Gold Rush Ranch

DD’S SLENDER BACK bumps and sways beneath me. I close my eyes and relax my back and hips to let his motion lull me into a temporary place of calm. His black coat makes touching him like sitting on a big black rock that has been soaking up the sun’s warmth all day.

His inescapable dusty horse smell mingles with the coconut scent of the moisturizing spray I use on him. His aluminum-clad hooves make a dull clip-clop sound against the lush grass and the birds sing sweetly overhead as he plods along the path we take home every day.

This is peace. This is happiness. This exact moment is pretty much heaven. Who needs therapy when you can have this?

DD is like me in that way, we like the simple life. He’ll be much happier away from the hustle and bustle of the track, away from the other horses and trainers, and all the unspoken tension that in evitably floats around places like that.

Horses are simple to understand if you’re listening. If something scares him, he tells me. If he’s busy eating, he tells me. If he doesn’t like someone, he tells me that too. He is honest, direct, and reliable. There are very few surprises with a horse’s personality once you get to know them.

After spending every day together for almost three months I have come to know DD very well, I know his body language, his moods, and I know that he can feel my inner turmoil right now when he stops and looks back at me to gently nibble the boot of my toe. I lean forward and give him a little ear scratch behind the leather strap of his bridle. My “what a sweet boy” comes out so much weaker than I want it to.

But it doesn’t matter. DD won’t judge me.

Not like Vaughn, who must currently think I’m a total nutcase. Okay, more of a nutcase than he already did. My reaction smacked me up the side of the head, like a dodgeball I didn’t see coming. I sure as shit didn’t dodge. And then I’d basically run away from him like a huge cry baby. Like he owed me something. Talk about an overreaction.

He canceled our regular Saturday night dinner to go to some glitzy fundraiser. That’s allowed. And he’s probably got some smoking hot date to take with him. That’s allowed, too. Even though the mere though makes my chest pinch painfully.

I blow a raspberry out through my lips.

My emotional control is somewhat lacking, I’m aware of that character flaw. But this. Yikes. This was new. I should not be disappointed over one missed casual dinner where I make boring small talk with a person I barely even like.

And since I don’t like him, I definitely shouldn’t care that he’s probably going to spend the night with a completely different type of woman than me. She’ll be beautiful and glamorous, and probably not avoiding her family name and her gigantic untouched trust fund. No, Saturday’s girl would probably be perfectly at home in that lifestyle, rather than hiding out with her temperamental equine boyfriend.

It’s his loss. I had planned to make the best asparagus risotto. I’ll still make it, I’ll just force Violet to hang out with me. I don’t have to be a lonely hermit if I don’t want to be.

And who Vaughn bangs in his free time is less than none of my business. In fact, I don’t even want to think about it. It makes me feel a little bit nauseous to let my mind wander over to that image. Why would it make you feel nauseous, Billie? Because he’s gross and all wrong, that’s why.

He’s a quintessential trust-fund baby, exactly what I fled. He cycles through women like I cycle through trashy paperbacks. He’s up tight and has a terrible sense of humor. And he’s my boss at a job that I love and value and don’t want to lose. Essentially, he’s good enough friend material, and terrible anything else material. I hardly notice his dark brooding eyes, defined jaw, and toned shoulders.

I’ll admit to noticing his exceptional work-ethic and his butt, and that’s it. Because I’m only human and that butt is glorious. I get the best view of it when I piss him off and he storms away. Double win.

Basically, other than that ass, I am so not going there. I’ve got horses to train and races to win.

___________________

I START PREPPING dinner early so I’m not still cooking while Violet is here. Housing is limited in Ruby Creek so she lives in the apartment over the barn.

I’ve been in a funk since Vaughn cancelled on me and the sting of not having any long-term friends or family around hurts more than usual. Which is why I’m calling Rich while stirring my risotto for the next few minutes.

“Hey Little Willie!” I roll my eyes at my brother’s greeting even though he can’t see me.

“Shut up, Dick.”

He cackles. This has been an ongoing point of amusement for us throughout our lives. How two people as proper as Victor and Miranda Farrington had managed to name both their children names with penis-themed nicknames would forever be beyond me.

“How is slumming it going for you?” My brother prods. He’s such a priss.

“I’m not slumming it, princess. I’m living life like a normal person does. And it’s great, thank you very much.”

“I know, B. I’m just bugging ya. You know how proud I am of you.”

His approval makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. A flash of guilt hits me for not being a better sister to Rich after everything he’s helped me do. “I’m sorry I haven’t called lately. The new gig has been keeping me busy,” I say guiltily.

“Figured as much. Don’t stress it. Busy around here. More of the same. Dad wanted me to ask if you were good for money. Your accounts are all still here—he says you haven’t touched them.”

He always has to go and ruin a perfectly nice conversation with this shit. “Don’t plan to,” I bite out.

“Okay, okay. Don’t shoot the messenger. Just thought I’d ask. They worry about you, you know.”

