The Rancher's Wager

by Maisey Yates

  But something else Cricket said burned bright inside of him.

  They weren’t their parents.

  And they weren’t. It was true.

  Because Jackson didn’t feel conflicted or confused about whether or not he should be with Cricket because he had feelings for someone else. He’d never had feelings for anyone like he did for Cricket. And he wasn’t young and naive. But what he was, was damn tired of feeling like a sacrifice. And if he was truly honest with himself, he was angry at his mother. Because she’d made him feel that way. Whether she’d meant to or not. And hearing his dad say he wished she hadn’t dumped that on Jackson gave voice to all these things he’d tried not to think about.

  “You know, son,” Cash said. “She was sick, not a saint. A wonderful woman to be sure, but flawed like any of us. I know she didn’t mean to hurt you. But the fact of the matter is...she did. Doesn’t mean she didn’t love you.”

  “I know,” Jackson said.

  “For what it’s worth, she would’ve walked into fire for you. Marrying me was only a hardship for part of the time.”

  “Do you regret the way things happened?”

  “I regret the way I handled them. I regret that I didn’t find a way to be a better husband. I’ve never regretted you. I’ve never regretted the life your mother and I built together. But I didn’t let go of the past the way I should have, because your vows say you forsake all others. And I never cheated, but I kept that desire and those memories in a special place inside myself. You make choices every day, Jackson. And I don’t know that you’ll ever be able to live a life with no regrets, but you should make sure you live a life that’s honest. Those games we all played, they were games. And games don’t amount to much. Nothing more than needless heartache, anyway.”

  “I don’t want to feel like she has to marry me.”

  “She seems like a modern enough girl.”

  “I told her I wouldn’t marry her.”

  “Well hell, boy,” Cash said. “I didn’t raise you to wimp out on your responsibilities.”

  “I’m not. I’m trying to make sure she doesn’t see me as another responsibility.”

  “Well, ask her if she does. Don’t just try to protect yourself. Ask her how she feels.”

  “How will she know?”

  “How will she know?” Cash repeated. “You want too much. You’re going to have to trust her. You’re going to have to believe her. Trust would’ve gone a long way in fixing my marriage. Trust, faith and honesty. If I could do more of any three things, it would be those. And we would’ve had a different life.”

  Jackson loved Cricket. He did. He was sure of that, standing there in this house filled with all these memories. All those weighted, hurtful memories that had seen him silently carrying around a whole lot of baggage he hadn’t realized was there.

  And she had been right. He was protecting himself. Because the burden of feeling like an obligation to his mother, a debt that he’d never been able to repay, haunted him. And the last thing he wanted was to be that burden for Cricket.

  But he would have to ask. And he would have to trust.

  And he would have to hope that...well, that Cricket really did know everything. And that she had faith in all those things she’d shouted at him before she left.

  She was right. He’d lost the bet.

  But it was one he was glad to lose.

  * * *

  The next morning, when Cricket opened her door wearing that red dress from the poker tournament, that oversized leather jacket, cowboy hat, but no cigar, Jackson was standing there. He looked haunted, like a man possessed. Like a man who hadn’t slept all night.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Well, obviously I was on my way to stage a very serious scheme.”

  “Very obviously. Do you have a pistol on you?”

  “No pistol.” Her heart hammered, hard, as she looked up at him. As she tried not to hope what his presence meant.

  “I fold,” he said.

  “You...what?”

  “I fold, Cricket. I’m done. I surrender to this, to you. And you’re right. I was afraid. I was a coward. A damn coward. Because I didn’t want to face the fact that I wasn’t really afraid of being my father, I was afraid of being my mother. Sitting all bitter and hollow at my kitchen table and telling my teenage child I was only in a marriage for their sake. That there was no love. No, the real thing I was afraid of was being the one who felt unloved. Because I have to tell you, when my mom said all that to me, that’s how I felt. Like a burden and an obligation that she should never have had to take on. And I couldn’t stand being that for the rest of my life. Not with you. But I love you, Cricket. And I’m willing to be that. I’m willing to do anything if it means being with you, having you. I’m willing to be an obligation, and to earn your love later. I know you want to be free. I know you want to start a life, and I know that having a child right now, and settling down with me, doesn’t have much of anything to do with that. But I think...this is fate. And far be it from me to go against her.”

  “Jackson,” she whispered, her heart expanding in her chest. “You’re not a burden to me. I went to my sister’s house last night and I complained to her about how you rejected me. And then they asked me if I told you that I loved you, and I realized that I hadn’t. That was me protecting myself. I wanted to know what you felt, what you thought, before I put myself out there. It was easy to talk about marriage, and so much harder to talk about my heart. Because I’ve never done it. I’ve never seriously talked to anyone about how I felt. Except for you. And I’ve done more of that over the past month than ever in my life. Told you more about who I am, what hurt me, and what made me who I am. The bottom line is, above all else, and with everything else shoved aside, I love you. I have loved you for years. And I would want to be with you, pregnant or not. It was just the thing that got me up the mountain. It was just the thing that forced me to be as brave as I was, and even then, I wasn’t all that brave. So I didn’t really have a right to yell at you.”

