Stranded with the Cowboy Billionaire

by Elana Johnson

  So, he typed. What do you think of my plan?

  I’m a little fuzzy on the details.

  It’s simple, he wrote. I own the island. I own a yacht with all the supplies. We sail out there—it’s two hours away—and we live there for three months. See if we can get along. Help each other survive. Share our lives.

  He almost sighed, but he held himself together. Yes, he was a big, rough-and-tumble cowboy. But he was also just a man, and a very lonely one at that.

  Do you have any family?

  His fingers hurt almost as much as his head. He didn’t want to play get-to-know-you over the computer. He could do that on the Getaway Bay Singles app if he wanted to. He didn’t want to.

  His impatience with the conversation surged, and he backed away from the computer. His temper wasn’t the longest fuse he possessed, and he figured he could take a break for a minute.

  That minute became an hour, and then the next day, and he still hadn’t answered Ivy. She hadn’t messaged him again either, and Mason checked his ad to make sure it was still up.

  It was, and the hits on it had doubled. And yet, no one else had messaged. Why not? Was there literally no one on the island of Getaway Bay willing to try this experiment with him?

  He’d heard the word crazy get thrown around down in the lines for smoothies and under the trees at the taco joint.

  Another day passed, and still nothing. He could go out to the island alone. Take down his ad. Lick his wounds. Sell everything he’d bought here in Getaway Bay and move on.

  The grocery delivery guy had just left when his computer made a noise like a ruler tapping a desk.

  He hurried over to the desk to find a message from Ivy. His heart fell a little bit, though he wasn’t sure why. Mason? Are you still here?

  Yes.

  I’m in if the offer still stands. When do we leave?

  Mason looked to the stack of bottled water on his kitchen counter. How fast can you be ready?

  Depends on the packing list.

  I’ll bring everything we need. His fingers flew over the keyboard now, excitement building in his chest. Food, water, supplies. We’ll have my yacht too. You just need clothes and toiletries for three months.

  Will we be doing laundry?

  Sure. He looked at the cursor, just blinking so merrily on the screen. By hand.

  I can be ready whenever.

  Let’s say Monday, he typed. That was four days from now. Then she could say goodbye. Have a chance to buy anything she needed. The timeline also gave her time to back out, and Mason wasn’t sure if he wanted her to or not.

  She seemed nice, and she was beautiful. It just seemed so strange that no one else—not one single other person—had messaged him. Not even to see what he looked like.

  Out of the forty thousand hits his ad had, he’d expected more than one brave soul to contact him.

  Meet at the dock at ten?

  See you then, she messaged, a row of smiley faces following the words.

  Mason leaned away from the computer, hoping he wasn’t getting pranked. But he didn’t have a clue who would want to play a trick on him. His two older brothers ran the other half of the family ranching empire—a second, much larger ranch just north of Hill Country. He’d taken on the smaller—but still impressive—ranch in Three Rivers, up in the Texas Panhandle.

  Their father had died four years ago, and their mother had chosen to live at Ramble Ridge with Elliott and Donald. They were both married. They both had children. They got along great, and Mason did too.

  But he was the sore thumb, the one that stuck out, the one that didn’t conform.

  He’d tried. Honestly, he had.

  He knew he wasn’t perfect, but who was?

  “Monday,” he said to himself, and he suddenly had so very much to do to be ready to launch for Long Bar Island in just four days.

  Chapter Three

  “I’ll be back in loads of time,” Ivy said, her voice just a little whinier than she’d like it to be. “You won’t have your baby by September.” She aimed those words at Eden, who’d been salty about the idea of Ivy going out to Long Bar Island with a complete stranger from the moment Ivy had started speaking.

  “And you won’t be married by September.” She looked at Orchid, hoping to get her oldest sister on her side, and stat.

  Even Iris’s mouth had dropped open after Ivy’s proclamation that she’d met a man online and would be joining him for a survival expedition and a hopeful love connection on his private island.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have used the words “love connection.” She wasn’t sure.

