A Photo Finish: A Small Town Second Chance Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 2)
A Photo Finish: Chapter 28

IT’S Pippy’s maiden race day, and I should be excited. But instead I’m pissed off and a little sad.

I still haven’t heard from Cole. It’s been two damn weeks, and I still haven’t heard from him. Billie keeps telling me not to worry about it, and I’ve asked her a couple times if she knows something I don’t. Her answer is always, “No.”

But for once, I hope she’s lying to me.

I shouldn’t have given him a deadline. I shouldn’t have put this pressure on him. I shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. But here I am, taking all that frustration out on Pippy’s coat, trying not to feed her all my anxious energy and failing miserably. Everyone knows I’m in a mood. Billie, Hank, Mira, Vaughn—they’re all ignoring me. Pippy though, she’s just stuck with me. And luckily, she’s the happiest, most laid-back little horse on the planet. She’s like an eternal optimist. I guess when you’re born as early as she was, just surviving is an accomplishment, something to be proud of.

I need that optimism to rub off on me because I feel like a storm cloud right now. The good part of that is my killer instincts are in overdrive. I want to win. I want to brutalize the competition. I want to prove to everyone I’m not a ditzy blonde. I’m the woman who took a horse that no one thought would race and turned her into a winner.

All Pippy’s breezes have been solid lately. Her health is excellent. She’s unflappable. But you never really know until you get a horse on the track. Sink or swim.

I threw myself into the deep end a couple of years ago, and today it’s Pippy’s turn to do the same.

“Miss Eaton?”

I start and then turn with a scowl to face Stefan Dalca, who is standing at the entrance to our grooming stall. I have to hand it to him. The guy must have a real pair on him showing up in the Gold Rush Ranch shed row with how most of us feel about him.

“Why do you insist on talking to me before a race? It’s not a good time. Do you know nothing about this sport?”

He blinks at me, looking surprised by the way I lashed out. To be honest, I’m a little surprised too. Do I like the guy? No. But this is out of character for me. Fucking Cole Harding.

“I just wanted to come and offer an apology to you.”

“You?” I point at him. “Want to apologize to me?” My thumb butts up against my chest.

“For Patrick Cassel’s behavior.”

I snort and get back to tacking Pippy up.

“I was completely unaware of his behavior, and he’s no longer in my employ.” When I look up at him, his jaw ticks and he pins me with his green eyes. His hawkish features leave no room to doubt his sincerity. “His behavior on and off the track is not befitting of someone who works for me, and especially not befitting of any man I want aligned with me. I’m very sorry for all the discomfort he’s caused you.”

I could say something snarky. I could throw his sleazy move last year in his face, but he seems serious. He seems . . . chastised.

“Okay.” I huff out a breath as I tighten the cinch around Pippy’s ribs. “Thank you for that. I appreciate it.”

When I look back at him, he looks shocked by my response. Like he was expecting me to tear into him or something. But that’s not me. I don’t like holding grudges. I don’t like having enemies. I like being on good terms with people, and if I can’t be on good terms with Cole, then I can be with Stefan. At least that’s something.

“Okay. Well. Best of luck.” He holds his hand out to me, and I stop what I’m doing to take it in my own.

“Thank you. Same to you.” I see his body relax as I offer him a small smile, like he was genuinely worried about talking to me. It’s kind of sweet, for a guy who’s been nothing but a total snake in the grass.

I let his hand go and turn back to Pippy with a renewed sense of excitement. If someone like Stefan Dalca can come around, maybe Cole can too? The day isn’t over yet. But now, it’s time to put boys and drama out of my mind. It’s time to work, to get down to business.

It’s time to win a race.

With all our silks on, we walk out of the barn toward the hitching ring. Billie pops out of nowhere like usual, wearing one of the pantsuits she always dons on big race days, gives me my leg up, and leads me down to the circus that is Saturday afternoon at Bell Point Park. Pippy looks around with interest, but not with alarm or anxiety—something that is distinctly not normal for a two-year-old at her debut race.

