Off to the Races: A Small Town Enemies to Lovers Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 1)
Off to the Races: Chapter 18

Walking in to see and hear Billie sobbing into the horse’s shoulder had been an absolute gut-punch. Hank had told me she wasn’t in good shape. But he failed to mention the part where she was absolutely falling apart. Seeing someone as strong as Billie break down and sob her apology to a horse, for something I am ultimately responsible for, almost brought me to my fucking knees.

The guilt. The ache in my chest at the raw pain in her voice. I’d known she was more sensitive than she let on. But this. This scene could crack my chest right open and leave my heart beating right at her feet.

Yeah, this hurts.

She hiccups in my arms, head nestled towards my shoulder, arms resting low around my ribs. And I’m holding her as firmly as I can without hurting her, trying to absorb all her anguish. Letting it seep into me. I’m the one who deserves the blame. Her sobs slow as I run one palm over her messy chestnut hair. I glance behind her at DD. He looks tired, closing his eyes and dozing now. Like he was just waiting for someone else to get here and take care of her.

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.

A tiny childish part of me is envious. What would it be like to have a woman like Billie love you, trust you, and believe in you? For DD, transformative.

“Thank you,” she whispers into my shirt and gives me an extra squeeze around the ribs as she burrows her head further into my bicep. Like she’s trying to hide there or something. Knowing Billie, she probably is.

“Of course,” I reply softly, resting my stubbly cheek on top of her soft hair.

“You probably think I’m unstable. I shouldn’t cry this hard over a horse.”

“I actually do think you’re unstable,” I deadpan, which makes her laugh but also earns me a firm poke in the ribs. “Billie, some people celebrate Mother’s Day for being a ‘dog-mom.’ That’s unstable. Crying over a sick horse that you love isn’t.” I pause a beat, trying to decide if I want to profess my culpability out loud. Hating how wrong I’d been to ignore her warnings about needing the right jockey.

‘Don’t judge dog-moms, you dick. I plan to be one, one day.”

I chuckle, but it’s half-hearted. She’s trying to redirect an otherwise uncomfortable situation with humor. Jokes are her armor, and I know she’s feeling vulnerable right now. “You can’t beat yourself up this hard, I’m the one who fucked everything up in the last couple days. I’m sorry. I let both you and DD down, and you both deserved better from me.”

“Wow.”

“That’s your response? Wow?”

She hiccups a laugh. “Yeah. Wow. That must have physically pained you.”

I shake my head, rubbing it across the top of hers. “See? Unstable.”

“Thank you, Vaughn.”

“There’s a sandwich and a bottle of coconut water on the bench for you. Go sit and eat.”

“I’m goo—” she protests, but I interrupt her.

“Billie. I said go.” I point back towards the entrance.

“What about DD?” She looks back at the dozing horse, running her long fingers gently through his forelock.

“I don’t know why you continue to not believe me when I tell you I practically grew up on this farm. I’m more than capable of walking a horse around in circles.”

She looks me up and down with narrowed eyes. “He might not like you.”

“He’s falling asleep. Hank updated me on Dr. Thorne’s diagnosis. Has he improved at all?”

“Yes,” she says, shoulders slumping.

I take the lead rope from her hands while pointing back at the bench. “Good. Now go.”

A deep sigh rattles through her chest and she relents, turning on her heel to walk back to the doors.

I give DD a gentle rub and get his attention with a gentle clucking noise. “Wake up, fella. We need to keep marching.” He groans but follows me without much protest.

I walk and Billie eats.

As much as I hate to admit it, I spent all night and all day thinking about her. Her warm cinnamon scented perfume intoxicated me, it lingered in my nostrils, made me hungry for more. I replayed our kiss, her touch, the way she’d dragged my finger through her mouth. She’d been bold and then shy—mostly, she was confusing.

She wants nothing from me, which is a refreshing challenge since my money, or my clothes, or my car, are important requirements for the women I’ve spent time around.

Should probably stop letting mommy pick your dates, eh, big guy?

I round the corner of the ring and my eyes replace Billie immediately. She looks beat. But at least she’s eating. Hank called me again a few hours after telling me not to come, saying that Billie wouldn’t listen to him and needed someone who could handle her when she was being a brat. I laughed and told him no one could handle her then.

I glance back at her, catching her looking me over.

“Thank you for dinner,” she says. “I needed that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And uh,” she clears her throat and looks away, “thank you for driving all the way out here to help me. I know you were staying downtown for the weekend.”

“I followed you back last night.” She gives me an astounded look, like she can’t believe I would do that. “Wanted to make sure you both got back okay. You were pretty upset.” Her cheeks flush pink and I look away.

