by Nicki Night
Smart—except that they could ask anyone in the bar about her, and that would be one of the first things they learned.
Cade leaned around the corner, still hidden by shadows but able to see her. She hadn’t lit the cigarette, but she kept it dangling between her lips.
What are you up to?
She glanced several times at the entrance, and when the doors finally opened, she made a show of frustration.
The one who’d offered a light smiled. “Couldn’t find your lighter after all?”
She shook her head, sending that wealth of thick hair to move around her breasts. Wearing a sexy pout, she asked, “Did you bring one out with you?”
He produced the lighter, then teased her with, “Say please.”
Taking the cigarette from her lips, she gave him a tight smile. “Really? Because there are twenty men inside who would be glad to give me a light—without stipulations.”
“Seems to me you don’t like them, or you’d have gone to them for the cigarette.”
Her lips curled. “You think you know what I like?”
“I know you’d like more than a smoke.”
At that, she laughed, a rich, husky sound that set Cade’s teeth on edge. She played a dangerous game, and he hoped like hell she didn’t push too hard.
“Maybe you’re right.” The finger she stroked along her cleavage drew the man’s heated stare. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me Smith.”
She laughed. “Well, Smith, how much are you willing to give?”
Not for a second did Cade believe she meant to sell herself. No, she had a bigger game in mind, and it made him scared for her.
Cade knew Smith—what a crock—because he and his brother had kept tabs on the man for more than a month. They knew Smith was involved in plenty of shady deals, but he was just muscle, not brains. Someone else called the shots. Someone with more power.
Cade wanted them all.
With her impetuous rush to get involved, Star jeopardized his well-made plans. Never mind that she didn’t know he had plans...
“Tell you what.” The guy reached to a back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
Finally, she looked a little nervous, but still, she didn’t back down. Honest to God, she raised her chin.
Luckily—because Cade didn’t want to blow his cover—the guy offered a card instead of cash. “You want to make a big score, come by Misfits tomorrow night. I have a buddy in need of cheering up and you’d be just the ticket.”
Restoring that cocky attitude, she glanced at the card, then shoved it into her own pocket. “What time?”
“Ah, so you don’t mind the idea of being his...entertainment?”
She shrugged but asked, “Is he a total pig?”
“Most of the women don’t complain.”
Most of the women don’t complain. Meaning some did...but it didn’t matter? When Smith’s friend finished with them, were they even able to complain?
Breathing slow and deep kept Cade from reacting. Somehow he’d ensure Star’s safety, and eventually he’d bury Smith.
For a split second, she went blank—fear? anger?—before curling her mouth in another credible smile. “I take it you’ve given him other gifts?”
“He’s partial to those with long legs and big tits.”
With every beat of his heart, Cade wanted her away from the bastard, but he didn’t intrude. Not yet.
Toying with a long curl, Star pretended the crude language and dark insinuation didn’t bother her. “How much are we talking?”
Taken by surprise, Smith reached out, wrapping his fingers in her hair. “Enough, okay? Don’t push me. Just be there at nine.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t show any pain and didn’t back down. She actually moved closer to Smith. Too damn close. “Oh, I’ll be there. And I’ll expect you to make it worth my while.”
He leaned forward, clearly intending to kiss her, and suddenly she freed herself—minus a few dozen strands of hair. “You pay first, sugar. I don’t give out freebies.” Before Smith could figure out what to do, she walked away.
To her credit, she went back into the bar and relative safety. But how safe would she be when she left?
Keeping an eye on the door she went through, Smith dug out his cell phone and pressed in a number. The light from the screen emphasized his twisted smile. “Hey,” Smith said, when the call was answered. “Prep the back room, okay? I have a new one coming out tomorrow.” He laughed. “Yeah, you’ll like her. She fits your preferences to a tee.” He listened, shook his head. “No, I’m sure she’s not, but I’ll follow her tonight just to be safe. One thing, and it’s nonnegotiable.” He waited, then said, “Once you’re done with her, I’m next in line.”
Don’t miss No Holding Back by Lori Foster, available February 2021.
Copyright © 2021 by Lori Foster
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The Rancher’s Wager
by Maisey Yates
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.
