Riding the High (Silver Pines #3)

PROLOGUE Ginger

May, three years ago

“ I think I want two pizzas. Extra pepperoni.” The voice I know almost as well as my own sounds from behind me.

I roll my eyes, take a deep breath and turn to face the other side of the bar. “Good—when you call to order it, you can let them know.” I toss him a cutesy kind of grin. “Just don’t forget my bacon and pineapple when you order for me , Law Daddy.”

Fucking Yankees fans. And in particular, the most annoying Yankee fan there is. Cole Ashby.

His wide eyes stay on mine, as he sips his beer, their deep amber flecks pulling me in. He’s the only Ashby with those eyes and I don’t know where they came from—but damn, they anchor me every time their focus is on me. I watch him push the sleeves of his flannel shirt up with large, sculpted hands, showcasing a little more ink on his left arm than the last time I saw him.

He sets his beer down and leans over the bar, drumming his fingers against it, and gives me the same smirk he’s been giving me for years, the one that makes my knees go a little weak. Get your shit together, Danforth.

I mentally berate myself for falling victim to his charm so easily. Every single time.

“I think we both know I won’t be the one ordering.” His deep baritone is clear, even in the noisy bar.

I do my best to brush him off, but I am a woman, and there are times when that intense stare turns me into temporary mush. I’ve given up trying to fight it.

“Let’s just get through the first inning before you start shit-talking.” I turn away to break his hold on me and help my next customer, wishing it was busier so I could avoid Cole altogether.

I hear Cole chuckle from behind me as if he knows my team will be fucked from the first pitch, before he heads back over to the table he’s been sitting at with a coworker.

He’s so damn cocky, so damn sure his Yanks have us beat. But I guess, most of the time, they do. I’m used to my team losing to the Yankees, because I’m a tried-and-true Cincinnati Reds fan, though not really by choice. It’s simply ingrained in me.

My first solid memory is eating nachos with my grandfather at a Reds game when I was six. My grandad is no longer earthside, but he’s still the best man I’ve ever known, and the only man who’s never let me down. My mother didn’t inherit his love for the game, so he passed his passion to me. Sadly, these days the Reds don’t play quite as well as they used to so it sets me up to suffer.

An hour later, the bar is bustling and my Reds are, in fact, losing by three runs. It’s not late enough in the game for Cole to gloat, but late enough that when he returns for another beer, I question why I put myself through this with him for the sake of tradition. We’ve been doing this since my second year of college, when we both ended up at the Horse and Barrel the weekend our teams played each other. I had to open my big mouth about a shitty play the Yankees made, saying we could beat them with our eyes closed. Cole just looked at me with that frustrating smirk, then said, “Wanna bet?”

That was four years ago, and every year I come back like a sucker believing my Reds will pull through. I’ve only won the honor of paid-for pizza once.

I look over at Emma, my coworker, and gesture for her to serve Cole when he saunters back up. I’m not in the mood to listen to him. She grins and tosses her long blonde hair over her shoulder as she goes. Even from the other side of the bar, I can feel his smug attitude.

“Avoid me all you want, Vixen. Won’t change the outcome of the game,” he calls out, loud enough to grate on my nerves.

“We’ll see,” I retort without looking up at him. I’m laser-focused on cleaning the draft tap, but after a few minutes I can still feel his smug grin and I can’t help but try to put him in his place, setting down my cloth and pointing at him.

“And I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not avoiding you. It’s not all about you, Deputy. Truth is, I’ve simply dealt with enough children today. Had my fill, ya know?”

Cole raises his fresh beer, chuckles and nods at me like he knows he’s getting to me, before leaning forward to talk to Emma. I roll my eyes in response.

I really am too exhausted to deal with Cole’s antics. Today was the last day of school, marking the end of my first year as a teacher at our local high school. I’d love to say I’m sad to see the school year end, but that would be a lie.

I need this summer break. Shaping young minds all day, every day, maintaining a relatable vibe and keeping teenagers engaged is damn hard work. Toss in the fact you’re expected to make them learn something? Nearly impossible.

Sitting by my parents’ pool by day and making as much extra cash as I can at this “seedy bar” side job my dad lectures me about sounds pretty good right about now. No matter how much he warns me about getting into trouble here, I’m not giving it up. Rocco Pressley is a great boss, and the tips are excellent.

I flick my eyes to Emma’s as she makes her way back over to me and grabs a clean glass for filling.

