She can tame any wild stallion…

but can she change this cowboy’s mind?

Rancher Holt Hollister has no interest in selling his horses to new neighbor Isabelle Townsend. The petite blonde looks like she stepped off a runway, not a ranch. Yet Isabelle is determined to prove she can hold her own—both in and out of the saddle. Holt may have finally met his match, but is he ready to be the man Isabelle needs to make her dreams come true?

After writing more than eighty books for Mills & Boon, STELLA BAGWELL still finds it exciting to create new stories and bring her characters to life. She loves all things Western and has been married to her own real cowboy for forty-four years. Living on the south Texas coast, she also enjoys being outdoors and helping her husband care for the horses, cats and dog that call their small ranch home. The couple has one son, who teaches high school mathematics and is also an athletic director. Stella loves hearing from readers. They can contact her at stellabagwell@gmail.com

Also by Stella Bagwell

Guarding His Fortune

The Little Maverick Matchmaker Her

Man on Three Rivers Ranch His

Texas Runaway

A Ranger for Christmas

The Arizona Lawman

The Maverick’s Bride-to-Order

Her Kind of Doctor

Her Sweetest Fortune

The Cowboy’s Christmas Lullaby

His Badge, Her Baby…Their Family?

Her Rugged Rancher

Fortune’s Perfect Valentine

Christmas on the Silver Horn Ranch

Daddy Wore Spurs

The Lawman’s Noelle

Wearing the Rancher’s Ring

One Tall, Dusty Cowboy

The Baby Truth

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Home to Blue Stallion Ranch

Stella Bagwell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09152-7

HOME TO BLUE STALLION RANCH

© 2019 Stella Bagwell

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To all my horses,

for the love and happiness they’ve given me

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Who the hell is that?

Holt Hollister pushed back the brim of his black cowboy hat and squinted at the feminine shape framed by the open barn door. He didn’t have the time or energy to deal with a woman this morning. Especially one who was pouting because he’d forgotten to call or send flowers.

Damn it!

Jerking off his gloves, he jammed them into the back pocket of his jeans and strode toward the shapely figure shaded by the overhang. Behind him the loud whinny of a randy stallion drowned out the sounds of nearby voices, rattling feed buckets, the whir of fans, and the muffled music from a radio.

As soon as the woman spotted his approach, she stepped forward and into a beam of sunlight slanting down from a skylight. The sight very nearly caused Holt to stumble. This wasn’t one of his girlfriends. This woman looked like she’d just stepped off an exotic beach and exchanged a bikini for some cowboy duds.

Petite, with white-blond hair that hung past her shoulders, she was dressed in a white shirt and tight blue jeans stuffed into a pair of black cowboy boots inlaid with turquoise and red thunderbirds. Everything about her said she didn’t belong in his horse barn.

Frustration eating at him, he forced himself to march onward until the distance between them narrowed down to a mere arm’s length and she was standing directly in front of him.

“Hello,” she greeted. “Do you work here?”

Holt might forget where he’d placed his truck keys or whether he’d eaten in the past ten hours, but he didn’t forget a woman. And he was quite certain he’d never laid eyes on this one before today. Even without a drop of makeup on her face, she was incredibly beautiful, with smooth, flawless skin, soft pink lips, and eyes that reminded him of blue velvet.

“It’s the only place I’ve ever worked,” he answered. “Are you looking for someone in particular?”

She flashed him a smile and at any other time or place, Holt would’ve been totally charmed. But not this morning. He’d spent a hellish night in the foaling barn and now another day had started without a chance for him to draw a good breath.

She said, “I am. I’m here to see Mr. Hollister. I was told by one of the ranch hands that I’d find him in this barn.”

She was looking straight at him and for a brief second Holt was thrown off-kilter by her gaze. Not only direct, it was as cool as a mountain stream.

“Three Mr. Hollisters live on this ranch,” he said bluntly. “You have a first name?”

“Holt. Mr. Holt Hollister.”

He blew out a heavy breath. He might’ve guessed this greenhorn would be looking for him. Being the manager of the horse division of Three Rivers Ranch, he was often approached by horse-crazy women, who wanted permission to walk through the barn and pet the animals, as if he kept them around for entertainment.

“You’re talking to him.”

Those blue, blue eyes suddenly narrowed skeptically, as though she’d already decided he was nothing more than a stable hand. And he supposed he couldn’t blame her. He’d not had time to shave this morning. Hell, he’d not even gone to bed at all last night. Added to that, the legs of his jeans were stained with afterbirth and smears of blood had dried to brown patches on his denim shirt.

“Oh. I’m Isabelle Townsend. Nice to meet you, Mr. Holt Hollister.”

She extended her hand out to him and Holt wiped his palm against the hip of his jean before he wrapped it around hers.

“Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Townsend?” he asked, while wondering how such a soft little thing could have a grip like a vice.

She eased her hand from his. “I’ve been told you have nice breeding stock for sale. I’m looking to buy.”

If Holt hadn’t been so tired, he would’ve burst out laughing. She ought to be home painting her fingernails, or whatever it was that women like her did to amuse themselves, he thought. “Are you talking about cattle or horses? Or maybe you’re looking for goats? If you are, I know a guy who has some beauties.”

“Horses,” she said flatly, while peering past his shoulder at the rows of stalls lining both sides of the barn. “This is a horse barn, isn’t it? Or are you in the goat business now?”

The sarcasm in her voice was the same tone he’d used on her. And though he deserved it, her response irked him. Usually pretty women smiled at him. This one was sneering.

“I’m in the business of horses. And at this time, Three Rivers isn’t interested in selling any. You should drive down to Phoenix and try the livestock auction. If you’re careful with your bidding, you can purchase some fairly decent animals there. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy.”

Not waiting to hear her reply, he walked off and didn’t stop until he was out the opposite end of the barn and out of Isabelle Townsend’s sight.

* * *

Furious and humiliated, Isabelle turned on her heel and stalked out of the barn. So much for all she’d heard about Three Rivers Ranch and its warm hospitality. Apparently, those glowing recommendations didn’t include Holt Hollister.

Outside in the bright Arizona sunlight, she crossed a piece of hard-packed ground to where her truck was parked next to a tall Joshua tree.

Jerking open the door, she was about to climb into the cab when a male voice called out to her.

Wondering if Holt Hollister had decided he’d behaved like an ass and had come to apologize, she turned to see it wasn’t the arrogant horseman who’d followed her. This man was slightly taller and perhaps a bit older than Holt Hollister, but she could see a faint resemblance to the man she’d just crossed words with.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Blake Hollister, manager of the ranch.”

He extended his hand in a friendly manner and Isabelle complied.

“I’m Isabelle Townsend,” she introduced herself, then added dryly, “It’s nice meeting you. I think.”

His brows disappeared beneath the brim of his gray hat. “I happened to see you go in the horse barn five minutes ago. If you’re looking for someone in particular, I might be able to help.”

“I was looking for the man who manages your horse division. Instead I found a first-class jerk!” She practically blasted the words at him, then promptly hated herself for the outburst. This man couldn’t be held responsible for his relative’s boorish behavior. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to sound so cross.”

“Isabelle Townsend,” he thoughtfully repeated, then snapped his fingers. “You must be our new neighbor who purchased the old Landry Ranch.”

Since she’d only moved here six weeks ago, she was surprised this man had heard of her. News in a small place must travel fast, she thought.

“That’s right. I was interested in purchasing a few horses from Three Rivers. But unfortunately, your brother or cousin or whatever he is to you isn’t interested in selling. Or showing a visitor good manners.”

“I’m sorry about this, Ms. Townsend.”

The ranch manager cast a rueful glance in the direction of the horse barn and Isabelle got the impression it wasn’t the first time he’d had to apologize for his brother’s behavior.

“Frankly, Mr. Hollister, I had heard this ranch was the epitome of hospitality. But after this morning, I have my doubts about that.”

“Trust me. It won’t happen again.” His smile was apologetic. “You caught my brother at a bad time. You see, it’s foaling season and he’s working virtually 24/7 right now. I promise if you’ll come back to the ranch tomorrow, I’ll make sure Holt is on his best behavior.”

Isabelle didn’t give a damn about the horse manager. As far as she was concerned, the man could ride off into the sunset and never return.

“Honestly, Mr. Hollister, I have no desire to do business with your brother. Exhaustion isn’t an excuse for bad manners.”

“No. And I agree that Holt can be insensitive at times. But you’ll find that when it comes to horses, he’s the best.”

He might be the best, but would dealing with the man be worth it? If it would help make her dream come true, she could surely put up with Mr. Arrogant for a few minutes, she decided.

Shrugging, she said, “All right, Mr. Hollister. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He helped her into the truck, then shut the truck door and stepped back. And as Isabelle drove away, she wondered why she’d agreed to meet the good-looking horseman with a tart tongue for a second time. Solely for the chance to buy a few mares? Or did she simply want the pleasure of giving him a piece of her mind?

The answer to that was probably a toss-up, she decided.

* * *

“Holt? Are you in there?”

The sound of Blake’s loud voice booming through the open doorway penetrated Holt’s sleep-addled brain. Groggily, he lifted his head just in time to see his older brother step into the messy room he called his office.

“I’m right here. What’s the matter? Is Cocoa having trouble?” He leaned back in the desk chair and wiped a hand over his face.

“As far as I know, nothing is wrong with Cocoa. I saw her five minutes ago. She was standing and the baby was nursing.”

