He’s holding tight onto the reins. Only she can help him let go.
PAISLEY HOPE
Paisley Hope is an avid lover of romance, a mother, a wife and a writer. Growing up in Canada, she wrote and dreamed of one day being able to create a place, a world where readers could immerse themselves, a place they wished was real, a place they saw themselves when they envisioned it. She loves her family time, gardening, baking, yoga and a good cab sav.
@authorpaisleyhope
Also by Paisley Hope
Holding the Reins
Book TWO
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A Note from the Author
For Kentucky Derby race training, the purchasing of a yearling, the road to the derby and racehorse training in general consults were used, but please understand this book is a work of fiction and terms, events and the road to Wade & Ivy’s Kentucky Derby may not be an exact replica of anyone else’s. Remember: Fiction is supposed to be fun and events may be changed to meet the storyline.
Warnings:
Open door sexual content (a lot)
The impression of fertility struggles—discussion of Past emotional abuse—discussion of Past alcoholism—discussions of Breath/rough play/anal sex/dirty talk (a lot)
To those searching for their grumpy, loyal, protective cowboy who will tattoo “mine” on his hand just so it looks pretty wrapped around your throat, don’t give up, babe. Your Wade Ashby is out there.
Glossary
Yearling—A horse between the ages of one and two Breezing—A horse’s fastest pace
Juvenile—A horse between the ages of two and three Qualifier—A prep race for a horse before races that count toward their points
Handily—When a horse does work without help Turn Out—The action of letting a horse wind down Switch Leads—When a horse changes its front foot
ALEXA . . . PLAY
Wade &
Ivy’s
Love Story
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1UQsaNVH6fgsuQ59UylIr J?si=a643082d82df4fc5
1. Stone’s Throw The Red Clay Strays
2. Coming Home Leon Bridges
3. The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie Colter Wall
4. Like a Wrecking Ball Eric Church
5. Spotless (feat. The Lumineers)—Zach Bryan
6. Sand In My Boots Morgan Wallen
7. I Feel a Sin Comin’ On Pistol Annies
8. Heart Like a Truck Lainey Wilson
9. In Your Love Tyler Childers
10. Bells of Every Chapel (feat. Billy Strings)—Sierra Ferrell
11. Son of a Bitch Jessie Murph
12. forefathers – Stripped Back—Liam St. John
13. Porch Light Josh Meloy
14. If I Had a Lover Dylan Gossett
15. Worst Way—Riley Green
Prologue Wade
July
“
In my defense, it was the longest slow burn in history. I just lost track of time, and then there was a detour on the way here . . .”
I shuffle down the front steps of the big house, while this small, animated woman just rambles on beside me, trying to explain in way too much fucking detail the reason why she’s late for her interview with me.
I stare out to the field wondering what the fuck she’s talking about and what the fuck a slow burn is.
She continues laying out the entire damn plot as I breathe in the late morning Kentucky mountain air, knowing somehow that I’m going to regret asking this but fuck, I just need her to get to the goddamn point.
“Explain,” I say.
“Explain? A slow burn? Or how the book made me late?” She doesn’t even give me room to answer if I wanted to. “Slow burn is . . . you know, the part that leads up to . . . the spicy side of the book . . .”
Spicy?
She waits all of one millisecond for me to speak, and when I
don’t, she continues. “Anyway, the main character I liked the best, he had just kissed her, finally . . . because the other man she was with, he had just finished, they were roommates—”
I stop and spin around, startling her as I look down at her with a face that I’m sure asks her what on earth she’s talking about.
She blinks and looks up at me, realizing she definitely has gone off the goddamn rails here. But for some reason she still keeps talking. “Well, what I mean is, he was about to get his own turn with her and . . .” She trails off for less than one second, looking down at her boots, then starts again. “Anywho . . . I’m here now, so I can find out later which one of them—” Nope.
“Just . . . Jesus Christ . . . Do you understand what it means to be professional? At all?” I ask, stopping her from finishing that sentence because I somehow think that discussing her book— that sounds a hell of a lot like some kind of porn—might be considered sexual harassment, although at this moment, I think I might be the one being violated.
Her mouth pops open but she doesn’t speak. I take that as my cue to continue walking.
“I’m sorry for being late, and for wasting your time, Mr. Ashby,” she says in a much more professional tone, as if I’m giving up on her before the interview even starts. Which, until right this second, I was.
I grit my molars. Something about the way she says my name all defeated like that brings me down a peg. Maybe my family is right. Judging by how nervous this woman sounds right now, maybe I was too abrupt with her when she showed up for her interview all of six minutes late. I just didn’t have the patience. All I want is to get through this goddamn day and take a breather after a long-as-fuck morning with my lawyers and my ex, Janelle.
I stop my long stride again, ready to turn and face this little
spitfire, to tell her we’ll start the interview over on a much more professional level. Before I can even speak, I realize she’s moving too fast and she’s not looking up so she doesn’t even notice I’ve stopped until she plows right into me and stumbles backward in the grass.
