Stranded with the Cowboy Billionaire

by Elana Johnson

  She set it back down and looked over everything else. It seemed like such a mess, and she turned away from it. “I need to go for a walk.” She strode away, only taking a couple of steps before Mason called after her.

  “You want company?”

  Always. Ivy always wanted someone with her. She didn’t like being alone, and she wondered if she’d eventually smother Mason. “I’m okay,” she said over her shoulder. She hadn’t gone anywhere on the island without him since arriving.

  She didn’t have to go very far to get away from their camp—which was truly a camp now that they had a house with no roof. The trees obscured everything, and she felt like she was lost the moment she couldn’t see Mason through the foliage. She kept the water on her right side, always in view, as she walked.

  Her heart pumped, and her breathing increased, but she didn’t slow down or stop. Ivy didn’t mind a good workout, but she’d want a cup of hot chocolate afterward. She couldn’t believe that she’d once thought that three months without hot chocolate would be the hardest part of her time on this island.

  She heard the gurgle of the spring, and she turned inland to visit it. Maybe she just needed to cool down. Get a drink that didn’t come from a bottle. Soak up the sun.

  She did that, putting her head under the water as it trickled off the rocks and fell into the shallow pool below. She was tired of being wet, but she lay down in the pool anyway and stared up into the blue sky.

  “Iris,” she said as if she could talk to her sister right now. “He’s incredible, and he just kissed me.” She let the happiness move through her, enjoying the emotion. “I’m not going too fast, I swear. We’ve been out here for nine days. Well, today is day nine, but you know what I mean.”

  She paused, as if her twin would have something to say.

  “Anyway, the yacht is useless. We had this storm come through, and—” Ivy’s voice cut out as if God himself had muted her.

  The storm.

  Long Bar Island was only two hours from Getaway Bay. If they’d had the storm here, would it hit the main island too? And what would the devastation be?

  There had been a tropical storm a few years ago, right after the huge Sweet Breeze Resort and Hotel had gone up. Ivy knew, because everyone on the island too close to the beach had been advised to get to the hotel, floors four and above.

  Ivy and Iris had shared a room in the hotel, free of charge. She’d been to a few parties there over the years as well. Sweet Breeze had amazing pools, on a half-dozen decks, and the singles life loved to hang out poolside and flirt.

  Ivy had used to love that.

  Now? Now, she was floating in a pool, no drink in her hand, and no one around her, vying for her attention.

  “Did the storm hit the island?” she asked, almost desperate for Iris to somehow communicate with her and let her know either way. Twins had that freaky twin-thing, but Ivy wasn’t getting any bizarre feelings or brain waves.

  In the storm from a few years ago, the island had lost electricity for four days. No WiFi. No cell phone signals. Things had been in chaos for a while, until emergency services could get all of the essentials back in place for people.

  Maybe she wouldn’t be able to call Iris and explain the situation. Justin would likely be busy with his Navy SEAL friends helping residents to dry out their homes, put in new windows, and secure clean drinking water.

  “It’s okay, though,” she told the sky, the universe, anyone and anything out there. “We have food and water. We’re okay here.”

  And she was. Yes, she missed her family. But she was okay here. She had Mason—a very good kisser—and she had this pool to lie in when she needed a good heart-to-heart with herself.

  Eventually, she pulled herself from the pool and squeezed as much water from her hair as she could. With it all secured into another tight ponytail, she found the path that would take her through the trees and back to the camp.

  She wanted to ask Mason about the storm and if he thought it had hit the mainland. They needed a plan in case Iris didn’t panic when Ivy didn’t call on Monday. Worry bumped in her veins already, and she wasn’t even expecting anyone to know they needed help for five more days.

  Her shoes squelched as she walked down the narrow path, but the sun was already beginning to dry her clothes. With her stomach growling, she thought if she could just get some food inside her, she’d feel better.

