A Photo Finish: Chapter 13

I’M LYING on my bed, in pajamas, chatting. As usual. I just told Butterface that I grew up on an honest-to-God ranch, and he seems horrified.

My cheek twitches. If he can say suggestive things, I don’t see why I can’t do the same.

I nibble at my lip and consider my next move. He’s in a good mood. I think he’s even flirting with me. It makes my chest feel all fluttery.

I laugh and look up at the ceiling. Sad, Violet. I’ve got that new-love-interest, giddy feeling over a stranger on the internet. I’m too old for this. I know better.

Oh, god. I shouldn’t have said that. I roll up onto my knees and stare down at my phone screen like I’m waiting for big news when, really, I’m just watching those dots roll across the screen as he types. I wonder if he’s lying on his bed doing the same thing as me.

Jesus. My finger hovers over that little video camera icon. What would it be like to just throw caution to the wind and do it? Could I handle it? I don’t know anymore.

My response sounds resolute. But I’m feeling anything but. I’m confused. Tempted. Horny. Instead of giving in, I pull my favorite toy out of my bedside table and pretend I said yes.

I LOOK around the expansive owner’s lounge at Bell Point Park. As a farm girl from Alberta turned groom, turned brand new jockey, this isn’t somewhere I’ve been privy to until now. Usually, I’m covered in horse manure and sweat down in the stables. And to be honest, I think I prefer that.

I put on my nicest dress, and I still feel like I’m out of place. One ballet flat, one walking cast, and a pretty, flowy floral dress that’s perfect for a hot day and maybe less so for the amount of icy air-conditioning pumping into this room.

“Here.” Cole comes to stand beside me by the tall windows and holds out a drink with an umbrella in it. I don’t miss the way his cheek twitches when I look up at him.

Now we’re joking around? Cole Harding gives me whiplash. Cold and agitated. Hot and handsy. Friendly and joking. How many versions are there? And why do I like them all?

“Cheers,” I say with a small chuckle as I take the drink and clink it against his glass of water.

I have no clue where we stand right now. I spent all afternoon grooming Pipsqueak in the sun. Practicing picking up her feet. Throwing brushes over her back, so she gets used to seeing something out of the corner of her eye when I eventually swing a leg over instead. It’s probably time for me to get some tack down at the house so I can mess around with trying the saddle and bridle on her. Because she is downright unflappable. Everything is just a fun game for her. Nothing startles her. Even Cole, drilling and hammering away on her shiny new shelter all day, didn’t bother her.

In fact, she often went over there to check out her new digs and to give his elbow a little nuzzle. And I pretended not to see when he’d swipe a wide, gentle palm over her forehead.

Doesn’t like horses, my ass.

I have yet to meet a better judge of character than a horse, and Pipsqueak wouldn’t be hanging around him if he gave off that vibe. As much as I hate to admit it, she might even like him more than me.

Or maybe he just needs her more than I do.

A thought that makes my chest ache.

“Do you usually watch from up here?” I ask, trying to make conversation and fill the awkward void between us.

I sneak a look up at him. The bump of his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he opens his mouth to answer me without returning eye contact.

“I don’t—”

And then I see a perfectly manicured hand slide over the shoulder of his suit jacket.

“Cole,” a woman’s light, feminine voice comes from the opposite side of him as she pulls into view, standing just a little too close to be a passing acquaintance. She’s petite, like me, but that’s where our similarities end. She’s dripping in expensive jewelry, and her perfectly painted red lips are a match for her sleek hair. “Long time no see.”

Cole shifts toward her, essentially blocking me out of the conversation by covering my body protectively with the bulk of his. “Hilary.”

I can tell by the way he’s holding himself—shoulders rolled back, neck held high, chin tipped up proudly—that all traces of the humor from before have dried up almost instantly in this woman’s presence. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been privy to what Cole looks like happy and relaxed.

And this ain’t it.

His knuckles are white around the glass in his hand, and I see his opposite one clenched into a fist at his side. His tells may not be as blatant as my flaming face or bulging eyes, but this is what Cole looks like when he needs rescuing. I can see that he’s struggling, and suddenly I’m feeling very protective of him. I put my drink down on the table beside us as I step around his broad frame. My hand slides over his fist and I push my fingers between his tense ones. They both look down at me, equally surprised by my appearance. But where Hilary looks irritated, I feel Cole’s hand soften in my own and hear the breath that rushes out between his lips in relief.

“Hi. I’m Violet.”

She stretches one hand toward me politely with a fake smile plastered on her face. “Violet. I’ve never heard of you before. But what a pretty name. I’m Hilary.”

I almost snort, because I’ve spent enough time around my brother’s past girlfriends to know fake nice when I see it. To know words laced with venom when I hear them. Hilary isn’t fooling anyone with her polite act, and I know she’s not fooling Cole by the way his hand pulses around mine.

I return her false, tittering laugh with one of my own. “Well, that’s too funny because I’ve heard so much about you!” I haven’t, but my guess works.