Other horses prance around anxiously, frothing at the bit, but she just walks her big steady walk with a curious look on her face. It’s like she’s been here before. Like she’s here to teach us all a lesson, and maybe she is. I’m just not sure what it is yet.

When we get to the hitching ring, Billie gives my knee a squeeze and sends me in with a “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

I’m handed off to the pony horse, and everything else falls away. The noise, the distractions. All I see is what’s between those pointy brown ears. My goal lies straight ahead. All I need to do is reach out and take it. Billie and I talked strategy earlier. The basic plan is: take it easy, and let her find her footing. This race is practice since it’s not a qualifier. It’s a test. There is no pressure, except for the heaping piles of it I’ve put on myself.

After one lap, we load up into the gate, and I can feel Pippy tense up a little bit—finally. Her big ears flop around like windmills on her head, making me chuckle, and I reach down to give her some gentle scratches.

“Good baby. You got this. Everyone ruled you out. They thought you were too small, too weak. We’re going to show them though, aren’t we? We’re going to show them what that rosy little attitude will get you.”

And maybe that’s my lesson. Positive energy begets positive energy. A winning outlook, that’s what Pippy has, and when the bell rings and those gates fly open, I smile. I feel it in my soul.

Pippy is going to win this race.

She drops her head and drives forward, hard. She doesn’t hang back and take some space, she doesn’t assess the competition. It feels like it’s more likely that she’ll run them right over if they don’t get out of her way.

Gone is the sweet little filly. In her place is a competitor. She drops her head and pushes hard from behind. I try to hold her back a bit. She isn’t all that fit yet, and I don’t want her burning all her energy down the first stretch. Running flat out from start to finish isn’t anyone’s ideal game plan. Except Pippy’s, apparently.

She takes the bit between her teeth and drags me down that first straightaway. I sit up, leaning away slightly, trying to ease her off. But she’s not having it. She is full throttle and flying to the front of the pack. And me? I feel like a little kid on a runaway pony. All that time spent turning and stopping and going, all those little nuances that I thought she had a decent enough grasp on, go out the door. At her practice runs on the farm, she was fast. But not like this.

So, I’m left with a choice. Fight with her or let her run the race in a way that feels natural to her. Let her take the lead and show me what she needs.

I barely need to think about it.

I press my feet into the irons, get low on her neck, and let her run away with the lead. She flows through the corner beautifully, and I can’t help but smile. Being on a horse, with the wind on my face, I feel alive. And based on the way she’s not tiring, I’d say that Pippy does too. She uses that final turn to rocket herself into the straightaway. We are absolutely flying, and I’m glad this is a short race, because I don’t know how long she can keep this up.

When I chance a look behind myself, I almost can’t believe what I see. The other horses have to be at least ten lengths behind us. With a small shake of my head, I press my knuckles into her mane and get low. Might as well make it eleven lengths.

We thunder down the straight to the finish post on an even tempo. I can feel her tire beneath me, but by this point, the spread is so big that it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to push her.

We sail across the finish line—it isn’t even close.

I let my arms slide down around her neck as I press a kiss to her mane and laugh. That was the most bizarre and most fun race of my life. Pipsqueak is a total psychopath.

“You’re nuts. You know that?” I sit up tall to slow her a little. Scratching at her withers the way I know she likes, feeling my cheeks ache with the intensity of the smile I can’t wipe off my face.

I see our pony horse move up out of my periphery, something I’m glad for because Pippy doesn’t seem too keen to stop. Hopefully an older, calmer horse will get her head screwed back on right. I’m still looking around as the rider comes up beside us and reaches for the rein. Sad as it sounds, I’m still looking around, hoping I might catch sight of Cole somewhere. Wearing a beautiful suit and that growly look on his face. I love that growly look, and the voice that matches it.

I love him.

I should enjoy this win. But I’m pining after a guy I fell in love with like some wishy-washy teenager.

“I knew you’d win,” the pony rider says from beside me. But his voice is . . .

I look over, and my jaw goes slack. Because Cole Harding is on the sturdy quarter horse beside me. He’s holding Pippy’s rein. He’s on a horse.

