Claiming the Rancher's Heir

by Maisey Yates

“Barbecuing?” Emerson asked, her sister’s hand rising upward, bent at the wrist, her fingers curled.

  “Yes.” Wren lifted her nose. “Beef.”

  “I guess that’s what we get for joining forces with cowboys.”

  “Says the woman who’s married to one.”

  Emerson shrugged. “Sure. But I don’t let him plan my parties. He has many uses, the primary one being that he allows me to do good work and save horses.”

  “Save horses?”

  She batted her lashes. “Ride a cowboy?”

  “For the love of God, Emerson.”

  “What? He’s hot.”

  She was not here for her sister’s smug married-frequent-sex glow. Emerson had very narrowly escaped an arranged marriage with a man their father had chosen for her. The whole thing with her husband, Holden, had been dramatic, had involved no small amount of blackmail and subterfuge, and had somehow ended in true love.

  Wren still didn’t quite understand it.

  Wren also didn’t understand why she felt so beset by her Creed fantasies. Or why she was so jealous of Emerson’s glow.

  Wren herself wasn’t overly sexual.

  It wasn’t her thing. She’d had a few boyfriends, and she enjoyed the physical closeness that came with sex. That much was true. It had been a while since she’d dated anybody though, because she had been so consumed with her job at Maxfield Vineyards. She enjoyed what she did for work quite a lot more than she enjoyed sex, in point of fact.

  Her dreams about illicit sex with Creed were better than any sex she’d ever had, and she found that completely disturbing.

  Also, proof that her subconscious didn’t know anything. Nothing at all.

  “Great,” Wren said. “Good for you and your libido. But I’m talking about wine, which is far more important than how hot your husband is.”

  “To you,” Emerson said. “The hotness of my husband is an entirely consuming situation for me.”

  “Anyway,” Wren said, her voice firm. “We get our joint party.”

  “But with beef.”

  “Yes,” Emerson said. “And then hopefully in a few months we’ll have the larger event, which we can presell tickets to. Hopefully we can bring a lot of people into town if we plan it right.”

  “I do like the way you’re thinking,” Wren said. “It’s going to be great,” she added, trying to affirm it for herself.

  “It will be,” Emerson agreed. “Have you talked to Cricket about it at all?”

  Cricket was their youngest sister. She had been... She had been incredibly wounded about the entire scandal with their father.

  The situation with their parents had gone from bad to worse. Or maybe it was just that they were all now aware of how bad it had always been.

  The reason Holden had come to Maxfield Vineyards in the first place had been to get revenge on their father for seducing Holden’s younger sister and leaving her emotionally broken after a miscarriage.

  After that, Wren and her sisters found out their father had carried on multiple affairs over the years, all with young women who were vulnerable, with so much less power than he had. It was a despicable situation. Holden had blackmailed Emerson into marriage in order to gain a piece of Maxfield Vineyards, but he and Emerson had ultimately fallen in love. They’d ousted their father, who was currently living out of the country. Their mother remained at the estate. Technically, the two of them were still married.

  Wren hoped that wouldn’t be the case for much longer. Her poor mother had put up with so much. She deserved better.

  They all did.

  But while most of the changes that had occurred around the winery really were good things, their sister Cricket had taken the new situation hard. She had a different relationship with the place than the rest of them did. Cricket had been a late-in-life baby for their parents. An accident, Wren thought. And it had seemed like no one had the energy to deal with her. She’d been left to her own devices in a way that Emerson and Wren had not been.

  As a result, Cricket was ever so slightly feral.

  Wren found her mostly charming, but in the current situation, she didn’t know how to talk to her. Didn’t know what Cricket wanted or needed from them.

  “She’s been... You know,” Emerson said. “Cricket. In that she’s not really talking about anything substantial, and she’s been quite scarce. She doesn’t seem to be interested in any of the winery’s new ventures.”

  “It’s a lot of change.”

  “True,” Emerson said. “But she’s not a child. She’s twenty-one.”

  “No,” Wren said. “She’s not a child. But can you imagine how much more difficult this would have been for you ten years ago?”

  “I know,” Emerson said softly. “It is different for us. It’s different to have a little bit more perspective on the world and on yourself. I think she feels very betrayed.”

  “Hopefully she’ll eventually embrace the winery. She can have a role here. I know she’s smart. And I know she would do a good job, whatever Dad thought about her.”

  Emerson shook her head. “I don’t think that Dad thought about her at all.”

  “Well, we will,” Wren said.

  The Maxfields had never been a close family in the way people might think of a close family. It wasn’t like there had been intimate family dinners and game nights and things like that. But they had been in each other’s pockets for their entire lives. Working together, deciding which direction to take their business. Their father was a difficult bastard, that was true. But he had entrusted his daughters with an extreme amount of responsibility when it came to the winery. It was weird now, to have the shape of things be so different. To have everything be up to them.

