Her Cowboy Billionaire Beast

by Liz Isaacson

  They’d talked about going slow in their relationship, which was just fine for Cy. He was still working out some of his mental issues, and he hadn’t yet gone to see anyone or get any medication.

  At the beginning of April, after the grand reopening, Ames had stayed with Cy for a night, and he’d expressed his concerns. Again. Cy appreciated them, he did. He loved his twin, he did.

  But no one knew how he was feeling. No one but him, and he thought he was handling things okay. The shop had experienced a few bumps in the past couple of months, but they’d worked out the kinks. Cy hadn’t even been a beast—at least he didn’t think he had.

  “Okay,” Patsy said once they’d finished eating. “Grab your wallet and your hat, cowboy, because we’re going horseback riding and then to a movie.’

  “A movie?”

  “In the middle of the day,” Patsy said, her voice filled with glee.

  Cy swept one arm around her, the golden glow of happiness filling him. He loved this feeling, and he hoped he could hold onto it for a very long time. “Which movie?”

  “Like that matters,” she said, repeating a conversation they’d once had. “I seem to remember you telling me it didn’t matter what movie it was. It was a movie in the middle of the day.” She giggled, and Cy drank in the sound of it.

  “Plus,” she added. “Your second meal of the day? A burger and fries from Down Under. They’re delivering to the theater for me. You’re welcome.” She seemed proud of herself, and she should be.

  “You’re amazing, Patsy,” he said, staying serious.

  “Thank you, Cy,” she said. “I know how to organize stuff.”

  He picked up his wallet and reached for his cowboy hat. Once that was settled on his head, he said, “All right, little lady. Lead me to the horses.”

  “We’re going to the orchard to ride,” she said. “And I’ll tell you all about how things went down with Betty and Joe.”

  “Can’t wait,” Cy said, and he honestly couldn’t. Whatever was important to Patsy was important to him. In that moment, as he followed her out of the rental house, he knew he’d fallen in love with her.

  Gray had asked him about his relationship with Patsy, and Cy had been honest. It had been going well, and he and Gray had texted quite a lot about getting married for a second time.

  Cy needed to ask him how he’d known he was ready for that next I-do. How had Gray handled it? Maybe if he had a plan, Cy wouldn’t be so nervous about telling Patsy how he really felt. And when should he do that?

  Not today, he told himself. If he told her today, and things ultimately didn’t work out with her, his birthday would forever be tainted. And he’d rather not be reminded of that every time he blew out birthday candles.

  He got his burger and fries, and Patsy had rented an entire theater just for them. They got the top row, reclining seats, with their food, and one of Cy’s favorite movies—The Three Amigos.

  He couldn’t believe she’d arranged all of that. He couldn’t believe she could remember all of the little details he’d told her about himself over the past handful of months. He couldn’t believe he’d somehow hoodwinked her into thinking he deserved her.

  His thoughts spiraled on the way to the shop, and he tried to calm them. Keep them in order. Slow them down. He was definitely quieter on the way out of town, but Patsy didn’t press him to talk.

  She hummed along with the radio, both hands on the wheel, and Cy closed his eyes and had a silent argument with himself and the Lord. Is this the right thing to do? She doesn’t deserve to be with someone like me.

  Why not you?

  Because of this exact thing.

  He should be happy on his birthday. He shouldn’t be so high one moment and so low the next. He hated the self-doubt, and with that came the self-loathing.

  Tell me if it’s not right, he prayed. Just tell me. I can handle it. I don’t want to hurt her.

  “Cy?”

  He opened his eyes and looked at her. The golden rays of sunshine slanting through the window haloed her from behind, and he didn’t want to give her up. It would be very, very hard to do, and Cy wasn’t sure he had the guts to do it, even if God told him to.

  “Hmm?”

  “We’re here. Do you want to go in?”