I snort. “Little late for that, don’t ya think?”

“Yeah, yeah, B. I know. How about a visit sometime this summer? I’ll come play cowboy for a few days, or whatever.”

“Never want to see you in chaps, bro. Never. But yes, absolutely. Let me know when you’re thinking, and I’ll take a peek at my work calendar. I’ll be down at the track in Vancouver a lot more by then, so maybe we can keep you in your natural concrete habitat.” I pause, hating that I even have to ask him my next question. “They don’t know where I am, right?”

His responding sigh is an exhausted one. “No, B. They don’t.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says right as my timer goes off. I hear the line click and look around the empty house, feeling a little less alone after talking to Rich.

With dinner prepped I take a quick breeze through the house to make sure it’s up to snuff for company and then I hit the shower. Violet will probably appreciate seeing me without sweaty helmet hair for once. With time to spare I decide to style my hair for the first time in, I don’t know, possibly years. It’s too long right now, I haven’t had it cut since I was in Ireland.

Not enough time and not enough reason. Usually a braid or a bun is sufficient, especially when most of my days are spent with a helmet or cap on.

But today I use a large barrel curling iron to create some loose shiny waves. The nostalgia of primping like this hits me like a ton of bricks. These are things that mattered before I left my parent’s home. High society pressure told me that it did. That I represented my family reputation in some way, and the care I took in getting ready was somehow a reflection of my pride in that.

My parents would have had something to say if I tried to walk out of the house looking anything short of put together. I’d spend over an hour every morning getting ready for school, like how I looked mattered while I was trying to get an education. And the unspoken part of it all was that it did matter in those circles, no one cared what kind of professional I could become, or how smart I was, they cared about what connections I could make through marriage.

Welcome to the 1800s! What a joke.

I pair my shiny chestnut locks with something plain and casual, a silent middle finger to my upbringing. Torn light denim jeans and a thin white crop sweater is just low brow enough to do the trick. I’m just finishing up with a quick spritz of perfume when I hear light tentative rapping on the door.

Ha. Violet. So predictably timid. If Vaughn thinks I’m a nutcase then I’m pretty sure Violet must believe I’ve escaped an insane asylum. But we work well together, she’s become the yin to my yang. The horses love her, our gentler handling methods align well, and even though she’s softer than I am she isn’t a pushover. Which is also good because this industry will eat a flakey woman alive.

I swing the door open to find diminutive, little Violet standing there with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bottle of white wine in the other.

“You’re already the best date I’ve had in years.”

Her shoulders rise up to her ears and she squeezes her lips together to avoid smiling.

“Vi, has anyone ever told you how adorable you are?” I say, grabbing the flowers from her outreached hand and taking them to the kitchen to find something that could pass as a vase.

“Yeah, you. Almost daily.” She snorts sarcastically.

“There she is! Violet the paradox. Never change.”

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s your wine opener? I need a drink.”

I eye her speculatively, and hand her a corkscrew.

“Something you want to share?”

“Nope.” She replies, popping the P in an ultra sassy way so I know that she’s lying.

“Is it a guy?”

Her bright blue eyes assess me from over the wine glass she has already filled and is all but chugging from.

“Yikes,” I say, forcing my lips back into a toothy grimace. “Would you like to speak with the resident therapist? His office is just out that door.” I point to the back corner of the kitchen. “He’s the strong, silent, dreamy one with shiny black hair.”

Her cheeks suck in to keep from spitting out her full mouth of wine.

“Made you laugh!” I cry out, pointing at her.

She’s giggles and daintily dabs at her lips. I think I successfully made her lose a few drops of wine. “No, I think I’m good to just drink and chill out for tonight... unless you want to go over that hair pulling episode with Mr. Harding yesterday?” Her brow quirks up quizzically.

“Alright!” I reply a little too brightly, rounding the corner of the island and slinging my arm over her miniature shoulders. “Come sit with me on the patio, and we can talk about not-guys all night long.”

____________________

THE ASPARAGUS ARE DELICIOUS, just like I knew they’d be, and when we’re finished we lean back in our patio chairs looking out over the back field rubbing our over-full stomachs. We’re polishing off another bottle of wine because, why the fuck not?

“I think I have a food baby,” Violet groans.

“Just make sure you tell everyone that I’m the daddy,” I quip back. Leaving out the part where I, too, feel like I might have a food baby.

She groans again. “Seriously, Billie. Why did you feed me so much?”

“Trying to make you grow, Vi. It’s like you’re stunted. You should become a jockey really.”

“That’s the plan.”

My eyes shift over to her at that, but I’m too full to actually move to look at her.

“Really?”

“Yup. All my hours right now count towards the licensing requirements.”

“I had no idea,” I say thoughtfully. “Why haven’t you asked to do any riding?”

“I don’t know,” she says, stretching out her sprite-like little legs and sighing. “I just haven’t wanted to step on any of the exercise rider’s toes, you know? I have to sort of wait my turn.”

I muster the energy to sit up, turn towards her, and look at her intensely.

