Rancher's Christmas Storm
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Maisey Yates
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14
One
As Honey Cooper looked around the beautiful tasting room that—other than the vineyards themselves—was the crown jewel of Cowboy Wines—she thought to herself that if she had a book of matches and just a tiny bit more moxie, she might’ve burned the entire place to the ground.
Not that it could ever be said that she was lacking in moxie—maybe it was just the desire to avoid prison. Perhaps not the best reason to avoid engaging in the torching of her family winery. Scratch that, her family’s former winery.
Until it had been sold to Jericho Smith. Jericho Smith, who was the most infuriating, obnoxious, sexy man she had ever known.
He made her itch. Down beneath her skin where she couldn’t scratch it. It drove her crazy. And now he had her legacy. Just because her brothers were no longer interested in the day-to-day running of Cowboy Wines and her father wanted to retire, Jericho had offered to buy and her father had sold. Sure, she had a tidy sum of money sitting in her bank account that her father had felt was her due post sale, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t the point.
Maybe she should go find a matchbook.
Instead, she looked down at her phone—she had bought herself a smartphone with her ill-gotten rage money—and saw that it had lit up again. She had a message.
It was from Donovan. Which thrilled her a little bit.
Donovan ran an equine facility up north, on the outskirts of Portland. She had met him on a dating app. A dating app. Yes, Honey Cooper had signed up for a dating app.
But the thing was, she was really sick of the pickings down in Gold Valley. She was sick of cowboys. She was sick of everybody knowing her brothers. Her father.
Jericho.
She was untouchable here. They might as well up and put her in a glass case. Everybody acted like they were afraid of getting punched in the face if they came within thirty yards of her. In fairness, they probably were in danger of getting punched in the face. Jackson and Creed weren’t exactly known for their measured temperaments, and when it came to Jericho... Well, he was the older brother that she absolutely didn’t need.
He twisted her up in ways she hated, and had for as long as she’d noticed that boys were different from girls. Of course, the problem with knowing a man that long was that he could only see you as the pigtail-wearing brat you’d once been and would never really see you as a woman.
There was also the fact she knew all too well that Jericho’s personal policy when it came to relationships was that they were best as a good time, not a long time.
But he was just so hot.
So was Donavan though. You know, if the pictures that she had gotten from him weren’t a lie. No, they weren’t those kind of pictures. He had not sent her his nudes. She wasn’t sure if she was offended by that or not, as she had it on very good authority—TV—that men often sent women their anatomy when they wanted to hook up.
Not that they physically sent their anatomy, but pictures of them.
Still, she was on the road to getting out of Gold Valley, to getting away from the winery—without setting it on fire—and getting away from Jericho once and for all.
That was part of the problem. The proximity was killing her. She still lived at Cowboy Wines. And she felt surrounded—absolutely surrounded—by her father’s perfidy.
So she was going to run away to Portland. Take a job at a different ranch. Maybe lose her virginity to Donovan.
No, she was definitely going to lose her virginity to Donovan.
For Christmas.
And she would forget all about Jericho and the fact that she thought he was hot. And the fact that he had devastated her by buying the winery. The winery that had been her only dream, her only goal for as long as she could remember. She’d knuckled down and worked the land, worked it till her knuckles bled, the same as the rest of them, for years. And now it was gone.
To add insult to injury, she still thought he was hot. Even while furious with him. Even while he took a new woman into his bed practically every night. Which didn’t matter.
She didn’t care about that. She didn’t care. Because she didn’t actually want to date him. She just wanted to climb him like a tree.
And who didn’t? Honestly. He was incredibly beautiful. Tall, broad and well muscled. Sin in cowboy boots. And in a cowboy hat. And a tight T-shirt. And as much as she would like to actually be sick of cowboys, it was kind of her aesthetic.
She’d lost her mother when she was only thirteen, and it had stuck with her. There was something about the loss that was a lot like the bottom of the world had fallen out, and she’d done her best to cling to what she could.
She had her dad, she had her brothers and the most important thing to her had been to fit in with them.
She knew that dealing with her in her grief had been hard for her dad so she’d done her best to be more stoic. She’d pushed off her desire to experiment with makeup or clothes or anything like that.
She’d become the cowgirl she needed to be.
But it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Now she was ready for something else.
To see what else she could do and be.
Donovan was different. He was sophisticated. The place he ran was an equine facility. It wasn’t a ranch. She wouldn’t be a ranch hand. She would be a horse trainer. She would be fancy. She would be free.
She would not be a virgin.
If her father didn’t think that she needed a winery, then she didn’t need to be around them.
That made her heart clench tight. She wasn’t... She wasn’t going to fall out with her family. Not entirely. Her mother had died when she was so young, and her father had taken good care of her. But he just didn’t understand having a daughter. He loved her. She knew that—no matter how difficult things had been around the time of her mother’s death, she did know that. But it didn’t occur to him that she might want a piece of this place. Even though she had worked it most of her life.
