The Rancher's Wager (Gold Valley Vineyards #3) - Maisey Yates Page 0,1
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