SIX MONTHS AGO
“Dalca, you piece of . . .”
Here we go. The woman who works for, and is engaged to, my biggest competitor is going to fly off the handle. Again. Billie Black is especially talented at this kind of behavior. She reminds me of my little sister. Entitled and impulsive. The difference is my sister likes me.
This woman does not.
It’s a bold spot to make a scene. I’ll give her that. We’re in the middle of a public roadway at the prestigious Bell Point Park. Our horses are ready for their race. In fact, hers is standing right behind her with the petite, fair-haired jockey they seem to use exclusively now.
I slide my hands into the pockets of my suit pants and quirk one eyebrow at her in challenge. I would be lying if I were to say I don’t take some small pleasure in riling people up. File that away under the behavior of a child who didn’t get enough attention growing up. Any attention is good attention, and this type of attention is especially amusing for me.
But the raven-haired veterinarian steps in front of the other two women, hitting me with a look that would make a lesser man’s balls shrivel.
“Stefan, walk with me.” She crooks a finger and heads in the opposite direction without even looking back, like she just knows I’ll follow.
I’m not sure what’s going on. It feels like I’m in trouble; it looks like I’m in for some sort of scolding. I smooth my hands over the lapels of my suit jacket and clear my throat in the way of saying goodbye to the two women glaring at me and spin on my heel. Billie makes an immature gagging noise as I walk away, but I tip my chin up and keep walking after the woman who has piqued my interest since the first time I laid eyes on her.
Dr. Mira Thorne. My favorite equine veterinarian in the area for more than one reason. The woman is beautiful. But more than that, she’s smart. Cunning. Thinks quickly on her feet. She’s impressive in so many ways.
She’s a challenge.
And I love a challenge.
I’ve seen her save more than one horse down at the track with her quick thinking. She may be younger than the other track veterinarians, but it strikes me she could probably run circles around the rest of them.
Her impressive brain doesn’t stop me from admiring the way her hips sway as she marches away from me, straight toward the barns. She takes a hard left near a tractor and moves to the other side where no one will see or hear us. My stomach flips.
What the hell is going on?
Dr. Thorne is an alluring woman, and I’m still human enough to admit that. There’s an arrogant edge to her cool exterior, hawkish intelligence in her eyes. A spark that, with the right fuel, just might combust.
She spins on me, her dark eyes pinched as she homes straight in on mine. I like that she doesn’t shy away from eye contact, and I meet it, even if there’s a minor part of me that’s concerned about what she’s going to say next. Something feels off.
“How can I help you, Dr. Thorne?” I force my voice to sound smooth and confident, even though I’m brimming with questions.
“It’s more about how you can help yourself.”
I tilt my head at her, studying her face, admiring the straight line of her nose, the angle of her brows, the puffiness of her lips, and the stubborn set to her jaw.
“I’m going to give you a bit of advice, Stefan.” I like the way she calls me by my first name—the way it sounds in her mouth. “The horse racing business is a tight-knit industry in this area. This community is small, and Ruby Creek is even smaller. Making enemies of Billie and the Harding family is not in your best interest. You compete on the track, not off.”
I almost want to roll my eyes. “Thank you for your input, Dr. Thorne. But unfortunately for Billie and the Harding family, I like to compete everywhere.”
She nods at me slowly, turning my words over in her head as her arms come up to cross under her full breasts. They’re magnificent. I’ve noticed over the past couple of years that she tries to hide them with layers. Sometimes, when it’s damp and cold, she wears this big, brown Carhartt coat, but today she’s wearing a fitted, quilted vest over her long-sleeved T-shirt that does her nothing but favors. It nips in around her waist, and I swear she almost can’t get the zipper all the way up.
But I don’t stare. I’m not a total Neanderthal.
“Then you’ll need to find another veterinarian to use.”
I scoff. “You can’t be serious. All because I made a perfectly fair offer to buy one of their horses?”
Her chocolate eyes are all fire now. “First of all, that was a very subtle attempt at blackmail, and we both know it. But bravo on walking that line so skillfully. This time it’s different, Stefan. You’ve gone too far. I don’t work for men who employ predators.”
I rear back, ice racing down my spine and stiffening my entire body. “What did you just say to me?”
Mira drops her chin and offers me an unimpressed look. “You heard me. You’re a smart man, so don’t play stupid about Patrick Cassel. You’ve taken this vendetta too far by weaponizing your employee.”
Every ounce of humor drains from my body as I stare back down at this woman, who is accusing me of something I would never do. Patrick Cassel is the jockey I’ve hired to ride my horses. Do I like the guy? Not particularly. But he wins, and I like to win.
“I would never do that. Not in a million ye—”
She cuts me off. “He intentionally took Violet down on that track. Purposely injured another comp—”
My spine stiffens as I fist my hands in my pockets and interrupt her right back. “That is still under review.”
“Shouldn’t be. I overheard him confirm it when he cornered her, terrified her, and told her he wouldn’t do it again so long as she slept with him.”
