by Liz Isaacson
“I had no idea,” Dad said. “She told me she was doing all of that.”
“You’re kidding,” Patsy said, looking at him again. “Why do you think we sold the north twenty?”
“Because we needed the money.”
Patsy shook her head, her nerves firing with anger now. She gripped the wheel until her knuckles hurt and she turned into the hospital parking lot. “If Betty had been managing the orchard properly, Dad,” she said, her tone even and her delivery very deliberate. “We would have more than enough money. Beyond enough.” She pulled into a space and put the car in park. She kept her gaze out the windshield as she said, “We lost fifty thousand dollars every fall when she didn’t harvest the north twenty. Over the past four years, Dad, that’s five times what we made by selling it.”
And now Cy was building a motorcycle shop and a house for himself on her land. Her throat closed, and she got out of the car. Why hadn’t she been stronger? Why hadn’t she insisted Betty let her run the orchard? She could’ve saved them; she could’ve kept the land her father had worked, and his father before him, and his before him.
A keen sense of failure filled her as she went around to help her father stand. He met her eye once he did, and he said, “I didn’t know, Patsy. I believed what she told me.”
“Let me show you the books,” she said, seizing the opportunity. “She doesn’t even like working on the orchard. That’s why it doesn’t get done. I could do it, Dad. I want to do it.”
He set his mouth in a thin line and nodded, which was farther than Patsy had ever gotten before. She wasn’t sure why he believed her now when he hadn’t before. “Let’s look at the books soon,” he said. “I should be feeling better in a couple of weeks, after this last round wears off.”
“Okay.” Patsy went with him inside, and she sat with him while they administered the poisonous drugs that would hopefully control the cancer raging in his body. She took him home and helped him into bed, where she sat watching him sleep.
For a few moments, her mind and body detached, and she wasn’t sure how she’d come to this reality.
Then she heard her sister’s voice call that she was there to sit with him, and Patsy gathered herself together and went down the hall to greet her. Familiar resentment filled her, though Patsy hugged Betty.
“How did it go?” Betty asked, her eyes flitting around without truly settling on Patsy.
“As good as can be expected,” she said. “Betty, I have to talk to you for a second.”
“All right.” Betty set her designer purse on the counter along with her coffee cup. She finally looked at Patsy, who felt the weight of being the youngest sister like a vice tightening against her vocal cords.
“I want the orchard,” she said. “I want to fix up the farmhouse and the barns and the stables. We’ve already lost forty percent of our legacy, and I’m not going to stand by and watch you drive the other sixty percent into the ground.”
Betty’s eyes widened, and Patsy waited for her quick refusal. Her sister opened her mouth, most likely to reprimand Patsy—something she was very good at—but Patsy said, “I’m laying everything out for Dad soon. All the books. How you didn’t pay for the proper fertilization for the past two years. How our crop diminished because of it. How the fruit in the north twenty fell to the ground because you were too busy being PTA president.”
Patsy turned and put on her coat. “You can’t hide this from him anymore.” She turned back as she pulled up the zipper. “I’m going to ask you and Joe to be there, and I’m going to ask for control of the orchard. I actually want it, and it seems a great disservice for you, me, Dad, granddad, and all Foxhill’s back five generations to let you keep destroying it.”
With that, she walked out, despite the stammering of her sister.
“You should’ve seen her face,” Patsy said, releasing a pent-up breath. She paced in Cy’s office while he perched on a stool and watched her. “I can’t believe I just did that.” She met his eye, but she was too keyed up to hold his gaze. “She’s going to be livid.”
“Maybe it’s about time she was,” Cy said. They’d been getting along so great, though Patsy had worried about that when Cy had come to work at the lodge. He was much more laid back that she was, and he’d been on his best behavior with the guests.
She’d mentioned her desire to take over the orchard, and he’d never once suggested she talk to her family about it. After all, she had in the past, and she didn’t see anything changing.
Until now.
“I don’t handle her very well.” Patsy’s fingers started worrying around each other. “She always treats me like I’m so stupid.”
“Patsy.” Cy stood up and intercepted her on her next pass in front of him. He put both hands on her shoulders. “You are not stupid. You are the least stupid person I’ve ever met, in fact.”
She looked up into those dark eyes, and she liked the intensity burning there. While he was laid back about some things, he carried a certain passion for things too. And when that came out…watch out.
“She makes me feel that way.”
“Then don’t let her.” Cy said it like such a thing was so easy. “I get how you feel. I do. You just have to stand up to her and make a new boundary for her. That’s what I’ve done with my brothers.”
Patsy nodded and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. It didn’t quite go, and she drew in a deep breath. “Will you go over the books with me? Help me lay out my case?”
“Of course I will,” he said. “Did you want to see the showroom? We painted the floor a couple of days ago.”
“Yes,” she said, further settling. “Show me all the new stuff.” She’d been coming to his shop every week for the past few months, and now that they were close to finishing, there was always so much to see.
