. “How can you possibly be sure of that?” “I don’t know. You just don’t strike me as a quitter.”

Vaughn got pimped out on her dream dates with country club girls, and I got awkward coffee dates with Mom.

I joined the army and got the fuck out of dodge. I stayed in for twelve years and kept myself safe and unscathed until the last month of that final tour.

“Thanks,” Violet says quietly. “That was fun.” “It was.”

I wonder who else gets to soak up those smiles when I’m not around, and it makes me irrationally jealous. Enough so that I say, “Nice flowers you got today.”

We stand in limbo, her in the dry warmth of the truck, me out in the rain drinking her in like I’ve been stuck in the desert. Parched.

I almost want to laugh at the absurdity of the statement. She thinks I don’t like her? If she only knew is what runs through my head as I lean in closer.

“You are not an inconvenience.” His voice is rough, low, a growl. “Anyone who doesn’t like you is an idiot. Do you understand me?”

The rumble that breaks free of his chest is like a shot of electricity to my core. My entire body tingles, goosebumps and intense awareness shooting out through every limb.

It’s like we’re frozen in time, in this tiny bubble of curiosity. Because that’s what I see on his face now.

“We’re not buddies,” Cole bites out. “You’re a slimy little fuck who I would love nothing more than to set straight. If you think that episode with the whip hurt, you have no clue what you’re in for. What I’m trained to do.”

“Touch her, and I’ll kill you.” Cole’s voice is downright arctic.

“Serves him right,” Cole says from behind me, surprise lacing his tone. His hand lands on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. I don’t want anyone touching me right now. I feel angry, and scared, and like I just narrowly missed what could have been a very scary encounter.

The worst part is, deep down, I want Cole to follow me.

The booth up top is the perfect compromise—Trixie’s idea. Exposure therapy. A removed

view, no sound of pounding hooves, no crackling loudspeaker, none of the triggers that take me straight back to that day. Never mind the war, that day is my tipping point.

I know Violet doesn’t want anyone taking care of her, but goddammit, I wanted to. I wanted to grind Patrick to a pulp and then whisk Violet as far from him as possible. The sig...

She’s the first horse I’ve touched since my dad died. I’ve barely allowed myself to admit this, but it feels good. Therapeutic maybe. The soft prickle of her coat under my fingers . . . I wonder if I’m having the same tactile experience that my dad might have had when he was still alive. If I’m feeling the same thing as he did once.

Her eyes roll as she continues to focus on the horse. “You saw me in there. I’m a different breed, Cole. I’m not a Hilary, and I don’t want to be.”

“Okay, Pretty in Purple.” She groans dramatically and drops her head. “Am I ever going to live that down?” “Probably not,” I chuckle.

She does it almost instantly, and the depraved part of me gets off on it. I’m transported to that night when she did everything I told her to. Even when it made her cheeks go bright pink. My cock twitches, and I berate myself internally. You’re really fucked up, bud.

“I’m sorry I did that. But you need to understand that I will never, never, tell anyone. That will forever be between us . . . and apparently, Billie and Vaughn.” She winces visibly at that part. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself.”

“Because I scared away the only real friend I’ve had in—” I scoff, “Well, maybe ever.”

I should tell her she’s so much more. The thing that got me out of bed most mornings. My bright spot. My sunshine.

He leans over me, the sheer width of him casting a shadow over my body as his hands slide across my collarbones and rub at my shoulders, digging in so hard that it almost hurts. An ache that blooms into a burn, that blooms into pure consuming heat.

I try not to focus on the caress of his hands on my bare skin, the flutter of his fingertips, the overwhelming press of his body looming over mine. But I can’t. Even closing my eyes isn’t working. He’s everywhere. Smothering me, weighing me down, it’s like I’m suddenly being suffocated by him.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice vibrates across my skin, spraying goosebumps out in its wake.

It seems rich, him saying that, when there hasn’t been a day in the last two years where I haven’t thought of him.

It makes my chest pinch and my core throb. That little bay filly has softened him up, and I’d be lying if it didn’t almost make me jealous.

She took it for me. Without me even paying her. Because she wanted to. And somehow that just hits different.

March into enemy territory? No problem. Face the girl you haven’t been able to stop thinking about for two years? No fucking chance. I am such a pussy.

because who the fuck cares if everything is in perfect order all the time?