“No, Violet. I don’t know. Life doesn’t just happen to you; you make it happen for yourself. Especially as a woman in this business. Say what you want. Say it every damn day. Step on those toes. Bathe in their tears. Achieving your goals,” I give her a good firm, some what tipsy, poke in the middle of her chest, “through hard work, dedication, and natural talent is not crossing a line. Take what you want, do it honorably, but do it unapologetically.”

She stares back at me, all big blue eyes and mop of silvery hair, and gives me a forceful nod. It’s like I can see the determination flicker in her chest and blaze up across her facial features.

“That’s some deep advice for someone who seems like they’re joking around all the time.”

“I’m two speeds. You just haven’t seen me angry yet little Violet,” I retort with a wink, trying to keep my façade up, not wanting to show how solemn I’m feeling beneath it all tonight.

She shudders at that. Like she already knows she probably doesn’t want to see me angry. Smart.

“Go get some sleep,” I say waving my hand at her dismissively. “You start riding some of the young horses on Monday.”

“But who will groom for you?” She responds, looking alarmed.

“We’ll tag team it. I didn’t get to where I am by not knowing how to take care of my own horses. I can do grunt work just as capably as you.”

She looks shocked, pert pink little mouth hanging slightly ajar. In her defense, most trainers wouldn’t ever consider doing a groom’s job. But then plenty of them don’t even get on their own horses, they just set the program and have exercise riders do the work while they critique on the sidelines. I’m not saying that kind of system can’t work, but it’s not my style. If I’m not willing to get my hands dirty how can I expect Violet to want to do it for me?

I cough out a laugh. “Violet, stop giving me that look. You’re going to catch flies in your mouth, and then I’ll have to start calling you fly trap and everyone will want to know why.”

She slams her mouth shut and rubs her hands down the tops of her thighs as she pushes up to stand.

“Okay, Boss Woman.” She says it so quietly that I’m not even sure if I heard her correctly.

I tip my head all the way back and groan very dramatically. “Violet. Don’t ever say that again.”

She’s full-on laughing at me now. “I think I will. And then I’ll bathe in your tears over it.”

“Jesus. What have I done?” I chuckle into her hair while wrapping her tiny frame in a tight hug.

“Thank you, Billie,” she says earnestly.

I step back and look her in the eye, holding her shoulders at arms length with a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “You’re welcome, Violet.”

She beams back at me and then turns to leave, walking through the field towards the stables, in what is not a very straight line. I’d be willing to venture a guess that my little Violet isn’t in the habit of polishing off an entire bottle of white wine. So, I stand there, chuckling to myself, and watching her traverse the hill in the fading light.

With Violet gone now, it’s just me, myself, and my thoughts again. And sometimes I hate living in my own head. I fixate on my past, I grapple with self-doubt, and I overanalyze the future. I feel tired of myself tonight, I need a holiday from my own brain.

So, I open another bottle of wine.

WE’RE FINALLY SETTLED in our spots on the airplane.

In coach. On a public !ight. Even though my family’s company owns a jet and we could have !own back to Ontario for our wedding in total luxury.

Billie said that private jets are “pretentious” and “bad for the environment.”

So here we are.

All six-foot-two of me is cramped into a seat that makes me feel like a pretzel, the length of my femurs angled awkwardly toward my "ance. Especially since she insisted on taking the window seat.

She’d smirked and dove into the bank of three seats, like she knew I’d be crowded in the middle and was amused anyway.

My lips tug up at the memory. She might be the love of my life, but she’s never going to stop picking on me.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The flight attendants start going through their spiel and my eyes drop down, landing on the knee pressed up against mine that won’t stop bouncing.

Since we left the farm Billie has fallen quiet, which is concerning if you know her and her endless chatter. And with only a week to go before our wedding it de"nitely has some alarm bells ringing for me.

I drape my palm over her knee and give her a gentle squeeze. “Babe. You okay?”

She flashes me a tight smile. “Yeah. All good.” Then she turns her head to look back out the window onto the dark tarmac, all deep blues and !ashing lights as the ground crew begins to guide us out for an overnight flight to the East coast of Canada where her parents and brother live.

I rub my thumb in a small circle on her knee, hoping I can soothe her into a calmer state. But the jiggling knee continues up into the sky and is soon joined by the sound of her teeth biting down on a nail as she stares through the small round window.

Something her mom, Miranda, expressly wrote in an email to keep her from doing. So her nails will look good on her wedding day. I had rolled my eyes and brushed the comment off because I know exactly what type of people the Farringtons are—I know how to deal with them. And in the interest of not squaring off with my future in-laws, my strategy is to ignore their shitty remarks for as long as possible.

Billie needs me to shield her from them—from the life she ran from—and I’m happy to do it. I’ll save my temper for when I really need it. And after being the go-between for the past several months, I’m well aware that there is a time when I’m going to need it.