  Then it wouldn’t matter that most of their coffee had been ruined. That they had no way to communicate with anyone. That their roof had been stolen by the wind.

  She had Mason, and while he hadn’t answered her question about them having a possible love connection, they definitely had one.

  Possibly, she reminded herself. It was only day nine, after all.

  She emerged from the trees, expecting to see Mason lying down somewhere. He’d been restless last night, and he had to be tired today. Ivy felt one breath away from pure exhaustion, but she didn’t want to nap until later that afternoon.

  After eating. After planning. After more kissing.

  But Mason wasn’t lying in the sand, napping. He wasn’t sitting on the log by the fire. He wasn’t going through supplies.

  He was gone.

  Chapter Ten

  Mason knew very little about electronics, though he had earned a Boy Scout merit badge in electricity and electronics growing up. He wondered if Ivy would be impressed by that. No one else seemed to care that he was an Eagle Scout, something his mother had pushed him to become.

  She’d said it would matter one day.

  He did suppose his swimming skills and emergency preparedness skills had helped him plan for this trip—and now the aftermath of this storm.

  He pulled on a blue wire, sure it was the one he needed to strip and reconnect to the underside of the radio to get it working again. If he could just get a message out, he was sure someone could come rescue them.

  He wasn’t sure why he was so desperate for someone to know they needed help, only that he was. It was one thing living on this island when he had an easy way back to running water, an ATM, and civilization.

  It was quite another thinking he might be stranded out here indefinitely, without someone who even knew he needed help.

  Using the pocketknife he kept in the first aid kit on the bridge, he peeled back the rubber around the end of the wire. Just a little bit more….

  He bit his lip, his arms starting to burn from how he held them above his head. He finally got enough wire exposed, and he touched it to the underside of the control panel, really no idea what he was doing.

  Or what would happen.

  So when a shower of sparks rained down on his face, his first instinct was to cover his eyes, nose, and mouth. He did, stinging starting in his fingertips and landing on the backs of his hands and arms.

  That stinging became a wave of pain as he realized he’d been shocked, and burned. The back of his skull rumbled, and he kept his eyes closed, hoping the pain would subside.

  With a jolt—literally—he realized his body was still in contact with the live wire, and he rolled out from underneath the controls.

  But hey, there was electricity here. Too bad the Boy Scouts had never taught him how to rewire a radio on a yacht.

  He lay there on the floor, breathing and taking stock of his body. When he finally looked at his hands, his fingertips along his right hand were red, puffy, and blistering. He’d burned three of them badly—his middle finger, pointer, and thumb.

  A groan started low in his throat, and he examined the slighter burns on the backs of his hands and arms. They seemed okay, though one spot wept blood. He had a first aid kit; he’d get himself doctored up.

  After that…honestly, he was thinking he’d take a nap right here on the yacht. Out of the sun. He couldn’t get back in the salty, ocean water with his injuries. He could yell to Ivy from the yacht, maybe even ask her to join him.

  He hadn’t liked her walking away from him, mostly because he could tell she
was upset about something. He didn’t know what. She’d been flirtatious and coy that morning on the beach, and all she’d done since was carry out a few boxes of supplies while he hauled out the heavier items.

  She’d stood at the table with him. Hung up a few things to dry from her suitcase. And then walked away.

  She had a bond with her family he didn’t understand. He’d thought maybe that was why. But he also knew she didn’t like to be alone, and she’d gone off alone.

  He’d watched her until the trees had swallowed her. Then he’d finished hanging out his own wet clothes and decided to get the radio working on the yacht. He could do it. He knew he could.

  He’d hotwired tractors before, and he’d dressed a cowboy’s wounds with an Ace bandage and baling twine in the past. He could get this blasted radio working, because Mason was a man who did what needed to be done, no matter what supplies were available.

  His next breath shuddered through his chest, but he pulled it all the way in. He couldn’t afford to go into shock again, this time because of an actual injury. Crawling, he moved over to the first aid kit, which he’d abandoned on the floor several feet away, and opened it.