“Thank God. I had to call Chandler back to the ranch to deal with her afterbirth. I was afraid she might be having complications,” he explained, then squinted a look at Blake’s dour expression. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve been eating green persimmons.”

“That task would probably be easier than trying to fix your mess-ups,” Blake retorted.

This wiped the cobwebs from Holt’s brain. “My mess-ups? What are you talking about?”

Blake shoved a stack of papers to one side and eased a hip onto the corner of the desk. “Don’t feign ignorance. You know damned good and well I’m talking about Isabelle Townsend. The blonde who left the horse barn with smoke pouring out of her ears. What the hell did you say to her anyway?”

Holt used both hands to scrub his face again. “Not much. I basically made it clear that I didn’t have time for her. Which is hardly a lie. You know that.”

Blake blew out a heavy breath. “Yes, I know it. But in this case, you should’ve made time. Or, at the very least, been polite to the woman.”

Holt picked up a coffee cup and peered at the cold black liquid inside. He’d poured the drink about five hours earlier, but never found a chance to drink it. Now particles of dust were floating over the surface. “What is the big deal, Blake? It was very clear to me that the woman had no legitimate business here on the ranch. I seriously doubt she’s ever straddled a horse in her entire life. We’ll probably never see her again.”

“Wrong. I invited her to return tomorrow. And I made a personal promise to her that you’d be behaving like a human being instead of a jackass.”

Holt plunked the coffee cup back to the desktop. “Oh, hell, Blake, you have no idea how I behaved with Isabelle what’s-her-name. You weren’t there.”

“I didn’t have to be. I know how you are whenever you run out of patience. Like I said, a jackass.”

“Okay, okay. I wasn’t nice. I’ll admit it. But I’m running on empty. And just looking at her rubbed me the wrong way.”

Blake arched a brow at him. “Really? She was damned pretty. Since when has a pretty woman got your dander up? Unless—” His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Dear Lord, I hope you didn’t make a pass at her. Is that what really happened?”

“No! Not even close!” Holt rose from the chair and began to move restlessly around the jumbled room.

His mother often mentioned that he needed a nicer office, one that was fitting for a respected horse trainer, but Holt always balked at the idea. He liked the dust and the jumble. He liked having metal filing cabinets filled with papers instead of flash drives and computers with spreadsheets. If he wanted to throw a dirty saddle across the back of a chair, he did. If he wanted to toss a pile of headstalls and bridles into a corner of the room, he didn’t worry about how it looked or smelled. He was in the business of horses. Not ostentatious surroundings. Or technical gadgets.

“Yeah, pretty women and I go hand in hand,” he went on with a dose of sarcasm. “Except I don’t like it when they pretend to be something they aren’t.”

“I don’t get you, Holt. You don’t know Isabelle Townsend. Why you’ve made this snap decision about her, I’ll never understand. But I’m telling you, you’ve got it all wrong. She’s purchased the old Landry Ranch and has intentions of turning it into a horse farm. And from what I hear about the woman, she has enough riding trophies to fill up this room.”

Holt stopped in his tracks and stared at his brother. “Who says?”

“Emily-Ann for one. And working at Conchita’s, you know she hears everything.”

Holt sputtered. “Sure, Blake. Working at a coffee shop means she hears gossip.”

“This is more than gossip,” Blake countered. “Emily-Ann has become fairly good friends with the woman.”

Holt looked away from his brother and down at the dusty planked floor. This part of the foaling barn had been built many years before Holt was born and the cypress boards, though durable, were a fire hazard. The floor actually needed to be ripped out and replaced with concrete, but like many parts of the century-and-a-half-old ranch, they remained as pieces of tradition.

“The old Landry Ranch, you say? That means she’s our neighbor on the north boundary.”

“Right,” Blake replied. “And we don’t need any kind of friction with a neighbor. So you think you can play nice in the morning?”

Holt grinned. “Sure. I’ll be so sweet, she’ll think she’s covered in molasses.”

Blake rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you need to spread it on that thick, brother. Just be yourself. No. On second thought, that could be dangerous. Just be congenial.”

Holt’s weary chuckle was more like a groan. “Don’t worry, Blake. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

* * *

By the time Isabelle reached the outskirts of Wickenburg, she’d managed to push her simmering frustration aside and set her thoughts on the breakfast she’d missed earlier this morning. Endless chores were waiting for her back at the ranch, and it would make more sense to go home and fix herself a plate of eggs and toast. But she was already close to town, and after that humiliating encounter with Holt Hollister, taking time for coffee and a pastry at Conchita’s would be a treat she desperately needed.

