A Photo Finish (Gold Rush Ranch, #2)

by Elsie Silver

There’s something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man. Winston Churchill

This is my second race ever, and I just qualified for The Northern Crown. That’s pure dumb luck.

I expect him to congratulate me. What I don’t expect is for him to send me reeling into past mistakes. “Nice to see you again, Pretty in Purple. I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them. As much as it makes me roll my eyes to admit it, they’re kind of sweet together. And Billie is good for my little brother. But the two of them are just so much fucking sunshine and rainbows that you almost need sunglasses to be in their presence.

His intelligent gaze scans my face, amusement dancing in those eyes that remind me so much of our dad. He got the dark ones, and I got our mother’s light ones, and we both somehow lucked into our height—maybe that’s from Grandpa Dermot.

So, while this house reminds him of Dermot, it almost painfully floods me with memories of my dad. My idol, who I watched fall from a horse mid-race and never get back up. Vaughn was too young when our father died to tie memories of him to this place, whereas every damn thing at the ranch reminds me of him.

Professional. Nothing between us has ever been professional. He’s seen me naked, trampled my heart, and then showed back up out of nowhere with nothing but cool looks and mocking words and now expects me to keep things professional?

You see, Cole Harding knew exactly what I looked like. What every inch of me looked like. And I still had no idea who he was—a real sore spot for me—until that moment.

When I accepted his chat request, I didn’t expect to spend months getting to know the man. And when I ghosted him in that chat room a year later, I didn’t expect to ever come face-to-face with him.

“You need to tell Vaughn that I love him and to get the bail money ready. Because I’m going to tear Patrick limb from puny limb.”

all I can smell is that harsh, sterile scent that permeates every single hospital I’ve ever been in. Which is a lot because my brother Rhett is a walking disaster. A rodeo prince with no fear. And even though I’m a year younger than him, I was always the one stuck playing caretaker at the hospital while he was treated for one injury or another.

Mira Thorne is our friend and our newly hired farm veterinarian. She takes care of all the horses in the Gold Rush Ranch program, both at the track and at the farm.

“Yeah. I’m not staying at the love shack and splitting you two up.” “Is that what you call our house?” she barks out, clearly amused. I can’t help but smile now. She and Vaughn are living in some blissed-out bubble. “Billie, that’s what everyone at the ranch calls it.”

There’s a part of me that wants to crawl in beside her, to hold her and watch her all night. To run my fingers through her hair. Make sure she’s okay, to ease the tension in my gut and assure myself that she’s really alright. But the other part of me knows she wouldn’t want that. That it would be way over the line, especially considering how we ended things.

Golddigger85 Still thinking about me, huh? Pretty_in_Purple What if I’m a total butterface? Golddigger85 Butterface?

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.

She was always rambling on about DD being her therapist. Maybe Pipsqueak can be mine?

Hank nods. “I think it might be hard for him to be out here, even though he’d never admit it. I’m sad about your leg, but I’m glad he’s not alone. It’s hard not to worry about all you kids.” He chuckles good-naturedly. “May not have had any of my own, but I feel like you’re all mine anyway.”

I live in the shadows, and she’s like this ray of light that brightens my day. I’m so fucking greedy.

I asked almost nothing about her personal life in the year we spent corresponding. It started out that I didn’t care to know. And then it turned into me knowing that if I asked, I would care. But I cared anyway. I kept telling myself that people don’t fall in love on the internet. They don’t develop real feelings. But looking at her now, I feel sure that what I’m feeling is pretty damn real. And it’s also a pretty damn terrible idea.

“Beer is fattening.” Violet busts out the most unladylike snort. I had no idea someone so small and dainty could honk like this.

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.

He gives her an absent scratch under her chin, and I almost implode. Hot guy with a horse? It doesn’t get better.

“Okay. You said you don’t like horses.” “Yup.” He grunts as he turns his back on me and crouches down to line up two boards. “But I like you.”

My hand slides over his fist and I push my fingers between his tense ones. They both look down at me, equally surprised by my appearance. But where Hilary looks irritated, I feel Cole’s hand soften in my own and hear the breath that rushes out between his lips in relief.

But a dangerous voice takes over my train of thought from behind me. “Nobody enjoys fucking you, Patrick. Now move your arm before I remove it completely.”

Violet jumps out and lands on one foot. Obviously not wanting help to get out anymore after I dry-humped the hell out of her last night. I cringe internally at the memory. Thirty-six going on sixteen, apparently. Next thing I know, I’ll be asking her to play just-the-tip.

Violet soothes me. Even if she might be the most oblivious woman in the world.

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

With the rush of a new experience, a new place. Violet is living, and fuck, does it look good on her.

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. He points jerkily down at the high-tech looking appendage and reiterates, “It’s my leg.”

We lived together for a month, and I never noticed that he’s an amputee?

I widen my eyes as I look back down at the prosthetic. His own brother doesn’t know? “Who knows?” “My mom. But there’s no reception up here.” He looks away from me, avoiding my eyes as he shakes his head. The pain in his body right now—the shame—it almost kills me.

“I was so close to finishing my third tour. So fucking close. It’s not even a good story. We were outside the wire, no live fire or anything. We drove over an IED. Junior, who was with me, didn’t make it. And my leg took the brunt of the shrapnel. There were nails inside of it. I didn’t even realize how bad it was. I got Junior and carried him to safety before it completely gave out on me.”

“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.”

Don’t pick a man who needs fixing—or changing—to meet your needs. He either wants to, or he doesn’t. And if you need to convince him, he doesn’t love you the way you deserve.

I ache to go back. A hug from my dad, a noogie from Rhett, an easy smile from Beau, and some deep, poetic advice from Cade. Good men, all four of them.

He’d been messaging me ever since I ghosted him. Even since I moved in with him. Like a diary dedicated to me.

“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.”

“Don’t you get it?” His eyes are wide and pleading now as he shakes his head. “You have the power to completely unravel me, and I hate feeling like that.”

And suddenly I don’t give a fuck about my leg. If Hilary was the poison, Violet is the antidote.

He looks like he’s worshipping at my altar in this darkened living room. His hands hover shakily over my ribs. “You are so fucking precious to me.”

You don’t look at me like I’m tragic. You look at me like we’re inevitable.”

“A photo finish,” Vaughn mutters as he shakes his head and jangles his keys in his pocket.

Cole is a man of dichotomies. Hot and cold. Rough and soft. Intense and relaxed. Confident and uncertain. He’s multifaceted. And in the weeks I’ve spent around him I’ve come to realize that I like every facet. Love them? Maybe.

“Didn’t know you were on Cole’s team.” I instantly hate myself for saying that. Childish. “I didn’t know you were twelve.” Billie arches one shapely brow at me, successfully chastising me without saying more.

“I know you see yourself as dark. But you aren’t. You’re swirling color, all different shades, a mosaic. You’re complicated and beautiful. And I’m not quitting on you, so you better not quit on me.”

“I want you. But you need to want you too. I can’t want you enough for the both of us.”

She’s like sunshine on my face. Warm and bright. I feel like I’ve been living in the shade, in a dark corner, and rather than dragging me kicking and screaming out of it—like so many people have tried to—she’s just shifted over a little bit to share her light.”

“But light is tricky. It slips through your fingers. It’s fleeting. It comes and goes. We never get to possess it; you can’t hold it in your hand. We just get to enjoy it. And if you can figure out a way to just let go and enjoy it, well, Cole, you’ll be one of the lucky ones.”