  “I can’t believe you want to do this,” Iris said. “I almost died on a deserted island.” She glanced at Justin, who wore a hard look on his face. “We almost died.”

  “He has a yacht filled with supplies,” Ivy said. Honestly, she’d said that already. She hated it when no one listened to her.

  “There are no spas on deserted islands,” her father said.

  “Dad.” Ivy rolled her eyes. “Orchid?”

  “Hey, we had a garden,” Orchid said. “So our food situation wasn’t terrible. It was more like I couldn’t wash my hair. Or my clothes. Or you know, have any privacy for…private things.”

  “Again, he has a yacht,” Ivy said. “I really think you guys are overreacting.”

  “And I really don’t think you’ve thought this through,” Eden said.

  “Will you please pack me a backpack of supplies like you did for Orchid?” Ivy folded her arms. She was thirty-one-years-old, and she could go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted, with whoever she wanted. She didn’t need her mother’s permission or Eden’s blessing.

  She would, however, like a backpack of supplies.

  “When are you leaving?” Eden asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  “Monday.”

  “I’ll come over on Sunday.” She stood up, Holden going with her. “I can’t believe you want to do this.”

  “Honey.” Iris stepped into them as well. “Brooks will come back to you. Begging, he’ll come.”

  Ivy shook her head. “This isn’t about Brooks.”

  Eden and Iris exchanged a glance that only made Ivy’s fury rear its ugly head. “Right,” Eden said.

  “It’s not,” Ivy insisted. “He can do what he wants. I’ll do what I want.”

  “And this is what you want?” Her father stood too, and Ivy met his eye.

  “I want…okay, so I’m not exactly sure what I want. But I know I don’t want to keep going into the boutique day after day. Selling a pair of overpriced flip flops or hanging up beachwear no one needs. I want to do something. I want to get out there and experience life.”

  “Take a cruise,” Orchid said. “The singles cruises are really fun.”

  “Minus the tropical storms and tsunamis,” Ivy said.

  Orchid grinned at her. “Right. Minus those.”

  Tesla burst in the back door, a big white dog behind her. Her laughter filled the house, and Ivy stepped over to her niece. “I’ll miss you so much.”

  Tesla giggled into Ivy’s embrace, but she didn’t ask where she was going. She hugged each of her family members, and Iris held onto her the longest. “Promise me you’ll keep in touch.”

  “How do you think I’ll do that?” Ivy asked.

  “Eden’s got a solar panel that charges phones,” she said. “Right, Eden?”

  “I’ll put it in the pack,” their most practical sister said, her voice almost a deadpan.

  “You’ll take Tommy?” she asked Iris.

  “Who’s Tommy?” Justin asked. “Because if he’s as big as that dog of Tesla’s, the answer is no.”

  “He’s a guinea pig,” Ivy said, smiling at her brother-in-law. “He’s tiny, and he’s silent, and you won’t even know he’s there.”

  “Sold.” Justin gathered Ivy into a hug too, and he whispered, “If this guy isn’t for you, don’t be afraid to come home early, okay?”

  She nodded
into his shoulder, glad she had a few people in her corner. In reality, Ivy had the support of her whole family, and she knew it. She sniffed back her tears and went to start packing Tommy’s things so he could go home with her twin.

  Monday morning came so quickly, and all of her sisters gathered one more time to see her off. She’d cried once already that morning, and she pulled over before the last turn that would get her to the dock to refresh her makeup.

  After all, she only got one chance to make a first impression, and this guy was rich. She’d never envisioned herself with a cowboy, but then again, there were so few cowboys here in Getaway Bay.

  And he was a retired cowboy, which meant he had to be something else now. At least in Ivy’s mind.

  With her best face painted on, she finished the drive to the dock, easily finding a huge yacht waiting down where the larger boats were usually tied. That thing had cost a pretty penny, and Ivy’s excitement grew.