“Fuck, shit. Fuck . . . I’m sorry,” she offers as I grip her elbows easily in my hands to steady her.
“Look, Miss . . .” I let her elbows go as she regains her balance, trying hard not to notice how pretty her violet blue eyes are when she looks up into mine.
“Spencer.” She says it as if it would be beyond rude that I’d forget her name. The one she just repeated when she met my family less than five minutes ago.
Okay, maybe it is, even for me.
“Right. Miss Spencer, I’m gonna cut the bullshit right now.” I turn and start to walk again, and she keeps up as I approach my office doors and plow by two ranch hands that physically stop their work to check the woman out keeping pace beside me. I shake my head at them as we pass because they’re all a bunch of fucking hornballs on my ranch.
“I’m not looking for somebody inexperienced here,” I say. “Even though it’s only temporary, I need an experienced trainer to take Sam’s place.”
I push through my office doors and she follows me. As I walk around the back of my desk, she stands on the other side, in her worn-in jeans, perfectly fitted black t-shirt and matching black cowboy boots, arms folded under her perky tits, holding them up like a little shelf. My eyes meet hers and I realize something I said pissed her right off.
“Oh, I get it, you’re one of those? You think just because I’m young and a woman that I’m inexperienced?”
I take my hat off and toss it on my desk. Fuck me, I’m the furthest thing from one of those. This bratty little—
“I can see I’m wasting my time expecting better of you,” she challenges.
I lean forward, placing my palms on my desk, speaking low so she realizes I’m done entertaining her attitude, and fuck, I’m the one in charge here—not her.
“It has nothing to do with you being a woman. Some of the most respected trainers in the industry are women. Hell, the trainer you’re here to replace now, is a woman.”
Something in her eyes softens and looks almost sheepish, as she drops her arms to her sides.
“Oh, I just assumed with the name Sam—”
“Samantha,” I cut her off. “Assumptions most always get you nowhere,” I add gruffly.
I rake my hand through my hair and sit down, leaning back in my chair. She’s got a feisty attitude, I’ll give her that, and she’s probably the prettiest woman I’ve laid eyes on in, hell, a really long time. Alright, she’s fucking breathtaking. I’m talking my-dick-stood-atattention-the moment-she-tossed-her-long-raven-colored-hair-overher-shoulder-as-her-boots-hit-the-dirt breathtaking.
Ivy Spencer. I look at her now and wonder how I could’ve forgotten her name.
She follows suit, relaxing a little as she sits down across from me. I take a breath before I continue. I wasn’t intending for this interview to start off so intensely. I’m not actually an asshole. I just have so much going on all the damn time that I speak swiftly, and nine times out of ten, out of frustration just so I can move onto the next task.
“Look, if we’re being honest here, you are young, you can’t have more than what? Five years’ experience?”
There’s that defiant look again. Her heart-shaped face gives nothing away—high cheekbones, a slender straight nose, and plump pink lips, those features are all perfectly settled. It’s her eyes. Her eyes are stormy and tell me she’s fixing to put me in my
place, and fast. If I wasn’t so fucking exhausted today it might amuse me.
“Almost fifteen, actually. If you count all my intern hours, but even without that, I have a degree in Equine Studies from U of K, on a full scholarship, five years of training thoroughbreds at Bellingham Ranch . . .” She cocks a brow as if to ask, impressed yet, Mr. Ashby? “Three years at Nottingham Rehabilitation Center before that as a cooperative. Oh, and four summer internships with the American Quarter and Thoroughbred Association under Peter Sampson during high school and college.” She mentions a well-known trainer that helped to train the 2015 Triple Crown winner.
Well, fuck.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you? Assumptions most always get you nowhere,” she says. A coy little grin turns her pretty lips up, and something about it makes me want to do all sorts of things, most of which are highly inappropriate, to wipe that look right off her face.
I grunt and she seems to relax a little.
“Look, I’m good at what I do. I have a modern approach I’m guessing this ranch doesn’t run with—one that might help you, especially if you’re hoping to make another derby run at some point,” she offers.
I look at her and wonder if she could possibly be the one to take over. Fifteen years? So she’s been working with horses since she was . . . a kid? I shake my head, some compartment of my brain asking me why I’m so interested in her life story.
She stands up and motions to the door.
“You want to show me around this place while we talk or is this interview just going to be you sitting there judging me silently?”
My mouth falls slack for a brief moment at her sassy tone, then I get it together and return my hat to my head as I stand.
“Barns are this way,” I huff out as I breeze by her.
Twenty minutes later, we’re standing outside our large arena watching one of our trainers, Dusty, try to work with a nervous new colt. This colt is skittish, and just getting him to keep eyes and not spook has been a task.
Ivy stands watching, learning the horse’s ways like she has a telepathic connection with him while I answer questions from three of my ranch hands. For some reason, all of a sudden they’ve decided they need to be working right where Ivy and I are. As if I don’t know it’s because she’s the attraction of the hour.