  He looked at the shop, instant love for it filling him. The architect had done a great job on this building, and his grand reopening had been published online all over the country as Wyatt Walker had quite the reach. He apparently hadn’t done any events since his line of western wear had come out. He’d done one initial tour and retired to Three Rivers, where he lived with his wife and children.

  The grand reopening had been his first public appearance in over four years, and Cy was so, so grateful the man had come to Wyoming to talk to him in front of a crowd for ten minutes. He had vets applying from all over the country, and he’d booked out through October for custom builds within a week after the opening.

  Things had started off with a bang, and the well of gratitude inside Cy kept getting deeper and deeper.

  “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. He met Patsy at the front of her car and took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips, and said, “I’m grateful for you, Patsy. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I know that.” She smiled at him and added, “You know I did all of this for your birthday because I really like you, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said, though he was still struggling to believe her. “I know that.” He stepped up to the showroom door and opened it, his excitement growing. The showroom was open until seven, so the salesmen and receptionists there still had a few hours to work. “Come on to the back,” he said. “And I’ll show you what I got for you.”

  “I’m still not happy you got me something,” she said.

  Cy didn’t respond, because what was he supposed to say? He had an astronomical amount of money. He’d paid for the building and his house with cash, after paying for the land with cash too. He could afford to get her whatever she wanted—and whatever he wanted.

  He didn’t take her too far into the back of the shop, where the motorcycles were built and repaired. He turned right down the first hall and went to the first private meeting room. A back hall went along the other side of these rooms, and that way, the motorcycles they built for people could be wheeled in and shown to their paying customers.

  The only difference here was that Patsy wasn’t paying. Cy was gifting.

  He opened the door and flipped on the lights, and her motorcycle sat there, the chrome glinting and the leather seat calling to him to touch it. “Ta-da,” he said in a falsely happy voice.

  She stalled right inside the door and gasped. “Cy.” She covered her mouth with both hands and gaped with wide eyes at the motorcycle. It was perfect for someone her size—a ladies model with a wider base and a wider seat for easier handling. He’d painted it yellow, because that was her favorite color, and he’d put the classic stitched leather seat cover on it. Classic handlebars, and a low-profile tire for a tricked-out look. That was the only thing he’d done to amp up her bike.

  “It’s the perfect size for you,” he said. “I used your height to get it just right. It’s yellow and black, and I even ordered you a helmet custom-made.” He took a step toward the motorcycle. “It’s warm enough now, Pats. You can learn to ride right here in the parking lot at the shop. I’ll teach you.”

  He beamed at her, because this was what she wanted. He continued toward the machine, admiring it, and picked up the helmet which McCall had laid on the seat. “It matches. And look, it’s got the texture of a sweater, because you love sweaters so much.”

  He held it out to her as if she couldn’t see the helmet, but she made no move to take it. His pulse crashed inside his chest, sending out so many beats, they reverberated against each other.

  “I can’t, she said, lowering her hands.

  “It’s a gift.”

  “No,” she practically barked. “I’m not taking it.” And w
ith that, she spun on her heel and marched out of the room and down the hall, leaving Cy alone in the private showroom, holding her helmet and wondering what in the world he’d done wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Patsy actually picked up her step every second or third one and jogged, spring truly present in Coral Canyon. The orchard smelled like flowers, and they had a real apple scent. She loved the orchard year-round, and signing the paperwork that put her name on it had been literally the highlight of her life.

  She’d had everything in that moment. The orchard she loved. A man she was falling for more and more with every text he sent, every call of Cy’s she took, every date he took her on.

  “But not this,” she told herself.

  “Patsy.” His voice filled the sky around her, but she didn’t stop. She’d arranged for dinner at the shop, and if she could check her phone, she guessed it would be close to time for it to be delivered.

  She wasn’t sure where she was going. Her car was parked over by Cy’s house, because he’d wanted to show it to her. He’d said it was almost finished, and she hadn’t seen it with all the finishes—the paint, the appliances, or furniture.

