I’m the new racehorse trainer at Gold Rush Ranch and I’ve got three months to turn a problem stallion into a winner. Working with horses is easy, but contending with Vaughn Harding, my moody new boss, is a whole other story. He can’t decide if he hates me or wants me—not that it matters, I swore off men like him years ago. Readers who enjoy Melanie Harlow and Kelly Elliott will love this slow burn, enemies to lovers, contemporary romance.
He can’t decide if he hates me or wants me.
Vaughn Harding is my new boss. Getting close to him would be career suicide for a female racehorse trainer, and plain old gossip fuel in this small town. I get a kick out of our verbal sparring, but I swore off his type years ago.
And I’ve got plans.
I’m the new trainer at Gold Rush Ranch and I’ve just been handed a problem horse that I promised to make a winner. I want to put down roots, and I’m not about to let a man distract me. No matter how electric it feels when we lock eyes, or how my body ignites when we touch.
Vaughn’s a vivid reminder of every guy I grew up around. Handsome, rich, entitled--a total media darling. But there’s a sadness in him that I can’t seem to turn my back on. A sensitive side hidden beneath brooding good looks.
The last thing I need is a broken man to put back together, and the last thing he needs is more scandal.
Teasing him for kicks is one thing, but handing over my heart?
I should have known better.
Copyright 2021 @ Elise Silver
Walking in to see and hear Billie sobbing into the horse’s shoulder had been an absolute gut-punch. Hank had told me she wasn’t in good shape. But he failed to mention the part where she was absolutely falling apart. Seeing someone as strong as Billie break down and cry her apology to a horse, for something I am ultimately responsible for, almost brought me to my fucking knees.
The guilt. The ache in my chest at the raw pain in her voice. I’d known she was more sensitive than she let on. But this. This scene could crack my chest right open and leave my heart beating right at her feet.
Yeah, this hurts.
She hiccups in my arms, head nestled towards my shoulder, arms resting low around my ribs. And I’m holding her as firmly as I can without hurting her, trying to absorb all her anguish. Letting it seep into me. I’m the one who deserves the blame. Her sobs slow as I run one palm over her messy chestnut hair. I glance behind her at DD. He looks tired, closing his eyes and dozing now. Like he was just waiting for someone else to get here and take care of her.
About the Elsie Silver
Canadian author who loves book boyfriends and the sassy heroines who bring them to their knees. Connoisseur of charged looks and lingering touches. Fan of witty banter. Horse girl through and through. Fully convinced that it’s always wine o’clock somewhere.
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