Rancher's Wild Secret

“Unless you have a secret stash of pictures, I don’t see how your mother could disapprove of these sorts of photographs. Unless, of course, it’s your pants. Which I do think are questionable.”

“These are wonderful pants. And actually deceptively practical. Because they allow me to sit on the horse comfortably. Whatever you might think.”

“What doesn’t your mother approve of?”

“She wanted me to do something more. Something that was my own. She doesn’t want me just running publicity for the family business. But I like it. I enjoy what I do, I enjoy this brand. Representing it is easy for me, because I care about it. I went to school for marketing, close to home. She felt like it was…limiting my potential.”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry. Your mother felt like you limited your potential by going to get a degree in marketing and then going on to be an ambassador for a successful brand.”

“Yes,” she said.

She could still remember the brittle irritation in her mother’s voice when she had told her about the engagement to Donovan.

“So you’re marrying a man more successful in advertising in the broader world even though you could have done that.”

“You’re married to a successful man.”

“I was never given the opportunities that you were given. You don’t have to hide behind a husband’s shadow. You could’ve done more.”

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” she said. “Look, my mother is brilliant. And scrappy. And I respect her. But she’s never going to be overly impressed with me. As far as she’s concerned, I haven’t worked a day in my life for anything, and I took the path of least resistance into this version of success.”

“What does she think of your sisters?”

“Well, Wren works for the winery too, but the only thing that annoys my mother more than her daughters taking a free pass is the Cooper family, and since Wren makes it her life’s work to go toe-to-toe with them, my mother isn’t quite as irritated with everything Wren does. And Cricket… I don’t know that anyone knows what Cricket wants.”

Poor Cricket was a later addition to the family. Eight years younger than Emerson, and six years younger than Wren. Their parents hadn’t planned on having another child, and they especially hadn’t planned on one like Cricket, who didn’t seem to have inherited the need to please…well, anyone.

Cricket had run wild over the winery, raised more by the staff than by their mother or father.

Sometimes Emerson envied Cricket and the independence she seemed to have found before turning twenty-one, when Emerson couldn’t quite capture independence even at twenty-nine.

“Sounds to me like your mother is pretty difficult to please.”

“Impossible,” she agreed.

But her father wasn’t. He was proud of her. She was doing exactly what he wanted her to do. And she would keep on doing it.

The trail ended in a grassy clearing on the side of the mountain, overlooking the valley below. The wineries rolled on for miles, and the little redbrick town of Gold Valley was all the way at the bottom.

“Yes,” she said. “This is perfect.” She got down off the horse, snapped another few pictures with herself in them and the view in the background. And then a sudden inspiration took hold, and she whipped around quickly, capturing the blurred outline of Holden, on his horse with his cowboy hat, behind her.

He frowned, dismounting the horse, and she looked into the phone screen, keeping her eyes on him, and took another shot. He was mostly a silhouette, but it was clear that he was a good-looking, well-built man in a cowboy hat.

“Now, there’s an ad,” she said.

“What’re you doing?”

He sounded angry. Not amused at all.

“I just thought it would be good to get you in the background. A full-on Western fantasy.”

“You said that wasn’t the aesthetic.”

“It’s not mine. Just because a girl doesn’t want to wear cutoff shorts doesn’t mean she’s not interested in looking at a cowboy.”

“You can’t post that,” he said, his voice hard like granite.

She turned to face him. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be on your bullshit website.”

“It’s not a website. It’s… Never mind. Are you… You’re not, like, fleeing from the law or something, are you?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not.”

“Then why won’t you let me post your picture? It’s not like you can really see you.”

“I’m not interested in that stuff.”

“Well, that stuff is my entire life’s work.” She turned her focus to the scenery around them and pretended to be interested in taking a few random pictures that were not of him.

“Some website that isn’t going to exist in a couple of years is not your life’s work. Your life’s work might be figuring out how to sell things to people, advertising, marketing. Whatever you want to call it. But the how of it is going to change, and it’s going to keep on changing. What you’ve done is figure out how to understand the way people discover things right now. But it will change. And you’ll figure that out too. These pictures are not your life’s work.”

It was an impassioned speech, and one she almost felt certain he’d given before, though she couldn’t quite figure out why he would have, or to who.

“That’s nice,” she said. “But I don’t need a pep talk. I wasn’t belittling myself. I won’t post the pictures. Though, I think they would have caused a lot of excitement.”

“I’m not going to be anyone’s trail guide. So there’s no point using me.”

“You’re not even my trail guide, not really.” She turned to face him, and found he was much closer than she had thought. All the breath was sucked from her body. He was so big and broad, imposing.

There was an intensity about him that should repel her, but instead it fascinated her.

The air was warm, and she was a little bit sweaty, and that made her wonder if he was sweaty, and something about that thought made her want to press her face against his chest and smell his skin.

“Have you ever gone without something?”

She didn’t know why she’d asked him that, except that maybe it was the only thing keeping her from actually giving in to her fantasy and pressing her face against his body.

“I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”

“Why not? I just downloaded all of my family issues onto you, and I’m not even sure why. Except that you asked. And I don’t think anyone else has ever asked. So… It’s just you and me out here.”

“And your phone. Which is your link to the outside world on a scale that I can barely understand.”

Somehow, that rang false.

“I don’t have service,” she said. “And anyway, my phone is going back in my pocket.” She slipped it into the silky pocket of her black pants.