  “Everything will be fine,” Wren said. “It’s already better, even if it is a little difficult.”

  Emerson nodded. “You’re right. It’s better. And things will only get even better from here.”

  * * *

  “You agreed to do what?”

  Creed looked at his older brother, Jackson, who had an expression on his face that suggested Creed might’ve said he planned to get out of the wine business and start raising corgis, rather than just coordinating an event with the Maxfield family.

  “You heard me the first time,” Creed said.

  “What’s the point of that? They’re a bunch of assholes.”

  Normally, Creed would not have argued. Or even felt the inclination to argue. But for some reason, he thought back to Wren’s determined face, and the way her body had looked in that dress, and he felt a bit defensive.

  “You know the girls are running it now,” he said. “James Maxfield absolutely was an asshole. I agree with you. But things are different now, and they’re running things differently.”

  “Right. So you suddenly kissed and made up with Wren Maxfield?”

  The idea of kissing Wren sent a lightning bolt of pleasure straight down to his cock. And the idea of...making up with her made his gut turn.

  “Not a damn chance,” Creed responded.

  “So, the two of you are going to do this, while at each other’s throats the entire time?”

  “The logistics aren’t exactly your concern. The logistics are my concern, as always. You just...be a silent partner.” Creed narrowed his eyes. “You’re awfully loud for a silent partner.”

  “I’m not technically a full-on silent partner,” Jackson said. “It’s just that I would rather invest money than make decisions.”

  “So then I’m letting you know what the plan is.” Creed thought back to the moment he had told Wren that he was going to barbecue. Now he had to barbecue. “We have to bring some grills.”

  “I’m not even going to ask.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “I’m sorry, what are we planning?” Their younger sister, Honey, walked into t
he room. She was named by their mother, who had been so thrilled to have a daughter after having two sons that she had decided her daughter was sweet and needed a name that suggested so.

  Honey had retaliated by growing into a snarky tomboy who had never seen the use for a dress and didn’t know which end of a tube of lipstick to use. He had always been particularly fond of his sister.

  “An event. With the Maxfields,” Jackson said.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I asked him that already,” Jackson grunted.

  “Well, ask again. Then check him for brain damage.”

  “No more brain damage than I had already,” Creed said.

  “Then why are we doing this?” Honey asked.

  “Because,” he said, taking a long moment to chew on the words that were about to come out next, because they hurt. “Wren had a point. She thinks we should join the wineries together. Make this area more of a tourist destination for wine. Wine trails, and things like that. There’s no point in being competitive when we can advertise for each other. People like to try all different kinds of wines, and experience all different atmospheres when they’re on vacation.”

  “You sound like a brochure,” Jackson said.

  He probably did. Mostly because Wren had sounded like one and he was basically repeating her. “Well. That’s a good thing,” Creed said. “Since we need some new brochures. And somebody has to write them. It isn’t going to be either of you.”

  “True,” Honey said cheerfully.

  “You do have to help me barbecue. And you have to help set up this party. I need you two there. If for no other reason than to be witnesses.”

  “Witnesses to what?” Jackson asked.

  “Just in case Wren decides to murder me.”

  “You could take her,” Honey said.

  Yeah. He could take her. That was for damn sure. But not in the way his sister meant. “You know I would never hurt a lady.”

  “That’s far too gallant if the lady is willing to murder you,” Honey said pragmatically.

  “You could try to be less annoying,” Jackson said.

  “Look,” Creed said. “She came to me. So, it’s up to her to behave herself. I didn’t go to her, and I wouldn’t have.”

  Though, truth be told, he would have to behave himself, too. The prospect of spending extra time with Wren Maxfield was definitely problematic. But he’d spent the last five years not touching her. A few weeks of working in close proximity shouldn’t be an issue.

  Hell. They wouldn’t be.

  Because when Creed Cooper decided something, he stuck to it. Control was what he was all about. He might be a rich cowboy who could have everything he wanted, but that didn’t mean he did have everything he wanted. Not anymore. Not after he had experienced the disastrous consequences of that kind of behavior.

  He had learned his lesson.

  And he would never again make the mistakes he’d made as a kid.

  That was for damn sure.

  Two

  Sometimes it still felt strange and disorienting to walk through the large Italian villa-style home, knowing their father would likely never return. That everything here had been previously certain but now...wasn’t.

  For as long as Wren could remember, her life had been on a steady course. Everything had been the same. From the time she was a child she had known she would work for Maxfield Vineyards. And the only real question had been in what capacity. Emerson’s contribution had been based on her strengths. She was a social media wizard, but that was not something anyone could have anticipated, considering the medium hadn’t existed in the same form when they were younger.

  But Wren... Wren had always had a talent for hospitality. She had always been able to make people feel at ease. Even when everything had been going well in her parents’ marriage, from the outside looking in, there had been an invisible band of tension in the house. The tension had only ever been worse when they were dealing with the Coopers. Whatever the reason, her father hated that family. And he had instilled a hefty dose of that dislike in her. Though, Creed had taken that dislike to a personal level.

