Rancher's Wild Secret & Hold Me, Cowboy
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Maisey Yates
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One
The launch party for Maxfield Vineyards’ brand-new select label was going off without a hitch, and Emerson Maxfield was bored.
Not the right feeling for the brand ambassador of Maxfield Vineyards, but definitely the feeling she was battling now.
She imagined many people in attendance would pin the look of disinterest on her face on the fact that her fiancé wasn’t present.
She looked down at her hand, currently wrapped around a glass of blush wine, her fourth finger glittering with the large, pear-shaped diamond that she was wearing.
She wasn’t bored because Donovan wasn’t here.
Frankly, Donovan was starting to bore her, and that reality caused her no small amount of concern.
But what else could she do?
Her father had arranged the relationship, the engagement, two years earlier, and she had agreed. She’d been sure that things would progress, that she and Donovan could make it work because on paper they should work.
But their relationship wasn’t...changing.
They worked and lived in different states and they didn’t have enough heat between them to light a campfire.
All things considered, the party was much less boring than her engagement.
But all of it—the party and the engagement—was linked. Linked to the fact that her father’s empire was the most important thing in his world.
And Emerson was a part of that empire.
In fairness, she cared about her father. And she cared about his empire, deeply. The winery was her life’s work. Helping build it, grow it, was something she excelled at.
She had managed to get Maxfield wines into Hollywood awards’ baskets. She’d gotten them recommended on prominent websites by former talk show hosts.
She had made their vineyard label something better than local.
Maxfield Vineyards was the leading reason parts of Oregon were beginning to be known as the new Napa.
And her work, and her siblings’ work, was the reason Maxfield Vineyards had grown as much as it had.
She should be feeling triumphant about this party.
But instead she felt nothing but malaise.
The same malaise that had infected so much of what she had done recently.
This used to be enough.
Standing in the middle of a beautiful party, wearing a dress that had been hand tailored to conform perfectly to her body—it used to be a thrill. Wearing lipstick like this—the perfect shade of red to go with her scarlet dress—it used to make her feel...
Important.
Like she mattered.
Like everything was put together and polished. Like she was a success. Whatever her mother thought.
Maybe Emerson’s problem was the impending wedding.
Because the closer that got, the more doubts she had.
If she could possibly dedicate herself to her job so much that she would marry the son of one of the world’s most premier advertising executives.
That she would go along with what her father asked, even in this.
But Emerson loved her father. And she loved the winery.
And as for romantic love...
Well, she’d never been in love. It was a hypothetical. But all these other loves were not. And as far as sex and passion went...
She hadn’t slept with Donovan yet. But she’d been with two other men. One boyfriend in college, one out of college. And it just hadn’t been anything worth upending her life over.
She and Donovan shared goals and values. Surely they could mesh those things together and create a life.
Why not marry for the sake of the vineyard? To make her father happy?
Why not?
Emerson sighed and surveyed the room.
Everything was beautiful. Of course it was. The party was set in her family’s gorgeous mountaintop tasting room, the view of the vineyards stretching out below, illuminated by the full moon.
Emerson walked out onto the balcony. There were a few people out there, on the far end, but they didn’t approach her. Keeping people at a distance was one of her gifts. With one smile she could attract everyone in the room if she chose. But she could also affect a blank face that invited no conversation at all.
She looked out over the vineyards and sighed yet again.
“What are you doing out here?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Emerson’s mouth. Because of course, she could keep everyone but her baby sister Cricket from speaking to her when she didn’t want to be spoken to. Cricket basically did what she wanted.
“I just needed some fresh air. What are you doing here? Weren’t you carded at the door?”
“I’m twenty-one, thank you,” Cricket sniffed, looking...well, not twenty-one, at least not to Emerson.
Emerson smirked. “Oh. How could I forget?”
Truly, she couldn’t forget, as she had thrown an absolutely spectacular party for Cricket, which had made Cricket look wide-eyed and uncomfortable, particularly in the fitted dress Emerson had chosen for her. Cricket did not enjoy being the center of attention.
Emerson did like it. But only on her terms.
Cricket looked mildly incensed in the moonlight. “I didn’t come out here to be teased.”
