Clay (BBW Secret Baby Bear Shifter Romance) (Secret Baby Bears Book 4) (11 page)

Reluctantly, Mary Beth went into another shop.
Ray Chaudett
. It belonged to her papa, one of his latest business ventures. Known for its designer Western wear, it was less than a year old, but it was already building an elite reputation with rich cowboys and cowgirls. She didn’t care for it. She didn’t care for any of it. Her papa could have the South. She’d stick with Beverly Hills. The only reasons she was in the shop was because hidden between the pinched hats and leather chaps were the best sunglasses on Rodeo Drive.

A host rushed towards her with a glass of champagne, but Mary Beth held up a finger to indicate for him to hold on while she finished her call.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Claudette,” she continued. “Your dad won’t take your car away. He bought it for you because of all the charity work you do. Your sister can moan and bitch, but she’ll never get what she wants. She’ll never be as great as you are.”

“I hope so. Hey, did you see the new Gucci bag that’s out?”

“Yeah. It’s vulgar.”

“Oh. I bought one.”

“I would take it back. Seriously, Gucci is the poor man’s Versace.”

The door opened, and a man Mary Beth knew all too well walked in, grabbing the attention of everyone in the shop. Around her, men and women alike glistened with admiration. Mary Beth rolled her dark blue eyes. It made her want to dump her macchiato on each of their heads.

“I gotta go,” she said to Claudette. “The big bad bear has arrived.”

“You mean Owen Hutch?” Claudette asked. “Where are you? I want to meet him. He’s the sexiest thing to walk on two legs. And four.”

“What would you guys talk about? You don’t know anything about the rodeo.”

“I may not know anything about the rodeo, but I know he’s a superstar. Where are you?”

“Nowhere, because I’m about to leave before I get sick,” Mary Beth said. “See you later.” She hung up.

“Your brandy,” the host said to Owen, bringing him a glass of brandy on a gold platter.

“Where was my gold platter when you offered me the champagne?” she mumbled to herself. “I’m the owner’s freaking daughter.”

Like her, Owen was in his mid-twenties, but he had the stature of someone much older, carrying himself with a formidable confidence that came with being a superstar. It helped that he was also super tall and well built, with a broad chest that could rip trees apart. He was a champion bull rider, but his good looks and easy humor had earned him numerous television appearances and invites to red carpet events. The magazines loved him. Social media was constantly flooded with images of his brown hair and golden eyes. He was a gentleman and a redneck, a combination that made the public drool.

It makes them drool, but it makes me gag
, Mary Beth thought. She didn’t understand the obsession with Owen. Yeah, he was hot, but she preferred her men in sharp suits and fast cars, not jeans and flannels, no matter how well those jeans showed off his ass.

She’d known Owen for many years. As a bull rider, he was often at the events her papa organized, and when he was in town he came to the mansion for dinner. Impressed with his talent and drive, her papa had taken Owen in. To him, Owen was more than a rider in his rodeo. He was like the son he never had. It didn’t matter that Owen was a shifter, a werebear who could transform at any time into a giant grizzly. Her father treated him like family.

Mary Beth didn’t mind that Owen was a shifter either. But she did mind that he was so obnoxious. She didn’t know why she hated Owen so much, but she didn’t need a reason. He and his perfect smile left knots in her stomach even a sailor couldn’t untie.

Standing tall, though she was no match for Owen, she went to the host. “I’d like my champagne now,” she said righteously. “And make sure it’s a fresh bottle.”

“Of course,” the host said, clearly disappointed to leave. He let the platter fall to his side as he went to the back to do as she asked.

She turned to Owen. “What are you doing here?”

His smile didn’t falter. “You mean what is a bull rider doing in a store that sells snake skin boots and shiny belt buckles?”

“This isn’t a store. A store is where you buy apples and bubblegum. This is a shop.”

He laughed and walked by her. “Well, this shop has the best sunglasses in these parts.” He went to the display tucked into the far corner. “It’s a shame they’re hidden away in the back.”