  Band-aids, gloves, antiseptic cream. None of that would do a whole lot for burned fingertips. He could smear some of the ointment on his other wounds once they were clean, and he ended up standing up and taking the first aid kit with him down the hall to the bathroom.

  Every muscle seemed clenched tight, probably from the low level of electricity that had moved through them. His throat scratched, and he took a moment to fill a glass with water so he could quench his thirst.

  “There you are.”

  Startled, he dropped the glass, which shattered against the tile at his feet. As if he wasn’t already hurt, additional pain sliced against the top of his right foot as he turned toward the female voice.

  Ivy stood there, water dripping from the ends of her shorts. She had both hands cocked on her hips, and Mason could only look at her.

  “What are you doing over here again?” She surveyed the situation, horror washing across those beautiful features. “Oh, holy starfish. Your foot is bleeding.” She bent down and picked up the larger shards of glass. “I’m so sorry, Mason. I was just freaked out when I got back to the beach, and you were gone.”

  He finally got his voice to work, and he said, “I’m sorry, Ivy. I thought I’d try to get the radio working.” He looked down at his hands. “But I just electrocuted myself and burned my hands.”’

  “You what?” Ivy straightened, alarm in her voice and evident on her face. He held up his hands so she could see.

  “Starfish and octopi,” she whispered. She held very still for a moment, and then she shook off the glazed look in her eyes. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’ll get you all fixed up.” She glanced around. “Let me clean up this glass first. Neither of us needs to step on something right now.”

  She retreated from him, and he stayed right where he was, breathing in and out, in and out. When she returned, she had a roll of paper towels, which she proceeded to wet before sweeping the wad along the floor.

  “My mother taught me this trick,” she said. “You get the paper towel wet, and it picks up all the little, teeny, tiny shards of glass you can’t see. You can’t even sweep them up, which we can’t anyway, because our broom and dustpan are on the island.” She always talked more when she was nervous, but Mason didn’t try to comfort her.

  His hands hurt.

  A larger shard of glass scraped against the tile, the sound offensive and grating. “I’m so sorry,” Mason said again. “I feel like such a fool.”

  Ivy finished with the floor and tossed the mass of paper towels in the garbage can beside him. “Why?”

  He couldn’t look at her. “For not knowing that paper towel trick, for one. For hurting myself. And for bringing you out here.” He did meet her eye then. “I’m sorry, Ivy.”

  Something stormed in her eyes, and it looked almost as dangerous as the tropical rains and gales they’d already survived. “I already said you couldn’t control the weather, Mason.”

  “Did you know you were the only person who applied to come out here with me?” he asked. He shook his head. “I should’ve known then that this was a bad idea.”

  “It wasn’t a bad idea,” she said. “I was having a lot of fun until yesterday. Even since then.” She stepped close to him and put one hand on his face. “I was really the only one who messaged you?”

  He nodded, wondering what that meant. Ivy’s eyelids fluttered and then drifted closed. Her breath touched his mouth, and then she kissed him. “It’s fine,” she whispered into his mouth. “I wanted to come, Mase.”

  He reached for her, recoiling when his injured flesh met her rough clothes. And they certainly weren’t rough. His skin was just so tender.

  “Let’s get you fixed up,” she said, her voice a bit higher than normal. “And then we can take a nap.”

  “Here?” he said. “On the yacht. Out of the sun. Out of the wind.”

  She swallowed and focused on the first aid kit. “Yeah, okay. Here is fine.”

  “You don’t like the yacht?”

  Ivy rummaged through the kit, pulling out various items and lining them up on the small vanity. “I feel a little trapped on a boat,” she said. “Like, it could sink with me on it, and I’ll never get out.” She met his eye in the mirror and went back to the kit. “You know there’s a submarine in Pearl Harbor full of people, right? Sunk. They’re still down there.”

