A Photo Finish (Gold Rush Ranch, #2)

by Elsie Silver

Life is messy, something I know well. But when did I decide that the solution to that was to stop living? We’re so close to the top now, and I can’t wait to see what her face looks like when she gets to see the lookout over the lake. But I hear a loud snap. And I fucking crumple.

I see the crest of the mountain ahead when I hear a thump and a pained “fuck!” I spin

around to see Cole down on his knees, head bowed with strong hands splayed out on the dirt path beneath him.

I glance back up the hill before I recall how Pipsqueak has softened him up by just being relentless in her affection. A strategy I’ve decided to adopt because, for as little as I know about Cole Harding, I know he is starved for attention. I know he has his shields up. I know he’s been hurt. And I know no one has stuck around long enough to prove to him he’s worth

sticking around for. Pippy has taught me that much.

A sigh that leads him to pulling up his pant leg roughly, angrily, to show me the black prosthetic hidden beneath his pants. A sock covers his knee and disappears down into the plastic leg.

I nod once, mind racing for how I could have missed this. We lived together for a month, and I never noticed that he’s an amputee? What the fuck is wrong with me? And how hard has he been trying to hide it? That had to be damn near impossible. “Okay, so how do we fix it?”

“No,” he almost shouts. “He doesn’t know.” I widen my eyes as I look back down at the prosthetic. His own brother doesn’t know? “Who knows?”

He has to be kidding. No way am I going back down there without him. I wouldn’t sleep knowing I left him up on a mountain alone. “I know you can take care of yourself. I’m not worried about that. I wouldn’t leave anyone I care about behind. I’ll hike down in the morning and bring you the spare myself.”

A lot of my missing puzzle pieces concerning Cole Harding fall into place. Plus, I already promised myself I’d stick around for him.

He’s still brooding on the log, the lighter version of him nowhere to be found. It’s clear he didn’t want me—or anyone else for that matter—to find out about his leg. Like I would care. That’s because you’re more interested in what’s between his legs.

“Did you seriously just tell me to hop on over?” The light is dim in the shelter, but I can see the amused tilt on his shapely lips.

“It’s like a weight off my chest that someone knows about this. Keeping it a secret is exhausting.”

I mean, no shit. “How did it happen?” He sighs deeply and crosses his arms over his chest the way he always does when he’s trying not to look vulnerable.

I swallow. That’s more detail than I was expecting. “So why keep it a secret? No one would care.” “Hmm. Trixie asks me that too. I tell her it’s because of Hilary. She cared.” “I’m sorry, what?”

“I wasn’t easy to deal with when I came back. I had a lot of shit to work through, even beyond the amputation. But finding the right prosthetic isn’t a quick process. The shape of your stump, it all affects your comfort and the fit. Not to mention the change in balance that comes with it. The phantom pains. We’d grown apart already, and I was a growly motherfucker. But apparently, the physical aspect of my recovery really wasn’t working for her.”

“So that’s what you tell Trixie. But what’s the real reason you don’t tell anyone?” “Picked up on that, did you?”

I turn my body, wanting him to look at me, or at least know that I’m looking at him. “You are not weak, Cole. I said you were one of the strongest men I know, and I meant it. Your leg doesn’t matter to me, and if it matters to anyone else, fuck them. They suck.”

“Do it,” I whisper, taunting him. “Please,” I add, begging him. And this time he doesn’t deny me. “Fuck it,” he rasps right as his lips descend onto mine. Hard and fast, strong and relentless—just like him.

I don’t even know what to do with my hands. They tremble as I let them trail through his hair while

the rest of me turns to putty in his lap.

“Jesus Christ, Violet. I’m going to blow in my pants if you keep riding me like that.”

I can’t tell up from down where Cole Harding is concerned.

Which is probably why I don’t miss his quiet whisper several minutes later. “What I was going to say is that this is perfect.”

And then holding her? Her warm body pressed into mine? It was like clinging onto a teddy bear for comfort. But I’ve never wanted to fuck a teddy bear.

In the middle of a forest, in a shitty little shelter, I’m the most relaxed I’ve been in years. All because Violet is here in my arms.

“How long have you been up for?” “A while,” I lie. “Hard to sleep with your snoring.” Her face flushes pink as she moves away from my chest. I want to pull her close again, but I don’t. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act this morning.

“It was more like . . . purring. Like a kitten,” I continue. “Oh, god.” “Hey. I’m missing a leg, and you snore like a kitten. It’s all good.”

I look down into it, and my leg aches. My leg that isn’t even there. Phantom pains. They’re not as bad as they once were, but sometimes the reality that my leg is really gone just lands differently.

It’s like I can feel it there. The pain

of the day it was blown off. The pain of my recovery. The pain of my loss. It rarely bugs me, but shoving my leg into a prosthetic I know is g...

Billie gives me a well practiced leg up into the tack before pinching the side of my butt playfully. “Break a leg out there.” “Billie.” Mira stares at her, unimpressed. Which, to be fair, is her go-to expression. “Really?”

Tonight, I am going to channel my inner Mira. Sweet and quiet Violet isn’t here right now. Patrick Cassel is going down in the only way I can take him down. On the track.

I still don’t know what to make of what I read on his laptop. I have even less of an idea of what to say to him. I’m half in love with the man—and the other half wants to shake some sense into him. He’s so damn broken, so full of fake bravado.

But now all I see is sad. Closed off. Lonely. I’m scared he’ll break me, but suddenly I’m more scared I’ll break him. Loving him feels like a big responsibility.

He pins me now, his gray eyes sparking with fight. “That’s what you keep telling me. But Violet, letting me help doesn’t make you weak. It just means I care. I know you don’t need me. But I want to be there for you. Let me care for you in the only ways that I can.”

“Would you just talk to me already!” I shout. It comes out louder and more forceful than I think I’ve ever talked to anyone in my life.

He missed me. I broke him.

“You’re not broken. You’re perfect. And I’m a shitty fucking patchwork quilt. I’ve spent years picking up the tattered pieces of myself, every life event, every heartbreak, and slowly stitched it all back together. But I’m not good at sewing, Violet.”

“And now the edges are starting to fray. I’m coming apart at the goddamn seams, and you’re the one holding the thread that could undo it all.”

“I promise not to unravel you, Cole. It wasn’t easy for me either. You hurt me. Being that vulnerable . . . I need to know what this is between us, once and for all.”

And when his eyes pin me in place, he says, “I’m not good at talking. I think I should just show you.” And with that, he grips the back of his shirt and pulls it off over his head, his smoky gray eyes not leaving mine for a single beat. His thumbs hook into the waistband of his boxers, his eyes still homed in on mine.

Is this really happening? Watching him undress before me. My mind is blank. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.

“Staring is rude, Violet.”

“Tell me what to do next.” “What?” My heart beats in every limb, right into the tips of my fingers. They itch to touch him. “You read the messages.” His voice is like gravel. “I told you I’d reciprocate. Tell me.”

“Cole,” his name spills from my lips like a prayer. And then I shrug my cardigan off and let it pool on the floor around my feet along with the rest of my inhibitions.

“Would it shock you to know I’ve closed my eyes and imagined being fucked by you for two whole years? You’re my go-to fantasy, Cole.”

“Little minx, it’s all fair game if you’re going to taunt me like that.”

If Hilary was the poison, Violet is the antidote.

I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m batting so far out of my league. Cole Harding is so fucking hot. I thought he was from that first day he came storming toward me in the winner’s circle. Older. Richer. Better looking. But the sight of his inky, disheveled hair between my legs is something else. It’s primal. It’s delicious torture.