Rancher's Wild Secret

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Note to Readers

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About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#u94864a16-7b5a-59ff-9b81-5a224d9f2d34)

The launch party for Maxfield Vineyards’ brand-new select label was going off without a hitch, and Emerson Maxfield was bored.

Not the right feeling for the brand ambassador of Maxfield Vineyards, but definitely the feeling she was battling now.

She imagined many people in attendance would pin the look of disinterest on her face on the fact that her fiancé wasn’t present.

She looked down at her hand, currently wrapped around a glass of blush wine, her fourth finger glittering with the large, pear-shaped diamond that she was wearing.

She wasn’t bored because Donovan wasn’t here.

Frankly, Donovan was starting to bore her, and that reality caused her no small amount of concern.

But what else could she do?

Her father had arranged the relationship, the engagement, two years earlier, and she had agreed. She’d been sure that things would progress, that she and Donovan could make it work because on paper they should work.

But their relationship wasn’t…changing.

They worked and lived in different states and they didn’t have enough heat between them to light a campfire.

All things considered, the party was much less boring than her engagement.

But all of it—the party and the engagement—was linked. Linked to the fact that her father’s empire was the most important thing in his world.

And Emerson was a part of that empire.

In fairness, she cared about her father. And she cared about his empire, deeply. The winery was her life’s work. Helping build it, grow it, was something she excelled at.

She had managed to get Maxfield wines into Hollywood awards’ baskets. She’d gotten them recommended on prominent websites by former talk show hosts.

She had made their vineyard label something better than local.

Maxfield Vineyards was the leading reason parts of Oregon were beginning to be known as the new Napa.

And her work, and her siblings’ work, was the reason Maxfield Vineyards had grown as much as it had.

She should be feeling triumphant about this party.

But instead she felt nothing but malaise.

The same malaise that had infected so much of what she had done recently.

This used to be enough.

Standing in the middle of a beautiful party, wearing a dress that had been hand tailored to conform perfectly to her body—it used to be a thrill. Wearing lipstick like this—the perfect shade of red to go with her scarlet dress—it used to make her feel…

Important.

Like she mattered.

Like everything was put together and polished. Like she was a success. Whatever her mother thought.

Maybe Emerson’s problem was the impending wedding.

Because the closer that got, the more doubts she had.

If she could possibly dedicate herself to her job so much that she would marry the son of one of the world’s most premier advertising executives.

That she would go along with what her father asked, even in this.