Mary Beth had thought the same thing, but she wouldn’t admit it to Owen. “Don’t think you’ll get a discount just because you had dinner at the mansion with my papa last night.”

Owen mindlessly searched through the sunglasses. “We missed you at dinner. Where were you?”

“I was at a club meeting a real superstar. One who has been nominated for an Oscar, but you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be nominated for something so prestigious. All you know is bulls and muck.”

“No shame in bulls and muck. It’s an honest wage,” Owen replied, unfazed. He put on a pair of sleek black shades that somehow made his face even more holy than it already was. “How do these make me look?”

Ridiculously gorgeous.

“Hideous,” she answered. “You look like an alligator trying to blend in with crocodiles.”

“That makes no sense.”

She batted her eyelashes. “That’s only because you’re not smart enough to understand.”

To her irritation, he laughed again. “You heading to Mesa for the big competition?”

“Only if Papa makes me.”

“So no then.”

“Not likely.”

“When was the last time you’ve been to the rodeo?”

Mary Beth swallowed. “When I was fifteen, after my mama died.”

Owen softened. “Is that why you don’t like to go?”

“No. I don’t like to go because it smells like muck and it’s full of rednecks who call themselves gentlemen but don’t know the difference between a knife and a fork.”

“You should go to Mesa with your father,” Owen persisted. “Remember where you come from. You were born a cowgirl. You can take the girl out of the rodeo, but you can’t take the rodeo out of the girl.”

“You can take the rodeo and shove it,” Mary Beth countered. “I was born in Beverly Hills, and that’s where I plan to stay.”

***

Her mansion sat on a lake in the far stretches of Los Angeles. Well, technically it was her papa’s mansion, and it was more of a ranch, built of whitewash stone walls and Spanish roof tiling with stables and barnyards surrounding it. There was very little Mary Beth liked about the Wild West, but she did like the mansion. It was the only home she had ever known.

In the drive, she stepped out of her black convertible and handed the keys to the valet, who would park it in the nearby garage with the rest of the cars. Most were her papa’s collection of old classics, but the convertible was all hers. It was fast. She liked fast.

“Papa!” she called when she entered the house, realizing she hadn’t seen him in days. He had the virtues of an early bird. She was a cat in the night, clubbing until sunrise and sleeping most of the day away, unless there was shopping to be had. That’s where the sunglasses came in handy. Sunglasses could hide eyes that were red and weary from a party gone right.

When her papa didn’t answer, Mary Beth turned to the intercom on the wall. “Papa, it’s me. Are you home?”

“I’m in my room packing for Mesa,” he answered through the box. “Come on up.”

She kicked off her heels and left them by the door for the housekeeping staff to put away before heading upstairs to her papa’s bedroom, enjoying the feel of her bare feet against the cool marble flooring. The marble was Italian. It was the best of its kind. Her family never settled for anything less than the best.

In his room, her papa had his suitcase sprawled open on his bed, which he neatly folded his fringed and embroidered rodeo suits into.

“You should really hang those in garment bags,” she recommended.

“Someone will take care of the creases in Mesa,” he returned, sounding tired. It was unusual for him. He was usually as peppy as a showman, even in his sleep.

“Do you have to go to Arizona?” she asked with concern as she sat on the foot of his bed. “You look awful. Take a day off. Get some rest.”

“Mesa is one of the biggest events of the year. I own it. I’m in charge. I have to go. Plus, it’s special to me.”

“It’s not worth your health. You can go next year. For now, send someone else to oversee it. Or hire a double.”

He chuckled. “A double couldn’t pull of my energy or charm.”

“No,” she agreed. “But they can run one show without you. Stay.”

Her papa answered by changing the subject. “Owen called. He said he ran into you.”

“He was probably following me,” she huffed, though she knew it wasn’t true.

