Maisey Yates - Rancher's Wild Secret

“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.”

Two

“Emerson,” her dad said. “I have a job for you.”

Emerson was tired and feeling off balance after last night. She had done something that was so out of character she still couldn’t figure out what she’d been thinking.

She had left the party, left her post. She had chased after a strange man out in the grapevines. And then…

He had reminded her of a wolf. She’d gone to a wolf sanctuary once when she was in high school, and she’d been mesmerized by the powerful pack alpha. So beautiful. So much leashed strength.

She’d been afraid. But utterly fascinated all at once. Unable to look away…

He worked on the property.

And that should have been a red light to her all the way down. An absolute stop, don’t go any further . If the diamond on her finger couldn’t serve as that warning, then his status as an employee should have.

But she had felt drawn to him. And then he’d taken a step toward her. And it was like suddenly the correct instincts had woken up inside of her and she had run away.

But she didn’t know why it had taken that long for her to run. What was wrong with her?

“A job,” she said blankly, in response to her father.

“I’ve been watching the profits of Grassroots Winery down in town,” he said. “They’re really building a name for themselves as a destination. Not just a brand that people drink when they’re out, but a place people want to visit. We’ve proved this is an incredibly successful location for weddings and other large events. The party you threw last night was superb.”

Emerson basked in the praise. But only for a moment. Because if there was praise, then a request couldn’t be far behind.

“One of the things they’re offering is rides through the vineyard on horseback. They’re also doing sort of a rustic partnership with the neighboring dude ranch, which sounds more like the bastion of Cowboy Wines. Nothing I want to get involved with. We don’t want to lower the value of our brand by associating with anything down-market. But horse rides through the vineyards, picnics, things like that—I think those could be profitable.”

Emerson had met the owner of Grassroots Winery, Lindy Dodge, on a couple of occasions, and she liked the other woman quite a lot. Emerson had a moment of compunction about stepping on what had clearly been Lindy’s idea, but then dismissed it.

It wasn’t uncommon at all for similar companies to try comparable ventures. They often borrowed from each other, and given the number of wineries beginning to crop up in the area, it was inevitable there would be crossover.

Plus, to the best of her ability Emerson tried not to look at the others as competition. They were creating a robust wine trail that was a draw in and of itself.

Tourists could visit several wineries when they came to Logan County, traveling from Copper Ridge through Gold Valley and up into the surrounding mountains. That the area was a destination for wine enthusiasts was good for everyone.

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.”