Her face clamps down almost instantly as her eyes shoot up to Cole, seeking some sort of invite to stay but not finding any. “Well, it was nice seeing you again. It’s been too long.”

She rests her hand on his bicep, and I want to rip it off. White-hot jealousy shoots up my throat. Instant nausea. And instant self-loathing. I have absolutely zero claim to this man, yet here I am getting my panties in a twist over someone touching his arm with a familiarity I envy. Pathetic.

He nods sullenly as she turns and walks back across the room. We both watch her go, hand in hand, my gut churning with a deep sense of dread.

“I need some fresh air,” I squeak as I set my sights on the door and dart away. Or as close to darting as I can muster with this damn walking cast. I’m so beyond ready to ditch this thing and get back to my life. My job. My focus. This hiatus is messing with my brain.

I sigh in relief as the stairs out of the godforsaken building come into sight. I need to be down on the ground with the dirt, and the noises, and the beer-drinking gamblers. I don’t belong up there.

One more set of stairs comes into view as I round the corner. Except the exit is not clear. Far from it.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Patrick Cassel drawls with a stupid, smug smile on his face. I recoil but jut my chin out and keep walking, deciding the best way to handle a child is to ignore their attention-seeking behavior.

“Shame about the cast.”

“Mhmm,” I say, keeping my eyes peeled on the door ahead, on the bright white sunshine pouring into the dark landing, shining like a beacon for where I can get away from both Cole and Patrick.

But then his arm shoots out in front of me as he grabs the railing at the base of the stairs to block my forward motion.

“Trying to leave so quickly?”

“Move your arm, Patrick.” I glare back at his manicured features and too-thin lips made especially ugly by the snide look on his face.

“Most new girls on the scene would bend over backwards to have my attention. Forward too.” He winks, and my skin crawls. I know that this kind of shit happens behind the scenes. The sex. The drugs. The drama. And it’s part of why I prefer hiding out in Ruby Creek on the ranch. I don’t want to be down at the track every day catching whatever ride I can with whatever trainer I can. I like my bubble.

“Move. Your. Arm.”

“You might enjoy yourself, and I might give you a little more space the next time I pass you out there.”

My throat goes hot with rage. It’s one thing to think he cut me off on purpose. But to hear him confirm it is something else entirely.

But a dangerous voice takes over my train of thought from behind me. “Nobody enjoys fucking you, Patrick. Now move your arm before I remove it completely.”

I turn my head to look over my shoulder and find Cole standing at the top of the stairs like some sort of dark, avenging angel. He often looks grumpy, but right now, he looks downright deadly. All those years in the military have scored every hard line in the body that stands over us. He looks relaxed. Too relaxed. Like this is an easy default mode for him. And Patrick, idiot that he is, doesn’t pick up on the danger at all.

He laughs. “Harding Senior. Nice to see ya, buddy.”

I don’t even spare Patrick a glance, mostly because I can’t tear my eyes off Cole. He looks like he could tear the other jockey limb from limb, and I’m alarmingly turned on by the prospect. I know they know each other from some intertwined family business, and Cole had him ride DD at his debut race that went poorly. I also know Cole is not looking back at Patrick like they’re friends.

“We’re not buddies,” Cole bites out. “You’re a slimy little fuck who I would love nothing more than to set straight. If you think that episode with the whip hurt, you have no clue what you’re in for. What I’m trained to do.”

Patrick, who is clearly missing some sort of survival instinct, scoffs at him. “Dude. You’re not seriously worried about this barn brat, are you? Our little conversation is just part of how things run around here. There are loopholes to working your way up in the world. Violet just needs to learn them.”

“Touch her, and I’ll kill you.” Cole’s voice is downright arctic.

Patrick just smirks in the face of the threat. He steps right up to me and defiantly places his spare hand on my shoulder. Like I’m too simple to understand his implication—like it’s perfectly normal to talk about another person like they aren’t even there. Like touching a woman without her permission is acceptable.

From the corner of my eye, I see Cole spring into motion, but not before uncontrollable fury lances through me. My season is in the toilet thanks to this sleaze bag, and the realization makes me snap. I do to Patrick exactly what I’d have done to one of my shithead brothers when they picked on me too much.

I knee him right between the legs. Hard. And then stand back to watch him double over in pain.

“Serves him right,” Cole says from behind me, surprise lacing his tone. His hand lands on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. I don’t want anyone touching me right now. I feel angry, and scared, and like I just narrowly missed what could have been a very scary encounter.

“Are you okay?”

I press my shaking hand against my chest to feel my heart racing there, to feel my ribs heave as I struggle to catch my breath.

“Let me help you.” His voice is soft, but I don’t want this side of him. I don’t want to be coddled. Especially not by him. It makes me feel things I shouldn’t. And Patrick? I want to get as far away from him as possible.

“I’m good.” I take that final step onto the landing, striding around a groaning Patrick, desperate to get out that door and away from whatever that was.

The worst part is, deep down, I want Cole to follow me.