“We should just forget about what happened last night.” Her voice comes out raspy.

That will never happen. But I’ll play along for now.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget you cracking Patrick on the ass in a room full of owners and sponsors,” I reply with a chuckle, coming to stand in front of her.

She groans, covering her face with both hands, and leans back against the bench.

“And then you went off on my brother.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Best thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

She spreads two fingers and peeks at me from behind them. “Tell me the truth. Is your brother a robot?”

A loud, genuine laughs bursts out of me. I turn to DD, who is dozing again now that we’re standing still and chuckle to myself.

“I’m serious. I thought you were an uptight prick. But you’re downright sunny next to him.”

That comment hits me in a way I didn’t expect. Did she really think that? I look back to check if she’s joking. Her cheeks twitch in an effort to hold back a small smile, and I raise an eyebrow to let her know she didn’t get away with that one.

“Are we going to ignore what Patrick said?”

A shield clamps down over her features as she schools them into perfect indifference. “Which part?”

I look her dead in the eye. “The Farrington part. In all our conversations, you conveniently left out that your father is the former leader of our country.”

“Ha!” Her voice bites with sarcasm. “Oh, yes. That’s a title I just love to wear, like a badge of honor. I have such fond memories of being paraded around as the dutiful, gracious daughter on his national apology tour. I especially enjoyed answering reporter’s questions about if I’d seen the videos of my dad fucking hookers. Which I had, by the way, and there’s not enough bleach in the world to wash those images from my mind. So, I guess forgive me for not laying it all out. I ran as hard and fast as I could as soon as I could. I worked my ass off to start fresh. I’m not Wilhelmina Farrington anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”

Okay. Sore spot. My mind reels all the same. From what I looked up, her name had been splashed over every newspaper in the country, maybe in the world, for weeks on end. I suppose this makes a lot of things add up. Her lack of presence online, her loathing towards anything she considers to be elite. I laugh as a memory springs to mind.

“What?” She sounds accusatory, defensive—laid bare in a way she doesn’t like.

“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.

She tries to look offended but can’t hold out. In a matter of moments, we’re both laughing so hard we can’t even talk. Tears stream down our faces. This is the type of laughter that only comes in the wake of tension and exhaustion.

“Oh, god.” She wipes the tears from her eyes as our laughter subsides. “It’s true.”

She gazes at me, shaking her head, and I turn to look at a calmly dozing DD. “You could have told me, you know.”

She clears her throat. “I know.” She wrings her hands and stares at her lap. “Are you angry with me?”

She can’t be serious? How could I ever be angry with her for wanting something different for herself than all that? “Why would I be angry with you? I don’t care who raised you, Billie. The only people I’m angry with are the ones who made you feel you had to run and hide.”

She looks up at me from under her lashes, nibbling nervously at her lips. Like she doesn’t quite believe what I’m saying.

“I wouldn’t have—I won’t—betray your trust with this, though. It doesn’t matter. I’m all ears when you’re ready to talk.”

She sighs, the look of relief plain on her face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And also, next time you pick the jockey.”

She sits up at that, surprised by the sudden change of subject. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“What about Cole Harding, the half owner?” She uses her fingers to make sarcastic air quotes.

“I’ll handle him.” She rears back, amber eyes wide. “Don’t worry about it. Relax for a bit. I’ll keep walking.”

She doesn’t fight me on it this time. Just leans back on the bench, slides her phone out of her pocket, and huffs out a deep breath.

I walk. And I think. I think about what Billie grew up in. About everything I read last night. Videos of her dad, the Prime Minister of the country, having sex and doing drugs with prostitutes blasted out all over the world. Jesus.

I guess she really had an idea of what I was going through with my grandfather’s scandal. She didn’t bat an eyelash when I told her. She didn’t make me feel guilty or pathetic for holding onto hope that he might be innocent. She just… let me feel. When everyone else around me wanted me to be a certain way, she just let me be me.

DD stops, jolting me from my realization. He groans and… he poops. I never thought I’d be so excited to see horse poop. The blockage has moved, and I turn to celebrate with Billie. But what I see is Billie curled up on the bench. Out cold. She has one arm under her head like a pillow and her long legs bent so that her knees dangle off the edge. The sun has set, and one of the overhead lights is shedding its neon glow over her sleeping form.

Even in this moment of excitement, I can’t help but notice how young she looks right now. No jokes, no sarcasm, no fighting words. She looks peaceful but sad. Beneath it all, she always looks a little sad. A surge of protectiveness washes over me as I make my way towards her.