After driving through the main part of Wickenburg, she turned onto a sleepy side street where the tiny coffee shop was located. Shaded by two old mesquite trees, the building’s slab pine siding was weathered to a drab gray. Worn stepping stones led up to a small porch with a short overhang.

At the moment, the single wooden door stood open to the warm morning and Isabelle could hear the muted sounds of music. As she stepped inside the dim interior, she was met with the mouthwatering scents of fresh baked pastries and brewing coffee.

An elderly man with a cane was at the counter. Isabelle stood to one side and waited patiently while Emily-Ann sacked his order.

“Hi, Isabelle!” the waitress greeted. “I’ll be right back as soon as I help Mr. Perez out with his things.”

“Sure. Take your time. I’m in no hurry,” Isabelle assured her.

The gentleman waved a dismissive hand at the young, auburn-haired woman and spoke something to her in rapid Spanish. Emily-Ann replied in the same language and made a shooing gesture toward the door.

“He insists he can carry his order out to the car on his own,” she explained to Isabelle. “But I’m not going to let that happen.”

While Emily-Ann assisted the customer, Isabelle stepped up to the glass cases holding a huge array of pastries and baked treats. She was still trying to decide between the brownies and the apple fritters when Emily-Ann returned and gave Isabelle a tight hug.

Laughing, Isabelle hugged her back. “You must have missed me!”

“I have!” Emily-Ann exclaimed, a wide smile lighting up her pretty freckled face. “You’ve not been in for a few days.”

“I’ve been busy. So busy, in fact, that I missed breakfast this morning.” Isabelle pointed to a top shelf. “Give me a brownie and an apple fritter. And a large regular coffee with cream.”

Emily-Ann, who was the same age as Isabelle, looked at her in disbelief. “A brownie and an apple fritter? And you look like that? Do you know how frustrated that makes me? Just breathing the air in here makes me gain a pound!”

Isabelle shook her head. “You look lovely. I only wish I had your height. For the first fifteen years of my life, I was called shorty.”

“That’s better than being called freckles.” Emily-Ann turned to a counter behind her and filled a cup with coffee. “Do you want this to go?”

“No. I don’t want to gobble it down while I drive. I want to enjoy every bite.”

“Great,” she said. “The customers have let up for the moment so I’ll join you. That is, if you’d like the company.”

“C’mon. I’d love your company.”

The two women walked outside and sat down at one of the small wrought iron tables and chairs sitting in the shade of the mesquites.

“So what’s been going on with you since I was here?” Isabelle asked as she broke off a piece of the brownie and popped it into her mouth.

Emily-Ann tilted her head from side to side in a nonchalant expression. “Nothing new. At this time of year, lots of snowbirds come in for coffee. Most of them are friendly and want to chat and ask questions about things to see and do around here. Honestly, Isabelle, when you’ve lived in one little town all your life, you don’t really see things as a tourist. For example, that saguaro over there across the street. The tourists ooh and aah over it. To me, it’s just a saguaro.”

“That’s because you see it every day.” Isabelle sipped her coffee, hoping the caffeine would revive her from the long morning she started before daylight. “But think of it this way, one of those snowbirds that walk into the coffee shop might be your Mr. Right.”

Emily-Ann grimaced. “I’m not sure I want to look for a Mr. Right anymore. The men I’ve dated have all turned out to be stinkers.”

Isabelle shrugged. “At least you weren’t like me and made the mistake of marrying the wrong man.”

“From what you’ve told me, your ex would’ve been happy to stay married. And you did say that the two of you are still friends. Are you sure you don’t regret getting a divorce?”

“Trevor was a good guy. A nice guy. But he—” He just hadn’t loved her. Not with the deep, abiding love that Isabelle had craved. “Well, he was a great companion. Just not a husband.”

Shaking her head, Emily-Ann sighed. “I’m not sure I get that. But as long as you think you’re better off now, then that’s all that really matters, I suppose.”

Isabelle finished the brownie and unwrapped the square of wax paper from the fritter. “I am better off. I’m following my dreams.”

Emily-Ann leaned back in her chair. “How is the ranch coming along? Have you found any horses to buy?”

Instead of blurting the curse word burning the tip of her tongue, Isabelle snorted. “Actually, I drove out to Three Rivers this morning to look at their horses, but I didn’t get to first base.”

“Oh, what happened? Out of all of the horses they have, surely you could find something that suited you.”

“Ha! All I got to see was an arrogant cowboy and he promptly sent me on my way.”

Emily-Ann’s mouth fell open. “You mean Holt? He sent you packing?”

“He did. Emily-Ann, I thought you told me he was a charming guy and that he’d be easy to do business with. The guy is a first-class jerk!” Isabelle huffed out a breath and reached for her coffee.

Emily-Ann was perplexed. “I don’t understand how that could’ve happened. But he’s dreamy-looking. Right?”

