A Photo Finish: A Small Town Second Chance Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 2)
A Photo Finish: Chapter 17

HE WASN’T KIDDING about the best orgasm of my life. The only time I’ve ever felt so out-of-body is when I’m on the back of a horse with the wind whipping my face so hard it almost hurts. When all you can hear is that whooshing sound in your ears and the hoofbeats that reverberate through your bones.

Except this time, it was my heart beating and my blood rushing. Rushing to every delicious spot. Responding to every direction he gave me—coming to life for his words. For his attention.

Can you fall in love with someone you’ve never met? Never seen? I spent the day mulling over that question. Because this morning, I was nothing but one big bundle of complicated feelings.

We fell asleep talking to each other. Actually talking. And his voice. His. Voice. It’s so deep and commanding. I don’t know how anyone could ever deny him anything if he talks to them like that.

Nevermind the sound of his heavy breathing, the rasp of his palm against the silky skin of his cock. The odd tortured groan that would slip out when I knew he was trying so hard to keep them in. I could hear him pleasuring himself, but I couldn’t see it. And it was so fucking hot.

We weren’t even in the same room. I couldn’t even see him. And yet last night catapulted itself firmly into the hottest, most unforgettable sexual experience of my life.

I want more. I want him.

I race up the stairs to my apartment, feeling so sure that I can convince him to join me on the video chat. I want to do more than hear his pleasure. I want to see it.

Pretty_in_Purple: I want to celebrate!

Golddigger85: Oh?

Pretty_in_Purple: I just got a HUGE promotion at work. Huge, huge. Like . . . FUCKING HUGE!

Billie pulled me aside and told me I was the new jockey for the best racehorse I’ve ever seen. I still can’t believe it. I thought she was joking when she told me. Groom to jockey is a gigantic leap. An unheard-of leap. We’re going out to celebrate tonight, but I thought I could fit some play time in with Golddigger first.

Golddigger85: Ha! Congratulations . . . I’ve got something huge for you too. 😉

I smile. I bet it is. He looked like a big man in that one photo he sent.

Pretty_in_Purple: Butterfaces usually do. 😉

Golddigger85: You’re so mean to me.

I can’t help my smile. He’s so playful today. Maybe we’ve turned a corner?

Pretty_in_Purple: I want to be really, really nice to you.

Golddigger85: Oh?

Pretty_in_Purple: Let’s video chat again.

Golddigger85: Greedy girl.

I swear it’s like I can hear him chuckle. The sound of it in my head makes my chest flush with the memory of last night.

Pretty_in_Purple: I am. I want you on there too.

The chat goes quiet. He goes from responding almost instantly to silence. Anxiety simmers in my gut. Maybe I pushed him too far?

Pretty_in_Purple: Please?

Golddigger85: I thought we cleared this up?

Okay. That’s not the response I was hoping for.

Pretty_in_Purple: I thought you might . . . I don’t know. Change your mind. I thought you might trust me enough to try it.

A several-minute wait again. I pace. I brush my teeth just for something to do.

Golddigger85: Well, I don’t. I don’t trust anyone. It’s never going to happen. Never. I’ve been very upfront about that from the start of whatever this is.

I don’t need him in the same room as me to feel that punch to the gut.

Pretty_in_Purple: Whatever this is? We’ve been talking to each other every day for a year. How many more years would I need to go? I’ve always said no to it, too.

Golddigger85: We all make choices.

I suddenly feel embarrassed. Deeply embarrassed. He has been adamant from Day One that he’d never show me more than that one photo. And yet I somehow convinced myself I’d be the one to change him—that I’d be the exception to the rule.

The realization that I’d just been totally vulnerable with a man who would never reciprocate, even though I’d been naive enough to convince myself he might, hits me like an avalanche. It takes me right out. I compromised my values, my morals—fuck, possibly my career—all because I was horny and hopelessly obsessed with a stranger I met on the internet. The faint taste of bile burns my throat and sours my mouth.

I need a drink. Or two.

Or ten.

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.

“Are you okay?” I hustle back, instantly concerned about what could take a man like Cole Harding down.

“Yes,” he bites out harshly, making me pull back the hand I was about to rest on his shoulder. “Just go to the lookout. I’ll be there in a sec.”

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.

Which is why I moved out. I knew he needed his space, and he needed to see that even without being forced to live under the same roof, I would keep coming back for him. For no other reason than I want to spend time with him. I had planned to invite him on this hike. He just made it easier by storming up my steps last night.

“No. I’m not leaving you behind,” I say simply. Because I’m not.

“Violet,” he still doesn’t look up at me, “please just go.”