Her mother and I have taken over the wedding planning. Billie wanted no part of the process. She told me she trusts me to plan the perfect wedding and that so long as I’m there at the end of the aisle she doesn’t care about the rest.

But watching her curl in on herself now, I have to wonder if that’s really the case.

I turn towards her, blocking out the woman dozing in the aisle seat with the bulk of my frame. My hand finds Billie’s chin, turning her towards me as I lean in close.

Her amber eyes are wide—wild almost. “Talk to me,” I demand as she nibbles at her bottom lip and scans my face.

With a ragged sigh she softens, leaning her forehead against my lips. “I’m scared. I’m stressed. I really don’t want to go back home. It’s been over a decade since I’ve seen them in person and I...“ She shakes her head and looks up momentarily, like she might find the right words written on the ceiling of the airplane somewhere. I fucking hate seeing her like this. My happy, snarky, inappropriate girl. The woman who brings grown men to her knees with the size of her attitude. I hate knowing that people she hasn’t had contact with in years can do this to her from the other side of the country.

“There’s a big part of me that doesn’t want to see them again. I’m not the girl they remember, I’ll never be her again. But I almost want to go just to prove that to them. I know their love is conditional. I know that if I’m not the perfect little well-bred doll they want me to be they’ll have something to say about it.”

Let them fucking try.

“I mean, hey. At least you picked a man they approve of.” I joke, trailing my fingers over her cheek bone as she rolls her eyes.

“That’s even worse! You’re like my mom’s wet dream. If she could have arranged a marriage, she’d have picked someone with your credentials or whatever other dumb fucking word she’d have for it.”

She groans, before giggling quietly and nuzzling into my neck. The sound of her light laughter eases the anxiety coiled in my chest. The tip of her nose trails over my throat as her lips press against my collar bone, just above the V line of my t-shirt. And that has all the blood in my body rushing to my cock—like always.

“You know what I don’t give a !ying fuck about, Billie?”

“Careful, they’ll want you to call me Wilhelmina while we’re there putting on the show.”

I cup the back of her skull, weave my "ngers into her silky chestnut hair, and tip her face up to mine again. “We’re not putting on a show, Billie. I’ll call you what I want, when I want. Because this wedding is about us. It’s you and me and the rest of our lives together. The thing I don’t give a fuck about is your parents or whatever anyone else thinks. Do you understand me? Your home is with me, not with them.”

My fingers pulse and my teeth grind at the mere thought of these people ruining this experience for her. At how they jerk her around. If I let it, it could send me into an absolute rage. So when she nods her understanding, I kiss her. Hard.

I kiss her with all I’ve got. When I tug on her hair she whimpers and I use that moment to slide my tongue into her mouth, swallowing the noise. Our lips move against each other with a fervor that is probably not appropriate for a public flight.

But I don’t give a flying fuck about that either.

I pull back, breathing heavily and trying to ignore how uncomfortably I’ve swollen in my jeans. The points of her nipples pressing against the thin material of Billie’s shirt tell me she’s feeling much the same.

I drag my lips against the shell of her ear to distract her further. She shivers and my voice comes out all gravelly when I say, “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll turn around, take you home, fuck your brains out, and marry youat city hall. Hell, I’ll marry you in a back alley with the rats as our witnesses. I’ll marry you any place, any time.”

A saucy smile plays on her full lips when I take in her face. She takes a hold of my free hand and pulls it against the warm apex of her thighs. Her tongue darts out to wet them when she whispers back, “The rats do sound cute, but I’m thinking less about that, and more about riding your fingers right now, Boss Man.”

This. This is my girl.

I glance over my shoulder at the woman beside us. Noise cancelling headphones on. Eyes closed. Good enough.

Then I reach beneath the seat in front of me, grab my leather jacket and toss it over my fiance's lap. Within moments she has her jeans undone and I’m sliding a hand into her lace panties, tracing my fingers over her slick pussy.

“So ready for me,” I whisper.

“What can I say? I love it when you use your serious, boardroom voice.” Her head tips back and her lashes flutter shut on a breathless sigh when I slide one finger inside her.

We stay close together and speak in hushed tones, hidden in our own little corner under the dim light of a night flight.

“Legs wider.”

She responds instantly, slender "ngers wrapping around my forearm as her nails dig in.

“What a good fucking girl you are.” I press a kiss to the column of her neck and add a second "nger, smiling devilishly when I feel her grind down on my hand.

“Vaughn...”

“I love the sound of my name on your lips, Billie.”

Her eyes flutter open, suddenly less playful than before. I stroke into her slowly and get lost in the glowing depth of her feline eyes. The ones that caught me in a stranglehold on day one and haven’t let me go since. The one’s I’m going to spend the rest of my life looking into.

“I love you, Vaughn.”

“I love you too. Always have, always will. No matter what.” I thrust in harder, and a moan escapes her. I cup her cheek and press my thumb against her lips, revelling in the way she always responds to me. “Shh. I don’t want the entire plane to hear you come all over my hand.”

And then I get to work, watching my future wife fall apart in my arms.

