The Front Runner: A Small Town Fake Dating Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 3)

“No. No fucking way. No, Mira. No.”

Violet looks between Billie and me with wide blue eyes, like she’s trying to figure out how she can smooth this over. I’ve just told them about Stefan Dalca’s stipulation but conveniently left out the date part for obvious reasons. There are some things the people you love just don’t need to know. I will make that sacrifice in secret.

And I don’t want to watch Billie full-on erupt either.

“I told him it was fine.”

Billie is riled, amber eyes narrowed and her head shaking vehemently. “No chance am I sending DD’s first baby into the lion’s den. Over my dead fucking body.”

“Well, it’ll be your dead body or the foal’s.”

“Jesus, Mira. That’s dark,” Violet pipes up, running her hands through her hair.

Billie glares at me. She doesn’t like what I’ve just said, but she can’t deny the truth of it either.

“Man,” Billie sighs raggedly. “He’s such a dick. I hate this.” Her hatred for the man isn’t news to anyone. His tactics rub almost everyone the wrong way, but he almost ruined her and Vaughn—something completely unforgivable in her book.

“He isn’t so bad.” Violet is obviously more forgiving.

“Listen. It is what it is. Are we saving the foal or not? Because the way I see it, he’s kinda got us by the balls. It’s five minutes down the road. I can check on the foal daily and report back. In the fall, we’ll wean him and forget this ever happened. Then we can all go back to openly hating Stefan Dalca.”

Billie sighs.

Violet nods.

I think that’s as close as I’m going to get to agreement from these two, so I slap my knees in closing and push up to stand. “Who’s going to help me load up the trailer?”

Both women stare back at me with frustration and resignation in their eyes. But then they stand and follow me out to help anyway. It doesn’t take us long to lift the foal and get him positioned in the trailer. He’s still so wobbly and weak, it’s definitely not ideal having to transport him. But it’s close enough that I figure the reward outweighs the risk.

“I’m coming with you.” There’s a hard set to Billie’s jaw, but also a slight wobble. She’s trying to be strong, but this is killing her inside. She feels so deeply—loves so thoroughly. She’s got this boisterous exterior, but she’s incredibly sensitive.

I grab her shoulder and stare back into her face. “Not today, B. Let me do this for you. Let me do my job and get them settled.” What I don’t say to her is that there’s a chance the mare doesn’t accept the foal. I don’t want her there if that happens. “We can go together tomorrow and check on them. Let’s keep it as quiet and private for them as possible today.”

She nods once, tersely. We’re talking about skittish animals, and she knows that sometimes what we want isn’t really what’s best for them. And she’s willing to sacrifice her own comfort for that—it’s part of what makes her such an exceptional horsewoman.

Violet scoots in beside her, fitting herself into Billie’s side like a puzzle piece. The two of them are so cute together, it almost makes me gag. Soon to be sisters-in-law since they’re each with one of the two brothers who own Gold Rush Ranch.

We’re all friends, but I still always feel a bit like the third wheel. And that’s not on them, it’s on me. I’ve never been big on loads of friends or the whole girl-tribe thing. But these two just sort of claimed me and haven’t let me go, and I’m not complaining. Billie and Violet are easily the best friends I’ve ever had. It just still feels weird to have these people that I’m accountable to after being a loner for so long.

I hop in the truck and buckle up, rolling down the window as I slowly pull out of the circular driveway in front of the main building.

“Wish me luck!” I call out to them with a wave.

Lord knows I’m going to need it.

“Who are you?”

The girl at the door is eyeing me like I’m yesterday’s roadkill. Even she knows I shouldn’t be here. She has headphones around her neck and is wearing an oversized T-shirt with tight shorts barely peeking past the hemline. I can see gum in her mouth every time she opens her jaw wide to chomp back down on it. The pink scrunchie that holds her blonde hair in a high ponytail makes her look like a walking, talking attitude problem, complete with a bow on top.

The house itself is beautiful, like it’s made for the land that surrounds it. All river rock and natural wood beams. A rounded front door with a wrought iron framed window at the top. It’s big, but not gaudy. It’s classy—just like Stefan.

“I’m Mira. The vet.” I hike a thumb over my shoulder back toward the farm, where I left the unnamed foal in the trailer because Stefan is nowhere to be found, and I need some help. “I’m looking for Stefan.”

She looks me up and down, still chewing her gum like a cow would chew its cud. I can’t tell how old she is, but she strikes me as young. Too young to be with Stefan.

I hope.

God. I hope he’s not slimy enough to con me into three dates when he has a girlfriend.

“Stefan!” I startle when she turns and yells up the curved staircase behind her.

Within moments he’s jogging down the stairs, torn jeans hugging his legs in an almost distracting way.

“Nadia, would it kill you to take a few steps and look for me?”

Nadia rolls her eyes and storms off. Stefan offers me a tight smile as he reaches down to slide his feet into a pair of worn work boots. This angle gives me the perfect view of the muscles in his back as they ripple beneath the plain white T-shirt. I figure if I’m going to be forced to go on fake dates with the man, I might as well enjoy the view.

I’m only human.

A human who is currently way overworked and way undersexed.

“Sorry about Nadia. Taking in my little sister is not the cake walk I thought it would be.”