Isabelle sipped the hot drink and tried not to think about the way Holt Hollister had looked standing there in front of her with his long legs parted and his arms folded against his broad chest. Dreamy? He’d looked rough around the edges and as tough as rawhide. “I’ll admit he’s sexy, but not the sort I dream about. I like manners and kindness in a man.”

Emily-Ann batted a hand through the air. “Holt knows all about manners. Him sending you away—that’s just not the man I know, and I’ve been friends with the whole family since I was a very little girl.”

Isabelle shrugged, while trying not to take the man’s behavior personally. “There must’ve been something about me that Holt didn’t like. Or maybe something I said. Like hello,” she added dryly. “No matter. Blake invited me to come back tomorrow and I’m going to take him up on the invitation.”

Emily-Ann looked relieved. “Oh, so you met Blake. He’s a real gentleman.”

“I’ll put it this way, he’s nothing like his brother,” Isabelle replied.

“So what did you think about Three Rivers? It’s quite a place, isn’t it?”

Nodding, Isabelle admitted, “Beautiful. But nothing like I was expecting. I thought the main ranch house would be a hacienda-type mansion surrounded by a stone wall with an elaborate gated entrance. Instead, it was a homey three-story house with wood siding and a front porch for sitting.”

Emily-Ann sighed. “The Hollisters are a homey bunch. Guess that’s why the family is so well liked. They’re just regular folks. Even though they have oodles of money.”

Isabelle’s ex had also had oodles of money. Perhaps not as much as the Hollisters, but he’d had enough to give her a tidy fortune in the divorce settlement. Money was necessary, and Isabelle would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate the life it was allowing her to lead. Particularly with her plans to build a horse farm. But money wasn’t everything. In the end, Trevor’s money hadn’t made up for his inability to love her.

“Well, if I don’t meet a different Holt tomorrow, I’m going to suggest he drive up to the Grand Canyon and take a flying leap off the South Rim.”

“Ouch. He must have really rubbed you the wrong way.”

Just the thought of Holt Hollister rubbing her in any way sent a shiver down Isabelle’s spine. Maybe the women around here went for the barbarian type, but she didn’t.

Purposely focusing her attention on the apple fritter, Isabelle said, “Let’s talk about something else, shall we? I don’t want to ruin the rest of my day.”

* * *

For the first night in the past ten nights, no foals were born and Holt managed to sleep until four thirty in the morning without being disturbed. Even so, the moment he opened his eyes, he jerked to a sitting position and stared around the bedroom, disoriented.

What was he doing in bed and what the heck had happened while he’d been asleep? Swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, he reached for the phone on the nightstand and punched the button for the direct line to the foaling barn. It rang six times before someone finally picked it up and by then Holt was wide-awake.

“Yep.”

“Matt, is that you?” Matthew Waggoner was the ranch foreman and had been for several years. His job was mostly handling the cowhands, the cattle, and everything that entailed. He usually stayed away from the mares and foals.

“Yep, it’s me. What’s wrong?”

“Why are you in the foaling barn?” Holt asked. “Has something happened?”

“No. Everything is quiet. I’m spelling Leo. He’s dead on his feet. Sounds like you are, too.”

Holt raked a hand through his tumbled hair, then reached for the jeans he’d left lying on the floor by the bed. “When I woke up and realized I’d been in bed all night, it scared me.”

Matthew chuckled. “That’s a hell of a thing to be scared about. Hang up and go back to sleep. The mares in the paddock are all happy and the hands and I won’t be leaving out of the ranch yard until six anyway.”

“Thanks, Matt. But my sleep is over. I’ll be down as soon as I grab something from the kitchen.”

In the bathroom, he sluiced cold water onto his face, then ran a comb through his dark hair. The rusty brown whiskers on his face hadn’t seen a razor in three days, but he wasn’t going to bother shaving this morning. He had more important worries.

After he’d thrown a denim shirt over his jeans and tugged on a pair of worn cowboy boots, he hurried down to the kitchen, where Reeva was already shoving an iron skillet filled with buttermilk biscuits into the oven. The scents of frying bacon and chorizo filled the warm room.

“Got any tortillas warm yet, old woman?” Holt asked as he sneaked up behind the cook and pecked a kiss on her cheek.

Without batting an eye, she pointed to a platter stacked with breakfast tacos wrapped in aluminum foil. “The tacos are already made. What do you think I do around here anyway? Sit reading gossip magazines or lie in bed? Like you?”

In her early seventies, Reeva was a tall, thin woman with straight, iron gray hair that was usually pulled into a ponytail or braid. She’d been working as the Hollister cook since before Holt had been born and now after all these years, she was a part of the family. Which was all for the best, he thought, since the little family she’d once had were all moved away and out of her life.