Best sight in the world.

____________________

BILLIE

USUALLY I LIKE cream in my coffee. But in the presence of Miranda and Victor Farrington I think I’d trade my cream for whiskey. Bailey’s isn’t even strong enough to get me through this breakfast.

When the server walks past with a fresh pot of coffee I flag him down.

“Wilhelmina, really. You’ll be all jittery if you drink more coffee,” my mother interjects primly, dabbing at her lipstick. The kind that doesn’t come off even if you rub hand-sanitizer on it, or whatever.

I smile wanly in her direction. “Good point.” Then I turn back to the server who is pouring out a steaming stream of life-blood into the too-small cup on a saucer in front of me. “Can I also grab a shot of Jack Daniels? You know”—I roll my eyes in my mother’s direction—“to help with the jitters.”

My brother, Rich, makes a strangled snorting noise as he shoves his napkin up against his mouth to keep from spewing his co!ee everywhere.

“Richard!” My mother scolds him while my father looks on impassively. Emotionless, as usual.

“Actually, make that two shots of Jack. Little Dickie here could use a drink.” I grin at my big brother and my heart twists in my chest. We’ve always gotten along but the distance I’ve created between my parents and I has kept him away too. He’s chasing his politician goals, following in our father’s footsteps. And unlike me, he’s not quite as keen to rock the boat.

I miss him.

Vaughn raises his hand from beside me. “Why not make it three, friend?”

I smile at my fiance, my rock. What the fuck would I do without him?

“It’s a bit early for drinking, wouldn’t you say, Wilhelmina?” I can see my mother’s eyes pinching as she looks around the opulent dining room at their country club. Like she’s worried someone might see us having whiskey with breakfast and start talking shit.

I hope they do.

You think she’d be immune after the scandal her and my father have endured, but instead they do this really cool thing where they pretend like nothing happened. Gotta love it.

My eyes bug out when my dad pipes up. “Ah, what the hell. Make it four.”

“Victor!” My mother looks downright scandalized. Almost more than when a video of her husband, the Prime Minister of Canada at that time, snorting coke off a hooker’s ass made the rounds.

I almost suggest we do that next. Instead I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood.

“Why don’t we talk more about the ceremony, Miranda?” Vaughn redirects her with something akin to dangling a bone in front of a dog. She loves this bone. She’s going to take it and run.

My wedding has become her wedding.

I know I told Vaughn I didn’t care. But what I meant is that the wedding itself doesn’t matter to me. I meant don’t make a big deal about it. But instead my mother got her meddling fingers into the process and turned it into some sort of social calendar event for her and her tennis friends.

And now I hate it.

I hate that my special day has become more about her than me. But the date is too close to do anything about it now. I’ll grin and bear it. Because in the grand scheme of things it really doesn’t matter. It’s not a day I’ve dreamed of since I was a child, so it shouldn’t matter this much. I’m being petty. It’s one little day, in a big long series of days I plan to spend with Vaughn.

On the West coast.

Away from my parents and their fake elitist bullshit.

“Yes, well. That’s a great idea.” My mom bats her lashes at Vaughn and I roll my eyes dramatically enough that she sees it. Her lips pinch together in disapproval and I start to mentally count how many days I have left in this godforsaken city.

“So after Victor walks her down the aisle—”

“Whoa.” I hold my hand up to interrupt her. “No. Hank is walking me down the aisle.” I don’t miss the "ash of hurt on my father’s face. But he also doesn’t say anything. Not much to say after he dragged me around on his apology tour and trotted me out in front of the press to make himself look better.

Classic Victor.

I’m not sure I’ll ever truly forgive him. And he’s never apologized, or really even reached out to me personally, so I haven’t exactly been given the opportunity. He’s not a mean man, but he’s not a good one either.

Not like Hank.

“Wilhelmina, don’t be ridiculous.” My mother rolls her eyes right back at me, and it incenses me.

Vaughn cuts in, gaze narrowing viciously. “You’ll mind your words, Miranda. That’s my wife you’re talking to.”

I’m not his wife yet, but when he says it butter"ies riot in my stomach. It sounds so good. I want that so badly.

The server returns with our shots interrupting the tense moment. He places them down and when he leaves I flatten my hands on the table and lean across it toward my mother. I can feel all eyes at the table on me, but I’m not backing down.

I haven’t been under her perfectly manicured thumb for years. I’m not going to let her squash me now.

“I’m not being ridiculous. My name is Billie. And that” — I point at my dad — “is my absentee father who has had nothing to do with my life until he needed me to salvage his reputation. Hank will walk me down the aisle. This is not up for discussion. This is my wedding, something you seem to have lost sight of. Pick the cake you want. Pick the colors you want. But this? This is not negotiable.”

I reach for a glass of the amber liquid and throw it back. The burn makes my eyes water as I push to stand. “This has really been swell, everything I dreamed it would be. I’m going back to my hotel room for a nap. I didn’t sleep much on the plane and I’m not all that great at playing charades with you lot.”

