Off to the Races: A Small Town Enemies to Lovers Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 1)
Off to the Races: Chapter 3

What a fucking disaster.

I flop down in my desk chair and stare at the ceiling, wishing the floor might swallow me whole.

I can’t help but shake my head at myself.

Marching out there like I had no self-control? Flying off the handle like a petulant child? What was I thinking? My mother’s increased meddling in my love life is turning me into a goddamn wrecking ball.

She keeps dropping women on me like it’s my birthday, and they are perfectly wrapped presents for me to unwrap. I know being married to my dad made her happier than anything else, and she just wants that for me. I also know my brother Cole is a lost cause in that department, which means I get to play all her silly dating games alone.

Lucky me.

Even if it had been a woman my mother sent over with her insane scheming, my behavior would have been out of line. The way I acted was so much worse because of Hank’s excitement about the possibility of hiring this girl… woman.

One side of my lips quirks up at the way she bit back about being called a girl.

Whatever. She looked young and definitely nothing like the man I expected to interview.

Billie, not Billy.

Who would have guessed?

I suppose if I’d actually looked at her resume, I might have noted that minute difference. Not that Hank had thrown me any bones in that regard. He could have warned me. Instead, he was all, “I know this trainer who I think we should interview. Good international experience, but not stuck in a rut. Might be a nice fresh option. Managed to take a stable in Ireland from relative obscurity to a mainstay in the winner’s circle over there.”

He seemed so excited, and his description sounded good to me. Most of all, I trust him, so I just gave him the go ahead to set up an interview without asking much more.

Thinking back, I almost feel like he intentionally left out mentioning if we were discussing a he or she. Not that it matters. I have no problem hiring a woman. She’s just young. Which means inexperienced. Too inexperienced for this high-stakes game.

And too mouthy.

That mouth. Sultry, soft, heart-shaped.

Yeah. That is not what I need.

I need someone dependable and organized who I can count on to take the success of Gold Rush Ranch seriously. This isn’t a game.

The way she let me carry on like an idiot when she probably knew exactly who I am…

And then she had the gall to laugh at me.

Unbelievable.

I can feel myself getting worked up just walking back through the moment in my head.

I’ve elicited a lot of responses from women over the years; desire, lust, moans and whimpers, and even anger when our time together inevitably ended. No one ever looked me in the eye and laughed at me.

No, this is new.

Her glowing amber eyes widened so expressively when I told her to leave. Her full pink lips lifted at one side as a few stray pieces of dark chestnut hair blew gently across her cheeks in the breeze.

She looked wild and untamed at that moment. She looked like a challenge.

Under different circumstances, I’d have liked to grab that challenge firmly by her heavy braid and show her who is really in charge here. I’d tilt her head back and drag my teeth along the bottom of her jaw while whispering all the filthy ways I planned to wipe that condescending smirk off her face.

I huff out something that resembles a muffled laugh and adjust myself in my briefs.

Something tells me the only thing that scenario would get me is a swift kick in the balls. She has chutzpah; I’ll give her that.

And she’s a wildcard, which is the very last thing I need in my life right now.

Racing season is about to be in full swing, and they have forced us to pull all the horses from the track. To retreat here to the farm in disgrace, suspended from all sanctioned events for three months. We won’t be racing any of our string until halfway through the season at least.

I don’t need a wildcard; I needed a fucking miracle.

Light, feminine laughter filters through the hall outside my office door, pulling my attention from the full inbox in front of me. I’ve spent the last hour here staring at the screen, achieving nothing, and living in my head.

A place that no one wants to be right now.

“Ladies first,” Hank announces as Billie rounds the corner.

I roll my eyes. Talk about laying it on thick.

I turn around to grab the files we’ll need for the interview, assuming they finished with the grand tour.

“How’d it go?” I ask, as I rifle through the drawer of folders.

“So good,” Billie responds enthusiastically. “Your facility is truly world class, Mr. Harding.”

My cock twitches against my will at the way she says Mr. Harding with such admiration.

Vaughn, you’re a fucking mess, bud. I manage to not chastise myself out loud this time—a minor victory for the day. But when I look at her now, she almost takes my breath away. She is positively glowing and so full of excitement she’s almost vibrating in her seat.

I stare at her, struck by how genuine she is. So open and honest with her feelings. What must that be like?

