Rancher's Wild Secret
The only vineyard that Maxfield Vineyards really viewed as competition was Cowboy Wines. Which Emerson thought was funny in a way, since their brand could not be more disparate from Maxfield’s if they tried.
And she suspected they did try.
She also suspected there was something darker at the root of the rivalry, but if so, James never said.
And neither had Wren, the middle sister. Wren’s role in the company often saw her clashing with Creed Cooper, who worked in the same capacity for his family winery, and Wren hated him with every fiber of her being. Loudly and often.
“So what is the new venture exactly?” Emerson asked.
“I just told you. Trail rides and picnics, but we need a way to make it feel like a Maxfield endeavor. And that, I give over to you.”
“That sounds like it would be more Wren’s thing.” Wren was responsible for events at the winery, while Emerson dealt more globally with brand representation.
“I think ultimately this will be about the way you influence people. I want you to find the best routes, the prime views for the trips, take some photos, put it up on your social media. Use the appropriate pound signs.”
“It’s a… It’s a hashtag.”
“I’m not interested in learning what it is, Emerson. That’s why I have you.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
She did have a massive online reach, and she could see how she might position some photos, which would garner media interest, and possibly generate a story in Sip and Savor magazine. And really, it would benefit the entire area. The more that Maxfield Vineyards—with its vast reach in the world of wine—brought people into the area, the more the other vineyards benefited too.
“That sounds good to me,” she said.
“That’s why I hired a manager for the ranching portion of the facility. I need him to oversee some new construction, because if we’re going to have guests in the stables, everything needs to be updated. I need for him to oversee the acquisition of a few horses. Plus, the rides, etc.”
“Oh,” she said. “This…person. This man you hired. He’s…tall?”
James shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t consider his height. Did you?”
“No,” she said, her face flaming. She felt like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar. “I just… I think I saw him last night. Down in the vineyard. I left the party to check and see what was happening.” Total honesty with her father came as second nature to her.
She tried to be good. She tried to be the daughter he had raised her to be, always.
“You left the party?”
“Everything was well in hand. I left Cricket in charge.”
That might be a stretch. But while she was as honest with her father as possible, she tended to leave out some things like…her feelings. And this would be one of those times.
“I met him briefly, then I went back to the house. That’s all. He told me he worked on the property.”
“You have to be careful,” her father said. “You don’t want any photographs taken of you alone with a man who’s not Donovan. You don’t need anything to compromise your engagement.”
Sometimes she wondered if her father realized they didn’t live in the Victorian era.
“Nothing is going to compromise my engagement to Donovan.”
“I’m glad you’re certain about it.”
She was, in spite of her occasional doubts. Her father might not understand that times had changed, but she did. She felt certain Donovan was carrying on with other women in the absence of a physical relationship with her. Why would she assume anything else? He was a man, after all.
She knew why her father was so invested in her marriage to Donovan. As part of his planned retirement, her father was giving ownership stakes in the winery to each of his daughters’ husbands.
He felt Donovan would be an asset to the winery, and Emerson agreed. But she wasn’t sure how that fit into a marriage.
Clearly, Donovan didn’t much care about how that fit into a marriage either.
And she doubted he would be able to muster up any jealousy over her behavior.
“Image,” her father said, bringing her back to the moment. “It isn’t what you do that matters, Emerson, it’s what the world thinks you’re doing.”
There was something about the way her father said it, so smooth and cold, that made her feel chilled. It shouldn’t chill her, because she agreed that image was important in their business.
Still, it did chill her.
Emerson shifted. “Right. Well, no worries there. Image is my expertise.”
“It’s all about the brand,” he said.
“I tell you that,” she said.
“And you’ve done it well.”
“Thank you,” she said, nearly flushed with pleasure. Compliments from James Maxfield were rare, and she clung to them when she got them.
“You should head down to the stables. He’ll be waiting for you.”
And if that made her stomach tighten, she ignored the sensation. She had a job to do. And that job had nothing to do with how tall the new ranch manager was.
She was as pretty in the ridiculously trendy outfit she was wearing now as she’d been in that red dress.
She was wearing high-cut black pants that went up past her belly button, loose fitted through the leg, with a cuff around the ankle, paired with a matching black top that was cropped to just beneath her breasts and showed a wedge of stomach. Her dark hair was in a high bun, and she was wearing the same red lipstick she’d had on the night before, along with round sunglasses that covered her eyes.
He wished he could see her eyes. And as she approached, she pushed the glasses up to the top of her head.
He hadn’t been prepared for how beautiful she was.