  “The USS Arizona,” Mason said, his heart enlarging for this good woman. “I know about it.”

  “Yeah, well, boats kind of freak me out.” She flashed him a smile and ripped open an antiseptic wipe. “I’m going to go all over your hands and arms with this.” She met his eye. “Okay?”

  “This isn’t a submarine,” he said, hoping to prolong the moment before she made him hurt again. “It’s a yacht.”

  “Technicality,” she said with a smile.

  “You can stay in my chamber with me,” he said. “If you want. No funny business.”

  “Good,” she said, her voice light and airy again. “Because there’s nothing funny going on here.” She looked down at his hands and swiped the cold cloth across his skin. Instant searing hit him, and he couldn’t contain the groan.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She finished cleaning him up and tossed the wipe in the trashcan. “I don’t think these cuts need any bandages. And the only thing I know to do about those fingers is painkiller.” She shook several tablets into her hand, got a new glass of water for him, and watched him swallow them.

  “Nap time?” he asked, his eyes dry and gritty.

  “Yes,” she said, linking her hand through his. “Oh, wait. Your foot.” She made quick work of cleaning that up, bandaging it, and leading him down the steps to the cabins.

  There were three with king-sized beds, and he didn’t care which one they slept in. She chose the one closest to the exit, saying, “I feel like I can get out from here if the boat starts to sink.”

  “Yacht,” he corrected, just because he could. He got in bed, glad when she did too, and a long sigh escaped from his mouth.

  “I wish we had an alarm,” Ivy said from the other side of the bed. He couldn’t feel her body heat, which meant she’d kept way over on her side of the bed. It did feel quite intimate to be in a bed with her, though they’d been much closer physically on the sand that morning.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?” he asked.

  “I sure hope so,” she said. “I’m tired.”

  “Me too.” he closed his eyes, the relief in them instant. “We’ll be okay, Ivy.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Okay? We’ll be okay.”

  Her hand found his beneath the covers and squeezed.

  And finally, Mason slept peacefully.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ivy marked each day on a little pad of paper she’d found in the drawer beside the bed where s
he and Mason had taken to spending their nights. When she woke in the morning, she made another mark, smiled at the still-sleeping form of Mason, and went to the island to make coffee and scramble eggs.

  The routine was so common now, it felt like she’d been doing it for years instead of only seven days.

  Seven days.

  They only went to the yacht to sleep, something about being contained inside a room, with a roof, that made them both more comfortable than sleeping out under the stars.

  “Which is weird for me, honestly,” he’d told her. “I’ve spent my whole life out on a ranch. Many nights underneath only the stars.”

  Ivy had told him things were different now, and maybe he wasn’t as cowboy as he thought he was. He’d pretended to be offended, and then he’d kissed her for so long that their soup had burnt to the bottom of the pot.

  Eggs for breakfast. Canned soup for lunch. Protein bars in the afternoon. Oatmeal for dinner, sometimes with a swirl of syrup. At least Mason had considered bringing something sweet to abate all the bland food they were consuming.

  Mason slept later than her every morning, which also seemed to be the opposite of what a cowboy would do. He hadn’t explained that one yet, probably because Ivy hadn’t asked.

  He waded ashore, and she grinned at him from her crouched position over the fire. His foot had healed quickly, as had the small burns on his hands and arms. His fingers had been terrible, swelling and blistering and filling with liquid before he’d finally pierced them and drained the infection out.

  They were still very sore, and he held his right hand above his head when he waded through the ocean from the yacht to their camp on shore.

  “Morning,” she said. “Day eight.” She couldn’t help telling him, though he knew. He’d seen her pad with the tally marks. They’d talked about a contingency plan if no one showed up to save them.

  They’d stay the course. They had enough food if they were careful. There was a pool of water, and they had bottled water too. They’d simply stay for the three months they’d planned on. Surely the island would be put back together from any storms by then. And her family would for sure know something was wrong and send help.