Her Cowboy Billionaire Beast

by Liz Isaacson

  He held his hands out in front of the baby flame, a sigh leaking from his mouth. “It’s freezing out there.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m not going to make it down the canyon tonight.”

  Patsy looked up at him, alarm on her face. “Really?”

  “No way.” He held her gaze for several long seconds. “Is there room at the lodge? Aren’t just the Whittakers there?”

  “Yeah, but they fill the place.”

  “Colton said he stayed there once.”

  “Annie’s family came for the wedding,” Patsy said. She stood up, the fire forgotten. “Let me see what I can figure out.” She took out her phone and nodded to the hearth. “Will you keep feeding that?”

  “Sure.” Cy crouched down to tend to the fledgling flame, stoking it with small sticks and then another piece of wadded paper. “So I’m named after my great-grandfather. His name was Cornelius Cy Hammond, and he’s the chemist who actually invented the polyethylene plastic in the early twentieth century that took our family company into the stratosphere.”

  Patsy didn’t respond for a moment, her attention on her phone. “He doesn’t sound like a black sheep, Cy.”

  “Oh, he was,” Cy said, adding another piece of wood. “He went against his father’s wishes when he married my great-grandmother. He refused to become a lawyer. He wore these ridiculous trench coats.” Cy shook his head, the black and white photographs of the man he was named after right there in his mind’s eye. “I’m a lot the same way.”

  “You went against your dad’s wishes?”

  “Oh, my parents were disappointed from my birth,” Cy said, picking up a bigger chunk of wood. He carefully laid it over the teepee she’d built, hoping he wouldn’t smother the fire. It started to lick the wood, and he watched it dance and play. “My mother wanted a baby girl so badly.”

  Cy had carried the weight of his gender for a while, but his therapist had helped him let go of that guilt. He added another piece of wood, and then a third, satisfied the fire would continue, and stood up.

  Patsy was looking at him, and he asked, “What?”

  “So you’re the black sheep because you’re a boy?”

  “Felt like it for a while.” He shrugged, the words crowding in his mouth refusing to be held back. But he didn’t want to reveal too much. “After my last girlfriend broke up with me, I went to see a counselor.” He cleared his throat. “It was a very hard break up for me.”

  Patsy’s expression turned compassionate, and she tucked her phone away, all of her attention on him now.

  He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. “Anyway, he helped me get over the whole girl thing. My mother doesn’t even know I felt bad about it.” He drew in a deep breath and held it. “And I never went to college—a great disappointment to all Hammonds, stretching back generations.”

  He put a smile on his face, but wow, he was speaking hard truths right now. How had he come to this conversation topic with Patsy? Today was supposed to be fun. Making pizza and cuddling on the couch.

  He reached up and removed the cowboy hat, his long hair brushing against his knuckles. “Ames at least became a local hero. Colton has two degrees and worked on a project that has impacted mankind for the better. Gray’s the lawyer. Wes the CEO. I just liked motorcycles.” He shrugged again, because he didn’t know how much Patsy knew about his family.

  “Anyway,” he said. “Let’s have s’mores.”

  Her phone chimed as he moved into the kitchen, and when he retuned, she grinned. “You can stay in Elise’s cabin. She and Bree used to live up here, and it’s empty.”

  “Perfect,” he said.

  “We should get over there and make sure the heat is on, though,” Patsy said, looking toward the window. “Go now, or have a snack, and then go?”

  “Go now,” Cy said, putting the bag with marshmallows and graham crackers on the couch. “I know I won’t want to go later.”

  “Okay.”

  They put on their coats, and Patsy added a hat and gloves to her arsenal. Outside, the snow fell down in a beautiful arrangement of flakes. Cy stopped at the top of the steps. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “I love the snow,” Patsy said at his side.

  “I don’t hate it,” he said. “Though it was nice to never have to deal with it in California.”

  “You started your shop there, right?” She tucked her hands in her pockets and stepped out from underneath the protection of the roof.