I scour my brain but can’t remember the last time I felt as happy as Billie looks in this moment. I feel like I’m looking at the sun, blinding but so deliciously warm that you just close your eyes and bask in the glow, anyway.

“Yes, well, thanks. My grandparents transformed this place from a cattle ranch into everything you see here. Lots of family history,” I say, dropping my gaze quickly.

“I want to extend my condolences about your grandfather. What a terrible loss,” she says, hitting me with her best doe-eyed expression.

“Thanks. Let’s carry on,” I reply, brusquer than intended.

I’m prepared for battle with this woman, not decorum and innocent looks. She’s giving me whiplash. Thankfully, Hank chooses this moment to jump in and save me.

“Okay, Billie. Let’s get started.”

Leaning back in my seat, I steeple my fingers and watch them interact. Hank asks pointed questions and Billie responds eloquently even though she flaps her hands around like she’s trying to take flight.

Of course, she’s a hand talker.

They discuss training techniques, racing strategies, blood lines, and god knows what else. To be frank, it’s mostly Greek to me. As a child I hung around the stables talking to people, lending a hand with farm chores, and doing schoolwork in the lounge, but it was more of social setting than anything—a way for my grandfather to keep me close, especially after losing my dad.

That’s why Hank is here. I need his expertise, he’s one of the best in the business with stable management, and I can tell by the proud look on his face he has practically already hired this woman.

I’ll have to play this right. Anything short of diplomatic will be like taking away a kid’s toys on Christmas morning. I’m not stupid, it’s clear to me I can’t afford to piss Hank off by raining on his Billie-parade. I obviously missed the memo about how close they are. Come to think of it, I’ve missed a few memos from Hank where she’s concerned, but that’s a conversation for another time.

Either way, I’m not about to let this situation slip through my grasp. If Hank thinks he can pull a fast one on me and if this woman thinks she can laugh in my face and still waltz into a cushy new job, they’re both mistaken.

It’s still my farm. I make the final decision.

“Why do you want this job?” I bark.

She gazes at me with intensity, a tinge of pink on her pale cheeks. I can see her thinking. I wait for her to scold me for interrupting her so that I can send her packing for a good reason.

Instead, she leans forward, rubs her hands down her slender thighs, and chews on her bottom lip. Fuck, I wish she wouldn’t do that.

“To be frank, Mr. Harding…”

And now that again. How am I supposed to lead an intimidating line of questioning with her calling me Mr. Harding while innocently biting her damn lip? “Call me Vaughn.”

“Okay, Vaughn. To be frank, I’ve earned a head trainer position.”

I scoff. Talk about entitled.

“No. Listen, I don’t mean I deserve one. I mean, I’ve earned it. I started on my own, with absolutely nothing, and I’ve taken every opportunity that has presented itself to me with a smile.” She sighs and starts flapping her hands around again as she carries on, “I worked my butt off at low-end farms with low end horses until I was good enough to work at mediocre farms with mediocre horses, and I kept my nose to the grindstone until I landed an internship as a working student at a world-class farm I had planned to apply for since I was fifteen years old. I made it happen. I worked with the best of the best in the United Kingdom, I learned the ropes, and then got good enough they wanted to keep me around for actual paid positions. I’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into becoming one of the best so that I could apply that knowledge here, on home turf.”

Her hands land across her chest and she looks at me so earnestly that I almost can’t hold her gaze. “Give me a shot. I can turn this around for you, I know I can.”

I have to hand it to her. That was an excellent answer. Not even a little contrived the way the story spilled from her lips, brimming with pride and grit.

I tap my pointer fingers together, assessing her from my position. She doesn’t shy away from holding my eye contact in the moments that follow. My plan to trip her up has backfired because she blindsided me with so much confidence in her hard work, in her own ability, when initially she seemed like this was all some big joke to her.

Confidence and dedication are two things I probably respect the most in another person. I’ve worked my ass off too. I won’t be the one that has to work with her every day, so if she’s good at her job, what does it matter if she’s also irritating?

“You’re young,” I say.

“I have energy,” she counters.

“You’re inexperienced.”

“And I’m hungry to prove myself.” She grins.

Is she intentionally filling her answers with innuendo? This woman is certifiable. Leaning forward, I toss the file folders I put together across the desk at her. Last hoop, honey.