My heart races. This is weird. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Okay. Well, I’m not going.” And then he looks up at me with so much pain in his icy gray eyes that I fall to my knees in front of him, feeling the tiny pebbles and grit digging into my bare knees as I come eye-to-eye with him. I watch his Adam’s apple bob and his lower lip tremble slightly on a heavy exhale.

“Cole, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

He presses his lips together again and rolls over to sitting, right in the middle of the path. “It’s my leg.”

“Okay. So, you’re hurt. What part?” I crawl around beside him so he can’t keep facing away from me and then sit back on my heels. “Want me to check?”

“No, no.” His arm darts out across my chest to stop me from moving down to his feet. And then he sighs. An exhausted sigh that lurches out from somewhere deep inside of him. A sigh that takes his tall, broad shoulders and makes him slump forward in defeat.

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.”

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?”

He snorts dismissively. “We don’t. It’s probably something in the pin lock. I felt it go.”

I don’t know what that means, but I assume that someone closer to him will. “Okay . . . want me to call Vaughn?”

“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?”

“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 rest my hand on his broad back, feeling his muscles ripple and tense beneath my palm as I rub small circles there. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

He grinds his teeth, making his jaw pop as he looks ahead, avoiding my gaze. “You’ll have to hike back down and get my spare from the house.”

I glance around at the fading light over the peak. “But it’ll be dark by the time I get back.”

He just grunts and bends his knee, making the prosthetic fall onto the packed dirt with a hollow thud. “That’s fine. You can come back for me in the morning.”

“What? I’m not leaving you here overnight.”

“I’ve done fine without your help so far. Don’t need you to get all sentimental now. It won’t be my first time sleeping outside, and Sasquatch Mountain is a hell of a lot safer than Iraq.”

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.”

“No.” He looks at me fiercely, but he doesn’t scare me.

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

“Well, that’s just too bad for you,” I say, pushing to stand and dusting my hands off while looking around the densely forested path, “because I’m sleeping over with you.”

“Violet.”

There he goes with that again. I know I’m pissing him off, but frankly, I don’t care. Maybe getting angry would be good for him. That blow-your-top-off type of explosion that consumes you, but also leaves you with some startling clarity. Yes, that’s what Cole Harding needs. Some clarity.

“Let’s go.” I reach my hand down to him. “I’m a farm girl, remember? It won’t be my first time sleeping outside.”

AFTER HELPING Cole off the path, he sits on a log and tells me how to build a lean-to shelter. I know how to build one, but I feel like letting him dictate how I put one together will give him some semblance of control in this situation. Something I don’t mind ceding, considering he still won’t look at me.

I search for branches, pine boughs, everything I can replace to build us a safe spot for the night. Yeah, the day was warm, but it’s still May in Canada. It’s going to be cold tonight. Something Cole obviously knows based on the way he’s had me cover up so much of the space and leave only a small opening for us to get in through.

I stand back, hands on my hips as I blow a loose piece of hair off my face, and admire my masterpiece. Twilight is setting in now, and it’s cooling off. I shiver at the prospect of how cold I’ll probably be tonight.

“Okay, I think that’s as good as it’s going to get,” I say, slanting Cole a curious glance. 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 replace out about his leg. Like I would care. That’s because you’re more interested in what’s between his legs.

“Why are you blushing?”

Motherfucker.

I rub my cheeks. “I’m not.”

He pins me with a glare that I assume means he’s not buying my denial.

“Okay. Well, I’m heading into Casa del Violet. You know where to replace me when you’re ready.”

I turn toward the shelter just as he lashes out, “What? You’re not going to offer to help me get over there?”

Stopping my forward motion, I turn back to look at him, he’s sitting tall and rigid now. He’s trying to look strong and proud, but his words are insecure and petty. I could take his attitude personally, but I know him well enough to know that tone means nothing where he’s concerned. In fact, I usually think it means he’s angry with himself, not me. And right now, he doesn’t need my pity. He’s already drowning in his own.

“Do you need help?” I prop my hands on my hips and tilt my head in question. “Because it strikes me that you’re one of the strongest men I know. Presumably, you’ve been getting around fine for years with no one’s help. Am I right?”

He blinks at me, face blank. I think he might be shocked. But I have brothers, and I know when a boy needs coddling—and this ain’t it.

“Hop on over when you’re ready.” And then I leave him. Big tough Mr. I-Sleep-Outside needs my help? I scoff to myself as I crawl into the dark lean-to, leaves crunching underneath me as I come to sit.

