Harlequin Desire January 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 by Maisey Yates (inspirational books .TXT) 📗

“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.

But Cricket wasn’t so different from her family that she would simply be able to step into ranching life. And he’d be right on hand to show her just how much work it was. He wouldn’t have to do anything. Wouldn’t have to sabotage her in any way.

She just needed a dose of reality.

And then she’d be willing to sell him that property.

He’d bought his own ranch and transitioned from working the one at Cowboy Wines after his mother died. And yes, he had people who helped him, so they would cover the slack of him not being there.

And that was the thing. Ranching never took time off. That was something he understood, and