Riding the high, p.1
Riding the High, page 1
By Paisley Hope
Holding the Reins
Training the Heart
Riding the High
Dell
An imprint of Random House
A division of Penguin Random House LLC
1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019
randomhousebooks.com
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2025 by Paisley Hope
Penguin Random House values and supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader. Please note that no part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.
Dell and the D colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
ISBN 9780593982457
Ebook ISBN 9780593982464
The authorized representative in the EU for product safety and compliance is Penguin Random House Ireland, Morrison Chambers, 32 Nassau Street, Dublin D02 YH68, Ireland, https://eucontact.penguin.ie.
Cover illustration: Katie Smith
ep_prh_7.1a_151084964_c0_r0
Contents
Dedication
Warnings
Prologue: Ginger
Chapter One: Cole
Chapter Two: Ginger
Chapter Three: Ginger
Chapter Four: Ginger
Chapter Five: Cole
Chapter Six: Cole
Chapter Seven: Ginger
Chapter Eight: Cole
Chapter Nine: Ginger
Chapter Ten: Cole
Chapter Eleven: Ginger
Chapter Twelve: Ginger
Chapter Thirteen: Ginger
Chapter Fourteen: Cole
Chapter Fifteen: Cole
Chapter Sixteen: Ginger
Chapter Seventeen: Cole
Chapter Eighteen: Cole
Chapter Nineteen: Ginger
Chapter Twenty: Cole
Chapter Twenty-One: Cole
Chapter Twenty-Two: Ginger
Chapter Twenty-Three: Ginger
Chapter Twenty-Four: Cole
Chapter Twenty-Five: Ginger
Chapter Twenty-Six: Cole
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Ginger
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Cole
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cole
Chapter Thirty: Ginger
Chapter Thirty-One: Cole
Chapter Thirty-Two: Ginger
Chapter Thirty-Three: Cole
Chapter Thirty-Four: Cole
Chapter Thirty-Five: Ginger
Chapter Thirty-Six: Cole
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Ginger
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Cole
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Ginger
Chapter Forty: Cole
Chapter Forty-One: Ginger
Chapter Forty-Two: Cole
Chapter Forty-Three: Ginger
Chapter Forty-Four: Ginger
Chapter Forty-Five: Ginger
Chapter Forty-Six: Ginger
Chapter Forty-Seven: Cole
Chapter Forty-Eight: Ginger
Chapter Forty-Nine: Ginger
Chapter Fifty: Cole
Chapter Fifty-One: Ginger
Chapter Fifty-Two: Ginger
Chapter Fifty-Three: Cole
Chapter Fifty-Four: Cole
Chapter Fifty-Five: Ginger
Chapter Fifty-Six: Cole
Chapter Fifty-Seven: Ginger
Chapter Fifty-Eight: Cole
Chapter Fifty-Nine: Ginger
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Playlist
About the Author
_151084964_
If the mood ever strikes to save a horse and there are no cowboys in sight, don’t worry, darling. The always gorgeous, sometimes moody, sometimes sweet town sheriff will do just fine. (And besides, cowboys don’t carry handcuffs.)
Warnings
Open door sexual content.
Light discussions of grief (nothing on page).
Dirty talk, mild degradation.
Handcuffing, anal play, cum play, hand necklaces.
Dealing with a flighty, pain-in-the-ass ex-wife on occasion.
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 Yankees 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 up on his flannel shirt 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. Every single time.
“I think we both know I won’t be the one ordering,” he says, his deep baritone clear 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 figure out why.
“Let’s just get through the first inning before you start shit talking.” I turn to break his hold on me and help my next customer, wishing it was busier in the bar so I could avoid Cole altogether.
I hear Cole chuckle from behind me as if he knows my team will be fucked with the first pitch before he heads back over to the table he’s been sitting at with a co-worker.
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 am a tried-and-true Cincinnati Reds fan, though not really by choice. It was simply ingrained in me.
My first solid memory is eating nachos with my grandfather at a Reds game when I was six. My granddad is no longer earthside, but he was the best man I’ve ever known, and the only man who’s never let me down. My mother never inherited his love for the game, so he passed his passion on to me. Sadly, these days the Reds don’t play quite as well as they used to.
An hour later, the bar is bustling, and my Reds are losing by three runs. 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 suffering for the sake of tradition. Cole and I have been doing this since my second year of college, when we 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 had 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 co-worker, and gesture for her to serve Cole when he saunters back up. I’m not in the mood to listen to him yet. She grins and makes her way over to him at the other end of the bar, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder as she goes. Even from over here, 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. I’m laser focused on cleaning the draft tap, but I can’t help but try to put him in his place.
“And I know it’s hard to believe, but 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 and nods at me like he knows he’s getting to me before leaning forward to talk to Emma with a grin. I roll my eyes in response.
I really am exhausted. 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 break. Shaping young minds all day, every day, maintaining a relatable vibe, and keeping teenagers actually engaged is damn hard work. But toss in the fact that you’re expected to make them actually learn something? Nearly impossible.
T
his summer, I plan to sit by my parents’ pool by day and make as much extra cash as I can at the “seedy bar” side job my dad lectures me about during the evenings. 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.
Emma 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,” she notes.
“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 just new to town, so all the men around here pique your interest. I’m desensitized.”
“Either way, that man is pure fire,” she says over her shoulder as she serves another customer.
I turn to face him and toss him a haughty look, praying my Reds can pull off a miracle just to shut him up, but by the end of the ninth, it seems no one has 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.
Guess I owe this fucker a pizza. Again. I watch him in my periphery and wonder if he even had the option to spend the night with his wife, or if he has 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 running sports highlights. “Thanks for coming. I need someone outside the situation 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 beside him in my sweats and oversize T-shirt. The sound of crickets fills the air as I slide my sandals off. 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. Gemma’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’ve heard that Mabel’s care has fallen on Cole over the last year or so while Gemma finishes 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.”
“What do you want, Cole? Have you tried talking to her? 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 said 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. But I refuse to give up 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 options as 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 own bourbon before adding, “Do you love Gemma?”
“No. But Mabes is getting older quick. I’d live in an unhappy marriage 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 sets his wide jaw and turns to face his yard, knocking back the rest of his shot.
“Got any popcorn?” I ask, changing the subject as a distraction, since I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ve been brought here to do. “I started watching that show you told me about, Brooklyn Nine-Nine. 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, running 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 beer 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, taking my sweet time as I 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 friends with Cole? He’s gorgeous. He’s an easy six foot three, big hands, broad shoulders and strong, muscular arms, 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, wavy brown hair are only enhanced by his big eyes, which are framed by thick lashes. Those eyes turn to whiskey fire when he is up to no good, and they’ve had my attention since I started hanging around his baby sister, CeCe, at school. Cole is older than us by three years, which meant I spent 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.