Only a few minutes later, I hear Cole making his way over. He kneels in front of the entryway and crawls in beside me. What felt spacious before his arrival feels downright claustrophobic with his bulk taking up space beside me. Taking up way too much space. I feel my heart race at the proximity of him, at the idea that I have nowhere to retreat to. Nowhere to hide from him and the intensely confusing feelings he stirs up inside of me.

“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.

“I . . .” God, that sounds kind of bad, doesn’t it? “I did.” Might as well own it. “Seemed preferable to ‘crawl on over.’”

The laugh he barks out is so loud that it startles me. Like it leapt out of nowhere and surprised us both with its power. I laugh uncertainly and eye him skeptically. Like . . . is this okay? Am I allowed to laugh at this? But Cole doesn’t seem to have any such qualms. His shoulders shake, and his body curls in, his hands resting across what I know are rock-hard abs. He laughs so hard that when he looks up again, I see his fingertips swipe away a stray tear.

“What the fuck, Violet?” He gasps, still trying to catch his breath. “I never knew that amputee jokes would hit quite like that.”

“I’m sorry!” My hand flies up across my mouth.

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head with a grin plastered on his face. It’s weird. He never smiles at me like that, with true amusement. Maybe the odd peek of contentment or care. But not like this—this is unnerving. This is . . . He looks downright edible like this. All dark hair and glowing eyes.

“Are you okay?” I venture because I’m honestly a little disturbed.

He leans back on his hands and looks up at the roof of the shelter. “Am I okay? That’s a loaded question. I’m . . .” He trails off, and I watch his chest rise and fall, his throat move as he swallows, his cheek twitch momentarily, and I feel my core thrum.

The tiniest things he does set me alight—that cheek twitch and the dimple that pops when he does it? Gah! Delicious. Everything about the man is delicious. Dark and chilly on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside. Far too experienced for a girl like me, but so damn tempting.

I lick my lips as I soak him in. Staring at him and suddenly not really caring if I get caught.

“I’m relieved,” he finally says.

“Relieved?”

“Yeah.” He lifts his stump up and drops it back down in explanation. “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 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.”

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 replaceing 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.”

I feel a chill roll down my spine, like when my brother would drop that fluffy, dry Alberta snow down the back of my shirt. I probably shouldn’t press, but he already knows I’m snoopy. “What does that mean?”

“You and your questions.” He snorts and then angles a look down at me as if to confirm I’m not backing down. “Okay. Well. When I finally got my body and mind sorted out enough to fuck her, it just wasn’t what it once was. She liked when I was aggressive and dominating. But I couldn’t be that anymore. Especially because my heart just wasn’t in it. At any rate, I lost my balance, everything felt different, and I fell over partway through.” He shakes his head, lost in the memory. “Right on the fucking floor. It’s where I wanted to stay too. So, I decided I was done for the day. It embarrassed me, you know? It more than embarrassed me. It ruined me. I barely knew her anymore. And she got frustrated. Had some choice words about me being a half man that resulted in the end of our engagement. I wasn’t the shiny, whole, trust-fund baby she latched onto a decade earlier. So that was that. The end.”

I imagine Cole, proud and dominating and so fucking broken, fallen on the floor. And then I imagine a woman who professes to love him making him feel anything less than loved in that moment. And then I feel fury. Fury that spews right out of me.

“Okay, so Hilary needs to die.” I slap my hand over my mouth. I didn’t mean to say that part out loud. But I feel fierce. I feel protective. Like I want to crawl into his lap and use my body as a shield for him from anyone who would talk to him that way—wound him that way.

Cole laughs a sad laugh but doesn’t look at me.

“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 can’t stop looking at him. I want to touch him so badly that holding myself back is utter torture. My hands ache to even just hold his forearm, to feel the pulse of his veins under my fingertips.

“I guess I don’t want anyone’s pity. I don’t want to be treated like I’m incapable, like I’m weaker somehow. I don’t want those words, those looks. That’s probably why I liked your crawling joke.”

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.”

His eyes dart around my face as if he can’t quite decide where to focus, and I wish—not for the first time—that I could figure out what is running through that beautiful head of his. I wish I could open it up and rummage around in there. Cole is such a closed book. And even though he’s talked more to me tonight than he ever has, I’m greedy. I want more.

Which is why I’m blindsided by the frustrated growl that tears out of his chest and the hand that darts out to grip my head and pull me to him. His other hand moves to my jaw, cupping my face reverently as he stares down at my lips. Like he’s tortured by them, entranced by them.

I don’t move. I don’t want to break whatever tenuous hold I have on him right now, sharing whispered truths in the dark. I want him to do it. To devour me. To take a piece of me and keep it.