I look down at Vaughn who has leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands beneath his chin. He’s looking at my mother like he wishes he could disintegrate her on the spot. There’s an angry "ush on his cheeks, the only outward clue that he’s ready to explode.

“Vaughn?” I ask with a quirk of my head.

“I’ll catch up.” He smiles at me. But it’s feral, cruel. And suddenly I almost feel bad for my parents. Because I know that my future husband is about to eviscerate them.

I roll my lips together, momentarily thinking of all the ways I’m going to thank him later. For once, I’m happy to let someone take care of me. I need it. Leaning down, I brush a quick kiss to his lips.

Then I turn and "ip my parents o!. Because my maturity does in fact know some bounds.

And with that, I storm out of the restaurant and hail a cab back to our hotel.

____________________

BILLIE

“BILLIE.”

I feel gentle fingers combing through my hair and smile. This is a good dream.

“Billie. Sweetheart. You have to get up now.”

“Not yet,” I murmur and snuggle deeper into the down duvet.

“I let you sleep as long as I could. But we need to go.”

My eyes "utter open and I look up into the face of the man I’ve been obsessed with for the past couple of years. Dark eyes, dark brows, darker hair pushed back in the perfect McDreamy swoop. Goddamn, is he pretty.

“Where are we going?” I sigh sleepily, still staring at him like he hung the fucking moon.

“Home. Our home.”

I blink rapidly. “But...” I look around the room, awareness seeping from every corner. “We just got here. Did I sleep through the wedding?” I joke.

“No. Because it’s tonight. In Ruby Creek.”

I shoot up and his hand falls from my hair. “What?”

“We’re not getting married here. We’re not getting married with these people speaking to you that way. I won’t stand for it. We’re doing this our own way. You and me.”

My throat dries out as I swallow desperately and stare down at this beautiful, kind-hearted man crouched beside the bed.

I’m in utter disbelief.

“But... you’ve spent months planning this with Miranda.”

“You think I give a shit about a woman who insults you the way she does? She doesn’t deserve to be at our wedding.”

Tears sting my eyes and my voice croaks when I whisper his name.

He just smiles softly and brushes his lips against the corner of my mouth. He wipes away a tear and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “No time for tears, Mowgli. The jet is waiting for us.”

“Vaughn Harding. You did not.”

“I did. We’re getting out of here as quickly as possible. And if I have to charter a "ight to do it, then I will. Because you’re worth it.”

He squeezes my leg firmly. “Up we get. Rich will be waiting for us already.”

“My brother? Dick?”

“Yes. What do you call him? Little Dickie? Well, Little Dickie wanted to come. Said he wouldn’t miss it. He told me right after he !nished laughing over the dressing down I gave your parents at the country club.” He winks. Shit disturber. God, do I love this man.

I shoot out of bed to pull my things together and realize he’s packed us up. Our bags are set by the door. “You did everything?”

He just tugs me under his arm and presses a reverent kiss against my hair. “You were snoring so sweetly.”

A laugh bubbles up out of me and I slap him across the chest. “I thought you said I purr?”

“That does sound more lady-like, doesn’t it?”

“Dick.” I laugh, reaching for my bag. But he just swats my hand away and takes them both.

“Let’s go. We’ve got a wedding to attend. I’m going to make you Mrs. Harding tonight.”

The smile on his face is downright contagious.

I swing the door open for him and we head into the hallway. “I can’t believe we’re taking a private jet. It’s so pretentious.”

I snuggle into him, feeling inexplicably safe and precious pushed up against his body. Like he’s chosen me. Again.

“If getting you home as quickly as possible so I can marry you tonight makes me pretentious. Then I’ll happily be pretentious.”

Over and over again.

____________________

VAUGHN

BILLIE WAS WHISKED AWAY by Mira and Violet to get ready the moment we got back. Which is how I found myself down at the pasture with Cole and Stefan.

The pasture where she threw a horse cookie at me. The pasture where we sat and had coffee every morning and got to know each other. The pasture where DD brought us together in the most unexpected way possible.

This is where it all started.

And staring at it now lit with hundreds of candles it strikes me that this is the most perfect place to make it all official.

“You two are some seriously romantic motherfuckers. This looks amazing.”

Cole just grunts and crosses his arms with small smirk. Stefan slaps me on the back with a wide grin. “Had to make it up to you. I did kind of break you up that one time, remember?”

I just raise a brow at him and chuckle. That water is so far under the bridge it’s not even funny. I was happy to welcome him into the fold, he’s become one of my best friends. “You’re going to make an adorable #ower girl, Stef.”

“I don’t mind prancing down the path dropping rose petals. I’m not above that.” He laughs. And it’s funny because I know he would do it, too.

A light jangling sound has me turning to see Trixie, Hank’s partner walking down toward the paddock wearing some sort of kaftan looking thing and an awful lot of silver jewellery. I know it’s her, because I can smell the patchouli.

