The Rancher's Wager Read online

  Cricket Maxfield had a hell of a hand. Her confidence made that clear.

  And right now, she was looking like far too much of a winner.

  Lucky for him, around the time he’d escalated the betting, he’d been sure she would win.

  He’d wanted her to win.

  “I guess that makes you my ranch hand,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m a very good boss.”

  Now, Jackson did not want a boss. Not at his job and not in his bedroom. But her words sent a streak of fire through his blood. Not because he wanted her in charge. But because he wanted to show her what a boss looked like.

  Cricket was...

  A nuisance. If anything.

  That he had any awareness of her at all was problematic

  enough. Much less that he had any awareness of her as a woman. But once this evening was over, he could forget all about ever being tempted to look down her dress during a game of cards.

  “Oh, I’m sure you are, sugar.”

  “I’m your boss. Not your sugar.”

  * * *

  The Rancher’s Wager by Maisey Yates is part of the Gold Valley Vineyards series.

  Select praise for

  New York Times bestselling author

  Maisey Yates

  “Her characters excel at defying the norms and providing readers with...an emotional investment.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Claim Me, Cowboy (Top Pick)

  “A sassy, romantic and sexy story about two characters whose chemistry is off the charts.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Smooth-Talking Cowboy (Top Pick)

  “This is an exceptional example of an opposites-attract romance with heartfelt writing and solid character development.... This is a must-read that will have you believing in love.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Seduce Me, Cowboy (Top Pick)

  “Their relationship is displayed with a quick writing style full of double entendres, sexy sarcasm and enough passion to melt the mountain snow!”

  —RT Book Reviews on Hold Me, Cowboy (Top Pick)

  Maisey Yates

  The Rancher’s Wager

  In Gold Valley, Oregon,

  lasting love is only a happily-ever-after away.

  Don’t miss any of Maisey Yates’s

  Gold Valley tales, available now!

  From Harlequin Desire

  Gold Valley Vineyards

  Rancher’s Wild Secret

  Claiming the Rancher’s Heir

  The Rancher’s Wager

  Copper Ridge

  Take Me, Cowboy

  Hold Me, Cowboy

  Seduce Me, Cowboy

  Claim Me, Cowboy

  Want Me, Cowboy

  Need Me, Cowboy

  For more books by Maisey Yates, visit maiseyyates.com.

  You can also find Maisey Yates on Facebook, along with other Harlequin Desire authors, at Facebook.com/harlequindesireauthors!

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Excerpt from No Holding Back by Lori Foster

  Excerpt from One Night in Texas by Charlene Sands

  One

  Cricket Maxfield had won any number of specious prizes in the game of life. From being born youngest in her family, barely rating a passing glance from either of her parents and being left to essentially do as she pleased, to being the only Maxfield sister born with both pigeon feet and buck teeth.

  The latter was largely solved by braces, the former was mostly dealt with by casts on her feet when she was a baby.

  She hardly walked turned in at all anymore.

  All the way to a decrepit ranch that had been buried in her father’s portfolio, discovered after his disgrace, and unwanted by anyone else in her family.

  She had a feeling, though, that she was about to win the strangest prize of all—six feet and four inches of big, rock solid cowboy.

  She couldn’t have planned it better if she’d tried.

  Oh, he didn’t think he was going to lose. She knew he didn’t. Because he had been betting like a fool all the way through this hand, and he had no idea that she had just gotten the absolute best hand possible.

  No. He was playing like a man with a full house or a straight flush.

  But she was a woman with a royal flush.

  This final hand was always the most interesting part of this charity fundraiser, and it was the first year that Cricket had ever been in the hot seat for Battle of the Gold Valley Stars charity poker tournament.

  This was the grudge game. This was the game for spectators.

  Huge amounts of money had already been counted and distributed in previous rounds, all of it donated by businesses as each player had fought tooth and nail against each other, pouring cash into a pot for the sole purpose of giving back to the community. Now came the part where things got interesting.

  Rivals tried to get back bits of their own, as hotly contested items that had been tussled over at rummage sales, and family heirlooms that had gone back and forth in this game for decades, were all put in the pot.

  Cricket was currently wearing an oversized black leather jacket with fringes—won in the previous round from Elliott Johns, the guy who ran a water filtration company in the area. She also had an oversized black cowboy hat that she had already won from her current target. It was resting low on her head, and smelled vaguely of sweat, which was unnerving, since smelling Jackson’s sweat made her feel strange. Just the idea of it.

  It was a bit like that feeling she’d gotten when she was a child, and had been tempted to do something she knew she shouldn’t. A strange tingling low in her stomach, that then went lower and spread down her thighs, making her feel restless and strange. She shifted in her chair, her dress slippery on the material of the seat. Another specious prize. A hand-me-down red gown originally worn by her sister Emerson to this event.