He thought he’d seen her beauty in the moonlight, thought he’d seen it in photographs, but they didn’t do her justice. He’d been convinced that the blue of her eyes was accomplished with some kind of a filter. But it was clear to him now, out in the bright sun with the green mountains surrounding them, and her eyes reflecting that particular blue from the center of the sky, that if anything, her eyes had been downplayed in those photographs.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning to you too. I take it you spoke with your father?”
It took all of his self-control for that word to come out smoothly.
“Yes,” she said. “I did.”
“And what do you think of his proposition?”
In Holden’s opinion, it was a good one. And when he was through ruining James and sinking his brand, Holden might well buy the entire property and continue making wine himself. He was good at selling things, making money. He could make more money here.
“It’s good. I think a few well-placed selfies will drum up interest.”
“You’re probably right. Though, I can’t say I’m real up on selfies.”
That was a lie. His younger sister was a pretty powerful influencer. A model, who had met James Maxfield at one of the parties that had brought their type together. He was angry at himself for the part his own money had played in all of this.
Because Soraya had been innocent. A sweet girl from a small town who had been catapulted into a lifestyle she hadn’t been prepared to handle.
Holden could relate well enough.
He certainly hadn’t known how to handle money in the beginning.
But he’d been helping his family dig out of the hole they’d found themselves in. The first thing he’d done was buy his mother a house. Up on a hill, fancy and safe from the men who had used her all throughout Holden’s childhood.
And his sweet, younger half sister… She’d tumbled headfirst into fame. She was beautiful, that much had always been apparent, but she had that lean, hungry kind of beauty, honed by years of poverty, her backstory lending even more interest to her sharp cheekbones and unerring sense of style.
She had millions of people following her, waiting to see her next picture. Waiting to see which party she would attend.
And she attended the wrong one when she met James Maxfield.
He’d pounced on her before Holden could say “daddy issues.” And James had left her devastated. Holden would never forget having to admit his sister for a psychiatric hold. Soraya’s suicide attempt, the miscarriage… The devastation.
It was burned in him.
Along with the reality that his money hadn’t protected her. His money had opened her up to this.
Now all that was left was revenge, because he couldn’t make it right. He couldn’t take her pain away.
But he could take everything away from the Maxfield family.
And that was what he intended to do.
“I don’t think we’ve officially met,” she said. She stuck her hand out—the one that didn’t have the ring on it. That one angled at her side, the gem sparkling in the sunlight. “I’m Emerson Maxfield.”
“Holden Brown,” he said, extending his own hand.
If James Maxfield weren’t a raging narcissist, Holden might have worried about using his real first name.
But he doubted the older man would ever connect the younger model he’d used for a couple of months and then discarded with Holden. Why would he? James probably barely remembered Soraya’s first name, much less any of her family connections. Holden himself wasn’t famous. And that was how he liked it. He’d always thought it would be handy to have anonymity. He hadn’t imagined it would be for reasons of revenge.
He closed his hand around hers. It was soft, desperately so. The hand of a woman who had never done hard labor in her life, and something in him suddenly felt desperate to make this little princess do some down and dirty work.
Preferably on his body.
He pulled his hand away.
“It’s nice to meet you, Holden,” she said.
“Nice to meet you too.” He bit the pleasantry off at the end, because anything more and he might make a mistake.
“I have some routes in mind for this new venture. Let’s go for a ride.”
Three
Let’s go for a ride was not sexual.
Not in the context of the ranch. Not to a woman who was so used to being exposed to horses. As she was.
Except, she kept replaying that line over and over in her head. Kept imagining herself saying it to him.
Let’s go for a ride.
And then she would imagine herself saying it to him in bed.
She had never, ever felt like this in her entire life.
Her first time had been fine. Painless, which was nice, she supposed, but not exactly exciting.
It had been with her boyfriend at the time, who she’d known very well, and who had been extraordinarily careful and considerate.
Though, he’d cared more about keeping her comfortable than keeping her impassioned. But they had been young. So that seemed fair enough.
Her boyfriend after that had been smooth, urbane and fascinating to her. A world traveler before she had done any traveling of her own. She had enjoyed conversations with him, but she hadn’t been consumed by passion or lust or anything like that.
She had just sort of thought she was that way. And she was fine with it. She had a lot of excitement in her life. She wasn’t hurting for lack of passion.
But Holden made her feel like she might actually be missing something.
Like there was a part of herself that had been dormant for a very long time.
Right. You’ve been in the man’s presence for…a combined total of forty minutes.
Well, that made an even stronger case for the idea of exploring the thing between them. Because in that combined forty minutes, she had imagined him naked at least six times.
Had thought about closing the distance between them and kissing him on the mouth no less than seven times.
And that was insane.
He was working on the ranch, working for her father. Working for her, in essence, as she was part of the winery and had a stake in the business.
And somehow, that aroused her even more.