And her brothers... They were pains in the butt. They really were. But they loved her. She needed distance though.
She so badly needed distance.
And she had a plan to get it.
She picked up her phone and looked at the message.
What’s your estimated date of arrival?
I was thinking the week of Christmas.
She was actually thinking she’d leave tomorrow. That was what she was thinking. Leaving tomorrow. Getting out. Getting gone. Pulling off the Band-Aid.
She had never missed Christmas with her family before. But this was part of her defiance. She wasn’t going to consult them on her leaving. She was going to just... She was going to go. She was going to do whatever she wanted.
She didn’t need to ask their permission, and she hadn’t. She hadn’t told them any of what she was thinking, or let them know how furious she was, because why would she?
Her dad didn’t want to deal with her emotions anyway.
Plus he was rarely around anymore. She had no idea what was going on with him, but he was never home. Her brothers were married now—and to the Maxfields at that. Which meant they would be off doing things at their fancy winery. Or worse. Expecting her to join them.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like her sisters-in-law. They were just...a lot. A whole lot. Cricket was her age—she supposed they ought to be friends. It was just... She had a difficult time thinking about how she was going to cozy up to a girl who was sleeping with her brother. Ew.
That would work just fine. I’ll have a room ready for you.
She hoped that it would be a room with him.
She had to do something. To erase this place, her pain, her stupid, pointless attraction to Jericho, the man who had stolen her whole future from her. The man who owned way too much space in her head.
Her stomach twisted in defiance of that thought.
She did hope there was a room ready for the two of them to share. She did. She was ready. She was ready for this. For a change. For something new. For a chance to be different.
She was going to make her way in the world. And she did not need Cowboy Wines to do it.
Jericho was tired. Down to his bones. And he only had a day or so before he had to leave for the Dalton family Christmas.
He would love to resist it. Hell, he would love to be an asshole and just stay away entirely no matter how many times the Daltons reached out. But two months ago, he was contacted by West Caldwell, who was apparently his half brother, telling him about his connection to the Dalton family.
Apparently Hank had expected Jericho would be too mad to speak to him, considering it had come out that his various half children were under the impression he’d known about them and denied them, even though that wasn’t true.
West had been the voluntary envoy, meeting him down at the Gold Valley Saloon, explaining the situation and how he himself had come to be in Gold Valley and come to be part of the Dalton clan.
The thing was, Jericho had already known about his connection to the Daltons. He’d known about it from the time he was old enough to understand that everyone had a father—it was just that his own didn’t give a fuck.
But it turned out he’d gotten that wrong.
Hank Dalton hadn’t known. The infamous retired rodeo cowboy was apparently the father to a whole passel of kids he didn’t know he had. Owing to his wild years, when he had been philandering and cheating on his wife—and apparently not understanding condom usage—he had a spread of kids in their thirties. Some of whom were with his wife, Tammy, others of whom were not.
Apparently, he was the last one who hadn’t been tracked down, owed to the fact that Hank hadn’t known his first name, and his last name was so common.
Hank was infamous in Gold Valley, and his mother had made no secret of the fact that he was his father.
But then, his mother had died when Jericho was only sixteen, and it had been the Cooper family that had taken him in. Finished raising him. Made sure that he never wanted for much of anything.
Cancer was a bitch and it had taken his strong, caring mother from him far too soon. A pain he had in common with the Coopers. They didn’t talk about it—feelings weren’t high on their list of things to deal with—but they all just...knew. That was enough.
They’d been enough.
And he had just never... Hank had rejected her as far as she was concerned, and Jericho had never wanted to take a damn thing from Hank.
But the story was more complicated than that. It turned out it was Hank’s wife, Tammy, who had dealt with the former mistresses who’d all had his children. Hank himself had never really known.
And so he was... He was doing this. He was heading up to this family Christmas thing. And he didn’t know what the hell was in store for him. But he’d spent his life without any real family. He was curious, frankly. To see this whole big family that was his.
Thankfully, Honey would be around to see to the running of the winery. Plus, Jackson and Creed could get their asses in gear to give them some help. They were like brothers to him.
And Honey was...
Under his skin in ways he didn’t like to acknowledge. He’d known her since she was a scrappy, spiky kid, and now she was a scrappy, spiky woman who ignited his blood and made him question if hell was really all that hot, or if it was something he should risk.
Lord knew, if he ever touched her, Jackson and Creed would have his head on a pike. And if he were the kind of man who could offer something extra, it might be different.
But in his mind, love was a sacrifice. And he’d bled out all that he could on that score.
So he kept his fly up and his hands to himself. Around her anyway.