  She parked next to a hulking, black SUV and got out of her car. Surely she couldn’t leave her car here for the next ninety days, but she hadn’t been given any direction on that. After popping her trunk, she pulled out her baggage, lining it all up on the asphalt near the back of the car.

  “You must be Ivy.”

  She turned toward the male voice, ready to see Mason standing there. It wasn’t him, but a tall, polished man in a suit. “Mister Martin is waiting for you on the yacht.” He surveyed the bags Ivy had lined up. “You need all of these?”

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  “Give me a moment, please.” The butler stepped away and lifted a phone to his ear. He had the ability to speak so low that Ivy couldn’t understand him, though he only stood a few feet from her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his words dripping with apology. “But Mister Martin says you only get two bags onboard Starlight.”

  “Two bags?” Ivy looked at the five on the ground in front of her. And the backpack hanging on her shoulder. “Surely this one doesn’t count.” She handed him the backpack. He held it in his hands like he might get a disease from touching it.

  She’d already packed light. She’d be gone for three months. Three. Months. That took a lot of clothing and supplies. She opened her two biggest bags and started combing through them, making a pile on the ground as sweat poured down her face.

  She stuffed as much as possible into the first bag and stood up, her back kinking from the position she’d been in for several long minutes.

  “There.” She heaved the bag to her right, a grunt following, along with a groan. “Sorry.” Sweaty and annoyed, she swiped her hair out of her eyes, words bubbling against the back of her throat. Words about how this butler could’ve helped her or hey, wasn’t there room for four bags on a ninety-foot yacht?

  Come on. Was his precious Starlight too weak to carry her baggage? That yacht was huge.

  But it wasn’t the butler she’d hit.

  “Mason,” she said, stunned by his height, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he looked more CIA in those shades than almost anything.

  He definitely wasn’t a cowboy.

  He stooped and picked up something from the ground. A cowboy hat. With that settled on his head, Ivy’s definition of what made a man sexy and desirable shifted to a whole new level. She’d never date another man who didn’t wear a cowboy hat. Ever.

  Paired with the sunglasses and the gray tank top and the blue board shorts…Ivy couldn’t even remember what she was doing there.

  “You can bring it all,” he said smoothly.

  “That guy said I only got two bags.”

  “I didn’t realize what we were talking about.” Mason looked down at the pile still on the asphalt. He bent to start putting it back in the suitcase at the same time Ivy did, and she dang near collided with him.

  “Sorry,” she said again, her balance completely off-kilter now. She knew she was going down, but she grabbed onto his bicep as a last-ditch effort to keep herself upright.

  That didn’t work, and she ended up pulling him down with her. Humiliation dove through her, and everything felt ten times hotter than it had already been.

  “Sorry,” she said one more time, wondering if she could ever live down the last three minutes of her life.

  He grunted, a blip of annoyance in his expression, before he rolled away from her and onto his knees. The butler helped him stand, and Mason brushed his hands along his clothes while the butler helped her up too.

  She exhaled heavily, a set of tears threatening to appear at any moment. She had no idea what to say or what to do.

  “Henley,” Mason said quietly, and the butler made short work of repacking her belongings and loading them onto a cart. As he pushed it toward the yacht, Ivy finally summoned the courage to look at the handsome cowboy billionaire slash beach movie star. Or whatever this guy was.

  If she’d have met him on the beach, she’d have tried to get his number. Or at a concert. Or along the boardwalk. Something told her she would’ve never found him at any of those places, and she bent to pick up her backpack when he remained silent too.

  “Can I leave my car here?”

  “Henley will park it in my storage unit,” Mason said, his voice round and smooth, with a definite cowboy twang in it. So he had money, but he wasn’t super refined. Ivy liked that. She handed him her car keys, and they started toward the yacht too.

  “Are you ready for this?” Mason asked as they approached the walkway that would take them onto the yacht.