A man like her fiancé, Donovan, knew a whole lot about the world.
He knew advertising, and there was a heck of a lot of human psychology involved in that. And it was interesting.
But she had a feeling that a man like Holden could teach her about her own body, and that was more than interesting. It was a strange and intoxicating thought.
Also, totally unrealistic and nothing you’re going to act on.
No, she thought as she mounted her horse, and the two of them began riding along a trail that she wanted to investigate as a route for the new venture. She would never give in to this just for the sake of exploring her sensuality. For a whole list of reasons.
So you’re just going to marry Donovan and wonder what this could have been like?
Sink into the mediocre sex life that the lack of attraction between you promises. Never know what you’re missing.
Well, the thing about fantasies was they were only fantasies.
And the thing about sex with a stranger—per a great many of her friends who’d had sex with strangers—was that the men involved rarely lived up to the fantasy. Because they had no reason to make anything good for a woman they didn’t really know.
They were too focused on making it good for themselves. And men always won in those games. Emerson knew her way around her own body, knew how to find release when she needed it. But she’d yet to find a man who could please her in the same way, and when she was intimate with someone, she couldn’t ever quite let go… There were just too many things to think about, and her brain was always consumed.
It wouldn’t be different with Holden. No matter how hot he was.
And blowing up all her inhibitions over an experience that was bound to be a letdown was something Emerson simply wasn’t going to risk.
So there.
She turned her thoughts away from the illicit and forced them onto the beauty around her.
Her family’s estate had been her favorite place in the world since she was a child. But of course, when she was younger, that preference had been a hollow kind of favoritism, because she didn’t have a wide array of experiences or places to compare it to.
She did now. She’d been all over the world, had stayed in some of the most amazing hotels, had enjoyed food in the most glamorous locales. And while she loved to travel, she couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t call Maxfield Vineyards home.
From the elegant spirals of the vines around the wooden trellises, all in neat rows spreading over vast acres, to the manicured green lawns, to the farther reaches where it grew wild, the majestic beauty of the wilderness so big and awe-inspiring, making her feel appropriately small and insignificant when the occasion required.
“Can I ask you a question?” His voice was deep and thick, like honey, and it made Emerson feel like she was on the verge of a sugar high.
She’d never felt anything like this before.
This, she supposed, was chemistry. And she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why it would suddenly be this man who inspired it. She had met so many men who weren’t so far outside the sphere of what she should find attractive. She’d met them at parties all around the world. None of those men—including the one her father wanted her to be engaged to—had managed to elicit this kind of response in her.
And yet… Holden did it effortlessly.
“Ask away,” she said, resolutely fixing her focus on the scene around them. Anything to keep from fixating on him.
“Why the hell did you wear that knowing we were going out riding?”
She blinked. Then she turned and looked at him. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“I have never seen anyone get on a horse in something so impractical.”
“Oh, come now. Surely you’ve seen period pieces where the woman is in a giant dress riding sidesaddle.”
“Yes,” he said. “But you have other options.”
“It has to be photographable,” she said.
“And you couldn’t do some sexy cowgirl thing?”
Considering he was playing the part of sexy cowboy—in his tight black T-shirt and black cowboy hat—she suddenly wished she were playing the part of sexy cowgirl. Maybe with a plaid top knotted just beneath her breasts, some short shorts and cowgirl boots. Maybe, if she were in an outfit like that, she would feel suitably bold enough to ask him for a literal roll in the hay.
You’ve lost your mind.
“That isn’t exactly my aesthetic.”
“Your aesthetic is… I Dream of Jeannie in Mourning?”
She laughed. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. But sure. I Dream of Jeannie in Mourning sounds about right. In fact, I think I might go ahead and label the outfit that when I post pics.”
“Whatever works,” he said.
His comment was funny. And okay, maybe the fact that he’d been clever a couple of times in her presence was bestowing the label of funny on him too early. But it made her feel a little bit better about her wayward hormones that he wasn’t just beautiful, that he was fascinating as well.
“So today’s ride isn’t just a scouting mission for you,” he said. “If you’re worried about your aesthetic.”
“No,” she said. “I want to start generating interest in this idea. You know, pictures of me on the horse. In fact, hang on a second.” She stopped, maneuvering her mount, turning so she was facing Holden, with the brilliant backdrop of the trail and the mountains behind them. Then she flipped her phone front facing and raised it up in the air, tilting it downward and grinning as she hit the button. She looked at the result, frowned, and then did it again. The second one would be fine once she put some filters on it.
“What was that?”
She maneuvered her horse back around in the other direction, stuffed her phone in her pocket and carried on.
“It was me getting a photograph,” she said. “One that I can post. ‘Something new and exciting is coming to the Maxfield label.’”