My throat feels tight as I blink stupidly at the veterinarian, trying to wrap my head around what she’s just told me. Trying to keep the rage surging up inside of me at bay. I can’t let how distraught this makes me show.
“Is she okay?” is the first thing I think of, and I blurt it straight out. The thought of him doing something like what Mira just described makes me feel borderline murderous.
She blinks a few times, assessing me. “Yes. She’s small but mighty.”
My breath rushes out in a whoosh. Mira has no reason to lie to me about this. She’s been nothing short of professional, even though her friends and employers have labeled me as the Big Bad Wolf.
But apparently, she’s not done knocking me on my heels for today. “I also have my suspicions about what he’s doing to the horses he works with.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I saw him inject one with something before a race last weekend.”
“One of mine?”
“No. But it doesn’t matter whose it was. He was acting off, looking around like he didn’t want anyone to see. It just didn’t seem right. Between you and me, you need to be careful. Both of these things could come back on you and your business.”
“I… had no idea.” And Patrick Cassel is a dead man walking.
She shakes her head, and her chest heaves under the weight of a tired sigh. “The worst part is I actually believe you. I don’t think you’re the devil everyone makes you out to be, Stefan. Here’s your chance to prove it. Find a new jockey, and I’ll continue working for you.”
I almost laugh. She looks so serious, so deadly serious. “Isn’t that blackmail, Dr. Thorne?”
The smiles she hits me with now is pretty much a snarl. She reaches out and pats me on the chest, right over the front pocket of my suit jacket. It’s almost condescending.
“No, Mr. Dalca. It’s a perfectly fair offer.”
I bark out a laugh as she spins on her heel and walks away. She just spat my words right back at me with a pretty smile. She knows she’s got me by the balls, and she’s absolutely delighted about it. On top of that, she’s walking away with the last word.
I hate not getting the last word.
“Let me take you on a date, and we’ll call it a deal. I’ll fire Patrick,” I call out—only half joking.
It’s her turn to laugh now. It filters back toward me, melodic and amused.
“No chance, Stefan. You’d fall in love with me, and then I definitely couldn’t be your vet.”
And with one sly wink over her shoulder, she’s gone. Back around the tractor, melting into the race day crowds at Bell Point Park, thinking I’ll fall for her whole smart-mouthed, confident persona.
Challenge accepted.
Five Months Ago…
Second place. Again.
The whir of the track immediately following a major derby rages behind me as I stand at the fence line watching the horses cool down after a hard-fought race. I’m disappointed. I hate losing, and I’m not above admitting I especially hate losing to Gold Rush Ranch and all their happy, sunshiny positivity and family-like vibe. I swear I can hear them cheering above the buzz.
I know it’s petty—I know I’m jealous. But I really thought this was my year. I thought I had a horse that could beat the spunky little black stallion. My horse, Cascade Calamity, is well-bred. He’s an athlete—a competitor—but the Gold Rush horse is a force to be reckoned with.
They had two races in hand heading into the final leg of the Northern Crown, so while I knew I couldn’t take the crown—I definitely thought I could prevent them from taking it again. Back-to-back crown wins with that horse will make Billie and her boyfriend so much more smug and obnoxious than they already are.
“He ran well.” Nadia slips her hand into mine and gives it a tight squeeze.
I give her a curt nod, still looking out at the track. “He did.”
“Maybe next year.” She says it sweetly, but with a total lack of understanding.
Nothing is certain in this sport. Some racehorses have long, healthy careers, but the vast majority of them don’t. They get sore, they get sour, and I’m not about to push my horses beyond what they’re capable of doing. I’m not going to ruin an animal just to win a race, and it’s my feeling this boy is about ready to retire. He’s sound, he’s happy, and he’s had a very winning career. I can stand him at stud somewhere, and he can spend his days eating grass and making babies.
I respect him enough to let him walk away from the sport while he’s still healthy. Could I run him into the ground for another season and make some cash? Probably. But I refuse to do that to an animal who has run his heart out for me and my business.
He deserves better.
And despite what Billie Black—who clearly hates me—likes to run around telling everyone, I am not a dick. Well, at least not to my horses.
“You know what you need to do.”
I peer down into Nadia’s mahogany eyes. She’s grimacing at me because she knows how much I’m already dreading what I have to do next.
My shoulders heave under the weight of a heavy sigh, and I give her a terse, “Yup.”
A quick squeeze on her slender shoulder and I’m gone, pushing my way through the bustling crowd toward the winner’s circle. I hate watching the race from the owner’s lounge, surrounded by the sorts of people I can’t stand, the types I turned away from when I left Europe. Money. Excess. Lack of sense. Obsessed with their image.
I hate it all.
So, I watch down at track level, among all the Regular Joes. It feels more real down here. More separated from how I grew up. And I’ll do almost anything to distance myself from that.