He held her hand as he led her on the tour, showing her the beautiful showroom with two floors of windows that let in a ton of natural light. The floor had been painted a light gray and flecked with black and navy geometric shapes no bigger than a dime. He explained where their showpiece would be, and what furniture they’d bring in.
“Should be here tomorrow, actually,” he said. “Carpet is going in upstairs, as you saw. And then I’ve got my people coming next weekend.”
“I can’t believe it’s so close,” she said, finally realizing what was happening. “You’re quitting at the lodge.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But you’ve got Melinda now. She’s going to be great.”
Patsy had hired a woman named Melinda Corrinth to take over for Cy. They’d been working together for a week, and she’d moved into Bree and Elise’s cabin just a couple of days ago. Patsy liked her, and it was nice to have more help around the lodge. Once spring truly hit, Patsy would need a gardener too, and she’d already put the job up online.
In fact, she had interviews tomorrow. A sudden urge to get back to the lodge hit her. She had so much to do there, including check her schedule to see when she could stage the takeover she wanted to do at the orchard.
“So you’re sure you don’t want to come work for me?” Cy asked at the end of the tour, gathering her close to his chest. “I still don’t have a general manager.”
“You said you were going to be the GM.” Patsy wrapped her arms around him and swayed with him as he moved. To her knowledge, he hadn’t started his dancing lessons. He’d taken her to a barn buster the week after Valentine’s Day, because she’d worked so much on the actual day. He’d danced with her easily then, his confidence higher than it had been at the New Year’s Eve ball.
“I don’t want to be the GM,” he said. “I want to be the carefree owner who pops in to go over the veteran bikes.” He chuckled. “I’m going to have to accept you aren’t going to come do it.” He pulled away and looked at her, that passion burning in his eyes. “Aren’t I?”
“If I get my way,” she said. “I’ll be quitting at the lodge to run the orchard.” She wanted to make him happy, but she didn’t see how. �
��I can’t do that and run your shop.”
“But it’s on the orchard grounds,” he said. “Maybe it could just be part of what you manage at the orchard.”
“Cy, you own this land,” she said, stepping out of his arms. “This isn’t my family’s orchard anymore.”
“I’ve hardly taken out any trees,” he said.
Patsy sensed he was saying more than what he’d actually said, and she cocked her head at him. “What’s happening in your head?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said, turning away.
But Patsy reached out and grabbed his arm, which made him stop. “Whoa, there, cowboy. Look at me.”
Cy did, but she could tell he didn’t want to.
“You told me to ask you what you were thinking in times like these,” she said gently. “You said you needed to be honest with me about what was in your head. So tell me.”
Cy just shook his head, that longer hair on top flopping with the motion. “I need a minute.”
“Cy,” she said as he walked away from her, but she let him go. She had to give him a minute if he needed it. He’d asked for them only a couple of times in the past, and he’d told her about his depression and anxiety after one of his “minutes.”
He’d admitted he should probably be in counseling and on medication, but he wasn’t doing either.
Patsy sure did like him, and she’d even started to fall in love with him. She needed to go slow, and she’d told him that. He’d been fine with it, because he wanted to go slow too. So they’d spent time together, and worked together, and there’d been plenty of kissing at the end of the day.
This felt like a big step for her, though. Taking on her sister and asking Cy what was really in his head.
“Please let it be something easy to solve,” she prayed under her breath, but she knew it wouldn’t be. The things that stretched her the most and forced her to grow were never easy to solve.
Chapter Fifteen
Cy hadn’t worn the rubber band around his wrist to the shop that day. He hadn’t put it on for weeks. He found he didn’t need it as much when the sun was shining, and Patsy was nearby, and his shop was coming along.
When life was good, Cy felt unstoppable.
But right now, a major hurdle had just manifested itself. He’d been putting off hiring a shop manager, because in the back of his mind, he’d convinced himself Patsy would come do it. He’d ask her again—beg her, really—and she’d say yes.
They’d work the shop together, and she’d help him with the design of his house, and they’d sail off into the sunset together, blissfully in love.
Cy could really be a romantic fool sometimes.
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself as he left Patsy behind in the mechanic bay he’d just finished showing her. He headed for the front of the building, where the showroom spread out in all its glory. He couldn’t wait to get the motorcycles out of storage, and he couldn’t wait to be riding one.
That was what he wanted to do right now. Storm out of the building, hop on his best, biggest bike, and just leave. Leave everything troubling him in the rear-view mirror.
He paused in the middle of the showroom and took a long, deep breath. He needed to calm down for a second. Think about why he’d literally just run away from the best person in his life. Identify what he wanted to say.
What was in his mind?
That there was no way he could manage this place. Oh, he could intellectually. He knew the concept forward and backward. He knew all the parts of a motorcycle and where they went. He knew the public relations, and the social media aspect of the business. He knew about all of it. He’d done all of it.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be the CEO. He wasn’t Wes.
Cy couldn’t handle the stress of the day-to-day operations at Rev for Vets. He wanted to meet with the veterans before they started the motorcycle, and when it was done. He liked getting updates in between. He liked coming to work later in the day, and he liked getting under a bike every now and then.