  “You had plenty of right.”

  “Jackson,” she whispered. “I really, really love you. And I have never wanted much of anything in my whole life enough to fight for it. Except for you. Only you. I can’t imagine another person, another feeling, another anything that would ever be worth all this hassle. You’re not an obligation. You’re my inevitability.”

  “Cricket Maxfield,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and looking at her, square in the eye. “You’re the surprise I didn’t see coming. Little Cricket, you’re the thing I’ve been missing. I didn’t know the right place to look to fill the hole in my heart. But you’ve known all along. You are wiser than me. Smarter than me. Braver than me. And I am going to love you today, and every day after. I don’t care if some days are hard. I don’t care if there are sleepless nights, or if I have to move out of my house and into your farmhouse. Because nothing matters but you. And that’s... My dad said to me, that obligation and love often go together, and I expect that he’s right. Love is what makes you want to fulfill that obligation. But this is different. Everything else feels like an obligation. You feel like breathing. And that’s as deep as I can explain it.”

  “Is it in your blood?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

  “Yes,” he responded. “It’s in my blood. My bones. My heart.”

  “Mine too.”

  And then he kissed her, and she couldn’t think anymore. Couldn’t breathe. She could only feel. And somehow, she knew she felt the same thing he did. Somehow, she knew that in this moment they were one. And it wasn’t a pregnancy or marriage vows that would make it so. They could never have parted even if they’d wanted to. Because it was too late. The chips had already gone down. The game was over.

  And in the end, they had both won.

  Cric
ket Maxfield had won any number of specious prizes in her life. And she had often felt uncertain about her place in the world. But the biggest and best prize she’d ever won was loving Jackson Cooper and having him love her back. And if all the years of feeling misfit and frizzy and gap-toothed and like she didn’t belong was what it had taken for her to get here, then she counted them all worth it.

  She wouldn’t change a single thing, not about herself, not about anything. Because it had brought her here. To this man, to his arms.

  And that was truly the greatest prize of all.

  * * *

  In Gold Valley, Oregon, lasting love is only a happily-ever-after away. Don’t miss any of

  Maisey Yates’s Gold Valley tales, available now!

  Gold Valley Vineyards

  Rancher’s Wild Secret

  Claiming the Rancher’s Heir

  The Rancher’s Wager

  Gold Valley

  A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas

  Unbroken Cowboy

  Cowboy to the Core

  Untamed Cowboy

  Smooth-Talking Cowboy

  Cowboy Christmas Redemption

  Keep reading for an excerpt from No Holding Back by Lori Foster.

  SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM

  Read on for a sneak peek of No Holding Back, book one in New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster’s exciting new contemporary romance series, The McKenzies of Ridge Trail.

  Available February 2021 from HQN Books!

  No Holding Back

  by Lori Foster

  SHIVERS WRACKED HER body as she watched him drink. Curled in the corner, waiting, dreading the inevitable—even breathing was difficult with so much fear crowding in around her. She wanted to cry but knew it wouldn’t help. She wanted to let in the hysteria, but she hadn’t quite accepted her fate...not yet.

  She couldn’t.

  Outside the room, two other men stood guard. They’d told her she’d be forced to do this up to ten times a night, and she wasn’t sure she’d even survive this first time.

  She wanted to go home.

  She wanted to curl up and die.

  Mostly she wanted to fight—but how?

  Amused by her fear, the man watched her while tossing back another shot. He enjoyed her terror—and that amplified everything she felt.

  What to do, what to do, what to do?

  Her gaze frantically searched the second-story room. One small window, opened to let in a breeze, led to a sheer drop onto a gravel lot. Would she survive going out that window? At the moment, did it really matter?

  The man stood near the door. He’d slid a metal bar into place, locking her in, ensuring she couldn’t get past him. But also ensuring no one else could get in. Not until he’d finished.

  He’d paid for two hours but now didn’t seem in any rush to get started.

  To the right of the door, a tiny table held a bottle of whiskey and a single glass. To the left, an empty wooden coat tree stood as a place for him to hang his clothes.

  A bare mattress on a small bed occupied a wall.

  Nothing else.

  Only her fear, the reality, the terror, her hatred, the cruelty...her will to survive.

  When his loose lips stretched into a smug grin, she braced herself—and noticed that he stumbled a little as he stepped toward her.

  Her heart punched painfully. Slowly, she slid up the wall to her feet. An invisible fist squeezed her throat, but she sidled sideways, toward that barred door.

  Toward the little table.

  From the hallway, loud music played. Whatever happened in this room, they didn’t want to be bothered with it.

  She kept her gaze locked on his, her hands clammy with sweat, so afraid that her limbs felt sluggish.

  “Thinking to run?” he asked, his grin widening with anticipation.

  “I... I was hoping I could have a drink, too?”

  “You want to numb yourself? No, I don’t think so.”

  He wanted her afraid. He wanted her to feel every awful second of this degradation. With a lot of effort, she tamped down the need to vomit and managed to ask, “Then...should I pour you another?”