Coming to crouch down beside her, I run a hand through her hair, pushing it back away from her face. This close, I’m truly entranced. The light smattering of summer freckles, the perfect bow shape to that puffy top lip, so soft and feminine. Until you pair it all up with one of the worst cases of trucker’s mouth ever. Yes, Billie is all dichotomies and surprises. Hard and soft. Happy and sad. Hot and cold. And I like her hot—I like her every which way.

Her unpredictability used to make me nervous. Now, the feeling of being on my toes around her excites me. She’s a live wire, and I am the idiot happy to see what happens when I pick up the loose end. When those walls come down, and I know they will, she and I will light each other on fire.

Our banter went from grumpy, to funny, to intense. Images flit through my head like one of those flip books that make an image look like it’s moving. Billie on top of me. Billie on all fours in front of me. Billie gasping my name from beneath me.

Yeah, I have plans.

I just need to get Billie up to speed.

My thumb traces her cheek bone, thinking about all the sinful things I plan to do to her, causing her eyes to flutter open.

“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.”

She closes her eyes and tries to wave me away. DD nudges her hip and looks at her quizzically.

“I’ll take over walking. Just give me five more minutes DD. I know you’re probably sick of him.”

“Billie. He pooped.”

Her eyes fly open, and she sits straight up. “Come again?”

I point out into the arena where the physical evidence sits.

“Ah! Oh, my god!” She bounds to her feet. “For real?”

“I mean, you can go look at it if you want?”

Her hands shoot up in the air like she’s just scored an Olympic goal. And before I know it, she’s launched herself at me, causing DD to jump, and wrapped her arms around my neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

And it’s the best feeling ever. Seeing her this excited? It’s addictive. I want to make her this happy all the time. Okay, maybe not all the time, because I kind of like her surly side. But more often.

Definitely more often.

I smile into her hair and rest my hand over the back of her head before she pulls back to look at me, one hand resting on each of my shoulders.

“Vaughn Harding, I could kiss you right now.”

Fire licks at my core almost instantly at hearing her say that. My look must change because she’s promptly walking her comment back. Wide eyes trained on my predatory ones as we stand here, suspended in time and space, holding each other.

“But I won’t. Because you’re my boss.”

“I am.” I take a step closer.

“And because you’re everything I promised myself I’d stay away from.” I quirk my head at her as I step again, but she surges on, “And because Gold Rush Ranch doesn’t need to endure any more scandal.”

“Who says we’d be a scandal?” I inquire, inclining my head towards her and dropping my eyes to her lips.

“Are you joking? Every woman you’re seen with is splashed across Page 5.” She steps back from me, pressing one hand into my chest. “It’s hard enough getting people to take a twenty-eight-year-old woman seriously in this business. But one who’s banging her billionaire playboy boss? I’d never live it down. I’ve worked too hard. Given up too much.”

Her words are like a bucket of ice water over hot simmering coals. The steam burns me, the smoke chokes me. And she stands in front of me looking completely unaffected.

I never gave much consideration to how the papers portray me. Truthfully, it never really mattered to me. It certainly has never been a black mark against me. But Billie is different. It’s what I like about her, and it is also what’s killing me right now. I can’t undo my past choices and holding them against me stings in a way I’m not prepared for. She’s right, though. And that’s what bites the hardest.

There’s wanting something you can’t have, and then there’s this—wanting something and knowing you’ll ruin it.

I care about her too much to do that.

I step away and watch her hand fall from my chest. When I catch her big amber eyes looking at me with sadness, I hate it. I hate the pity. But most of all, I hate she’s providing excellent reasons I can’t have her.

I revert to Spoiled Brat Vaughn and shove DD’s rope towards her, shaking it. “You’re right. Here. Take it.”

She takes it but tries to capture my hand too. I yank it away. “Vaughn, I’m sorry,” she whispers, looking stunned at my reaction.

To be fair, I’m stunned too. Twenty-eight -year-old men aren’t meant to throw tantrums when they can’t have something. And I’m not sure I realized how badly I wanted her until now. I want to hide and lick my wounds; but I also know that DD isn’t completely out of the woods and she’s going to need help tonight.

Eyes trained on the ground, I turn to leave. “Don’t worry about it. Glad he’s doing better. Let’s go.” I wave over my shoulder.

“Let’s go?”

“Yeah. Back to your house so you don’t have to sleep on a cold, hard bench. He needs a rest, and I can keep watch at the paddock you have there.”

“You really don’t need to do this…” she starts.

I just shake my head and continue walking. “Keep up, Billie. It’s dark out.”