One of my leads is chatting Ivy up like they’re old friends. They laugh, and I instantly know this woman cannot work here. She’s too distracting, too charming. These fuckers will never get anything done if she’s here, and I’m all about productivity on my ranch. The last thing I need is one more thing to worry about on the daily.
“How’s it going, Sarge?” Nash, my lifelong friend, claps me on the back, coming from breakfast at the big house with my mother and sister.
“Argh,” I grunt out.
“That good?” he asks, chuckling. “You think maybe you’re being too hard on her. Six minutes late? Really?”
“Maybe. Her resume is good.” I give that much to him, watching as she grabs a training stick down from the tack wall and takes it upon herself to enter the corral.
Nash and I look at each other and then quickly go after her as she swings the gate open, making sure it’s safe to enter.
“Mind if I try?” she asks Dusty boldly.
Dusty looks at her like, who the fuck is this? And then he smiles wide.
“Have at it, he’s a stubborn bugger, won’t let me assert any type of dominance with him.”
She nods and takes her place in the ring in front of the feisty horse.
“You ever heard of the Parelli program?” she asks both Dusty and myself.
“Can’t say I have,” I say as I watch her take the leader rope from Dusty. She’s a different person now than she was when she was all fired up in my office. This woman right here is calm, collected and perfectly at home around this antsy horse. She takes a moment to graze one hand down his nose and whispers something to him none of us can hear.
“It’s the idea that horsemanship can be obtained naturally through communication, understanding and psychology, versus mechanics, fear and intimidation.”
She takes the training stick and lets the string hanging off the bottom come up and rest over the horse’s back before sliding it off gently. The horse spooks, but instead of her tightening up on his rope, Ivy simply raises a hand to him and then gives the horse more space.
“That’s not the way we do it around here,” I say to her as I lean up to the rail and watch her, because fuck, watching Ivy with this horse is almost mesmerizing.
“Why do you do it the old-fashioned way?” she queries.
To which I lamely reply, “Because that’s the way it’s always been done.”
Ivy keeps moving, trading between trailing the string over the horse’s back and swiping it in circles like a lasso in the dirt. Every time the horse spooks, she whispers something to him and then centers him by bringing the string back over his barrel, and fuck, after ten minutes of this continuously, he manages to keep his eyes on her and move with her for a solid thirty seconds, calmly rounding in a circle with her as she leads him.
“See, the way I’ve been trained is, you want to have a real partnership with your horse. That requires earning his trust and helping him to feel safe. And we can’t do that with the oldfashioned, traditional training methods. What they do look for is
safety and security. And if they don’t find that with us, they will never trust us. They will never become willing partners.”
“Sounds like some kind of new age, hippy shit to me,” I bark out, without thinking, as Nash nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. Clearly, what she’s doing is working. I just don’t like being wrong, or out of control. Both of which I am right now.
Ivy takes the horse around the pen a few more times, continuing her method, and when she’s satisfied he’s had enough she unhooks the leader and lets him loose. Walking up to me she pushes the training stick to my chest, looks up at me with those blue eyes and says, “Hey, you’re the Chief around here, I’m just telling you what’s worked for me is all. Just like working with people, you gotta build respect, not just expect it. Thanks for the opportunity, I’d love to help your family’s ranch while Sam is away.” She breezes between Nash and me and turns to look back over her shoulder. “That is if you don’t assume I’m not up to the task.” She smiles as she says it.
Nash leans into me and whispers, “Fuck, Sarge. I think you just met your match.”
I cross my arms over my chest and watch her go, knowing full well not only is she going to be trouble, but fuck, she pretty much just hired herself.
Chapter One Wade
October
“
Before my mind is ready, my body is. Chase grabs me by the back of my head, fisting my hair as his mouth devours mine.”
“Christ almighty, do you do anything else?” I grunt as I fumble to turn down the volume on the stereo that isn’t mine in the truck I don’t own.
“I want him on his knees. I want him to drown in my—”
“You need help there, Chief?” Ivy giggles beside me as I finally grasp the right knob to turn down her audiobook so we can avoid listening to the narrator climax us all the way back to the ranch.
“I’ve got it,” I bite out. I push two silky hair ties down on the shifter so I can pop Ivy’s Silverado into reverse.
Not surprised I have to fight off these damn things to be able to do something as simple as drive. In the few short weeks Ivy has worked on my ranch, I’m pretty sure she’s left one in every crevice of the silos office imaginable. It was day one, when she left one on my desk, then came looking for it later, that I learned hair elastics have a specific name when they’re all soft and fluffy like this—scrunchie—and Ivy hoards them. All different shades,
all different patterns, as if she may suddenly need thirty-two extra at a moment’s notice. She has a tower of them on her desk, every color of the rainbow and then some. Bright and happylooking twenty-four-seven—just like her.
In fact, everything about this woman is feminine and sunshiny, including this truck of hers I’ve been roped into driving tonight. There’s a piña colada air freshener hanging from the rearview and a mishmash of lip balms and hand creams in the cup holders. It’s a goddamn beauty parlor on wheels.