But mostly, he just wanted to do exactly what he’d said—he wanted to ride his motorcycle and pop in on the happenings at the shop when it was fun and convenient for him. He worked—he worked a lot. He knew what was happening in his building. But he didn’t want to be there constantly, overseeing all of it.
He turned back to the back half of the building, where the maintenance would take place. All the meeting rooms were back here, as well as storage for their parts and equipment. Or all of that would be back here, once his team arrived from California, and the twenty-six people he’d hired here in Coral Canyon showed up next weekend.
Then, the first week of April, Ames would make the drive north, and Cy would have a grand reopening of Rev for Vets.
He’d already set up his first veteran for whom they’d custom design and build a motorcycle, and he’d announce it at the grand reopening.
There was so much to do between now and then, and Cy needed to keep his head on straight. He returned to the bay to find Patsy waiting for him. She looked up from her phone, concern in those pretty blue eyes.
He loathed that concern as much as he appreciated it. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean—I don’t mean to make you worry.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “We all need a minute sometimes.”
“Yeah.” He wished he’d worn his cowboy hat to the shop today, but he hadn’t. He usually only wore it to work at the lodge, because the guests there expected an authentic western experience. Plus, he liked the cowboy hat, shocking as that was.
He’d shared a lot with Patsy over the past few months. Two months. However long ago Christmas was. In his head, it had been a while, but he knew it was still March.
“You can tell me, Cy.”
“I haven’t told you everything,” he said, his anxiety starting to tap through his veins. A huge roar filled his ears, and everything seemed to be moving in super-speed. He forced another breath into his lungs. He was nowhere near a panic attack—he’d never had those. He just felt like someone had connected him to a live wire, and then forced him to drink a ton of coffee. Everything buzzed, and it was very hard to hear his own thoughts through the noise.
He deliberately moved slowly, tried to breathe slowly.
“I started dancing lessons at the beginning of February,” he said. “I never told you that.”
Her eyebrows went up, but Patsy said nothing.
“I’m getting pretty good,” he said. “I’m in this private class with just me and a couple. He teaches me, and I dance with his wife. They have this whole studio in their basement.”
“Wow,” she said.
“Yeah.” Cy ran his hand up the back of his head. “They want me to invite you, but I know how busy you are, and I’m about to be swamped.” Heck, he was swamped now. “But what do you think? Would you come to the class with me?”
“Of course I would, Cy.” The way she didn’t hesitate, and the hint of exasperation in her voice, told Cy that he needn’t have hidden this from her. He wasn’t sure why he had. He’d just wanted it to be his little secret for a minute.
“Okay.” He looked around the bay, but there was nothing to hold his attention. “I haven’t started therapy.”
“I know.”
He nodded, because of course she knew that. “I can’t run the shop,” he blurted. “I mean, I can. But I can’t. I don’t want to. I just…can’t do it.”
Patsy held his gaze, refusing to release him. She took a step toward him, and then another, finally sliding her hands up his forearms to his biceps to his shoulders. “I really wish I could come work for you,” she said. “Honestly, Cy, I do. But it doesn’t feel right.”
“Right,” he said. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’ve asked the Lord over and over for a solution to this,” he said. “He hasn’t given me one, and I’ve just let it go.”
Something perked up in her expression. “Why do you think He does that?”
&nb
sp; “Does what?”
“Doesn’t answer our prayers.”
“I think He has,” Cy said. “It just isn’t the answer I wanted.” He flashed her a brief smile as he shouldered the load. “So I’m going to get on it. I’ll call down to the employment office this afternoon while you’re getting groceries. Get the job put up. Someone will want it.” He had to believe that, because he really needed someone to manage the shop, the mechanics, the schedule, all of it.
“So you’re saying if we’ve been praying for the same thing over and over, and nothing’s happened, it’s simply that the answer isn’t what we want.” Patsy looked thoughtful, as well as troubled.
“Usually,” he said. “For me, at least.” He watched her retreat from him, dark clouds gathering over her eyes. “Hey, what’s going on?”
She shook her head and turned her back on him. That was somewhat new behavior. Patsy faced everything head-on, usually with blazing blue eyes and a solution that would fix the problem.
He stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “You can tell me.”
“I know I can,” she whispered. “I’m just absorbing it for a minute.”
“Mm.” He pressed his lips to her neck and held her tightly.
A few seconds later she said, “I’ve been praying for my father to be healed for over a year.” Her voice broke, and she turned quickly into his arms. “It’s not going to happen, is it?”
Cy’s heart started to beat faster and faster. “Oh, now, I don’t know, Patsy. No one knows that.”
“He’s not getting better. He’s done round after round of chemo, and the mass is the same size.” She looked up at him, tears clinging to her beautiful lashes. Cy wanted to reassure her that everything would be fine. That the Lord would ensure that everything worked out.
But the truth was, people died. Accidents happened. People lost loved ones, and they lost buildings. They had to figure out how to move on, and physically move to a new location.