Unwanted attraction aside, she was a good worker, and she would be more than up to the task of seeing to the place around the holidays. In fact, since he’d bought the place, he swore she’d been working two times as hard.
Being here without him wouldn’t be that difficult either, especially because it wasn’t exactly prime wine tasting time. They had a couple of private parties, but otherwise, people were getting together and sitting outdoors and watching music every week during this time of the year. Maybe his success in life was part of the reason he’d agreed to meet with the Daltons.
Because hell, he’d gotten pretty far in life without Hank.
He pulled himself up from nothing with bloody knuckles. Bought his first ranch after years of working it. Bought another one. Expanded. Made profits. Got to the point where he could buy the winery. And now he had several different business ventures relating to ranching and agriculture.
And he was successful. No matter how you looked at it.
He didn’t need the Daltons’ pity or their money. There had been a time when his mother really could’ve used it. They had gotten a single settlement from Hank, but her cancer had bankrupted them.
He’d been a kid left with nothing in the end. And yeah, he’d spent some time being bitter about it. Until he’d decided the best revenge could only ever be living well, and he’d done whatever the hell he could to make sure he was living as well as any man could be.
He worked hard, he played harder. Family, marriage... That shit wasn’t in the cards for him.
He walked into the winery tasting room, to see Honey leaning over the table on her phone. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans that seemed on a mission to hug her ass as tightly as possible.
No. Honey was not his sister. She was also barely over the age of twenty-two, too damned young, too damned earnest and more likely to bite him on the wrist than kiss him. She was like a wild mink.
And damn if it didn’t appeal.
He knew exactly when the switch had flipped, and he did his best to never think about it. It had been back last November when Creed had announced he was marrying his rival—because she was pregnant.
Honey had been incensed, a furious little ball of rage.
“You don’t marry somebody just because you lust after them. That’s silly.”
“Fine. The pregnancy.”
“I still don’t understand how you could be so stupid. You’re not a kid.”
“Honey, I pray that you always keep your head when it comes to situations of physical desire.”
“I would never get that stupid over a man.”
She’d said that with total and certain confidence and something had broken inside him. Shattered. She was a woman.
And he wondered what sort of man could make her that stupid.
His immediate, gut response had been...
Him.
He’d wanted to run out of there like his pants were on fire and his ass was catching. Instead he’d stayed—like it was nothing—and tamped it all down to a manageable burn.
It was what he’d been doing ever since.
“Afternoon.”
She lifted her head slowly, then turned to look at him, her expression cool. “Jericho.”
“Did you practice that face in the mirror?”
“What face?” she said, the coolness evaporating immediately, her eyebrows locking together.
“There you go. Now you look like you. I’m going to need you to oversee things while I’m gone over Christmas.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
She blinked wide, whiskey eyes. “Do you think that you’re my... Do you think you’re my boss, Jericho?”
“Honey,” he said, realizing that he was tempting fate. And her temper. “I own the winery now. You do work for me.” He was the one that would be signing the checks once that first pay cycle ended. So maybe she hadn’t realized it. But it was true.
“I...I quit,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“I quit. I’m leaving, actually. I’m leaving.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Jericho, do you always just repeat what women say? Because if so, I find it hard to believe that you have such good luck with them.”
“Women don’t gravitate to me for my conversational skills,” he said.
A streak of color flooded her cheeks. And he would be a fool to read anything into that.
“I don’t really care why women seek out your...company. I’m not seeking your company out. I’m leaving. I got a job.”
“You...” He realized he was about to say you got a job. “Where?”
“Up near Portland.”
“What are you going to do? Work at one of those assy coffee shops that only serves drinks in one size? And sells more macho than coffee?”
“It’s not in the city. It’s a ranch on the outskirts. An equine facility. I got a job there as a trainer.”
“Sight unseen?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell is this place called?”
“None of your business.”
“Does your father know?”
“My father is too busy with... Well, he seems to have taken to my brothers marrying into the Maxfield family with a lot of enthusiasm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He knew what it was supposed to mean. Cash Cooper had carried on a youthful affair with Lucinda Maxfield years ago. Time and misunderstandings had separated them. But since her marriage to James had fallen apart, and Cash’s wife had passed, he suspected the two of them had rekindled things.
And it seemed Honey suspected it too.
“Apparently the Maxfield women are universally irresistible to the men in my family.” She shook her head. “But I don’t want to spend my Christmas at Maxfield Vineyards. I don’t want to be part of their fancy ass...whatever. I don’t want you to own Cowboy Wines. I want everything to go back to the way it was. But it isn’t going to. Which means I’m going to take myself off. I got a place. And I really like... I really like Donovan.”
“Who’s Donovan?” he asked, eyes narrowing. Jackson and Creed weren’t currently in residence, which meant that it was up to him to make sure she wasn’t doing anything dumbass.