Her crimson-painted lips curl into a devilish grin with my open disdain of her book choice.
“Drive a girl’s truck and you have to live with the consequences.” Ivy laughs. “You know I like my books.” Her wide, almond-shaped eyes dance with mischief as she pulls my blazer tight over her red evening dress. I lost it to her when she said she was cold and Cole’s sleazy cop buddy was about to offer his to her. I’m driving her home. It only makes sense she wears mine.
“Just another way for me to shake your nerves, boss . . . don’t you know I do it on purpose?” She giggles as I shake my head at her.
I don’t doubt she does. She’s been throwing me off and testing my ‘always in control, always have a plan’ mantra since the first day I met her. But she was clearly the best choice as our temporary lead horse trainer. I’ll admit she impressed me during her interview, and her mentor with the AQTA wouldn’t shut up about her when I called him for a reference.
After working with her day in and day out over the last few weeks, I can see what he was raving about. Ivy is brilliant, with a knack for calming the horses and connecting with them like no one I’ve ever seen; she never loses her patience with any of them, from our feistiest colts to our slow-as-molasses old steeds.
But fuck, she gets under my skin. It’s not her fault, it’s mine, because I’m having a hard time ignoring that not only is she
gorgeous, but the more I get to know her, the more I realize she’s totally oblivious to her looks and her sassy, alluring charm. Which means she thinks nothing of it when every ranch hand I have bends over backward to get up early and deliver her coffee in the morning, or when they offer to take on some of her morning chores for her. These pricks have never shown up early for work a day in their lives, and all of a sudden, they’re in the barn before the roosters rise and happy as fuck about it?
Ivy is thrilled they’re all ‘so nice’, as she’s told me on many occasions, which leads me to believe for how experienced she presents herself to be, she is a bit naive about the opposite sex.
This has me both keeping an eye out for her constantly and sobering myself up from getting caught staring at her too. I’m holding it together, but it’s only been a few weeks and I’m pretty sure the balance of it has aged me ten years already.
I salute my younger brother Cole goodbye out my window as I pull out of our town pub’s parking lot. He’s standing in the doorway of the Horse and Barrel watching me go, grinning like a fool at me driving Ivy’s truck off the lot.
I’m only her chauffeur because my sister CeCe and her girl crew adopted Ivy as one of their own tonight. Inviting her to celebrate CeCe’s new engagement ‘Not Angels’–style. Which basically means, drink way too much, and dance all night long on the Horse and Barrel dance floor. So here I am, leaving anyone behind us with a bumper sticker that says “cowgirls just wanna have fun.”
I look over at her smug grin, and I gather she thinks her book smut has embarrassed me.
“I’m sorry I made you blush at my romance novel,” she hums as she pulls her hair down, not sounding sorry in the slightest. I watch in my periphery as it tumbles in waves around her shoulders.
“It takes more than a little smut to make me blush,” I retort.
Ivy makes a wounded face at my words.
“It’s a steamy romance book, not smut, and it was just getting to the good part when I got to the bar. I was looking forward to it for on the way home. I didn’t expect you’d be driving me.” She snickers, still not a hint of embarrassment in her tone.
It’s not lost on me that not only does she read it any chance she gets, she also just drives around town listening to full-out porn on any given day and owns it. I’m all about a woman being confident in her own skin and enjoying sex and everything it has to offer, but because I’m my own worst enemy, I scoff at the term she used—romance—loud enough for her to swat at me.
She laughs, the cocky laugh of too many “Nash and CeCe are engaged so let’s party” shots. “Well, we can’t all be grumpy prudes, so excuse me for enjoying a good love story.”
I’m just going to keep my mouth shut here. I’m the furthest thing from a prude she’ll ever meet. In fact, I’m a firm believer that there should be no limits when it comes to sex. To hold back would be a waste in the one area of life you can let go—an escape.
So . . . grumpy? Sure. Prude? Not a fucking chance.
“Oh no you don’t, don’t even think you’re staying quiet. Inquiring minds want to know, what’s making you huff out all those judgy noises at me? Have you got something to say about my choice in literature?” Ivy challenges, then adds, “Cat got your tongue?”
I scrub my face with my free hand. I’m still not completely used to this smug little firecracker and the way she manages to get under my skin.
“Come on now, spill it,” she says, cocking one eyebrow at me. I turn to her for a split second while I drive.
“The plot of this book has fucking nothing to do with love or romance,” I deadpan, pointing to the dash.
“Yes, it does,” Ivy argues defensively, feigning shock before she adds, “I mean, they both seem to love her in their own way.”
They? Jesus fucking Christ.
“Alright, I’ll bite. Let’s start with this. What’s it called ?” I ask as we pass the Laurel Creek town sign and start cruising through the dark countryside.
“What’s it called?” She repeats my question, taking her plush bottom lip between her teeth.