  The road through the apple trees loomed in front of her, and Cy’s footsteps were running behind her. Patsy took a deep breath, her heart and mind racing. She couldn’t outrun him. All of those Hammond men were so dang athletic.

  Gray had literally won his age group in the most prestigious marathon on the planet, and the man was forty-three-years-old.

  “Patsy,” Cy said coming up beside her. He didn’t touch her, and Patsy’s skin itched. She glanced over at him, and he wore anxiety in his eyes, shoulders, and the set of his mouth. That got her to slow down, and a slip of rational thought filled her mind.

  She took another couple of steps, forcing herself to slow down further. Cy adjusted his stride with her, and Patsy paused in the shade of a large apple tree. Cy said nothing, and Patsy knew she needed to explain. She didn’t know how.

  She faced Cy, and he only looked at her for a moment before dropping his chin. “You don’t like the motorcycle.”

  “I do,” she said, and that only confused her more. She didn’t just like the motorcycle. She loved the motorcycle—but not for what it physically was. But what it represented.

  Cy knew her favorite colors. He knew her favorite things. He’d made her a custom bike that would fit her height, and make it easy for her to handle, and she couldn’t even imagine riding the motorcycle around town. She’d feel like a complete Rockstar, and she wondered if Cy felt like that when he rode.

  “I do like the motorcycle,” she said. “But I can’t accept it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s your birthday.” She hoped that would be a strong enough answer, but Cy wasn’t stupid just because he dealt with a little bit of anxiety. Sure enough, a sharp edge entered his beautiful eyes, and Patsy wanted to reach up and cradle his face, tell him how much she really, really liked him, and that if he could just give her a pass on this one, she’d make everything okay between them again.

  “Patsy,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. He was begging her to just tell him, and Patsy reached down deep into herself, imagining her strength to come from the roots of the trees that surrounded them.

  “I had a boyfriend once,” she said. “His name was Cody, and he was a real loser.”

  “I think we’ve established that all of your boyfriends have been losers.”

  “All of them?”

  “Well, until now,” he said with a smile. “Though I’m not perfect, Patsy. I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” Patsy interrupted. He’d worried so much about his weaknesses that she wondered if he even saw his strengths. “Cody didn’t have a job, and yet he was always buying me gifts. Then he’d ask me for money, or when the check came for dinner, he wouldn’t reach for it. Once, we sat there for another forty-five minutes while I waited to see if he’d pay. He didn’t.”

  Cy just watched her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

  Patsy’s feet hurt, and she shifted her weight. “For my birthday, he bought me a horse. A very expensive horse. A ten-thousand dollar horse.”

  “Wow,” Cy said.

  “And I know you’ve said like, a thousand times, that horses and motorcycles aren’t the same, but in there, it felt the same.” She gestured back toward the shop, surprised at how far she’d managed to get from the front doors. “I don’t want expensive gifts. They make me feel…stupid.” She nodded, done talking now.

  Cy’s eyes sparkled, but at least he took a few seconds to absorb what she’d said. “I get our names start with the same letter,” he said. “But I’m nothing like Cody. I have a job. I own a business. I have so much money, I could literally buy you anything you wanted—every day, all day—for years and still have money left over.”

  “I know.” Patsy heaved a big breath and blew it out slowly. “I know that, Cy. It’s not about the money.”

  “You don’t want your boyfriend to buy you gifts?”

  Patsy heard how unreasonable that was. She did. And yet, the feeling still ran through her veins with the speed and strength of sound. “It just…it’s too much.”

  “I’ve paid for dinner lots of times.”

  She nodded, and that gave Cy momentum. “I’ve paid for entertainment. Movie tickets and tours and all of that.”

  “I know,” she said. “But there’s a big difference between a plate of pasta and a custom-made motorcycle.”

  “But that’s the thing, Patsy. Not to me.”

