Off to the Races: A Small Town Enemies to Lovers Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 1)
Off to the Races: Chapter 12

ONE MONTH LATER

I stand at the top of the bleachers, staring through the set of binoculars Hank just handed me. At the far corner of the track, I can see a little black bullet breezing around the corner, head and neck stretched out long, legs moving like a blur across the dirt track. Billie, long bronze braid flying out in the wind behind her, hunches down low on his neck, keeping herself light and aerodynamic.

I lower my hands and glance over at Hank. My look of disbelief meets his look of pure joy. I mean, the man is positively beaming. His smile threatens to crack his sun-worn face right open. I shake my head, like what I’m seeing is an illusion I can clear away with the motion. Once more, I lift the binoculars and peer back through the lenses to drink in the pair out on the track. They move as one. Like what they’re doing together is as natural as breathing.

That’s how Billie had felt in my arms. She felt right.

I’m entranced by their faces when they turn down the home stretch and barrel towards us. DD, I’ve accepted is never going to be called Double Diablo by anyone other than me and the track announcer, looks relaxed and determined. I’d almost say he looks like he’s having fun. And Billie, my friend Billie, has a satisfied smirk on her face. She looks wild, and free… and beautiful. Like she belongs up there. I can’t hold back the genuine smile that takes over my face.

“Astonishing, isn’t it?” Hank asks, as I continue to watch them.

“She—they—yes, they are.” I absently hand him the binoculars back and watch Billie stand up in the irons to draw DD up, slowing him down. He flicks one ear to her, in tune with every movement—the shift of her shoulders, the drop of her hips. He responds to the directions her body gives him almost instantly. No fighting at all.

The whole thing is impressive. Some horses take a good chunk of time to calm down enough to drop their speed, and even more to relax after getting all hyped up. But DD seems perfectly amenable to all of Billie’s requests.

I reluctantly tear my eyes away from the dirt track to look at Hank again, standing in his signature jeans and polo shirt, with that knowing sparkle in his eye. Like he knows something you don’t.

“What? You want me to admit that you were right about hiring her?”

“No, son.” His cheek twitches.

“Okay. So, you’re just taking pleasure knowing that my plan to get rid of her is looking like it might backfire?”

He lets out a booming laugh, slapping my shoulder on his way past, rocking me back on my heels with his old-man strength. Smug prick.

I hate admitting he was right, but this was a show of force on Billie’s part. I can’t deny I’m more than a little excited. And relieved. Gold Rush Ranch desperately needs something to put us back on the map. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but god, I hope Double Diablo is that something.

I don’t even think I’d be sad about Billie sticking around anymore. She’s grown on me. Enough that I’ve continued showing up on her porch like a sad puppy every Saturday, even though she never really extended the invite. She looked a little surprised when I knocked on her door, but she didn’t send me away.

I like her company. I like her wacky sense of humor. I like the way her hips sway while she hums and cooks me dinner. I like the person I’ve become around her—unconcerned with the drama of the media and the country club crowd. I like the taste of her lips too, the little sighing sound she made when I kissed her, but I’ve been able to restrain myself from crossing that line again. Because that is the line that neither of us needs to blur. The farm can’t take any more drama, and Billie doesn’t need me thinking with my dick.

Sounds cliché, but hiding out in Ruby Creek has been almost healing for me. Leaving behind the office, the city, the pressure, is refreshing in a way I couldn’t have predicted. I understand why my grandfather loved it out here. Tracing his steps around the farm gives me solace. I think I’m even working towards forgiving him.

Finding that threshold.

Finding a new rhythm.

Such as, getting to my office early every morning just to watch Billie ride DD bareback over the hill. Then I bring her down a cup of coffee. I even put cream in it now. Although, sometimes, I try to put not quite enough in it just to see if there’s a point where she’ll lose it and say something. So far, all it’s gotten me is a little sideways glare I try not to smile at. We drink our coffee at the paddock and have a little morning meeting about the farm and plans for the upcoming season. Hank often joins us, shooting speculative glances, like Billie and I getting along is truly suspicious to him.

Everything isn’t perfect, though. I’m still nervous about the future of the farm. About stepping back into Bell Point Park and being able to hold my head high considering the shame I feel over the scandal. Nervous about proving my asshole brother wrong. He wants me back in the office working at Gold Rush Resources, not wasting my time “playing Farmer Joe.” Just thinking about it all is a bucket of ice water over a good mood.

I scrub my hand across my face, trying to wash all my worries away and look back down at the track to see Billie has dismounted and DD is following towards the gate like a lost puppy dog. It makes me chuckle. That horse is a total goner for her. I take long strides down the benches of the bleachers and head towards the gate to give Billie a metaphorical pat on the back. If her constantly babying that black stallion can save the farm’s future, well, then Billie might just be my greatest asset.