“That’s right. This steamy romance you’re hell-bent on defending, what’s the title?” I look over at her, counting the seconds she sits in silence. “What’s the matter?” I ask. “Smutty book name got your tongue?”
Ivy grimaces. “No . . . it’s just, that’s not a fair question because the title doesn’t sound romantic.”
Now I’m invested.
She looks down to check her nails, in the dark no less, as if they need her attention desperately.
“What’s the name, Trouble?” I repeat.
Ivy sighs and stares out the window. “Filthy Lords of Sin,” she whispers, barely audible.
I nod. “My mistake. Sounds mighty romantic. ”
Ivy huffs out a breath but doesn’t say one more word on the subject and keeps her eyes out the window.
I rest my fucking case.
I let her off the hook and get the radio working. Colter Wall croons to us as we drive. I settle into it. But the silence only lasts all of three minutes because this woman must talk cheerful chatter at all times.
“What a beautiful party for the sweetest couple. I know I’ve only been here a little while but I really like your family. They’re all so nice.”
“Yeah, they’re all just swell,” I say, sounding way more bitter
than I intend, before I add, “Never thought I’d see Nash settle down.”
My best friend of twenty years and soon-to-be brother-inlaw—officially. It was a surprise to say the least, when I found out he was seeing CeCe in secret all summer. But after I had the chance to calm down and realize what his intentions were, I knew without a doubt that they were perfect for each other. Even if their constant kissing and hand-holding makes me want to toss up my last meal, I’m glad Nash and my baby sister are happy together, and maybe they’ll actually break the Ashby curse that has always plagued the three of us when it comes to relationships.
“I just have one question, and stop me if it’s too personal,” Ivy queries.
Ah, fuck.
“Don’t do personal,” I bite out.
“You don’t say?” Sarcasm lines her tone. “I promise it won’t sting, I’m just curious.” She takes my silence as the go-ahead. “I just don’t get it, what’s the real story behind your family then?”
I blink at her, not understanding.
“I mean, they’re all so nice and welcoming and they seem like fairly happy people, so are you like, adopted, maybe grew up in a different household? The long-lost brother that still holds a grudge?”
I turn to look at her. Ivy’s blue eyes dance with all the trouble that earned her that nickname. I feel my brow furrow as she laughs at her semi-funny joke for way longer than warranted.
“You know . . . your face does things other than scowl?” she muses as we pull down the driveway of Silver Pines, my family’s ranch and training center. My home. My responsibility.
I pass my cabin on the old dirt road to get her home. Ivy has taken Blue Eyes, our fifth cabin, as her humble abode for her time here. It’s the one closest to mine. She could have chosen any of the cabins that were empty but she chose Blue Eyes for
two reasons that she prattled on about. One, because her eyes are blue, which in my opinion is kind of an understatement. They’re so blue they’re almost violet some days, the color of a cloudless winter sky . . . or whatever.
And her second self-proclaimed reason was because the Blue Eyes deck backs onto the north woods, and she says she likes her privacy.
Probably so she can sit out there and read her smutty books in peace.
“Home sweet home,” she quips as she turns to me. “Well, thanks for driving me home, Captain Joyful, it was a fun night aside from the last fifteen minutes, of course.”
The only response I give her is a huff as I hop out of the truck and walk around to her side. Ivy removes my suit jacket from her curvy frame and hands it to me as she climbs out.
“I’m not cold anymore, thanks,” she says as I take it and trade with her, dropping her keys into her palm. Our size difference is a lot more noticeable when we’re only a foot apart. She barely reaches past the top of my shoulder even in those shoes she’s wearing. I wait, expecting her to go into her house, but instead, she mumbles something like “not waiting one more second” as she struggles to remove her black heels in the grass.
“Mmm . . . goddamn, that feels good.” She groans a throaty sound that makes me swallow, hard. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.” She giggles innocently as the other heel comes off and a few more inches disappear from her height. She turns a smile up to me.
I look away from her to clear my head of the noises she’s making while she mumbles how good the grass feels on her bare feet, something about grounding herself to the earth, while I gesture to her front door. She looks at it, then back to me with an are you serious? face.
“I think I’ll make it in, boss; you can go home now. I mean,
you can see my porch from your porch.” She points at my cabin, only two hundred feet away.
I shake my head. “I’ll go home once you’re inside.”
She tips her head back and laughs as she saunters up her front steps. “Okay, I’ll humor you,” Ivy calls over her shoulder. “But only because I’ve had a few drinks. I’m a big girl though, I can handle myself.” She pats her purse and winks. “Bear spray.”
Of course she has bear spray in her purse. The little spitfire probably wouldn’t even need it, she’d probably bond with the bear and feed it from her back door.
“Night, Chief, see ya early,” she singsongs. Her door closes and I’m left standing there shaking my head at the whirlwind that is Ivy Spencer.
I toss my coat over my forearm and walk the short distance to my own cabin, Bluegrass.