“He said— and I quote —he’ll be back. And don’t feel bad, Ginger, it’s not your fault you always pick the losing team.”

I want to smack him. Emma senses my annoyance and starts to laugh.

“I don’t know how you’re friends with him.”

“I know, he’s damn frustrating,” I retort.

“No,” she continues, tossing a glance his way. “I mean, I’d be waiting exactly zero days before trying to jump that man’s bones. Those arms, that grin, those dimples. Oh my.”

“We’re not friends. He’s my best friend’s brother,” I correct her. And I know he’s hot , trust me. “You’re new to town, so all the men around here pique your interest. I’m desensitized.”

“Either way, the man is pure fire,” she says over her shoulder as she serves another customer.

I toss him a haughty look and pray my Reds can pull off a miracle just to shut him up, but by the end of the ninth, it seems no one’s heard my prayers.

I glance over at him and can’t help myself. When he raises his drink to me in a cheers, I smile back and shake my head.

Guess I owe this fucker a pizza. Again. I watch him in my periphery and silently wonder if he even had the option of spending the night with his wife, or if he’s completely given up in the marriage department. I can’t say I really blame him, since Gemma seems like she isn’t interested in making things work or focusing on her daughter at all these days.

As I wipe down the bar, I remember the first night he texted me, a few months ago. The night he knew he and Gemma probably weren’t going to make it.

“She’s in Lexington with friends again,” Cole says, his eyes focused on the little outside TV playing sports highlights. “Thanks for coming. I need someone to talk to and my brother won’t understand. He’ll tell me to stay with her, to do the right thing. But I can’t.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, sitting down beside him in my sweats and oversized t-shirt. The sound of crickets fills the air as I wait. This man. Wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, feet bare and holding a baby monitor in his lap with one hand, wondering what his wife is doing at one a.m. on a Thursday night. He’s such a great dad, and he’s always trying to give his daughter a family that just doesn’t seem as though it’s meant to be.

“Gemma was too young to become a mother. She’s always struggled to put Mabel first, and it’s only gotten worse as Mabes has become more independent. She’s started hanging around the wrong crowd, and she doesn’t make an effort with either of us anymore.”

I nod, but don’t say anything. Cole and I haven’t really been close since he married Gemma, but of course I’ll be here for him when he needs me. Laurel Creek is a small town and I heard that Mabel’s care has fallen almost full-time on Cole over the last year while Gemma finishes hairstyling school, but I didn’t realize she was leaving him at night too.

“Weekly nights out with the girls have become almost every night.” He sighs. “She’s drinking too much and the rift between us has grown. There’s no place for that with Mabel. I don’t understand how her social life can be more important than her daughter. We fight about it constantly. I won’t have her putting Mabel second.”

“What do you want, Cole? Have you tried talking to her? Maybe laying out an ultimatum?” I ask.

“I want a wife I can trust. But let’s face it, we didn’t really know each other when she got pregnant. We gave it our best shot but it’s clear Mabel isn’t her priority anymore. I’m not sure she ever was.”

I pull the bottle of bourbon off the weathered side table and pour myself a little into the second glass Cole brought out with him. Mabel’s swing set blows gently in the breeze in their tiny yard as he presses on. “I called her out before she left tonight. She actually stated that she wasn’t meant to be a mother.” He scoffs in disbelief. “Said she wants to experience more before she settles down.” His jaw tenses and he looks out to the yard. “I don’t even know what that means.”

He turns his amber eyes to meet mine, his brow furrowed as he sips his whiskey.

“I don’t trust her but I’m going to give her one more chance when she comes home, whenever that is. I’m just so afraid to lose Mabel.”

I reach over and place my hand over his. The same live-wire feeling I’ve always felt when I touch him zings up my arm.

“This isn’t the fifties anymore, Cole. Just know if you want something different, you have the option to be Mabel’s main caregiver.”

He nods but says, “I’m not ready to go there yet. I have to have a little faith she’ll come around.”

“Even if it means you face a lifetime of unhappiness”? I ask, pulling my warm hand from his and taking a much-needed sip of my bourbon before adding, “Do you love Gemma?”

“No. But Mabes is getting older quick. I’d be unhappy until she’s eighteen to keep her family together if Gemma can turn this around and we can quit arguing.”

He blows out a deep breath, and my heart breaks for him as he knocks back the rest of his drink. The air is heavy, telling me I need to do the job he brought me here to do.

“Got any popcorn?” I ask, offering him a distraction. “I started watching that show you told me about, Brooklyn 99 . I’m just starting season two if you want to watch with me?”