She smiles at us and her eyes crinkle deeply, the lines are proof of years spent smiling. And around Trixie, you can’t help but smile. She's eccentric. A hippie. My brother’s therapist, and apparently is also licensed to marry people.

It’s just obscure enough to not surprise me at all where this woman is concerned.

She claps her hands together dramatically. “Okay! Are we ready, boys?” Her chin just out in the direction of the white pergola they’ve moved into the paddock. “How are we doing this? Is everyone standing up there? Just the two of you? What’s the plan?”

I almost laugh. This morning we were discussing the intricacies of a wedding neither of us wanted with an almost sleep-inducing level of detail. And now we’re here, winging it. And I love it.

This is us.

Messy, funny, unscripted. We always have been. I think we always will be.

“Just the two of us,” I reply. And when she gestures for me to follow her, I do.

The guys take a seat in the plastic folding chairs they’ve lined up. A far cry from the gold chairs Miranda was planning at the country club. As if chairs matter in the face of spending the rest of my life with a woman like Billie.

Mira and Violet walk up with Rich. All three with shit eating grins on their faces. Like everyone and their dog knows this is far and away a better wedding. It feels natural, cozy. It feels like home. Here at the farm where my father and grandfather loved to spend their time. Under the starlit sky, tucked beneath the watchful shadows of the Cascade mountains behind us.

It’s perfect.

And when I look up to see Billie wearing an elegant lace dress and a wide smile, arm linked through Hank’s, I know we made the right choice.

I was right to choose her.

That knowledge settles in my bones as I watch her walk down the candle lit path only to the sound of crickets chirping in the fields.

Her head swivels as she takes in the setting. Her eyes water but her smile grows.

She is breathtaking.

And she’s mine.

When they draw near Hank wraps her in a tight, heart felt hug and whispers something in her ear. She laughs. But they both come away teary-eyed.

The older man reaches forward and shakes my hand firmly. “Your dad. Your grandfather. They’d be proud of you, son.”

I nod, feeling suddenly choked up.

Hank just smiles and squeezes my hand harder. “Take good care of her.”

“I promise,” I say. Meaning it.

And Hank chuckles good-naturedly, shaking his head as he backs away from us. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

At that, everyone laughs. It’s no secret that Billie and I enjoy needling each other. And she can give as good as she gets. It’s one of my favourite things about her.

She steps up in front of me, lacing her %ngers through mine, and looks up into my eyes. Hair undone and flowing around her shoulders. Loose curls, matching her untamed personality. Nothing like the tight twist her mother had planned.

She looks perfect. Perfectly her.

“Okay!” Trixie begins. “We are gathered here today...”

I should probably be paying closer attention. But I get lost in Billie’s eyes. The golds, the greens, the warm tones. It strikes me that I’m one lucky motherfucker to get to stare into them for the rest of my life.

She gives me a shy smile and silently mouths I love you.

And I just smile back. Shaking my head. Because I almost can’t believe it.

These people. This place. This woman. Marrying her standing in the exact spot we fell in love. What could be better?

Two years later…

“I’m nervous,” I blurt.

Mira smirks. It’s slow and full of amusement. “I know. But he’s here for experience. The win doesn’t matter.”

We’re standing right at the finish line at Bell Point Park, where the little horse who brought us together will run past the post for the very first time. His first race. His maiden voyage.

“How do you know?” I jangle my keys in the pocket of my bespoke brown suit. I had it made to match Loki for today. And I don’t care if that’s lame.

Her lips roll together. “I can tell.”

I scoff. “How?”

She lifts our joined hands up. “Well, for starters, because your hand is so clammy that I can feel mine starting to shrivel.” My brow furrows, so she clarifies, “You know, like when you spend too long in the bathtub?”

My eyes roll and I release her hand. She’s not wrong about the clammy part, but when I flip her hand over and trace the lines of her palm with my thumb, the only thing I notice is gooseflesh creeping up her arm. “Kitten. Your hand is not shriveled... but I can see the goosebumps when I do this.”

“Do what?” Her voice has dropped an octave. It doesn’t matter that strangers are starting to press in around us. When Mira and I touch, the world falls away, and in two years that hasn’t changed a single bit. I can get just as lost in her eyes today as I could sitting on that dirty stall floor.

So I trace her palm gently again, and this time I watch a shiver race down her spine as she looks away from me. Like she’s annoyed with herself for reacting to me so unmistakably.

Now it’s my turn to smirk. I lean down towards her, letting the tip of my nose graze the shell of her ear. “You love my hands on you.”

A low groan erupts from her lips. “Only you could go from being stressed out to horny at the drop of a hat like this.”

I laugh, because if nothing else, this conversation has distracted me from how nervous I really am. “You love me for it though.” I wink at her and bask in the glow of the full smile she returns.

“I do. Very much.”

The loudspeaker crackles to life right as I murmur that she can sit on my face later and I’ll show her how much I love her back.

Her cheeks flare, but our attention is drawn away to the dirt track where the horses are spilling through the gate. It’s a weeknight, and this is in no way, shape, or form an important race.