“Okay, Billie, I’ve got five folders here. One for each horse that will make their debut at Bell Point Park, the track here in Vancouver, next season. Why don’t you look through them and pick a favorite?”

She eyes me with suspicion. “I mean, I’d have to see them run to make that kind of call. Despite what some people think, stats and bloodlines aren’t everything. A horse needs a lot of heart to win. The right mindset.”

Smart girl.

“For the sake of this exercise, just pick based on what you can see on paper.”

She meets the challenge in my eyes with her own. I know she has an inkling I’m leading her to slaughter here. I see it written on her face. She’s suspicious, but she’s going to follow me anyway because if I can guess one thing about Billie Black today, it’s that she’s stubborn as fuck.

Hank starts in on me, not completely oblivious to what I’m doing here either, “Vaughn, I think that…”

Billie holds a graceful hand up in his direction while pulling the folders towards herself. “Hank, please. I can manage.”

She leans over my desk and opens the first folder.

Each one contains a horse’s Canadian Racing Club registration which breaks down several generations of their bloodlines and notes physical information, like height and sex. I’ve also included information on each horse’s dam and sire, which is often important in predicting a prospect’s aptitude for success. Genetics and all that.

The part I’ve left out is each horse’s report card in Hank’s initial assessment. I had him take a small team through the barn and create a profile on each horse for me. If I’m being honest, the information I’ve provided her with is pretty bare bones. I know I’m making an unfair request.

But that’s all part of my plan.

I examine her. Brow furrowed in concentration, eyes flitting back and forth, absorbing each line in each folder. Dark lashes frame golden irises with darker flecks throughout, like one of those tiger’s eye stones. The color gives her an almost feline look. I can spot mascara and maybe a little blush, otherwise all she’s sporting is a smattering of freckles across her nose that you only get from time spent in the sun.

Studying her now, I’m not sure how I could ever have confused her for one of the women my mother handpicks. No chance they would go out with visible freckles on their nose.

Billie Black isn’t a done-up kind of hot, she’s just… naturally alluring. I’m sure men stop and stare at her, but can’t quite put their finger on why. At the risk of sounding like some sort of new-age chump, there’s just an energy about her. Something gravitational.

She’s now humming to herself and organizing the folders into three different piles. I realize that I’ve moved forward in my chair, trying to see what she’s doing. With my elbows propped on the desk, I’m leaning towards her like a total creep.

She calls me out on it without even sparing me a glance.

“Trying to steal the answers off my test, Vaughn?”

I clear my throat and sit up straight. When I chance a look over at Hank, he just lifts an eyebrow at me as if to say, “What are you doing, you absolute loser?”

My nostrils flare on a heavy breath, but Billie remains focused. She’s lost in thought, tapping a pointer finger over her lips.

But I’m done waiting.

“Okay. Time’s up,” I bark.

Billie gives me the same lifted eyebrow look that Hank just did, and I already know that having these two working together is going to be a pain in my ass.

“Okay,” she begins, “I’ve got these organized into three categories. This first stack, these three are all great high-quality horses ready to get started this year. They’ll succeed, and we can probably get a few good races under their belt and then sell one or two as prospects for good money without pouring a bunch into them.”

Yup. I like the sound of that.

“Second category is this mare, Brite Lite. I like her physical characteristics; she’s young and has a nice early birthday, which will lend her a little extra maturity come race time. She’s also beautifully bred, has a few famously consistent producers in her background, and could easily be a nice foundation mare for your breeding program in the future.”

Hank nods his head and pipes in with, “I agree.”

Her eyes flit from his back to me. “She might be my favorite.”

I stare at her blankly, not wanting to give anything away.

Without breaking eye contact, Billie taps two fingers on the final folder. She hits me with a steely look and asks, “What’s wrong with Double Diablo?”

I give her a deadpan look. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Hank groans audibly. Fucking traitor.

“I mean that he’s three years old with zero starts under his belt. His pedigree is drool-worthy. Looking at his papers is like reading a list of the worlds’ most famous racehorses. I know what breeding a horse like that costs. You must have at least a quarter million dollars invested in him already.”

Billie grunts and shakes her head, like she can’t quite believe it. “Even with only a moderately successful racing career, he’d be your golden ticket to collecting big money on stud fees one day. He should have been running this year already, but he’s done nothing.” She flops back and pins me with her intelligent eyes. “So… what’s wrong with him?”