My cabin is the biggest on the property besides the big house itself. It’s the boss’s cabin, the only one with two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and I’ve finally got it the way I want it after being back here since my separation. I did most of the work myself to update the kitchen, with Cole’s help.
I walk through the front entryway and flick the light on. I breathe in a sigh of peace. This is my place. Dark log cabin walls and weathered wood floors fill the open space. It still smells faintly like leather and tobacco from previous residents over the years. The little kitchen straight ahead has new walnut cabinets and stainless steel appliances.
There is a good-sized living room to the left, with a floor-toceiling cobblestone fireplace and windows that look out to the big house and barns in the distance. It’s the perfect place to sit with a whiskey at the end of the day listening to my favorite vinyl. It’s also the only place I don’t have to worry about leading everyone, about the ranch, my mom living alone as she gets older, filling my dad’s boots, Janelle, the future.
TRAINING
This is my space to just be Wade, whoever the fuck that is these days. No time for self-reflection when you have an entire ranch to run and next year’s derby pressure breathing down your neck. I loosen my tie and toe my uncomfortable-as-fuck dress shoes off. I’m mentally going over tomorrow’s workday as I feel something light hit my foot while I’m hanging up my suit coat.
I bend down and scoop it up to get a closer look. Ivy was wearing my coat for all of twenty goddamn minutes. I bring the soft fabric to my nose and breathe in Ivy’s sweet, sugary-like scent. Fuck me, it’s nice. I pop the black satin scrunchie in the basket on my fridge as I head for the shower.
Finders keepers.
NASH
Chapter Two Wade
Morning boys. @Sergeant, thanks for taking one for the team last night and driving Ivy home. I made sure your truck was locked when I left and I can come grab you to pick it up later.
NASH
Also, did she have fun? Rae won’t stop talking about her.
She had too much fun because this family never seems to keep a professional boundary
COLE
@Nash Pay him no attention. He’s just pissy because he had to sit two feet from her and pretend he didn’t notice how she looked in that red dress.
She’s my employee
NASH
Your employee? I said that once too. Something about thinking you shouldn’t that makes you want to look at her even more?
TRAINING
COLE
Fuck. We’ve talked about this too many times. It has to stop.
NASH
Sorry, you two are my only friends
NASH
COLE
I didn’t even see you two leave? I came back from my office and you were gone.
We looked for you but you and CeCe were MIA and we didn’t want to know why
Again, not the image I need to add to my morning coffee, Jesus.
NASH
I plead the fifth and boys, thanks for being there. I can’t fucking believe I’m engaged.
COLE
LOL the best part is, he has no idea
Fuck no he doesn’t, not a clue.
NASH
The fuck are you two talking about?
COLE
Just brace yourself
NASH
Brace myself for what? A lifetime of happiness?
I smirk. I know exactly where Cole is going with this.
CeCe planning a wedding. Imagine what she’s like at the office and times that by about a million
NASH
You’re exaggerating. She’ll be fine. Weddings are supposed to be fun.
COLE
Narrator: It was at that exact moment that he realized he was fucked.
NASH
Fuck me
Have a nice day bud
I slide my phone in my pocket and glance out the window. The sun is just clearing the top of Sugarland Mountain as I pop the lid onto my travel mug of coffee and start the walk from Bluegrass to the main barns. Normally, I’d drive so I have my truck on hand for the day, but since my truck is still sitting in the Horse and Barrel parking lot, I’m relying on two feet and my heartbeat this morning and I’m looking forward to the short walk to clear my head.
My mind wanders to my father, as it usually does. He’s been gone just over ten months; sometimes it feels like an eternity, sometimes it feels like yesterday. That’s just the way grief works, I suppose. Everything I do on this ranch, I do hoping it’s what he would’ve done. We’ve finally made a good profit this summer. Our boarding stalls are full, we’re running lessons and offering training again.
Last year was lackluster for us. He was so sick, I was dealing with my separation from Janelle and we just let things fall a bit by the wayside. Now, I feel like I’ve got my focus back, jumping right in, and I’m seriously considering doing what my mom and siblings want. Using Ivy’s time here to help me find a one-yearold horse of our own, and start training it for next year’s derby qualifiers. The whole process and road to a derby will take our
ranch over a year and a half, and even then, we may not make it. The Kentucky Derby isn’t the most lucrative financially, but it’s the pinnacle, and following in my dad’s footsteps by entering a prize thoroughbred seems inevitable.
We have the time and resources to do it finally, but we need to get on finding our competitor so we can start training right away. It’s going to take everything I’ve got, all the help Ivy can offer me and a small fortune to do it, but with our financial situation looking up thanks to Nash’s help and having a much better year all around, I think it’s possible. I could take Ivy under my wing, give her the training experience and a little separation from my desperate little ranch hands that can’t stop staring at her.
“Morning, boss.” Ivy smiles as I cross into the barn. She looks so fresh faced and ready for the day. Her raven-colored hair is piled high on her head in a big messy bun, soft little wisps frame her face, which is free of makeup. She’s wearing one of her many pairs of Levi’s jeans that fit her ample curves like a second skin and a white, perfectly fitted and low-cut Eric Church tour t-shirt that her full breasts are seriously challenging the confines of.