Except for me.

This is the most important race in the world because the sick little colt that Mira and I saved—the one that had no business making it through what he did—is out there.

My eyes find him immediately and I feel my wife’s hand pulse in my own. He looks like a brand new copper penny. He shines so brightly, he’s not just brown, he’s metallic.

He looks flashy as all get out with his high white stockings and wide white blaze. He also looks like a hormone-filled teenaged boy at his first high-school party.

That is to say, he is leaping everywhere like an absolute fool. Violet is stuck on his back like a little fly with a long blonde braid down her back, and I can see her grinning from here—not the least bit put off by his antics.

No, the surly looking frown is reserved for her husband Cole, who is riding the pony horse, GD, that’s walking beside Loki. His job is to keep the racehorse calm and GD does it well. If a horse could roll his eyes I’m fairly certain that’s what he’d be doing to Loki right now.

Cole gets them loaded up into the gate and then trots away. He gives us a quick salute as he rides past where we stand and I can’t help but notice the amused look on his face as he takes me in.

Everyone has been making fun of the suit. Mercilessly. And clearly he heard about it, too. But I don’t care. This suit looks killer on me. Mira even agreed. Of course, she then asked if Loki and I were exchanging friendship bracelets as well.

The announcer is talking, but I register little of what he says. My eyes are glued to the gate. I don’t even hear the countdown. Suddenly the bell rings and the gates fly open, horses surging out like a tidal wave.

I lean forward eagerly, watching them thunder down the stretch. Violet and Billie’s plan for this race is to keep him in the middle of the pack. Where he’s possibly packed a little too tightly to goof off the way he likes, where he won’t fall too far behind, or tire too quickly to make a move.

Basically, this race is one big experiment.

As they move into the turn, I can see that they’re exactly where they wanted to be. In the middle, but there’s still this part of me that wants to see him right up at the front.

Billie is all about giving him a positive experience, which I love. But... deep down I’m still really, really invested in him winning. In proving to the world that he’s the real deal, like his dad, DD.

The main group of horses turn the corner, heading toward the final straight away. Some have fallen away towards the back now and a few have pulled ahead.

Loki is still running even and comfortable in the middle of the pack, and as I take a deep breath, I resign myself to the fact his first race might not be the one he wins. After all, he’s just getting started. He’s a playful young stallion whose focus leaves something to be desired. Champions aren’t made overnight.

But that’s the moment Violet opens one rein to move him over, just enough that he’s now looking down a perfect open lane up the middle of the pack.

And I swear he goes from looking around at the other horses to the eye of the tiger, tunnel vision straight down that path. Like there’s some instinctual part of him that just knows what to do with all that space.

Violet goes low on him and shoves her hands at his neck forcefully, urging him to take the bit and run.

And he doesn’t hesitate.

He shoots up the middle like he’s been rocketed out of a slingshot. To be honest, I wasn’t aware he had a streak quite like this in him.

He’s a spitting fucking image of his dad right now. That inherent competitor in him—the winner in him—just leaping out to play. It’s truly incredible to see.

And based on the flash of teeth coming from Violet’s petite face, it must be a pretty incredible feeling, too.

They thunder ahead; the ground vibrates beneath me. Passing the third place horse, then the second, and with only moments to spare, they really stretch out. Covering the ground with an incredible final few strides, they push out to the front. A full length in front of the next closest horse.

And with a flash of the finish line camera, Loki is officially a winning racehorse.

“Ahhh!” Mira screams and her hands shoot up into the air above her head like she’s just won an Olympic medal or something, then she launches herself at me. Nuzzling into my neck while her arms squeeze tightly. “He did it! He fucking did it!”

My eyes water and I bark out a loud laugh. “I thought he was here for the experience and the win didn’t matter?”

She’s vibrating with laughter now, and when she draws away, I realize there are tears sparkling in her beautiful dark eyes, too. “I lied. I wanted him to win so badly I could barely stand it. I was trying to play it cool for you.”

We laugh and hug again and my chest feels so full of happiness that I think I could burst.

“Let’s go revel in the winner’s circle!” She grabs my hand and tugs me in that direction. Where I know all of our friends will be waiting with equally big smiles. Friends I never thought I’d have. Family I chose. I only wish Nadia was back from school to soak it up, too.

We round the corner, and sure enough, there they are. Waiting for us. Billie waving at me wildly as she calls out, “He did it, Stef!” Vaughn grins playfully as he adds, “It was the lucky suit!”

I can see Cole leading Violet and Loki down the path towards the circle and I soak it up. There’s nothing in the world that could make me look away from them in that moment.

“Daddy!”

Except that. That is one of my new favorite sounds. My son’s voice and my dad’s deep chuckle to accompany it.

Hank and Trixie walk up, grinning broadly. My dad holding my son, Silas, who is reaching his chubby little arms out in my direction while my wife clutches my arm.

And all I can think is...

How did I get so damn lucky?