Honey was open; she was honest to a near fault. If the thought was in her head, it was out of her mouth just as quick.
The fact that she’d been keeping secrets set off big loud alarm bells.
“He owns the equine facility that I’m going to,” she said, sniffing loudly. “And I’ve been talking with him on an app.”
His stomach went tight. “Explain.”
“Well, if you must know, I met him on a dating app.”
“You met a guy that you’re going to go work for on a dating app?”
“Yes.”
“This is an HR violation waiting to happen.”
“I think he might be HR.”
“All the more reason for you to turn tail and run. This doesn’t sound like a safe situation at all.”
“I’m not a child, Jericho. And anyway, I’m going up there with the express intention of violating HR mandates.”
“Hell no.” Anger burned in his gut. Honey might not be for him. He knew she wasn’t. But even so, he was not going to let Honey Cooper run off up north to shack up with some guy who owned an equine facility—that was the most pretentious little bullshit he’d ever heard—and...start sleeping with him immediately. The very idea made him see red.
“No,” he said. “You are not doing that. You are staying here.”
“It may shock you to learn, Jericho, that you don’t get to control my life. You don’t get to tell me what to do. You don’t even get the tiniest say in what I do with my time. Because it isn’t your business.”
“You are my business, Honey Cooper, whether you like it or not.”
She rounded on him, her expression a fury. “You’re not my brother, asshole. You’re not my boss, and it isn’t your decision. I’m leaving. I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ve got everything packed up.”
“That’s a problem, because I’m also leaving tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
“Honey...”
“No,” she said. “I’m out. I should’ve been the first in line to buy the winery. My father never consulted me. You never considered it. You never considered my feelings at all. Acting concerned for me now, when you bought out my family’s winery without thinking that I might want to...”
“I didn’t realize Cash didn’t consult you.” He felt slightly guilty about saying that, because Jackson had basically told him that Honey wouldn’t be happy about the decision. And he’d chosen to ignore that. He’d chosen to go ahead with it, because it was what he wanted. There wasn’t a whole lot in this world that he could claim as a legacy. His mother was dead; his father had never wanted much of anything to do with him—so he’d thought. Cowboy Wines was the closest thing he had to a family anything. The Coopers were the closest thing he had to a family.
Which meant that getting a piece of it had mattered to him. And when Cash had wanted out...
He never mentioned the possibility of selling it to Honey. It wasn’t like he had taken it out from under her deliberately. And she hadn’t said anything, not a damn thing, in the time since.
But Honey’s happiness meant something to him. The Coopers meant something to him. Which was why, no matter how nice Honey’s ass looked in a pair of jeans, he’d never do anything about it. There were plenty of women out there. More than willing to warm his bed for a few hours. He wasn’t going to mess with his friends’ sister. He also wasn’t going to let her go off half-cocked to warm some other dude’s bed just because she was mad.
Not that he didn’t figure she’d be warming beds, or that she hadn’t. It was just that this was a bad idea. Clearly, up front from the start. And there was no point doing something that was so clearly this dumbass right from step one.
“It doesn’t matter whether you knew or not. You should talk to me. You all should talk to me.”
“The thing is, I wanted it.” He figured honesty was the best policy here. “Whatever was going to get it. Whether you’re happy about it or not.”
“Well, I’m not happy. But it doesn’t matter, because I won’t be around to be unhappy anymore. Fuck you.”
She turned around and stalked out of the room, and he resisted the urge to go after her. Honey and her tantrums weren’t his problem. He had bigger issues. Like making sure everything was covered before he went up to deal with the Daltons. Of course, if he called Creed and Jackson about it, he would blow Honey’s operation. Which was probably for the best.
He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed Jackson. “Hey. I’m going to need your help with the winery for the next week.”
“All right.”
“I’m going to meet my family.”
“Your family?”
“Yeah. My father. Hank Dalton.”
“Well, hell.”
“Don’t say it like that. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Jackson insisted. “He finally acknowledged your existence?”
He didn’t particularly want to talk about this. But it was reality right now, so he supposed there was no avoiding it. “He didn’t know about my existence. Apparently.”
“Hell.”
“I don’t see it as that big of a deal. So I don’t see why you should.”
“Because it’s a big fucking deal.”
“Only if you think I’m going to make a big, happy family out of it. I’m going up for some big Christmas thing. That’s it.”
“Well, I don’t mind helping out.” And he thought about selling Honey out just then. But he didn’t.
“Thanks.”
He might pay for that later. But he would deal with her. No point sending Jackson off after her.
She was already angry enough. He wouldn’t make it worse. And hell, she would see reason. He couldn’t actually imagine Honey taking off and moving up north. She wouldn’t do it.
No. She would come to her senses and see reason.
She had to. He didn’t want to think too deep about the alternative.