Cole turns to me with a grin that says he’s grateful I’m here.

“I’ll get a bag going. Oh, by the way, see your Reds take a dive tonight?” he asks as he gets up to make the popcorn.

“Thanks for the reminder,” I mutter as he runs a hand through his wavy dark hair. I shoot him a dirty look and flip him the bird. When he turns his back and heads into the house, I smile to myself. If giving him a mental break from this is all I can do, I’m going to do it right …

I restock the Budweiser in the cooler now, as the game officially ends. I know Cole will be coming to gloat without even looking up to confirm he’s on his way. There’s always been something about him that tells my body he’s arrived before I see him. Of course, I go the mature route and ignore him for as long as I can, serving as many people as possible and taking my sweet time to chat to one of my regulars. I don’t usually let him flirt, but tonight I do, just to piss Cole off. At his end of the bar, Cole soon loses his patience and clears his throat. I finally turn to glare at him.

The worst thing about trying to be semi-friends with Cole? He’s gorgeous. He’s an easy 6’3”, big hands, broad shoulders, inked muscular arms, and an ass that only comes from playing sports all through high school and working on his family’s ranch most of his life. His straight, Roman god–like features and dark hair are only enhanced by his big amber eyes framed by thick lashes. Those eyes turn to whiskey-fire when he’s up to no good, and they’ve had my attention since I started hanging around his baby sister CeCe at school in the ninth grade. Cole is older than us by three years, and I spent many hours sitting in the stands watching him play hockey, baseball or football every weekend with the Ashby clan. I was a lovesick teenager the moment I realized my first and true love, Zac Efron, had nothing on Cole Ashby.

Back then, I was constantly stumbling over my words and getting caught staring at him. A few torturous years passed like this, but then something changed. I grew up and into my God-given curves. After that, it felt as though Cole was staring back a lot more often.

Mr. World’s Biggest Yankees Fan pats his throat now, his beautiful face beaming with cocky victory.

“Thirsty … So thirsty,” he mouths at me.

Cole spreads his hands out over the bar and leans in. His jaw is covered in a light scruff and his Yankees hat sits backward on his head, letting a few dark tendrils of his perfectly imperfect hair escape it.

“I’d like my pies before the end of the national anthem tomorrow night,” he smirks as I approach him. The scent of Cole washes over me when I get close enough—weathered cedar and spice from his trademark cologne mixed with a hint of mint. He leans into me, his voice low. “I know I don’t have to give you my address, Vixen.”

I glare at him. “Perks of being your number one distraction,” I offer sarcastically.

He places a hand over his heart like I’ve shot him.

“How dare you? I pay you well with snacks and incredible company, Ginger.”

“Debatable.” I stick out my tongue, cracking and passing him his favorite, Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale, before he even asks for it. He pulls the bottle from me, and his fingers brush mine. There’s no stopping the heat that spreads up my forearm with his touch.

“Extra mushrooms on that pizza, right?” I grin, knowing he hates mushrooms, and then turn back toward the back of the bar.

Cole chuckles behind me. “Don’t even think about fucking around,” he warns as I head to the back for my break from both my job and his eyes.

The Friday crowd is difficult to clear out tonight, but we manage. I stay with two other servers and our boss, Rocco, until every last peanut shell is off the floor, my Dolly Parton playlist getting us through. Just when it’s finally time to say goodnight, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

LAW DADDY

Favor? Brooklyn 99?

I stare at the message. Cole left when the bar closed and I know Mabel is staying at the ranch. Fuck. Gemma must not have come home again, and Cole’s gotta be at his wits’ end after dealing with this for so long.

I’m so tired but I instantly make my mind up—I can always sleep in tomorrow.

I head to the kitchen where our line cook is finishing her sanitization of the space. When she sees my face, she gives an all-knowing smile.

“Honey garlic or BBQ?” She pulls open the massive refrigerator door. She always keeps a stash of leftovers in there for the staff to munch on.

“BBQ, and any chance you have some wedges too?” I ask, slinging my purse over my shoulder.

“Sure thing, honey.” She pops a hefty Cole-sized meal into a to-go box and passes it over to me with a smile.

“I’ll say it again, I hope he appreciates you,” she adds as I turn to leave.

“I’ll say it again.” I grin as I turn to go. “He’s just a friend.”

“Mmmhmm,” she calls back as I leave.

I sigh as I breeze through the door into the warm late-night spring air, pulling out my phone.

On my way.