Sighing, her papa put the last of his suits into his suitcase then started on his socks, which lay in a neat row near his pillows. He was an efficient man, no matter what it was he did. “I really wish you two would get along.”

“I know,” she said irritably, lacking her usual patience with her papa. “He’s the son you never had.”

“Don’t say it that way. I don’t regret not having a son. You are better than any son. But I do regret that you lost interest in the rodeo. I miss having you there.”

“I’m sorry I missed dinner last night,” she replied, unable to say more. She stood to leave, but her papa wasn’t finished.

“You know I opened up the shop for you. I had hoped
Ray Chaudett
could be a project we could work on together, a fusion of your love for fashion and my commitment to the rodeo.”

Mary Beth stopped in her tracks. “You never told me that before,” she said, stunned by the revelation. “How come?”

“I didn’t want to push you into it. I thought you would naturally migrate towards it, but you hate it as much as you hate the animals in the barnyard.”

“I don’t hate the shop,” she protested. “And I certainly don’t hate the animals in the barnyard. I actually kind of love the pigs.”

He smiled, a joy in him despite his exhaustion. “Then I guess we both have things to learn about each other.”

There was more he had meant to say, but as he opened his mouth to speak, his hand began to tremble, causing a sock he held to fall to the bed.

“Daddy?” she asked, frightened by how pale he suddenly became. “Are you okay?”

She stepped forward, but it was too late. Her papa collapsed to the ground and fell into unconsciousness.

Chapter Two

Mary Beth disliked hospitals as much as she did the rodeo. Hospitals were full of fear and uncertainty, especially now. When her mama had been in the hospital battling cancer, they’d known she was going to pass. They had time to prepare and say their goodbyes. She wasn’t sure the same would happen with her papa. She sat in the waiting room of the ER, his fate uncertain, her last glimpse of him when the paramedics had wheeled him on the gurney into the back.

A little boy sat next to her, his head down in his hands. “Tough day,” she said to him.

“The worst,” he said. “My brother fell off his bike. He has to have a cast put on his leg. Now he won’t be able to play soccer with me.”

“That is tough,” Mary Beth said, glad for the distraction. “But maybe you can still play. Ask your parents if they can get a pair of crutches for you too. That way you can both hop around on one leg trying to kick the ball.”

The boy raised his head. “That’s a great idea! Thanks, lady.”

She frowned. “Don’t call me lady. I’m not your grandma.”

A doctor walked in looking as if he hadn’t slept in years. “Mary Beth Chaudett?” he called.

Panicked, she quickly met him by the door. “Is my papa okay? Was it a heart attack? I told him those barbeque ribs would catch up with him someday.”

“Walk with me,” the doctor instructed. “I’ll take you to him.”

“Thank you,” she said, terrified as they walked. “Is he alive?”

“For now. It wasn’t a heart attack, but it does involve his heart. We believe he caught a virus, which has been left untreated for awhile. With his age, we’re afraid it may have damaged his heart. We’d like to keep him in the hospital for a few days to observe him.”

Mary Beth wasn’t sure how to handle the news; her relief that he was alive matched her despair that she could still lose him. His hospital room didn’t make the situation any easier to deal with. Her papa was hooked up to a herd of machines, and he remained ashen.

“My girl,” he said when he saw her, lighting up. He hadn’t called her
my girl
since she was ten. “I’m sorry you have to see me this way.”

“Don’t be stupid, Papa,” she said, trying hard to push back her tears. “You look very handsome, even strapped up like that.”

“You could never lie as good as I could,” he mused. “I’m glad you’re here. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

He sounded serious. “Please don’t say your will,” she pleaded, “because I don’t want to even think about that. You keep your money. I just want you.”

“Come here.” He took her hand when she met him at his bedside. “I’m humbled to hear it,” he said, emotional. “But I don’t want to talk about my will either. That’s for lawyers to discuss. I want to talk about Mesa. Go in my place. Wear my boots. I can’t go, and there are very few people I trust to run the show.”