  Snorting, he propped a shoulder to the wall. “Want to get me drunk, huh? Sure, go ahead and try it, but you’ll see, I know how to hold my liquor.” Tipping his head, he narrowed his eyes and the grin turned into a sneer. “Alcohol makes me mean.”

  Refusing to dwell on that possibility, she forced a nod, reaching for the bottle anyway, letting him see how badly she trembled. She filled the small glass, then lifted it...while keeping the bottle in her other hand.

  The obnoxious brute paid no attention; he focused on watching her quake as she came to him, the glass held out as a feeble offering.

  Instead of taking it, he caught her wrist in a painful grip, jerking her toward him, laughing as she cried out.

  She swung the bottle with all her might.

  * * *

  STERLING JERKED AWAKE with a start, her heart racing and her throat aching with the need to scream.

  She didn’t. She never did—no matter what. Silence kept her safer than a scream ever could.

  In just seconds, she absorbed the low light of the bar, the ancient rock and roll playing on the jukebox, the clamor of a few dozen voices talking low to one another.

  God. She swallowed heavily, looking around at the familiar sights. Her gaze landed on the bartender.

  He watched her. Always.

  Nothing got by that man.

  He could pretend to be an average guy, he could wear the trappings of a simple bar owner, but she knew better. He hid something, maybe something as monumental as her own secrets, but she wouldn’t ask. The Tipsy Wolverine bar was her haven from the road. She could sleep in her truck, and sometimes did, but she didn’t truly rest.

  Here, in the little Podunk bar in the small mountain town of Ridge Trail, Colorado, she knew no one would bother her.

  Because of him.

  Again her eyes sought him out. She guessed him at six feet five. Really big, but solid head to toes. Posture erect. Awareness keen. He wore his glossy dark hair neatly trimmed, precisely styled...but it was those piercing blue eyes that really caught and held her attention.

  His gaze had veered away from her, but that didn’t make him unaware. Sterling pegged him as ex-military, or maybe something deadlier. He was too damn physically fit to be anyone ordinary.

  Her nostrils flared a little as she looked him over. In the seedy area of town where locals slumped in their seats and laughed too loudly, he was always...mannered. Contained. Professional but not in the way of a suited businessman.

  More like a guy who knew he could handle himself in any situation. A guy who easily kicked ass, took names and did so without a scratch. Those thick shoulders... Studying his body left a funny warmth in Sterling’s stomach, sending her interested gaze to his pronounced biceps, watching the fluid bunch and flex of them with the smallest movement. His pullover shirt fit his wide chest perfectly, showing sculpted pecs and, letting her attention drift downward, a flat, firm middle.

  Lord, the man was put together fine. Add in a lean jaw, a strong but straight nose, and those cool blue eyes fringed by dark lashes, and she assumed he broke hearts on a daily basis.

  Not her heart. She wasn’t susceptible to that kind of stuff. She could take in the exceptional view and stay detached. She could.

  Only...this time she had to really concentrate to make it true.

  His gaze locked to hers, catching her perusal, and his firm lips quirked in a small “you’re not immune” smile.

  It made her mouth go dry.

  He couldn’t know that, could he? Yet he looked as if he’d just read her every admiring thought.

  Feeling oddly exposed, she held up her glass, realized it was still full and h
astily mouthed, “Coffee?”

  With a nod, he moved away to a service counter behind the bar. Less than half a minute later, he strode over in his casual yet confident way with a steaming cup.

  He knew how she took it, with one sugar and a splash of creamer. He knew because he missed nothing. Ever.

  Setting it before her, he asked, “Done with this?” indicating the shot she’d ordered—and hadn’t touched.

  Usually, to justify her lengthy naps, she bought a couple of drinks. This time, exhausted to the bone, she hadn’t lasted long enough.

  “Thanks.” Sterling sipped her coffee.

  That he didn’t move away set her heart tripping. Defiant, she glanced up and caught a slight frown carved from what appeared to be concern. She was good at reading people—except for him. Most of the time she didn’t know what he was thinking, and she didn’t like that.

  Suspicion prickled. “What?”

  Heavy lashes lowering, he thought a moment before meeting her gaze again. “I’m worried that anything I say might put you off.”

  Sterling stiffened with accusation. “What do you have to say?”

  “Such a lethal tone,” he teased—as if they knew each other well. “You don’t have to order drinks just to be in here. You want a place to kick up your feet—”

  Abruptly, she dropped her feet from the seat of the chair across from her. She unconsciously braced herself—to act, to react, to protect herself if necessary.

  “Or to rest without being disturbed,” he continued, ignoring her tension. “You’re always welcome.” As if he knew her innate worry, as if he could see her automatic response to his nearness, he took a step back. “No questions asked, and no drink order necessary.”

  Before she could come up with a reply, he walked away.

  For twenty minutes, Sterling remained, but he didn’t look at her again.

  Not until she walked out. He watched her then. Hell yeah, he did. She felt his gaze burning over her like a physical touch. Like interest. It left her with heightened awareness.