Yeah, I know, she’s my employee, but I am a man. And any man would have to be dead not to notice Ivy.
“You don’t seem too worse for wear after all those margaritas,” I observe.
“I brought her a coffee from the big house,” Haden, my lead ranch hand, pipes up from a stall. Of course he did, and of course he’s already here helping her when he should be leading a small team to muck out all the stalls. Would you look at that dedication?
“Heard she needed it after last night.” He grins.
Ivy smiles a megawatt smile at him that makes me grit my molars. He’s the last one I want bringing Ivy anything.
“Your family sure knows how to party,” she states as she closes the stall she was working in.
“Hmmphh,” I grumble.
Haden chuckles at my lack of words but Ivy doesn’t bat an eye at my response. At this point she’s just used to it.
“Oh, and I printed out the registration info for Nashville, and left it on your desk, if you’re interested. It’s on the twentyseventh. Have you thought any more about it?” she asks.
Right, the annual Nashville breeding sale. Our best chance to buy a yearling.
“I have been thinking about it,” I say, rubbing my jaw. “We need a jockey and a shit ton of time to train next winter and spring, plus I’d be forgoing a lot here to work on it.”
Ivy nods, used to my indecisiveness on the matter. We’ve been going back and forth since before she officially came on board.
“I can help Ivy in any way you want, boss,” Haden pipes up, ping-ponging between my face and Ivy’s. “I can accompany her for any training exercises with the yearling, take on more chores here, whatever you guys need. I could even go to Nashville, Ivy could come too . . . if you’re too busy and you want her feedback?”
Ivy eyes him hopefully, then looks back to me. “It’s a solution if you’re worried,” she offers.
Like fuck it is. Haden’s been looking at her like she’s dessert since she stepped onto this ranch, and although he’s a good cowboy, the best I’ve got maybe, he’s a proverbial manwhore. He’s been with more Laurel Creek buckle bunnies than anyone in town, even Cole. And for that reason, the idea of him spending copious amounts of alone time with Ivy feels like a great big fuck no to me.
I clear my throat, an impulsive decision creeping in.
“No, I’ve already decided. Haden, I’ll just need you to take
on more responsibility for us to do this. To fill in for me when needed, be my eyes and ears here on the ranch as we go through the motions.”
What am I doing ?
I pull my cowboy hat off and run a hand through my hair as they both stare at me expectantly.
“I’ve already booked the hotel for us in Nashville,” I lie. “We’ll go look and see what we think.”
“We?” Ivy asks, her eyebrows raised in anticipation. I look down at her and nod.
“Yes, you’re our trainer right now and for the foreseeable future, so you’ll come and have a say,” I say lamely.
Ivy squeals and launches her pint-sized frame into mine, taking me by total surprise as she molds under the crook of my arm and locks her hands behind my waist.
“Fuck yes, Chief. I won’t let you down. I’ll train the shit out of that horse for you, he’ll be racing like the wind by the spring,” she says excitedly into my ear. Her voice is soft and husky. It’s a recognizable voice that makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up, especially when she’s this close to me, and you can tell she’s not trying to make it sound sexy. It just is. Her hands on my back, her soft warm body pressed up against mine, coupled with that voice makes for the exact moment that my cock decides to wake up and see what’s good.
Settle down, big fella, this is not your cue.
I detach her hands and step back. “Alright. Well, there’s lots to sort out so I’ll be in the office when you’re wrapped up here. Come find me and we’ll start planning.”
She nods, the look on her face an apology for hugging me. “Sounds good,” she says, back to professional.
Haden chuckles from his stall, and I have the sudden urge to cuff him upside the head, as I turn to walk into the silos office.
Time to look for some goddamn hotel rooms.
Chapter Three Ivy
I’ve never put much faith in people. It’s not that I don’t like people, I do. I just find it easier not to get too close to most of them, keep them at a distance. It’s much easier for me to relate to animals, especially the horses I work with. People are fickle and will almost always let you down or leave, given the chance. Especially men. In my experience, most men are easy to read. The ones I’ve met or worked with over the years are one of two things: they’re either afraid of me or doing their best to try to fuck me, both figuratively and literally. Most men don’t take me seriously and they almost always think they know better than me. The equestrian world is full of these types of men, so I’m no stranger to getting a read on a man and learning where I stand with them real quick. Until I met Wade Ashby. Wade is certainly not afraid of me, nor does he look at me like he wants to fuck me. Wade Ashby might be the only man I’ve ever met that is wearing a sort of scowl twenty-four-seven, but oddly enough, despite that, working with him comes easier than with any other man I’ve ever worked with, because Wade is something else entirely. Strong, professional, smart as hell, respectful, and so fucking in control all the time it makes me wonder if there’s ever a time
or circumstance where he loses that control even for a minute. At first glance he appeared unassuming and kind of mysterious, like a sexy Henry Cavill—if Henry was 6′5″, played the part of a horse rancher and wore a constant grimace.