“Are you really going to put it like that?”
“Yes. I mean, eventually we’ll do official press releases and other forms of media, but the way you use social media advertisements is a little different. I personally am part of that online brand. And my lifestyle—including my clothes—is part of what makes people interested in the vineyard.”
“Right,” he said.
“People want to be jealous,” she said. “If they didn’t, they wouldn’t spend hours scrolling through photos of other people’s lives. Or of houses they’ll never be able to live in. Exotic locations they’ll never be able to go. A little envy, that bit of aspiration, it drives some people.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Yes. I think the success of my portion of the family empire suggests I know what I’m talking about.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You know, I suppose you’re right. People choose to indulge in that feeling, but when you really don’t have anything, it’s not fun to see all that stuff you’ll never have. It cuts deep. It creates a hunger, rather than enjoyment. It can drive some people to the edge of destruction.”
There was something about the way he said it that sent a ripple of disquiet through her. Because his words didn’t sound hypothetical.
“That’s never my goal,” she said. “And I can’t control who consumes the media I put out there. At a certain point, people have to know themselves, don’t they?”
“True enough,” he said. “But some people don’t. And it’s worse when there’s another person involved who sees weakness in them even when they don’t see it themselves. Someone who exploits that weakness. Plenty of sad, hungry girls have been lost along that envious road, when they took the wrong hand desperate for a hand up into satisfaction.”
“Well, I’m not selling wild parties,” she said. “I’m selling an afternoon ride at a family winery, and a trip here is not that out of reach for most people. That’s the thing. There’s all this wild aspirational stuff out there online, and the vineyard is just a little more accessible. That’s what makes it advertising and not luxury porn.”
“I see. Create a desire so big it can never be filled, and then offer a winery as the consolation prize.”
“If the rest of our culture supports that, it’s hardly my fault.”
“Have you ever had to want for anything in your entire life, Emerson?” The question was asked innocuously enough, but the way he asked it, in that dark, rough voice, made it buzz over her skin, crackling like electricity as it moved through her. “Or have you always been given everything you could ever desire?”
“I’ve wanted things,” she said, maybe too quickly. Too defensively.
“What?” he pressed.
She desperately went through the catalog of her life, trying to come up with a moment when she had been denied something that she had wanted in a material sense. And there was only one word that burned in her brain.
You.
Yes, that was what she would say. I want you, and I can’t have you. Because I’m engaged to a man who’s not interested in kissing me, much less getting into bed with me. And I’m no more interested in doing that with him.
But I can’t break off the engagement no matter how much I want to because I so desperately need…
“Approval,” she said. “That’s…that’s something I want.”
Her stomach twisted, and she kept her eyes fixed ahead, because she didn’t know why she had let the word escape out loud. She should have said nothing.
He wasn’t interested in hearing about her emotional issues.
“From your father?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I have his approval. My mother, on the other hand…”
“You’re famous, successful, beautiful. And you don’t have your mother’s approval?”
“Yeah, shockingly, my mother’s goal for me wasn’t to take pictures of myself and put them up on the internet.”
“Unless you have a secret stash of pictures, I don’t see how your mother could disapprove of these sorts of photographs. Unless, of course, it’s your pants. Which I do think are questionable.”
“These are wonderful pants. And actually deceptively practical. Because they allow me to sit on the horse comfortably. Whatever you might think.”
“What doesn’t your mother approve of?”
“She wanted me to do something more. Something that was my own. She doesn’t want me just running publicity for the family business. But I like it. I enjoy what I do, I enjoy this brand. Representing it is easy for me, because I care about it. I went to school for marketing, close to home. She felt like it was…limiting my potential.”
He chuckled. “I’m sorry. Your mother felt like you limited your potential by going to get a degree in marketing and then going on to be an ambassador for a successful brand.”
“Yes,” she said.
She could still remember the brittle irritation in her mother’s voice when she had told her about the engagement to Donovan.
“So you’re marrying a man more successful in advertising in the broader world even though you could have done that.”
“You’re married to a successful man.”
“I was never given the opportunities that you were given. You don’t have to hide behind a husband’s shadow. You could’ve done more.”
“Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” she said. “Look, my mother is brilliant. And scrappy. And I respect her. But she’s never going to be overly impressed with me. As far as she’s concerned, I haven’t worked a day in my life for anything, and I took the path of least resistance into this version of success.”
“What does she think of your sisters?”
“Well, Wren works for the winery too, but the only thing that annoys my mother more than her daughters taking a free pass is the Cooper family, and since Wren makes it her life’s work to go toe-to-toe with them, my mother isn’t quite as irritated with everything Wren does. And Cricket… I don’t know that anyone knows what Cricket wants.”