I want him to want me as badly as I want him.

The smell of him mingles with the pine boughs around us and wraps around me as his chest heaves and his heavy breaths heat my cheeks.

“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.

My hands coast up over his chest and flutter over his throat nervously as he kisses me senseless. 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.

Everything about Cole is masculine. So powerful. I feel small and inexperienced, and so damn hot. I swing one leg over his waist, wanting to be closer to him, and he groans into my mouth as I settle down on him, feeling his steely length grow beneath my ass when I do.

His tongue replaces the seam of my mouth as he tastes me, lips moving firmly—like a command to open for him. I rock my hips in response, pretty sure my panties are already ruined just from the skim of his calloused hand over my neck. The way he holds me there, it’s consuming, it’s . . . liberating.

He wants me. He brought me to him. I can feel proof of it pressing against my aching core. I grind down again, brazenly riding him and loving the feel of his hands constricting on my body while he teases my mouth so expertly. His hands slip underneath my shirt, tracing the indent along my spine, and burning across my skin.

We kiss. A tangle of tongues, and hands, and moans. We don’t rush; we explore. And I sigh into him, a little overwhelmed by how right it feels to be here with him. By how little everything else matters when he takes me in his lap and claims me like this.

I roll my hips again, my mind wandering down a path where we’re doing this exact thing but with no clothing between us.

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

His voice is shaky, and I pull back—only slightly—to meet his wild, lust-drenched stare with my own. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Stop apologizing.” His eyes take on a faraway look, and he hesitates, fingers fluttering over my body uncertainly all of a sudden. “This is, well, it’s just that this is—”

I want to rise up and cut him off. I want to make him stop what he’s about to say because deep down I’m terrified he’s going to tell me to stop again. Something I’m not sure my body can take, let alone my heart. “Don’t. Just . . . Can you just not ruin it? Save that for tomorrow. Let me just revel in how hot that was.”

I don’t want to hear him say that this is a bad idea. That we shouldn’t do this. He’s already put his mouth on my body and walked away once. I don’t think I can bear it again. How many times do I need to get turned away by this man before I learn my goddamn lesson?

This time, I’ll beat him to the punch. I kiss him one more time, hard, and then end it there, knowing that now isn’t the time or place to push him. “It’s fine. Let’s sleep.”

He regards me silently, a deep wrinkle in his forehead as I crawl off his lap and eye the ground, trying not to think about how many bugs are going to be down there with me tonight before shaking my head at myself. I’m a farm girl. Bugs don’t scare me. I flop down, feeling the dirt and pine needles against my bare skin and hearing Cole’s heavy breathing from somewhere near my feet.

He eventually lies down beside me. We’re not touching, but we might as well be. I can feel his heat along my back and smell that spicy cinnamon and clove scent I always pick up on him, but I can’t hear him anymore. His breathing has gone soft and quiet. I’m hyper-aware of everything about him, his nearness. I could fold myself into his big, warm body and fit perfectly.

I get lost in my head, remembering all those messages we swapped. All those nights I stayed up late talking to him. Saying good morning to him as soon as I grabbed my phone the next day. The lame jokes we’d tell each other. How had we been so compatible for so long only to be so damn confusing now? I know he’s not an open book, not a clear communicator, but this not saying anything is driving me insane. I can’t tell up from down where Cole Harding is concerned. Do I not live up to his expectations in real life? His dick felt like it was attracted to me—but maybe that’s the reaction he’d have to any woman? If he hasn’t had physical contact in years, that’s perfectly feasible. Is he really so insecure about his leg he’d keep me at arm’s length even now?

I shiver, thinking about the feeling of his calloused palms scraping up my bare back, about how I’d like him to press me down hard with that palm and—

“Are you cold?”

I look down to realize I’m hugging myself and have my knees tucked up tight, and yeah, I am cold. “A little,” I confess quietly.

With no warning, his arm comes over me and pulls me back into his body, tucking me against him safely. I can still feel his hard-on against my ass, but I force myself to ignore it, relieved to feel his heat around me.

He surrounds me, chin on my head, arm draped over my ribs possessively, and legs tucked up underneath mine. The perfect fit.

“Cole?”

He sighs audibly. “Yes, Violet?”

“Do you think the Sasquatch is real?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls me closer and holds me tighter. The feel of him wrapped around my body soothes me, lulls me off into a light sleep where I’m resting but still intimately aware of every part of him. Every point of contact hums with possibility, something I can’t quite stop thinking about. Something that won’t let me drift off completely. 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.”