Off to the Races: A Small Town Enemies to Lovers Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 1)
Off to the Races: Chapter 2

This.

This is my happy place.

No drama. No faking it. Just me and horses.

No human as far as the eye can see. Just the way I like it.

Anywhere with horses has always been my sanctuary, and this property is no exception. It’s immaculate. Idyllic white fences outline the perfect green grass stretching out before me. And within each wooden square, a home to a beautiful shiny horse.

All layered with that comforting horse farm aroma I love.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. No matter how pristine a farm is, you can’t escape it, even outdoors. You can spend all the money in the world to keep your over-the-top, swanky facility spotless, and it will still smell like horse shit.

Makes me smile every time. Horses—1, humans—0.

I’m reveling in that score when a door slams behind me. I jump and turn around, hoping it’s Hank, coming to wrap me in the best bear hug in the world. I peer through the fountain, centered in the driveway, expecting Hank’s familiar frame, but it’s not him. I’m met with an absolute vision far better in person than any of the pictures I found online.

Tall? Check.

Dark? Check.

Handsome? Check.

Looks like he wants to kill me? Also, check.

I run my teeth over my bottom lip as his tall, lithe body, wearing the hell out of a dark fitted suit, stalks towards me. Dark chocolate hair, longer on the top and a little disheveled—like he’s been running his fingers through it, frames his annoyed face. Stubble blooms below razor sharp cheekbones as he stops in front of me and peers down a straight nose almost too masculine for the shapely, frowning lips beneath it.

Good thing I’m not one to cower because, at what has to be at least six foot three, this man is imposing.

Fiery mahogany eyes bore down on me. “You need to turn your sweet ass around, get in your car, and leave. Now.”

Wow, what a greeting.

I tilt my head and search his face for some trace of humor. Finding none, I bark out a laugh. Because who talks to a person they’ve just met this way?

Okay, it was really more of a loud snort, but snort laughs make normal people laugh. Right? I even giggle a little at myself, and think, “Hey, maybe he’ll join in!” But no, not this fire-breathing dragon. He crosses his arms over a broad chest and continues to glare at me like I’m dirt beneath his expensive shoes. Typical.

“Pretty and slow to follow directions. Seems on par with every girl she’s been serving up to me on a platter lately. This whole natural look is a fresh angle,” he says, waving one arm up and down me like I’m a broodmare, “so, I’ll give her that. Do pass my kudos on in that regard when you report back to my mother about your failed attempt to lock me down into some breathtakingly boring arranged relationship. I’d rather date a blow-up doll.”

I rear back slightly at that last bit. Date a blow-up doll? Oof. Did he really just say that? The man practically handed me an alley-oop. I could make so many jokes here, but remind myself to keep it professional. Steeling myself, I take a deep breath, because this is about to get awkward. He clearly does not know who I am, but I’ve done a bit of homework, and know exactly who he is.

Vaughn Harding.

I’ve missed Hank like crazy. When I showed up on his doorstep looking for a job ten years ago, he took me in and gave me a lot more than employment. Work, advice, a place to live, even a good talking to when I needed it. He was the father figure I always dreamed of. So when I heard working beside him on the west coast of Canada, I couldn’t get on a plane fast enough. I mean, my working Visa was up so I had to leave my training position in Ireland, anyway. At least I knew where I was going and the name of the farm so I could do some research.

My internet stalking skills are so next level I almost added them as a bullet point to the skills section of my resume. In putting those skills to good use, I found two types of photos of this man populating the internet. Half of the images were Professional Vaughn, looking suave and serious in relation to his family’s business ventures. The others were of Party Vaughn, looking charming and polished, usually at some glitzy event with a beautiful woman beaming on his arm.

Never the same woman from what I could replace. And trust me, I looked.

An animalistic growl pulls me from my thoughts. “I said leave.’

Is this fucking guy for real? As a general rule, my brain-to-mouth filter is a little relaxed. I’ve been an agitator since childhood and am well-versed in navigating situations where someone is ticked off. But this? This is new. Which is probably why I’m standing here silent and dumbfounded, staring like an idiot.

Before I can say something polite to diffuse the situation, he holds his arms out and widens those molten eyes at me as if to say, “Hello? What the fuck are you doing?”

And then… He. Stomps. His. Foot.

Like a toddler.

A soft giggle bubbles up out of my chest. I don’t even try to hold it in. I am well acquainted with men like Vaughn Harding. Few truly dependable things in the world exist, but trust fund babies being douchebags is one you can count on.

Holding one hand up to stop him, I launch in, “Okay, first of all, I am downright fascinated by your blow-up doll preference. Can we table that for now but revisit it someday?” A sneer touches his lips. Ha. Didn’t like that one. “Second, I’m a grown-ass woman, don’t call me a girl. And third, when you’re finished having this epic man-child meltdown,” I wave my hand up and down his body like he did to me, “can you please let Hank know that Billie Black is here for her job interview?”