“Cat got your tongue?” He grins, looking so damn proud of himself.

My eyes prickle and fill as I work to pull Pippy up, wanting to slow down. Wanting to stop—wanting time to stand still so I can crawl into his lap again. “You’re here.”

“Surprise.” His smirk is panty-melting. All I can bring myself to do is shake my head. “Did you think I’d miss it?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

“I . . .” We slow to a trot and then a walk before coming to a complete stop in the middle of the track while other horses barrel past us to the exit gate. “I honestly wasn’t sure.”

“Both my girls in one race? No chance.”

My girls. “I just . . .” My mouth moves, but no sound comes out. “It’s been two weeks!”

“I know. Learning how to ride again with a prosthetic in only two weeks was almost a full-time job.”

I scan his body in the big western saddle. He looks comfortable. “You look good,” I say honestly. “How did you pull this off?”

He chuckles. “Billie.” Like her name alone explains everything. “Something about horses being therapy. I honestly think she might be onto something.”

“You’re here. On this track. On a horse,” I say dumbly, still having a hard time wrapping my head around it.

He looks around as if soaking in everything. The sights, the sounds, the horses, and a wistful smile touches his lips as he looks back at me. “I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to live in the dark anymore.”

My throat constricts, and I wish I could say something, but I’m too choked up. I wipe my eyes and look around us shyly. That’s what I wanted to hear. Not that he’s only doing this for me, but for himself.

“Come on, let’s get you off the track.”

I nod, letting him give the rein a gentle tug as he leads us toward the gate and the winner’s circle. I’m dazed. Elated. Shocked.

I watch him ride, and he looks so natural. He said he rode with his dad. It was something they liked to do together. Hit the trails and go on an adventure. I know he hasn’t sat on a horse since his father’s death.

“How does it feel? Riding again?” I murmur quietly as our horses’ hooves clip-clop in unison on the concrete path to the winner’s circle.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, peeking at me from the corner of his eye. “It feels like this is what he would have wanted.”

I nod, sensing he’s had a bit of a breakthrough, and look back up at the crowd gathering at the winner’s circle. It’s not quite the frenzy it usually is with DD, but it might be even more satisfying. It might be the best race ever, to be honest.

Cole is about to hop off his horse, but I can’t take it anymore. “Stop.” I reach out and grab his elbow right as he looks over my way. “Does this mean you’re going to try?”

He looks around us shyly, knowing that people are watching now. Probably wondering why the hell I’m having an intense conversation with the rider of my pony horse. He looks at me so sincerely, I swear I feel my heart squeeze in my chest. He reaches out, one hand on my cheek, thumb rubbing like he always does.

“Yeah, Violet. I’m going to try. More than that, I’m going to just fucking do it. Because you? Us? I think we’re meant to be. You found me, and I found you. Over and over again. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”

A big fat tear rolls down my cheek. He catches it and wipes it away. “I love you, Violet Eaton. I loved you before I ever met you. And God knows, I love you even more now.”

More tears fall. I hear murmurs around us, but I don’t care. I can’t look away from his silvery moonlit eyes. He thinks he’s dark. I think he just shines differently. The way the moon illuminates the world at night, soft and subtle. He doesn’t shine, he glows. Especially when he looks at me the way he is right now.

And the thought that I could be the one to make this man glow? It takes my breath away. “I love you, too,” I whisper, eyes searching his, wishing I had more words for him.

He leans down, and his mouth finds mine.

And I opt to just show him how I’m feeling.

I pour myself into this kiss. The pain, the longing, the admiration—I lay it all out, and he soaks it all up. Every hurt, every triumph. He’s there, and I know he always will be. His hands on my skin tell me so, his tongue against mine like a promise.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. “Go. Savor your win. We’ll finish this off in a stall later.” I giggle and blush at the memory, peeking around us, realizing we’ve got an audience. “I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

With one more swift brush of my lips, I turn and walk a very pleased looking Pippy into the winner’s circle, where she basks in the attention and pricks her ears up prettily for pictures. I soak it all up, knowing Cole is right there.

And he’s not going anywhere.

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