“I’m sorry,” Emerson responded, sincere because she didn’t want to hurt her sister. She only wanted to mildly goad her, because Cricket was incredibly goadable.
Emerson looked out across the vast expanse of fields and frowned when she saw a figure moving among the vines.
It was a man. She could tell even from the balcony that he had a lean, rangy body, and the long strides of a man who was quite tall.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Cricket said, peering down below. “Should I get Dad?”
“No,” Emerson said. “I can go down.”
She knew exactly who was supposed to be at the party, and who wasn’t.
And if this man was one of the Coopers from Cowboy Wines, then she would have reason to feel concerned that he was down there sniffing around to get trade secrets.
Not that their top rival had ever stooped to that kind of espionage before, but she didn’t trust anyone. Not really.
Wine-making was a competitive industry, and it was only becoming more so.
Emerson’s sister Wren always became livid at the mere mention of the Cooper name, and was constantly muttering about all manner of dirty tricks they would employ to get ahead. So really, anything was possible.
“I’ll just run down and check it out.”
“You’re going to go down and investigate by yourself?”
“I’m fine.” Emerson waved a hand. “I have a cell phone, and the place is heavily populated right now. I don’t think I’m going to have any issues.”
“Emerson...”
Emerson slipped back inside, and out a side door, moving quickly down the stairs, not listening to her sister at all. She didn’t know why, but she felt compelled to see who the man was for herself.
Maybe because his arrival was the first truly interesting thing to happen all evening. She went in the direction where she’d last seen the figure, stepping out of the golden pool of light spilling from the party and into the grapevines. The moonlight illuminated her steps, though it was pale and left her hands looking waxen.
She rounded one row of grapevines into the next, then stopped, frozen.
She had known he was tall, even from a distance. But he was...very tall. And broad.
Broad shoulders, broad chest. He was wearing a cowboy hat, which seemed ridiculous at night, because it wasn’t keeping the sun off him. He had on a tight black T-shirt and a pair of jeans.
And he was not a Cooper.
She had never seen the man before in her life. He saw her and stopped walking. He lifted his head up, and the moonlight caught his features. His face was sculpted, beautiful. So much so that it immobilized her. That square jaw was visible in even this dim light.
“I... Have you lost your way?” she asked. “The party is that way. Though... I’m fairly certain you’re not on the guest list.”
“I wasn’t invited to any party,” he said, his voice rough and raspy, made for sin.
Made for sin?
She didn’t know where such a thought had come from.
Except, it was easy to imagine that voice saying all kinds of sinful things, and she couldn’t credit why.
“Then... Forgive me, but what are you doing here?”
“I work here,” he said. “I’m the new ranch hand.”
Damn if she wasn’t Little Red Riding Hood delivered right to the Big Bad Wolf.
Except, she wasn’t wearing a scarlet cloak. It was a scarlet dress that clung to her generous curves like wrapping paper around a tempting present.
Her dark hair was lined silver by the moonbeams and tumbling around naked shoulders.
He could picture her in his bed, just like that. Naked and rumpled in the sheets, that hair spread everywhere.
It was a shame he wasn’t here for pleasure.
He was here for revenge.
And if he had guessed correctly based on what he knew about the Maxfield family, this was Emerson Maxfield. Who often had her beautiful face splashed across magazine covers for food and wine features, and who had become something of an It Girl for clothing brands as well. She was gorgeous, recognizable...and engaged.
But none of that would have deterred him, if he really wanted her.
What the hell did he care if a man had put a ring on a woman’s finger? In his opinion, if an engaged or married woman was looking elsewhere, then the man who’d put the ring on her finger should’ve done a better job of keeping her satisfied.
If Holden could seduce a woman, then the bastard he seduced her away from deserved it.
Indiscretion didn’t cause him any concern.
But there were a whole lot of women and a whole lot of ways for him to get laid, and he wasn’t about to sully himself inside a Maxfield.
No matter how gorgeous.
“I didn’t realize my father had hired someone new,” she said.
It was funny, given what he knew about her family, the way that she talked like a little private school princess. But he knew she’d gone to elite schools on the East Coast, coming back home to Oregon for summer vacations, at least when her family wasn’t jet-setting off somewhere else.
They were the wealthiest family in Logan County, with a wine label that competed on the world stage.