Then he opened his mouth, and I learned pretty quickly that Wade Ashby was not going to be the ‘get to know you better’ type. I’ve been struggling to keep up with his two moods— grumpy and really fucking grumpy—since I arrived. How furrowed his brow is over those deep green eyes that stare through my soul when he looks at me tells me every morning what kind of day I’m in for. One thing is certain, they’re almost always staring at me with a look of disapproval, because Wade is very set in his ways and likes to remind me every chance he gets that my more modern way of training isn’t his style.
Since I’ve recently made a promise to myself not to let anyone fuck with me or my emotions ever again, I give his attitude right back to him most of the time, which oddly enough he seems to appreciate. Most days, Wade’s mood is very predictable. But today? Today is the first day he really threw me for a loop and surprised me.
I don’t know why Wade decided to firmly commit to finding Silver Pines a new racehorse, but I don’t care either. I’m running with it. Twenty-nine years old and training a potential derby horse? Hells yes. It’s a far cry from the Winding Eagles trailer park I left behind in Jellico, and it’s my shot to make a real name for myself as a trainer.
I’ve been hoping since the day he hired me that my boss had a sense of adventure under that gruff exterior somewhere, but I wasn’t holding out for it. Until now of course, because now he’s taking me horse shopping in less than two weeks. I’m so excited I could scream it from the rooftops.
I continue my work with my newest horse buddy, Nutmeg, getting on the thinking side of his brain. I met this horse my first
day here. He’s come a long way and is Wade’s seven-year-old niece Mabel’s favorite riding horse. Which makes sense. My father was a horse vet and he always thought that horses—all animals, really—have kindred spirits, and so far, Nutmeg seems a lot like Mabel, rambunctious and needing a lot of play time. I give him his wind down exercises as I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I ignore it for a few minutes as I work, then I turn Nutmeg loose into the pen and pull my phone out.
CECE
Thank you so much for playing guitar for us last night. I hope you had fun.
Have I mentioned—my cranky boss aside—I am in love with his family? They have made me feel so welcome, so of course I said yes when Nash asked me to strum CeCe’s favorite Shania Twain song as he proposed last night. Everyone has been ultrasweet aside from Wade, but I don’t take it personally because he looks at all of us like it just annoys him to no end that he can’t do absolutely everything on this ranch without help.
It was my pleasure, I had a great time. The Not Angels know how to party.
CECE
Yes, we do it well.
I’m not sure how much fun your brother had though. He didn’t seem too pleased to have to drive me home.
CECE
He’s never pleased, I just tell people it’s part of his charm.
CECE
Tell me about it, he even seems annoyed about making a potential derby run, which in my opinion is super exciting and a cause for some serious celebration. Does he even know the word celebrate?
He’s decided to make a derby run? For sure?
Shit. I type, then stop myself. Then type again.
CECE
I must have missed that announcement.
CECE
Well, we’re going horse shopping so I think so? He didn’t tell you?
I think I just shoved my foot in my mouth, so act surprised when he tells you?
Your secret’s safe with me. Whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s thinking of going for it. We’ll be cheering you on and we’re willing to help any way we can.
Thank you, for not saying anything, and your support.
CECE
Of course. Us girls need to stick together.
For the second time today, Wade catches me off guard. Why wouldn’t he have told his family if he’s already booked us hotel rooms?
My phone buzzes again but this time it’s not Wade’s sister. It’s my ex’s sister.
CHELSEA
I hate to bug you. Brad won’t leave me alone about reaching out to you. I’m sorry to get in the middle and I miss you, I hope you’re doing okay.
I sigh and put my phone back in my pocket. Not today, Satan.
It’s three months since I left Bellingham Ranch and the devil himself, aka Brad. I used to respond to his sister Chelsea and his mother; I actually felt like their family for a time. I try not to be upset with them. I know how persuasive Brad can be when he wants something.
Now I spend my days mostly ignoring them all if they reach out. What I really need is a new cell phone and number. My phone is ancient but it’s all I can afford with the financial obligations still weighing on my shoulders. I tried to block Brad’s number in the beginning, but then he got creative, messaging from his family’s phones or calling me from his ranch. I keep telling myself it will be short-lived. Brad doesn’t do well alone. I’ve been hoping that he’ll find someone new to attach himself to and leave me the hell alone. So far, he hasn’t figured out where I am and I’m hoping he never does.
I go to fetch Nutmeg and start bringing him to his stall as I ask myself for the millionth time how I ever fell for Brad’s manipulation. I not only fell for it, I dove right in, head first. He’s the Prince of Bellingham Ranch, old money. The kind that seems highbrow on the outside but it’s all really a disguise for what lurks underneath.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, Brad is a narcissist through and through. One with a mean streak, a side I got heavily acquainted with over the last few years. I grew up like many other little girls, hearing the words “don’t ever let a man treat