“Ha! I’ve seen you lounging around in the den reading gossip magazines and drinking coffee,” Holt teased as he snatched up three of the tacos.

Reeva swatted the spatula at his hand. “Get out of here, you worthless saddle tramp.”

“Don’t worry, I’m going. As soon as I find my insulated cup.”

“Right behind you. On the cabinet. And don’t go out without your jacket. It’s cold this morning.”

“It’s a good thing you’re around to tell me what to do, Reeva. Otherwise, I’d be in a hell of a mess.” He grabbed up the stainless steel cup and headed toward the door that led to the backyard.

“You stay in a mess even with my help,” she said tartly, then added, “I’ll send Jazelle down with some pastries later. And don’t call me old woman.”

Holt looked over his shoulder and winked at her. “Reeva, you look as fresh as a spring rose.”

Reeva continued to flip the frying bacon. “You wouldn’t know what a spring rose looked like. But I love you anyway.”

“Right back at ya, old woman.”

At the door, he levered on a gray Stetson and, to please Reeva, pulled on a Sherpa-lined jacket. After stuffing the tacos into one of the pockets to keep them warm on the long walk to the foaling barn, he stepped outside and was promptly slammed in the face with a cold north wind.

Ducking his head, he left the backyard and started toward the massive ranch yard in the distance. Along the way, he passed the bunkhouse where most of the single ranch hands lived. The scents of coffee and frying sausage drifted out from the log building and Holt figured the guys would be sitting down to breakfast any minute now, which was served at five on most mornings. Once in a while, he and Blake would join the group for the early meal, just to share a few casual minutes with the hardworking employees. But the bunkhouse cook was a crusty old fellow, who couldn’t begin to match Reeva’s kitchen skills.

At the cattle pens, there were already a half dozen cowboys spreading feed and hay. Dust billowed from the stirring hooves, a sign that so far the winter had been extremely dry. Grass on the range was getting as scarce as hen’s teeth and Matthew had already warned Blake that the hay Three Rivers had baled back in the spring would soon be gone. As for the Timothy/alfalfa mix Holt fed the horses, he’d already been forced to get tons of it shipped in from northern Nevada.

At times like these, Holt figured Blake acquired a few more gray hairs at his temples. As manager of the ranch, his brother carried a load on his shoulders and he worried. But Holt didn’t worry. Not about the solvency of the ranch. After a hundred and seventy-one years, he figured the place would keep on standing strong. No, the only thing he worried about was keeping the horses healthy. And his mother.

For the most part, Holt could control the well-being of the Three Rivers’ remuda, but his mother was a different matter. Lately she was doing a good job of acting like she was happy. But Holt and his siblings weren’t fooled. She was keeping something from the family.

Chandler wanted to think she’d fallen in love and was trying to hide it, but Holt didn’t go along with his brother’s idea. A woman in love had a look about her that was impossible to hide and his mother didn’t have it.

When Holt reached the horse barn, the hands were already feeding the few mares that were stalled with their new foals. T.J., the barn manager, met Holt in the middle of the wide alleyway.

“Mornin’, Holt,” he greeted. “Everything is quiet. No problem with Ginger. She seems to have taken to her little boy. He’s been standing and nursing and already looks stronger than he did two hours ago.”

Holt wasn’t surprised to hear T.J. had already been at the barn for two or three hours. He was a dedicated young man with an affinity for horses. He’d come to work for the ranch six years ago and since then had proved his worth over and over.

“That’s happy news. I was afraid we might have to put him on a nurse mare.” Grinning now, Holt patted his jacket pocket. “I have breakfast tacos. If you’re hungry, I’ll share.”

“Thanks, Holt, but I promised William I’d eat at the bunkhouse this morning. Now that you’re here, I’ll mosey on over there.”

“Better do more than mosey or there won’t be anything left.”

“Right. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The barn manager turned on his heel and hurried out of the barn.

On the way to his office, Holt made a short detour to Ginger’s stall. As T.J. had informed him, the colt was looking remarkably stronger since his birth yesterday. The fact that the first-time mare was now bonding with her baby was a huge relief and he smiled as he watched her lick the white star on the colt’s forehead.

“He’s a good-looking boy. Big boned, bright eyed and straight legs. By the time he’s a weanling, he’ll be strong and sturdy.”

The unexpected female voice had him whirling around to see Isabelle Townsend had walked up behind him. The sight of her at any time of the day would’ve surprised him, but he doubted it was daylight yet. Blake had told him she’d probably return to the ranch today, but he’d not mentioned she might show up at five in the morning!

“Ms. Townsend,” he said in the way of greeting. “You’re out early.”

To his surprise, she must’ve forgiven his nasty behavior yesterday. There wasn’t anything sarcastic in the smile on her face. On the contrary. It was warm enough to chase away the chill in the barn.