  Even so, Wren was an expert at managing tension. And making everything seem like it was okay. Delightful, even when it was decidedly less so.

  Even when she and Creed wanted to dismember each other, they could both do their jobs. She imagined that was why he was in his position in his family company. The same as she was in hers.

  Event planning and liaising with other companies in a personal way to create heightened brand recognition was something she excelled at. But, it had also been the only real surprise in her entire life. Apart from when James Maxfield had been utterly and completely disgraced.

  Yes. That was really the first time her life had taken an unexpected turn.

  She still wasn’t sure how she felt about it. On the one hand, her father was clearly a monster. And, having never been...emotionally close with him—not in the way Emerson had been—it didn’t devastate Wren. But it did leave her feeling adrift.

  Now she was drifting into uncharted territory with this Cowboy Wines partnership, and she truly did not know how she felt about that either. But it was happening. So, there wasn’t much to be done about it.

  In fact, she was meeting with Creed this morning. The two of them were going to be talking logistics and deciding which wines to feature. They wanted to showcase the broad spectrum of what each wine label did best, while not stepping on each other’s toes. Unusual, since generally they were deliberately going head-to-head.

  But now they weren’t. Another unusual thing in a slew of unusual things.

  She got into her shiny little sports car and pulled out of the grand circular drive that led to the top of the mountain where the family home sat. She took the drive all the way down to the road, and as she put distance between herself and the villa, she was surprised to realize the pressure she hadn’t noticed building in her chest began to get lighter and lighter.

  And that shouldn’t be what was happening. She should be feeling more and more stressed the closer she got to Creed. It didn’t track with what she knew to be true about herself.

  That she loved her family and her life and hated him.

  She mused about that as she maneuvered her car down the winding two-lane road, through the picturesque main street of Gold Valley, Oregon.

  Her family had been based here all her life, but she had always felt somewhat separate from it. She and her sisters had gone to boarding school on the East Coast, coming back to Oregon for summers.

  All the men she’d dated had been from back east. Long-distance relationships that had become inconvenient and annoying over time.

  But those men had been like her. Educated in the same kinds of institutions, from families like her own. In fact, in those groups, often she was among the poorest. Hilarious, all things considered. But that made her feel...somewhat out of place here. She didn’t go out drinking at the Gold Valley Saloon, a favorite watering hole of most people who lived here.

  She didn’t have occasion to eat at any of the local restaurants, because they had a chef at home. They threw lavish parties at the villa, and ultimately... She just didn’t often venture out of the estate. She had never considered herself sheltered. Not in the least. Instead, she had considered herself worldly by comparison with most of the people who lived in Gold Valley.

  She had traveled extensively. Been to some of the most lavish resorts in the world. But suddenly it seemed obvious to her that she existed in a very particular kind of bubble—by choice—and there was something about having to face who her father really was that had...well, disturbed the bubble she lived in. It hadn’t popped it altogether. She remained in it. But as she passed through town, the thoughts about her father passed through her mind, and she focused on getting her armor in place so she could de
al with Creed.

  Creed’s family vineyard was beautiful. The winery facilities themselves were not her style at all, but they were pretty, and she could appreciate them. Rustic barns that had been fashioned into showrooms and event spaces, along with picnic tables that were set up down by the river, live bands often playing during the summer. She knew that food trucks came in during those events and added to the down-home atmosphere.

  She could see why it appealed.

  Now she really was worried that she had a headache. Wondering about the local bar and appreciating the aesthetic of this place. She snorted, pulling her car into the showroom lot and getting out, immediately scuffing her high heel on the gravel.

  Oh, there it was.

  All the ready irritation that she possessed for this place, and the man she was about to meet.

  Her beautiful yellow leather pumps all scuffed...

  And then, she nearly fell off her beautiful yellow leather pumps, because suddenly he was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest and his expression as unreadable as ever. He looked cool. His lips flattened into a grim line, his square jaw locked tight. His green eyes were assessing her. And that was the thing she hated the most. He was always doing that. Looking at her as if he could see straight through her dress. As if he could see through her chest. As if he could see things she wasn’t sure she had ever examined inside herself.

  She didn’t like it.

  Added to the long list of things she didn’t like about him. That one went right below his being way too handsome for his—or her—own good.

  “Howdy, ma’am.”

  “Sup, asshole.” She crossed her arms, mirroring his own posture.

  “I thought you were supposed to be a lady.”

  “That’s the thing. I know how to behave like a lady in the right venue. I also know how to go toe to toe with anyone. A by-product of my private school education. Rich people are mean.”

  “Well. You’re certainly mean.”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “Not always.”

  She didn’t know why she felt compelled to strike at him. Constantly. Why had they slipped into the space of open hostility with such ease?