Her father, James Maxfield, was a world-class visionary, a world-class winemaker...and a world-class bastard.
Holden had few morals, but there were some scruples he held dear. At the very top of that list was that when he was with a woman, there was no coercion involved. And he would never leave one hopeless, blackmailed and depressed. No.
But James Maxfield had no such moral code.
And, sadly for James, when it came to dealing out justice to men who had harmed someone Holden cared about very much, he didn’t have a limit on how far he was willing to go. He wondered what Emerson would think if she knew what her father had done to a woman who was barely her age.
What he’d done to Holden’s younger sister.
But then, Emerson probably wouldn’t care at all.
He couldn’t see how she would not know the way her father behaved, given that the whole family seemed to run the enterprise together.
He had a feeling the Maxfield children looked the other way, as did James’s wife. All of them ignoring his bad behavior so they could continue to have access to his bank account.
“I just got here today,” he said. “Staying in one of the cabins on the property.”
There was staff lodging, which he had found quaint as hell.
Holden had worked his way up from nothing, though his success in real estate development was not anywhere near as splashed over the media as the Maxfield’s success was. Which, in the end, was what allowed him to engage in this revenge mission, this quest to destroy the life and reputation of James Maxfield.
And the really wonderful thing was, James wouldn’t even see it coming.
Because he wouldn’t believe a man of such low status could possibly bring him down. He would overlook Holden. Because James would believe that Holden was nothing more than a hired hand, a lackey.
James would have no idea that Holden was a man with a massive spread of land in the eastern part of the state, in Jackson Creek.
Because James Maxfield thought of no one but himself. He didn’t think anyone was as smart as he was, didn’t think anyone was anywhere near as important.
And that pride would be his downfall in the end.
Holden would make sure of it.
“Oh,” she said. She met his eyes and bit her lip.
The little vixen was flirting with him.
“Aren’t you meant to be in there hosting the party?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I guess so.” She didn’t seem at all surprised that he recognized who she was. But then, he imagined Emerson was used to being recognized.
“People will probably be noticing that you’re gone.”
“I suppose they might be,” she said. She wrinkled her nose. “Between you and me, I’m getting a little tired of these things.”
“Parties with free food and drinks? How could you get tired of that?”
She lifted one elegant shoulder. “I suppose when the drinks are always free, you lose track of why they’re special.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
He’d worked for every damn thing he had.
“Oh. Of course. Sorry. That’s an incredibly privileged thing to say.”
“Well, if you’re who I think you are, you’re incredibly privileged. Why wouldn’t you feel that way?”
“Just because it’s true in my life doesn’t mean it’s not a tacky thing to say.”
“Well, I can think of several tacky things to say right back that might make you feel a little bit better.”
She laughed. “Try me.”
“If you’re not careful, Little Red, wandering through the wilderness like this, a Big Bad Wolf might gobble you up.”
It was an incredibly obvious and overtly sexual thing to say. And the little princess, with her engagement ring glittering on her left hand, should have drawn up in full umbrage.
But she didn’t. Instead, her body seemed to melt slightly, and she looked away. “Was that supposed to be tacky?”
“It was,” he said.
“I guess it didn’t feel that way to me.”
“You should head back to that party,” he said.
“Why? Am I in danger out here?”
“Depends on what you consider danger.”
There was nothing wrong—he told himself—with building a rapport with her. In fact, it would be a damned useful thing in many ways.
“Possibly talking to strange men in vineyards.”
“Depends on whether or not you consider me strange.”
“I don’t know you well enough to have that figured out yet.” A crackle of interest moved over his skin, and he didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him that the first time he’d felt anything remotely like interest in a hell of a long time was happening now.
With Emerson Maxfield.
But she was the one who took a step back. She was the one whose eyes widened in fear, and he had to wonder if his hatred for the blood that ran through her veins was as evident to her as it was to him.
“I have to go,” she said. “I’m... The party.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
He took a step toward her, almost without thinking.
And then she retreated, as quickly as she could on those impractical stiletto heels.
“You better run, Little Red,” he said under his breath.
And then he rocked back on his heels, surveying the grapevines and the house up on the hill. “The Big Bad Wolf is going to gobble all of this up.”