“Yesterday you were too busy to deal with me. This morning I came early in hopes I’d catch you before that happened.”

He had a thousand and one things to do, including eating the meager breakfast he was carrying in his pocket. He didn’t have time for Isabelle Townsend. Not this morning, or any morning. But he’d promised Blake he’d be a gentleman and one thing Holt never wanted to do was break his word to his big brother.

“I was headed to my office. If you’d like to join me, we can talk there.” He turned away from Ginger’s stall. “Have you had breakfast?”

“No. But I’m fine. Sometimes I don’t bother with that meal.”

From the looks of her, she didn’t bother with eating much at all. Yesterday he’d noticed she was petite. This morning, he could see she was even smaller than he remembered. Even with the heels of her cowboy boots adding to her height, he doubted the top of her head would reach the middle of his chest. The notion struck him that he could pick her up with one arm and never feel the strain.

But he had no plans to get that close to their pretty neighbor, Holt decided. Not unless she wanted him to.

Chapter Two

Walking to his office, Isabelle was careful to keep a respectable distance from Holt Hollister. She had no idea if Emily-Ann’s remarks about him being a ladies’ man were true or just rumors. Either way, she didn’t want to give him the impression that she was interested in anything more than his horses.

“You must have assumed I start the day early,” he said.

“All horse trainers start the day long before daylight,” she replied. “That is, the good ones do.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Does that mean you put me in the company of the good ones?”

His voice was raspy, like he’d just lifted his head from the pillow after a long sleep. The sound shivered right through her.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Hollister, but I don’t go by hearsay. So I can’t really answer your question—yet.”

Her reply didn’t appear to annoy him, rather he had an amused look on his face. “I’ve heard some things about you, too. But I don’t rely on hearsay either.”

Isabelle couldn’t imagine what he might have heard about her. She doubted it could’ve been much, though. Since she’d moved here, she’d only made a few acquaintances around town.

At the end of the barn, he opened a door on the left and motioned for her to proceed him through it.

Isabelle stepped past him and into the small room that looked more like a tack room than an office. Jammed with a messy desk, two wooden chairs, and a row of file cabinets, it was also littered with bits and bridles, saddle blankets and pads, leather cinches and breast harnesses. In one corner, there was even a worn saddle thrown over a wooden sawhorse.

“Have a seat,” he invited. “You might want to wipe the dust off first, though. We don’t do much cleaning out here in the barn. It doesn’t do much good.”

“I’m used to dust.” And mud. Rain and snow. Heat and cold. Early and late. In the horse business, a person had to get used to all those things and much, much more.

While she settled herself in one of the wooden chairs sitting in front of the desk, he placed the stainless steel vacuum cup he’d been carrying on the desktop, then walked over to a heater and adjusted the thermostat.

Back at the desk, he took a seat in a leather executive chair and picked up the receiver on a landline telephone. After punching a button, he promptly said, “Reeva, as soon as Jazelle shows up—oh, she has—that’s good. Send her on with the pastries, would you? And more coffee.” He paused. “That’s right. The horse barn. Not the foaling barn. Thanks.”

He hung up the phone, then leveled his attention directly on Isabelle. “My brother Blake tells me you’ve bought the old Landry ranch. Are you living there now?”

Isabelle nodded. “I am. The Landry family had been out of the house for a long time and it needed some repairs. Fortunately, I’ve gotten most of them done. At least to where the place is comfortable now. The barns and utility sheds were in far better shape than the house. There are still areas of the ranch that need plenty of work and changes made, but it’s good enough for me to start adding horses to the ones I already have.”

He looked somewhat surprised. “You already have horses?”

“That’s right. Ten in all. Two geldings for work purposes and eight broodmares that are currently in foal to a stallion back in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I don’t have a stallion of my own yet. But like I said yesterday, I’m looking to buy. Preferably a blue roan that’s proven to throw color and produce hearty babies.”

He suddenly grinned and Isabelle felt her breath catch in her throat. She could definitely see why the rumors of being a ladies’ man followed him around. He was charming without even trying. But she’d been around men of his caliber before. They weren’t meant to be taken seriously.

“We’d all like one of those, Ms. Townsend.”

She shook her head. “Please call me Isabelle. After all, we’re neighbors. Even if it is eighteen miles to my place.”

“Okay, Isabelle. Since you seem determined to add to your workload, I’ll show you a few mares I might be willing to part with. But I don’t have a stallion I want to sell. Maybe in a year or two. But not now.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “That’s okay. I’ll be happy to look at anything you have.”

The room was getting nice and warm so Isabelle untied the fur-edged hood of her jacket and allowed it to slip to her back. As she shook her hair free, she noticed he was watching her as though he was trying to gauge what was beneath the surface. The idea was disturbing, but it didn’t offend her. She was a complete stranger to the man. In his line of business, he had a right to wonder about her character and how she might care for the animals he sold her.