  “Yes,” he said, following her.

  “Why there?”

  “Uh, let’s see.” Cy blew out his breath, which created a white cloud in front of his face. “Following a dream? Wanted something different? Needed to get away from the perfection of four older brothers in Colorado?” He thought for a moment. “Yeah, all of those work for reasons why.”

  Patsy glanced at him. “You know, all of you Hammonds are pretty dang-near perfect.”

  Cy burst out laughing, sure she was kidding. She didn’t join him though, and Cy wasn’t sure what to make of it. What did she see in him?

  “And you’re not the only one who feels like they don’t belong in their family.”

  “You?” he asked, thinking of the stern, non-smiling woman who’d come out onto the porch yesterday. “Why don’t you fit?”

  “I have the same perfect older siblings you do,” she said. “Especially my sister. She got married young, and had all these beautiful daughters, and she’s just so perky and wonderful and everything.” Patsy spoke with a bit of bitterness in her tone that Cy had certainly felt way down deep in his soul many times.

  “I think you mentioned your frustration with them the first time we met,” he said, trying to be casual so he didn’t press the wrong button for her.

  “Yeah.” She led him up a slight rise, and a stable appeared on her left. Two men came out of the huge doors, and Patsy called to them. Cy lifted his hand in greeting to Beau and Graham, and he and Patsy continued down the sidewalk. He wasn’t sure how much farther it was, and he hoped they could find their way back.

  “I did everything I could to get some of my father’s attention,” she said. “I learned to paint, because he loves watercolors. I went to school and learned business, human resources, and administration management, all with the hopes that he’d let me run the orchard. Nope.”

  Cy reached over and linked his arm through hers, though he didn’t wear gloves. She didn’t break stride or look at him, but comfort bled through him at the simple connection. He knew he needed human connection—probably more than any of his other brothers—and he’d been isolated for so long.

  “I taught horseback riding lessons, because Betty’s kids wanted to take them. I took a finance class at the community center here. I learned to cut hair.” She shook her head. “None of it mattered. None of it was enough. I stopped trying.”

  “I’m sorry, Patsy,” Cy said, his voice muted in the snow.

  “There it is,” she said, and a vague outline of a cabin came into view. They picked up the pace, and before long, Cy stood in another cabin, this one bigger than the one where Patsy lived. It was fully furnished and ready to be lived in, and he wondered who was going to live here. For some reason, he wanted to live there.

  “Who owns this place?” he asked, lifting his cowboy hat off his head to shake the snow from it.

  “Laney Whittaker,” Patsy said. “Graham’s wife. This is actually on her ranch, which borders the lodge.”

  “No one lives here?”

  “Well, Elise did, but…no.” Patsy looked at him as she nudged up the central heat. “It’s on seventy-six now.” She turned toward the fireplace. “And there’s wood here, so you can build a fire too.”

  He nodded, still looking around. “Would Laney let me live here?”

  “You want to live up here?” Patsy gaped at him. “Why? Your shop is at least forty minutes from here.”

  Cy shrugged. “It won’t be done for another few months.” Longer, if this snow kept up.

 
“Where are you living now?”

  “I rented a place,” he said, not wanting to say he’d chosen the house on the north side of town because it was ten minutes to the shop. “I’m going to build a house in the orchard.” He looked at her then to judge her reaction.

  Surprise filled her whole face. “Wow.”

  Cy felt her slipping away from him, and he had no idea why. He’d bought the land; he could do what he wanted with it.

  “Would you cut my hair?” he asked, the question just there.

  “What?”

  “My hair.” He ran his hand through it. “It’s way too long, and I need a change. You just said you learned to cut hair, and I’m asking you to cut mine.”

  “Today?”

  “Yeah, when we get back,” he said. “We can make s’mores, and you can cut my hair, and then maybe we’ll start getting hungry enough to make pizza.” He smiled at her, hoping to draw her back to him.