Smart woman.

She looks at me like she expects an answer. But this is my test, and I refuse to give anything away. “That wasn’t my question. I said: on paper, which one is your favourite? From what you’ve just told me, the answer is obvious.”

She peeks back down at that final folder, nervously tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears.

“Is he injured?” she asks softly, while flipping through the pages in front of her again. As if she looks hard enough, more information might magically appear on the pages.

“No,” I reply honestly.

I’m thoroughly enjoying watching her squirm. She looks so uncertain, and I know I’m taking far too much pleasure in knocking her down a peg.

She blows a dramatic breath out, like I’m exhausting her, and meets my gaze with a determined set to her face. “Okay, he’s my favorite,” she declares, tossing the folder back at me, like I had done to her, and then crosses her arms like a suit of armour.

Game. Set. Match.

I can’t stop the sly smile that slowly spreads across my face.

“Excellent choice, Ms. Black.”

Hank is now shaking his head at me. I know I’m going to hear from him about this later, but I don’t care.

My farm, my rules.

“I’m assuming I have Hank’s blessing when I say I’d like to offer you the position of head trainer here at Gold Rush Ranch. You can start as soon as you like. Take a few days to get settled. I’m including accommodations in the offer. There is a cottage down the road with your name on it. Our three-month suspension from competition ends on July first, and that gives you…” I trail off, assessing the calendar on my desk, “about three months.”

Head tilted, she asks, “Three months for what?”

“To get Double Diablo in shape to win his first race of the season. He wins, we extend your contract to a permanent position. He loses, and you receive a glowing reference and an extra paragraph to beef up your resume.”

Billie blinks at me.

“Maybe we should talk about this first, Vaughn.” Leave it to Hank to rush in and try to save her.

I understand this isn’t the joint choice we had agreed upon, but this is the best way for me to appease him while also ensuring I won’t have to deal with Billie Black’s unpredictable attitude, and boner-inducing face, for long. It also gives me six months leeway to vet my own candidates and replace the perfect fit for when our ban ends.

She’ll do fine until then.

“No, Hank, it’s a fair enough offer. I’m still untested in a lot of ways, and this will be the perfect opportunity for me to prove what I can do,” she says, with a determined set to her jaw.

Hank sighs audibly, and I grin triumphantly. A genuine grin.

God, I love winning.

“Well, it’s settled then. Welcome to the team, Billie. Swing by tomorrow morning and I’ll go over the contract with you.” I stand, rolling my shoulders back. The high of tying up a good business deal never fails to make me feel like a million bucks.

Billie looks me in the eye and takes my hand, just as firmly as last time. “Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Harding.”

“Billie girl, you have no idea what you’ve bitten off here,” Hank warns.

She turns to shake his hand next. “Hank, I’m not an idiot. I can piece enough together here to assume that the horse is going to be a challenge.”

Ha. A challenge is an understatement.

As they filter out of my office, I watch Billie go. Sassy little thing that she is. I have to admit, the view from behind is equally alluring as the front. The thrill of victory has me all worked up, and I can’t help but let my mind wander to how good that perfect round ass would look with a pink handprint on it.

My handprint.

I imagine bending her over my desk, in complete control, yanking her pants down around her thighs, bunching up the back of her shirt, holding it in one fist, and giving her few good smacks all while she moans and writhes beneath me.

She’d enjoy it, I’d make sure of that. My cock swells in my pants. Good God. What is wrong with me? I need to get my head in the game.

I turn back to my computer screen, resolving to do some actual work when out of the corner of my eye I see that caramel mane pop back through my door with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Sorry to interrupt, Boss Man,” Billie says. “Forgot my purse!”

Boss Man? I roll my eyes and shake my head.

So annoying. My cock doesn’t seem to care though.

She grabs the offending handbag and turns to leave but pauses at the door and looks over her shoulder, hitting me with a cocky smirk. “I also wanted to mention an amendment I’d like to make to my contract.”

I scrub both hands over my face. This woman is going to be a lot of work.

“Go on.”

“How do you feel about an extra ten percent on my base salary for my, what did you call it… sweet ass?”

Fuck my life. This is going to be a long three months.