I make my way through a sea of oversized hats and fancy dresses. Derby day is charming to be sure. The excitement is palpable. It’s hard not to get swept up in the thrill. But right now, as I approach the winner’s circle, all I feel is dread.
I need to walk in there and congratulate my competitors. The Gold Rush Ranch team. Billie Black. The Harding brothers. The little blonde jockey who always looks at me like she feels sorry for me. That expression might be worse than the total distaste the fiery trainer aims my way.
With the circle in sight, my steps falter. Dr. Mira Thorne is also there with them, a sultry smile on her lips and a twinkle in her big, dark eyes. My stomach flips at the sight of her, like it always does. I must be a glutton for punishment because getting turned down by her has become one of my favorite pastimes.
The crowd presses in around the circle—reporters, cameras, fellow owners, and jockeys. Everyone comes out of the woodwork to ask questions and offer their congratulations.
It’s the classy thing to do, and I’m not about to play into their hand with what they think about me. I’m aware they hate me—more than the average athlete hates their closest competition. But I don’t need to give them more reasons to.
Kill them with kindness.
Walking up with a forced smile on my face, I try not to stare at Mira. I have a good idea of how this is going to go, but it still needs to be done. I stop right in front of Billie, who hates me more than any of them. She’s the ringleader in the campaign against me—that much is clear. And I suppose there’s a part of me that can’t blame her.
All is not fair in love and war where she’s concerned. And that chip on her shoulder has proven impossible to smooth out.
“Miss Black.” I thrust my hand out in her direction. “Congratulations on another Crown win. Absolutely incredible.”
And I actually mean it. Back-to-back wins are practically unheard of. An exceptional feat, to be sure.
But her shapely brow arches with pure disdain. “You think I’d shake your hand?”
I should have known she would make a scene.
I tut at her, replacing a fake smile with a smug smirk. “I thought you might value good sportsmanship.”
She steps in closer toward my hand, looking around herself with a wide, phony smile before whisper-shouting, “You are going to talk to me about sportsmanship?”
“I’m happy to let bygones be bygones.”
She stares back at me, slightly slack-jawed. If looks could kill.
“I don’t make deals with the Devil, Dalca. Some people might look the other way where you’re concerned, but I’m not one of them.”
“Billie.” Vaughn, her fiancé, comes up behind her, snaking an arm around her waist. He leans in close to her ear with a small smile, and I swear he says, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, say nothing at all.”
Her gaze flits up to his, and she gives him a small nod before turning away from me. He doesn’t, though. He stands there and glares at me.
If looks could kill.
“Don’t suppose you’re up for a handshake either?” I shouldn’t say it, but they’re all so childish. It’s difficult not to stoop to their level.
He shakes his head and turns away from me with a disappointed sigh. I make a point not to look around myself. I’m not above feeling some level of embarrassment. And being entirely ignored by some of the biggest names in the business stings. Something I refuse to show.
Shoving my shoulders back, I turn to Violet, who is positively beaming on the back of the black horse. “Remarkable win, Mrs. Harding.”
She looks down at me with a slight smile before placing her small hand in mine. She never has been as hard on me. Instead, she looks at me with pity—which is definitely worse.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Dalca. Your stallion ran well, too.”
From behind Violet, I can see her husband storming through the crowd, looking like he might take my head off. The man is massive and terrifying, and I’m probably out of my league where he’s concerned.
“Stefan.” Mira sidles up beside me, wrapping her hand around my elbow. “It’s time for you to go.”
I tilt my head in her direction with a quirk of my cheek. “But why, Dr. Thorne? I’m having so much fun.”
Her lips purse together like she’s trying to hide a smile. “Because Cole Harding will legit murder you for waltzing in here and making trouble.”
She tugs me away from the center of the circle, other people already pushing in to replace our spots.
I bristle a bit as she leads me toward the surrounding fence. “I’m not making trouble. I’m offering my congratulations like any good competitor would.”
She stops with a sigh and hits me with her signature stern stare. “I know that. But them?” She hikes a thumb over her shoulder toward her closest friends. “They don’t see it that way. The best thing you can do is leave. Send a card in the mail if you need to congratulate them. Please just don’t make a scene. Let them enjoy this.”
I shoot her a disbelieving look. Billie Black might be her best friend, but we both recognize I’m not the scene-maker in this scenario.
“I know.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I know. Please?”
“Please what?” That word sounds so damn good on her lips.
“Please, just go.” Her eyes are wide and pleading. Absolutely distracting.
I tap at my lips and stare up at the sky dramatically like I’m considering what she’s told me. “What’s in it for me?”
“Stefan.” Her tone is so scolding.
I pin her with my gaze. “Let me take you on a date, and I’ll leave like you want me to.”
She shakes her head, and this time she can’t contain the smile that touches her mouth. “You’re insane, you know that?”
Can’t blame a guy for trying.
I wink at her before I turn away and call back over my shoulder. “Yeah, but that’s what you love about me.”
She groans, and I chuckle under my breath as I leave.
Yep. Just insane enough to keep trying.