  It seemed to work, because she relaxed, and a hint of a smile even lifted the corners of her mouth. “I haven’t cut anyone’s hair in a while. It could be a hack job.”

  “I’m willing to take the risk,” Cy said seriously. Those words could’ve applied to so much more between him and Patsy, and he wondered if she knew it as keenly as he did.

  “Okay,” she said, and Cy smiled. He extended his hand toward her, a moment of truth, and prayed with everything in him that she’d put her hand in his.

  Chapter Six

  Patsy couldn’t look away from Cy’s deep, dark eyes. He was so mysterious, and so different than she’d first assumed when she’d met him at the orchard. She knew she’d been emotional then, and dealing with a lot of stress, and he’d only added to it.

  But now, he was helping to relieve it.

  She put her hand in his, and a stream 0f fire shot up her arm. A shiver shook her shoulders, and Cy said, “We should get back to the cabin with the roaring fire.” He tugged her gently toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

  Outside, he released her hand, and she pulled her glove back on. He tucked his hands in his coat pockets and bent his head into the wind. Patsy did the same, and while the weather had intensified, she wasn’t nearly as chilled on the walk back. Cy’s touch had electrified her, and Patsy couldn’t ignore the attraction running through her.

  Back at her cabin, they hung up their wet clothes and stood in front of the fire for a few minutes. “When you go tonight,” she said. “You’ll have to text me when you get to that cabin so I know you made it.”

  “Good idea,” he said. “I was just thinking about making that walk alone, and I’m not sure I can do it.” He reached up and pushed his hair back, the tips of it wet from the snow.

  Patsy tore her gaze away and cleared her throat. “S’mores first?”

  “Let’s do this.” Cy turned and pulled out the groceries while Patsy went to get the fondue forks. She stood in the kitchen for a moment and watched him rip open the bag of marshmallows and put one straight into his mouth.

  That simple act filled her with joy for some reason. It reminded her of a simpler time in her childhood, where getting a treat from her mother had lit her whole world with joy.

  “My mother loved marshmallows and pretzels together,” Patsy said as she returned to the living room.

  Cy looked up, his expression open and vulnerable. “Yeah?” He handed her the bag of marshmallows. “I love these things.” He grinned at her, and Patsy took one out of the bag.

  “She kept them in a high cupboard,” she said, the memories she’d kept carefully boxed now streaming through her mind. “Above the microwave. We only got them on special occasions. The last time was on my birthday when I turned sixteen.”

  “That long ago?” Cy stilled in his work of opening the package of crackers. “I mean, where is your mom? You’ve not said anything about her.”

  “She’s somewhere in Minnesota,” Patsy said, expecting something in her chest to tighten. Her voice stayed even though, and she wondered if she’d finally come to terms with her mother’s decisions. “She left my dad, oh, right after I graduated from high school. It was like she was just waiting for me to be an adult, so she could leave.”

  She gazed down at the marshmallows, the little pillows bringing back so many good memories. She took one out of the bag and stuck it in her mouth. “Mm.” She smiled, and Cy went back to work unwrapping the chocolate and the grahams.

  “Do you talk to your mom?” he asked.

  “Every now and then,” Patsy said. “She’ll call, or I’ll call her.”

  He nodded and reached for a fork. She handed it to him, and they put marshmallows on and held them over the flames. She felt him watching her, and she deliberately kept her eyes on her marshmallow to make sure it didn’t start to turn black.

  Some people liked lighting theirs on fire, but Patsy wasn’t one of them. She liked a toasty, golden brown marshmallow, and that took a great amount of patience and care. Constant watching and turning. She simply couldn’t look at Cy right now.

  “So,” she said, barely looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “If you weren’t running a motorcycle shop, what would you be doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if you had unlimited resources and time to learn something, what would it be? What do you want to know more about? What do you wish you knew how to do?”

  “Patsy,” he said quietly, slowly rotating his own marshmallow. Because the forks weren’t very long, and the fireplace not very big, he sat right beside her, his shoulder touching hers. “You know I do have unlimited resources and time, right?”