And then I beam at him with a big old cheesy smile.

In his defense, he visibly pales while smoothing his suit jacket down and standing straighter.

He repeats back to me, “Billie Black?”

“That’s me.”

“I…,” He shakes his head. “But, you’re not a man?”

“An astute observation, Mr. Harding,” I reply with a smirk.

This is familiar territory for me. My name frequently confuses people; it doesn’t bother me. It’s a nickname and I could go by something else if I wanted, but I kind of enjoy people’s confusion over my name. And this encounter is no exception.

“Hey, Billie girl!” a familiar deep voice calls from over my shoulder. “You made it!”

Hank Brandt. Man, just hearing that voice makes me smile. I turn immediately, leaving Vaughn there gaping, to take in the face of the warmest, gentlest man I know. Broad shoulders, close-cut sandy hair, and a ruddy, deeply lined face, a face that’s spent decades working out in the sun, rush towards me.

I’ve missed him. Sometimes you’re born into a family, and other times you choose them. And when you choose them, you know in your bones that they’re right for you. And that’s Hank for me. The family I’ve chosen.

Almost jogging, Hank goes right in for a big old bear hug. And I soak it up. “You’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw you,” he says, holding me back by my shoulders and taking me in.

I go pink in the cheeks and roll my eyes at him. “Stop sucking up, old man. You already got me here. Now, show me around.”

Hank has been a pillar of support in both my childhood and in my professional career; a friend, a father-figure, and hopefully now an employer.

Assuming I haven’t completely blown it with moneybags back there. Anxiety flutters in my stomach. I have my work cut out for me and will have to rise above that awkward introduction if I really want this job.

“Never lose that spunk, kiddo,” he says, shaking his head and slinging an arm over my shoulder.

Hank leads me back towards Mr. Handsome-and-Crazy, who appears to have regained some composure.

“Billie, meet Vaughn Harding, the new owner and operator here at Gold Rush Ranch. He’s a busy man, between this farm and the family mining business, but he’ll be around for the foreseeable future managing our business operations.” Vaughn stares down at me now with an unreadable expression. “He’s going to sit in on the interview today to provide a second opinion. Hope that’s okay with you.”

I feel my throat bob as I swallow. That’s great. Just great.

Stepping out from under Hank’s arm, I extend my hand forward into Vaughn’s strong grasp. I search for any signs of embarrassment on his part and replace none. His face is stony and locked down now, all traces of the fiery passion he spit mere moments ago have completely disappeared.

Naturally, I test the waters by tossing him a quick wink while reciprocating his firm handshake. And by handshake, I mean death grip. I squeeze the hell out of his hand right back. Years of handling and riding powerful horses means I’m stronger than I look.

I think I might even hear him grunt under his breath when I clamp down around his fingers. “The more the merrier,” I say. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harding.”

He nods as he drops my hand abruptly and then switches his focus on a spot over my head. “I’ll be in my office when you’re ready,” he says to Hank before spinning on his heel and walking away, head held high, like he didn’t just embarrass himself.

When I glance back at Hank, I see a twinkle in his eye as a slow Cheshire grin spreads across his face. Tutting me and shaking his head, he says, “Billie, Billie, Billie. What did you do to that poor boy?”

At that, I throw my head back and laugh. Poor boy? I’m well acquainted with men like Vaughn Harding. I grew up immersed in that culture. Rich and spoiled men like him never outgrow their arrogant entitlement. Instead, they wear it like some sort of badge of honor.

My Dad is exhibit A in that kind of behavior, followed by all the boys at boarding school and the men who mingled in our circles. Carbon copies of each other, the lot. Polished, calculated, and unfeeling.

Not to mention, boring.

And fake, fake, fake.

Fake smiles, fake friendships, fake family. And that last one is the real kicker. I felt my pretty, perfectly curated life crash down around me that day.

Surprisingly, being a shitty, misguided person isn’t enough to make a little girl stop loving her dad. But it is enough to make me lose respect for him. And that is a heart-wrenching combination… loving someone you can’t respect.

Even a decade later, years into adulthood, it hurts in a way that has the power to take my breath away.

My father’s word might mean nothing anymore, but mine is still good. I kept the promise I made to myself—leave and never darken the door of that lifestyle again.

I went out in a real blaze of glory, and I’ve been in rebuilding mode ever since. My sole focus has been my career, and this opportunity is the perfect next step.

As I watch Vaughn, the embodiment of everything I ran away from, enter the building, I admire the physique within his tailored suit pants. Trim waist. Incredible ass. Ten out of ten would grab.

But I won’t. Because I know this type of man. An absolute nightmare to interact with, dangerous to get involved with. But still fun to ogle. I am only human after all, and the man is hot as sin.

Yes, I will enjoy the hell out of this view, but from a safe distance. Because men like Vaughn are a trap I will never fall into.