  “I don’t even know what to do with that.” Patsy turned and looked down the road, and then faced the shop again. She reached for his hand, glad when he let her slip her fingers through his. “The horse from Cody created a ton of tension between us. He had certain expectations after that. If I didn’t want to do something, he’d be like, ‘good thing I bought a horse for a woman who never rides it,’ or ‘too bad I got you that horse and you won’t let me ride it.’”

  Patsy’s memories filled and overflowed. “He bought it for me, but he wanted to ride it all the time. He used it almost like this thing he held over my head.” Patsy swallowed, her mouth sticky. “He pressured me, and I don’t know.” Her tongue felt so dry. “I don’t want big, elaborate gifts.”

  They started strolling back toward the shop, and Cy’s hand in hers stayed firm. “I don’t want to check with you about gifts,” he said carefully. “One of the ways I show how I feel is buying and giving presents. It’s important to me.” He squeezed her hand and tugged on it to get her to stop. “Will you consider accepting them? I don’t know what that looks like for you, but I can assure you I didn’t design and build that bike for you to make you feel stupid. I was actually hoping it would make you feel—” He stopped talking, his eyes rounding.

  “Feel what?” Patsy asked.

  The grumble of an engine came toward them, and they both turned to see the white delivery van that contained their dinner coming toward them.

  “You ordered from Woodfired?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Tell me you didn’t get the Calabrese and sausage pizza.”

  “I can’t tell you that.” Patsy smiled at him, glad at the joy pouring from him. She knew what his favorites were, and she’d gotten the huge gorgonzola salad too. She didn’t understand why anyone would pepper bacon and call it good, but Cy loved it. He loved the halved grapes in the salad, as well as the homemade garlic croutons that were made in the high-heat oven at Woodfired. Patsy disliked moldy cheese, but this wasn’t her birthday. Cy loved all of those things, and this meal was just for him

  “What about the one with honey?” he asked.

  “Who do you think you’re dealing with?” She stepped away from him to take the food from the driver, and she took a moment to sign a receipt and thank him, before she turned back to Cy with two boxes of pizza, a smaller one with Woodfired’s famous burrata, and the big bowl of salad.


  “Are you hungry?” She smiled at him, wishing she could erase the last thirty minutes of her life. Maybe Cy would just forget that she’d run out on him.

  “A little,” he said. “But I can literally always eat pizza from Woodfired.” He took the bowl from the top of the stack. “You got the gorgonzola salad.” He looked up at her. “You don’t even like this stuff.”

  “But you do, and it’s your birthday meal.”

  “Should we go eat at the house?”

  “Sure,” she said. It was quite the hike from the shop to his house, and Cy had bought a golf cart to make the journey. He drove them across the parking lot and onto another road that led to his house, which was bordered by apple trees on three sides. He didn’t want to live in a parking lot, and only the back yard butted up against the woods without apple trees. He’d left a strip of them between the house and the shop, and the front yard and west side of the house also highlighted the trees.

  “Cy, this is amazing,” Patsy said as he led her into the house through the back door. She couldn’t even take everything in, and she let her eyes wander around at all the high-end finishes. He had quartz countertops and dark wood cabinets in the kitchen. The floor sported wood as well, to which Cy said, “It’s a wood-like tile. That way, I don’t have to worry about it getting wet.”

  He set the salad bowl on the island and turned to take the boxes from her. “I have a couple of stools we can sit on. The dining room table is coming, and I have rugs and curtains and all of that still to do.” He swept his hand toward the living area. “So I haven’t unwrapped and set up the furniture.”

  “A stool is fine,” Patsy said. “We don’t even need plates either.” She flipped open one of the boxes, and it was the three-cheese pizza with a sprinkling of red pepper flakes and a drizzle of honey. Her mouth watered, and she slid the top box off the bottom one. “That one’s yours.”

  He smiled, but it didn’t stay long. Patsy had broken the mood of this day, and a strong pull of guilt hit her in the stomach. She still moved, taking a piece of pizza from the box and lifting it to her mouth as if nothing was wrong.