  “Yeah,” Patsy said. “I know.” She pulled her marshmallow back and turned fully toward him. Their eyes caught, and lightning could’ve struck and it wouldn’t be as hot as the chemistry between them.

  Patsy barely knew what to do with it, because it filled her lungs and pushed out the air. It made her muscles tighten and stay that way. Then he smiled, and everything released. Relief filled her, and she ducked her head with a light laugh.

  He possessed a stunning smile, with straight, white teeth, and Patsy hoped she could see the vision of his face as she fell asleep that night.

  “So what would you do?” she asked, observing her marshmallow again. It was almost done, and then she could make her s’mores sandwich.

  “Do I have to commit to doing it?”

  “Nope.” She removed her marshmallow from the heat of the fire and reached for a graham cracker. She broke it in half and put a couple of squares of chocolate on one piece. Then she used the two graham crackers like mitts to slide the marshmallow from the hot fork.

  She looked at Cy, who had watched her do all of that. “Nothing?” she asked. “You’ve got nothing?” She took a bite of her s’mores sandwich, the chocolate the strongest flavor. She loved the crunchy cracker, the gooey marshmallow, and the in-between chocolate. Whoever had put this combination together should get a medal in heaven.

  “I need some time to think about it,” he said. He started making a s’more too, his chin dipped down. “What about you?”

  “What would I do if I had unlimited time and resources?” she asked. “Besides the painting, the finance class, the horseback riding, and the hair-cutting?” She popped the last bite of her snack into her mouth to give herself a couple of seconds of thought. “I think I’d like to learn to ride a motorcycle.”

  Cy jerked his head up, his eyes widening. A moment later, he said, “Oh, you’re teasing me.”

  “Kind of?” she guessed. “You said riding a horse and riding a motorcycle weren’t the same at all, and I’d like to know if that’s really true.”

  “You know I can make that happen, right?”

  “I know you had a motorcycle in the fall,” she said. “And that there’s no way you’re riding one in this weather.”

  “So we’ll have to wait until spring,” he mused.

  Patsy hadn’t realized that until he’d said it, but yes. Hopefully, there would still be this el
ectric attraction between them once the snow melted.

  He finished his s’more, and Patsy stood up. “I’ll get my clippers and scissors.”

  “All right.” Cy picked up the bag of marshmallows and popped another one in his mouth. “I’ll think about what I want to learn how to do.”

  Patsy took the few steps down the hall to the bathroom and closed the door so she could open the cupboard behind it. She didn’t use her hair-cutting supplies very often, but she found the clear, plastic bin with her black drape, her clippers, several combs, and a pair of scissors in it.

  She pulled it down and turned around. She looked into her own eyes, wondering what Cy saw when he looked into them. She knew they were very bright blue—something she’d inherited from her father. One of her previous boyfriends had told her he’d never seen eyes like hers, and Patsy had liked that.

  She finger-combed her hair, as some of it had started to drift in a different direction, and she focused on herself again. “You don’t have to tell him anything else,” she whispered. She’d already said too much about her family, and she told herself to focus on simple things. How he named his custom shop. What he’d eat for his birthday meal. If he’d prefer a dog or a cat for a pet.

  Taking a steeling breath, she opened the door and took her kit into the kitchen. “All right, cowboy. Over here.”

  Cy turned away from the window, where he’d been standing, watching the snow fall while he held Jonas in his arms. “Cowboy?”

  “You do know what kind of hat you’re wearing, right?” She started unpacking the bin.

  “Yeah, seems like that’s what you do when you live in Wyoming.”

  “You said you knew how to ride a horse,” she said. “Grew up on a farm.” She picked up the drape and checked the snaps on the back. The cells in her body vibrated, because she was going to be very close to Cy. Cutting hair was an intimate experience, even if it wasn’t sexual. The person in the chair had to trust her, and she had to press in close, touch his neck and ears….