  Cricket’s fidgeting was just anticipation. And being so close to Jackson Cooper.

  A man she usually avoided.

  From afar, she had made a study of the Cooper family over the years. Something she was embarrassed to admit.

  She had gotten to know Jackson’s brother, Creed, a little better over the past few months, since he’d become her brother-in-law. She’d acted shocked and appalled and said any number of things about her sister Wren when she found herself involved with a Cooper. It had gone way past involved now, and they were married with a baby. And Cricket had sworn to Wren, up and down, that hardheaded, irritating, stubborn cowboys would never ever be her type.

  Cricket was a liar.

  Jackson made her feel strange...but he was also the only one of the Coopers who could answer the questions she needed answered.

  Because of Wren, she couldn’t really talk to Creed. And she didn’t really want to talk to the youngest Cooper either, even though Honey was closer to Cricket’s age. She’d never found the other girl approachable.

  In some ways, Cricket was jealous of her.

  Honey was a country girl. A tough cowgirl. And she just seemed to fit with her family. In a way Cricket did not.

  Case in point, Cricket had never really had much of anything to do with the family winery. But she was a fantastic card player. And with their father officially out of commission—having been exiled
in disgrace, and for good reason—Cricket had been nominated by her sisters to take his place.

  And Cricket was about to take it all.

  “I’ll raise you,” she said.

  Oh yes, it was time. In that pot were a great many things she was interested in. Jackson’s cufflinks. His watch. A pony from his ranch.

  She’d only had to offer a diamond bracelet—wasn’t hers anyway—a case of Maxfield reserve wines, and the dollar from her father’s very first sale, which still hung in his vacant office, framed on the wall. Something that Jackson said he was going to give to his father.

  The Maxfield and Cooper families were rivals from way back, though that rivalry had been dented some by her sister marrying Creed.

  Still, sitting here across from a Cooper brought out her competitive spirit. Especially because right along with that competitive spirit, Jackson also brought out that complicated sensation she could honestly say she wasn’t a fan of.

  And now it was right down to the final bet.

  “I bet myself,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I bet myself. I will work for Cowboy Wines for free for thirty days.”

  His brows shot upward. “That’s pretty rich.”

  “You afraid?”

  He snorted. “I’ll see you. And raise you. I’ll work at Maxfield Vineyards for thirty days.”

  “No,” she said. “The winery doesn’t need you. You’ll work at my ranch for thirty days. And sleep in the bunkhouse.” She desperately needed a ranch hand. And she knew that Jackson Cooper knew what he was doing when it came to horses.

  Cricket wanted as far away from the uppity confines of her upbringing as possible. And this ranch was her one way to get there.

  “And if I lose...”

  “You’ll work at Cowboy Wines, in the tasting room. Dressed up in cowgirl boots and a miniskirt and serving our guests.”

  He was trying to scare her or humiliate her. But she’d grown up with James Maxfield. She’d been made to feel small and sad and unwanted for years. It was only recently she’d started to suspect why her father had treated her that way. But after a lifetime of humiliation, a miniskirt and waiting tables wouldn’t defeat her. “Deal.”

  And she wouldn’t lose. She wanted his forfeit and wasn’t worried at all about her own.

  She needed Jackson on her ranch. Unfortunately, she was all stalled out. Didn’t quite know where to begin. That’s where Jackson would come in handy.

  And then there was that other matter.

  And so she waited.

  “You look awfully confident,” he said.

  “Oh I am.”

  He laid down his cards, that handsome mouth turning upward into a smile.

  The smile of a man who had never lost much of anything in his life.

  Oh how she would enjoy showing him what a foolish mistake that smile was.

  Because not only had he lost. He had lost to her. A woman at least ten years younger than him, a woman she knew he didn’t think of as wise. A woman she knew he thought of as not much of anything special.

  He’d made that clear the few times they’d seen each other since they’d become kind of, sort of family.

  Dismissive. Obnoxious.

  “I hate to be a cliché. But read ’em and weep, cowboy.”

  * * *

  Cricket Maxfield had a hell of a hand. And her confidence made that clear. Poor little thing didn’t think she needed a poker face if she had a hand that could win.

  But he knew better.

  She was sitting there with his hat on her head, oversized and over her eyes, and an unlit cigar in her mouth.

  A mouth that was disconcertingly red tonight, as she had clearly conceded to allowing her sister Emerson to make her up for the occasion. That bulky, fringed leather jacket should have looked ridiculous, but over that red dress, cut scandalously low, giving a tantalizing wedge of scarlet along with pale, creamy cleavage, she was looking not ridiculous at all.

  And right now, she was looking like far too much of a winner.

  Lucky for him, around the time he’d escalated the betting, he’d been sure she would win.

  He’d wanted her to win.