  Ivy paused at the same time he did. He passed her keys to Henley, and then Mason faced the yacht too.

  “I think so,” she said, her stomach more jittery than she would like. She told herself it was because she hadn’t been out with a man as intriguing as Mason in a long time, but she somehow thought it was more than that.

  Hitching the backpack full of emergency survival supplies higher onto her shoulder, she took the first step that would lead her onto the yacht.

  Mason followed right behind her, and Ivy couldn’t turn back even if she wanted to. He worked the ropes with the confidence of an expert, and then the yacht bobbed on her own in the water.

  There’s no turning back now, Ivy thought, her stomach clashing against itself the same way the waves did when they hit the cliffs.

  Chapter Four

  “You can join me at the helm, if you’d like.” Mason met Ivy’s gaze, and he could appreciate her beauty. Watching her unpack her clothes and then repack them had almost been comical. Getting hit with her extra-heavy luggage had not been.

  She nodded, those clear, blue eyes full of apprehension. Mason put a smile on his face and headed for the bridge. He loved sailing, and that was one bright spot in his time on the island of Getaway Bay.

  “This thing is huge,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Mason agreed. “It’s basically a really nice house on the water.”

  “Will I get a tour later?” Ivy asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “It’s only a couple of hours to the island, though.”

  “Hmm.” She faced the windows while he stepped over to the controls. The yacht had a captain’s wheel, but he didn’t use it to steer.

  “Once we get away from the island, we can just set the steering.” He wasn’t sure why he was still talking. Most women made him nervous, especially blondes without cowgirl boots or tiny shorts.

  Ivy wore more sophisticated clothes, and her white shorts extended halfway down her thigh. Just enough to tease him, but definitely more modest than the women he’d dated at the dancehalls in Texas.

  She’d paired the shorts with silver sandals and a pale blue tank top that barely covered her bra straps. Mason yanked his eyes from her tan skin—no farmer’s tan for her—and looked back out the windshield.

  The bay would be busy, as it was now fully June and the vacationers seemed to have arrived in droves. His neighbors had told him they would, and they’d been right.

  “Did you not like being a cowboy?” Ivy asked, turning towa
rd Mason again.

  “I loved it,” he said.

  “Then why did you sell your ranch?”

  His mouth tightened into a line. He hadn’t anticipated spilling his guts in the first twenty minutes they were together. “Uh, things weren’t working out there.”

  Ivy’s gaze on the side of his face felt like laser beams, but he didn’t look at her.

  Several moments of silence went by. Mason scrambled for something to say, but he couldn’t come up with anything. “Does Henley work for you?” she finally asked, a hint of frustration in her voice.

  “Yes,” he said. “He came with the apartment building.”

  “You bought an entire apartment building?”

  “No.” Mason shook his head, flustered. He couldn’t drive the yacht and talk at the same time. “I mean, he’s the doorman at the apartment building. The concierge. He’s the concierge. We can hire him for things if we need him.” He cut a glance at Ivy, and she seemed cool as a cucumber.

  “Did you—?”

  “Can we take a break from Twenty Questions?” he asked.

  Ivy blinked, actually shrinking away from him. “Sure.” She turned and reached for the door handle. “I’ll take a tour myself.”

  “Ivy, wait.”

  But she didn’t wait, and Mason sighed as the door hissed closed. He’d paid a pretty penny for this yacht, and he wasn’t even sure he’d explored all the cabins yet. Ivy seemed like the kind of woman to enjoy the luxury, and he decided he’d give her a few minutes to herself.

  He desperately needed a few for himself, which made absolutely no sense. He’d been alone for months and months, barely talking to anyone in the time he’d been on the island. And he’d put out his ad specifically to get someone to talk to.

  “Scared her off already.” He shook his head, Anne-Marie’s words floating through his mind. You’re like the Beast, Mase. Someone gets close, and you snap at them.

  She’d gotten the closest, but in the end, she’d broken up with him too.