I sigh in relief. Sister. Hallelujah.

He reaches into the closet and pulls out a shearling-lined brown jacket. There’s something decadent about the way Stefan moves, confident and borderline hypnotic. My eyes trail down his body, watching the veins in his hands as his long, deft fingers button the jacket.

“Eyes up here, Dr. Thorne,” he coos with a knowing smile.

I like this more playful version of Stefan Dalca. Not the uptight, almost too-smooth version of him everyone sees down at the track.

I decide to roll with it. “Why?”

“Because you might fall in love with me if you stare for too long.” Even the light lilting of his accent is more pronounced here on the privacy of his farm. Like he’s not trying as hard to project a certain image. He’s comfortable and teasing.

It’s weird. And what’s worse is I live for this type of banter.

I scoff. “Pfft. Don’t worry. You’re not my type.”

He holds one arm out, gesturing me down the front steps of his house up on the hill. The property is not as expansive as Gold Rush Ranch, but it just might be more picturesque. It overlooks a valley with a small lake at the base. The barn is just up the opposite slope and there’s a huge weeping willow tree right beside the gravel road that joins the two buildings. Everything nestled into the valley gives it an effortless cozy feeling that I like.

Our footsteps fall in time on the gravel road as we walk down to the stables.

“And why am I not your type?”

I sneak a peek over at him, hands slung casually in the pockets of his jeans. The way he carries himself—perfect posture and head held high—gives him an almost regal air. If anyone thinks he’s practically royalty, it’s Stefan Dalca. So why he’s hung up on me saying he’s not my type is beyond me.

“Blond hair.” I laugh, watching my breath blow out in a white cloud before me, unwilling to admit that it’s not that blond, really. In certain light you see the shimmery gold, and I bet as a child it was much lighter. But now it’s this dirty color. Either way, it’s not my usual dark vibe.

He shrugs. “We can dye it.”

I can’t help the big, stupid grin spreading across my face. I feel like I’m living in the twilight zone. What the hell am I doing? Are we being friendly? Are we flirting?

“Okay. Also . . . you’re arrogant.”

He gives me a sly look out of the corner of his eye, one side of his sinful mouth tipping up into a cocky smirk. “You’ll get used to it.”

I shake my head. “You’re just proving my point.” He doesn’t respond, but I see his body stiffen slightly as we walk past the fresh grave we dug last night. His eyes fixate forward on the barn. “Okay. What about the mafia ties? Everyone says you have mafia ties.”

Small town gossip is vicious, and I’m not sure how or where this rumor started, but people around here spread it like wildfire. Probably the accent, the murky past, and the boatloads of unexplained cash.

As the daughter of an Indian farmer and his white hippie wife, I’m not oblivious to how judgemental rural towns can be. Having to always work harder to fit in or succeed isn’t new to me.

He stops at my question, turning toward me slowly. The energy in the air shifts from laid back to something more ominous. “And what do you think about that?”

Our eyes clash as I assess him. I swear I can see the humor drain out of them right before me. “I think you’re all bark and no bite.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh and starts walking again with a subtle shake of his head. “You are something else, Dr. Thorne.”

I take a few long strides to catch up with him. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” he replies with complete sincerity as we approach the Gold Rush Ranch trailer parked in the lot before us. Before I have time to ruminate on that last comment, he continues, “Okay. What do we do now, Doc?”

I blow a loose piece of hair away from my face. “I’m going to need your help walking him into the barn. He’s very weak. Let’s just get him into a stall on his own first. I’m going to need some of the mare’s manure, and I’ve got some Vicks VapoRub.”

His nose wrinkles. “For what?”

“The manure we need to rub on the foal. The Vicks is to block her sense of smell. Hopefully that will be enough. Is she a mellow mare? A mild tranquilizer is also an option.”

“She’s always been very calm. Why would you tranquilize her?”

I peer back at him as I pull open the trailer door. “She could react poorly. She could reject the foal. This isn’t guaranteed.”

Stefan presses his shoulders back stiffly, his lips pressing into a grim line. “I didn’t realize that was a risk.”

I step up into the trailer, muttering to myself, “Sometimes I wonder how you got into this business at all.”

I feel him step up behind me, but he says nothing.

“Hey, little buddy.” I run my hands over the foal, happy to see he’s still standing. “Out we go. Stefan, just support his body in case he stumbles.”

Between the two of us, we get the small colt out of the trailer and into a warm stall. Stefan stands in the doorway staring at him with a sad look on his face while I swipe some of the rub into the mare’s nostrils a few doors down. Then with one gloved hand, I pick up a few pieces of manure from her stall before heading over to rub it along the foal’s back. Right where she might sniff while he nurses. Hopefully.

To Stefan’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch. And when everything is as set as it’s going to get, I turn back to the tall man waiting behind me. The grim expression on his face and red-rimmed eyes are a perfect reflection of my own face.

“Ready?”

He gives me a steady nod. “Yup. Let’s do it.” There’s a hard set to his angular jaw now. Our time for joking has passed. He almost looks nervous.

“Okay. Let’s get him up.”

I’m not big on praying. But I send up a small prayer now.

I’ll take all the help I can get to make this work.