  “I guess that makes you my ranch hand,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m a very good boss.”

  Now, Jackson did not want a boss. Not at his job, and not in his bedroom. But her words sent a streak of fire through his blood. Not because he wanted her in charge. But because he wanted to show her what a boss looked like.

  Cricket was...

  A nuisance. If anything.

  That he had any awareness of her at all was problematic enough. Much less that he had any awareness of her as a woman. But that was just because of what she was wearing. The truth of the matter was, Cricket would turn back into the little pumpkin she usually was once this evening was over and he could forget all about the fact that he had ever been tempted to look down her dress during a game of cards.

  “Oh, I’m sure you are, sugar.”

  “I’m your boss. Not your sugar.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you winning me in a game of cards gave you the right to tell me how to talk.”

  “If I’m your boss, then I definitely have the right to tell you how to talk.”

  “Seems like a gray area to me.” He waited for a moment, let the word roll around on his tongue, savoring it so he could really, really give himself all the anticipation he was due. “Sugar.”

  “We’re going to have to work on your attitude. You’re insubordinate.”

  “Again,” he said, offering her a smile. “I don’t recall promising a specific attitude.”

  There was activity going on around him. The small crowd watching the game was cheering, enjoying the way this rivalry was playing out in front of them. He couldn’t blame them. If the situation wasn’t at his expense, then he would have probably been smirking and enjoying himself along with the rest of the audience, watching the idiot who had lost to the little girl with the cigar.

  He might have lost the hand, but he had a feeling he’d win the game.

  And it was hardly dirty poker. Cricket had started it, after all.

  She was in over her head, and he knew it.

  When he’d heard that James Maxfield owned the property next to his, Jackson had figured he’d swoop in and buy it now that ownership of the man’s properties had reverted to his family. But then Cricket had grandly taken control of the land—with great proclamation, per Jackson’s brother, that she was going to be a rancher.

  But Jackson knew there was no way in hell Cricket had the chops to start and run a ranch. It was hard enough when you had experience. She had none. And he knew she had some of her dad’s money, but it wasn’t going to be an endless well.

  She was out of her league.

  And a month spent as her ranch hand was more than enough time to show her that.

  “Also, you should bring my pony,” she said.

  She was placated by the pony. He was going to end up getting that pony back. He knew it down in his bones. Because in the end, Cricket had not one idea of the amount of work that went into having animals. No idea the amount of work that went into working a ranch. Working the land.

  She was stubborn and obstinate, and different than her sisters.

  Their families might be big rivals, but they all worked in the same industry. He’d watched Cricket grow up. He had a fair idea of her personality. And he also had a fair idea of just how privileged the Maxfield family was.

  They had a massive spread, worked by employees.

  Any vision she had of ranching was bound to be romanticized.

  He knew better.

  He knew people looked at him and figured he was just another guy who’d grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Well, not literally. They didn’t look at
him and think that. He looked like a cowboy. But the fact was, he had grown up in a family that was well-off. At least, for most of his life. He was still old enough to remember when they had struggled.

  He knew his younger brother didn’t remember much of that time, and their youngest sister, Honey, didn’t remember it at all. But Jackson did. He also knew Cricket had never known a moment of financial struggle in all her life. It wasn’t that he thought she was stupid. She wasn’t. She was bright and sharp, and a bit fierce.

  He had always found her fascinating, especially in contrast with the rest of her family. Even before it had turned out her father was a criminal and a sexual predator, Jackson had always found the Maxfields to be a strange and fascinating family. So different from his own. There had always been tension between James Maxfield and his wife. Wren and Emerson had always seemed like perfect Stepford children from an extremely warped, upper-class neighborhood, cookies from the same cutter.

  But not Cricket.

  She had never been at the forefront of any of the events they had put on at the winery. And though Maxfield Vineyards and Cowboy Wines might have been rivals, they often attended each other’s events. Professional courtesy, and all of that. And scoping out the competition. So he’d seen Cricket many times over the years. Usually skulking in the background, but then, when she got older, not there at all. One time, three years ago or so—she must’ve been eighteen—she’d been out on a swing in the yard, wearing a white dress he was almost certain she didn’t want to be wearing. It had been dark out there, and inside, the Maxfield event room had been all lit up.

  She was just lit up by the moon.

  She had looked completely separate. Alone. And he’d felt some kind of sympathy for her. It was strange, and a foreign feeling for him. Because he wasn’t an overly sympathetic kind of guy. But the girl was a square peg, no denying it. And in his opinion—particularly at the time—it wasn’t round holes she needed to fit into. Just a family of assholes.

  Now, he had changed his opinion on Wren and Emerson in the time since.

  But his general opinion of Cricket’s family, of her father, had certainly been correct. And just because he now thought Wren and Emerson were decent people...they were still so different from their sister. So different—it was the strangest thing.