I round the corner to replace her hugging a small blonde woman, both jumping up and down squealing while they embrace. Billie is so dramatic. You’d think they just won the Derby. The blonde’s head shoots up with startled eyes when I clear my throat. She tries to extricate herself from the hug, but Billie has her tiny body tangled up in her graceful arms.

“Shhhh. Just ignore him. He’ll ruin it,” she whisper-shouts.

I place my hands on my hips and look to the sky, a silent prayer for patience.

“Billie, I was watching you guys out there. I came to reinforce you with some kind words so I can get back to work. Stop wasting my time.”

She giggles like she’s drunk into the small woman’s shoulder.

“Hi, Mr. Harding,” the blonde says in a shaky voice while reaching her hand around Billie to shake mine.

“Nice to see you, Violet. Please, call me Vaughn.” I shake her hand and then grip the middle of Billie’s braid and gently pull her head back from where she’s burrowed, forcing her to look up at me.

She might be tall, but I’m taller.

Untamed amber eyes flash to mine from under the brim of her black helmet, and Violet can finally step away. She replaces something interesting to look at on the ground as Billie and I stare at each other in a face off. Excitement courses through me. I like to compete, and we haven’t done this in a while. Her breathing is slightly labored, but I assume that results from galloping a 1,200-pound animal around in the warm spring sun. My gaze drifts over her flushed cheeks and delicate collarbones sprinkled with freckles, before landing on her perfect bow shaped mouth. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. And in a matter of seconds Billie, my friend Billie, has taken me from exasperated to aroused.

God. I am pathetic.

“Congratulations. Double Diablo looks great. Very impressive.” My words come out rigid and stilted.

She watches me with a knowing smile and hits me with a saucy wink. “Thanks, Boss Man.”

“I’m going to go and get started on cleaning some tack,” Violet interjects before basically sprinting away.

“That’s my awkward little Violet,” Billie says affectionately.

“You’re incorrigible.” I shake my head in disapproval.

“Okay, you can drop the private school vocabulary now. No one is here to impress. Your name alone is already a big enough testament to how expensive you are.”

“Excuse me?”

“Vaughn Harding,” she announces, pronouncing it with an English accent and rolling one hand through the air folding into a bow.

I attempt to bite back the unwanted smile that’s threatening to take over my face. I fail.

“Whatever, Mowgli,” is my response. “We need to talk about jockeys for Double Diablo. The suspension lifts in June.”

“Stop calling him that. He’s a sweet, sensitive boy, and that name is stupid.”

I ignore her, “I have a guy with an impressive record lined up for when you think the time is right.”

She turns away to remove the saddle from DD’s back. “I’ll look at him. We’re going to need someone special, Vaughn. It’s going to take more than a winning record to get this horse to run in an actual race.” She hefts the tack onto the fence and adds, “I don’t think he should stay at the track. It’s too stimulating, and I wasn’t joking about him being sensitive. He needs peace and quiet. I’ll trailer him the day of and then bring him home after the race.”

“Billie, he’s a racehorse. Not a puppy. You know that, right?”

She shoots me a withering look. “You gonna hop on and take over his training?”

I look at the horse. He seems pretty docile these days, calmer than most stallions I’ve known, but she has a point. I take a step forward and surrender, “Okay, okay.”

Her shoulders climb high and then fall on a big, relieved sigh before she completely changes the subject, “I have a killer meal planned for tomorrow night; the veggie stand had the most incredible looking asparagus so I’m going to make—”

I raise one hand to slow her down, “Actually, there’s a fundraiser they have asked me to attend tomorrow.”

Her hand freezes mid-stroke on DD’s shoulder, and her eyebrows pop up. “No problem,” she says.

Her shoulders droop incrementally from their typical proud spot, and she pastes a weird smile on her face. It’s like watching a balloon deflate right before my eyes. And you were the one to stick the pin into it, asshole.

I take a step closer, wanting to comfort her without overstepping our tenuous boundaries. “Billie, I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it earlier.”

She looks down and turns abruptly, horse in hand, to leave. “Have fun!” she shouts too brightly over her shoulder while hustling away to the barn.

Standing here, watching her leave, I’m tossed into a pool of total confusion. I didn’t think our Saturday night dinners were so formal that I needed to let her know I wouldn’t be there. I’m not accustomed to accounting for friends in my schedule. My stomach hits me with a new flipping sensation, like I’m hurtling towards the ground on a roller coaster.

A ride I want to get off. This doesn’t feel good. I can’t remember the last time I felt bad for letting someone down, let alone sick over it. But I sure as fuck do now.