“You mentioned Albuquerque. Is that where you’re from originally?”

She shook her head. “No. I was born in California and lived there all of my life until I, uh, married and moved with my husband to New Mexico.”

Beneath the brim of his battered gray hat, she could see one of his dark brows quirk upward.

“Oh. You’re married then?”

She felt like telling him that her marital status really had nothing to do with her buying horses. But she didn’t want to irk him again. At least, not before she had a chance to do business with the man. Besides, her being a divorcée was hardly a secret, even if it was something that made her feel like a failure as a woman.

“No. I’ve been divorced for more than a year now. He still lives in New Mexico. I decided to move here.” She gave him a wide smile to let him know she was feeling no regrets about her ex or the move to Arizona. “And so far I love it. The Landry Ranch was just what I was looking for.”

He reached in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out three long items wrapped in aluminum foil and placed them on the desk. From the scents drifting her way, Isabelle guessed he’d been carrying around his breakfast.

“I imagine you’ve changed the ranch’s name by now,” he said.

Her smile grew wider. “I have. To Blue Stallion Ranch. I might not own him now. But I will make my dream come true one day.”

“I see. Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“When a woman dreams for her future, she does put a lot of thought into it. And the dream of Blue Stallion Ranch is something I’ve had for a long time.”

He started to say something, but a knock on the open door of the office interrupted him. Isabelle looked over her shoulder to see a tall blond woman about her own age entering the room carrying a large lunch bucket and a tall metal thermos.

“Breakfast is here,” she announced cheerfully. “The pastries are fresh and the coffee is hot, so you’d better dig in.”

“Jazelle, you’re an angel in blue jeans,” he told the woman. “I’ll dance at your wedding with cowbells on.”

Jazelle pushed aside a stack of papers and placed the containers on the desktop. “Ha! You won’t be wearing cowbells or anything else to my wedding. ’Cause that ain’t going to happen. And yes, I said ain’t—so there!”

He responded to the woman’s caustic reply with a loud laugh. “Sure, Jazelle. You and Camille have sworn off men for the rest of your lives. I’ve heard it all before, but I don’t believe a word of it.”

She glared at him. “Well, you’d better believe it, buddy! And if you had any sense, you’d swear off women, too.”

He coughed awkwardly and Jazelle turned an apologetic look on Isabelle. “Sorry,” she said, then shaking her head, she laughed. “Uh—Holt and I like to tease. We really love each other. Don’t we, Holt?”

He grinned. “Just like brother and sister,” he said, then gestured to Isabelle. “Jazelle, meet Isabelle. She’s our new neighbor to the north. She’s a horsewoman.”

Isabelle rose and extended her hand to the other woman. “Nice to meet you, Jazelle. And thank you for bringing the breakfast. It smells heavenly.”

Jazelle’s handshake was hearty and sincere and Isabelle liked her immediately.

“The cook and I bake pastries every other day. These just came out of the oven.” She continued to eye Isabelle. “I’m sorry I’m staring. But you’re just too darn pretty to be a horsewoman.”

Isabelle laughed. “And you’re too kind.”

Jazelle left the office and Isabelle looked around to see Holt had opened the lunch bucket and was in the process of filling two foam cups with coffee.

“Let’s eat,” he said. “There’s creamer and sugar for your coffee if you want it. And take what pastries you want. I have three chorizo and egg tacos. You’re welcome to one of them, too.”

“No, thanks. One of these cinnamon rolls will be enough.” She poured creamer into her coffee and with the cup and roll in hand, she sat back down in the chair.

Through the open doorway, Isabelle could hear the horses exchanging whinnies and the familiar clanking of gates as each stall door was opened and closed. Above those sounds was the faint hum of a radio and the noise of the workers as they called to each other.

Someday, she thought, her barn would sound like this. Look like this. With mares and foals everywhere and plenty of ranch hands taking care of the chores. As much as Trevor had tried to make her happy, he’d never shared Isabelle’s dream of having a horse farm. He’d only tolerated her obsession with equines because he’d been smart enough to know if he’d given her an ultimatum, she would’ve chosen the horses over him.

“Is working with horses something you’ve done for a while?” he asked. “Or is this a new venture for you?”

Isabelle swallowed a bite of the roll before she answered. “I first started riding when I was five years old. That’s when my mom introduced me to a little brown pony named Albert. And I fell in love. By the time I got to be a teenager, I wanted to be a jockey, but Mom steered me away from that and into reining and cutting competitions. She considered being a jockey too dangerous.”

He grunted with amusement. “Walking through the mare’s paddock at feeding time is dangerous.”

“That’s true. But anyway, I got into the reining thing in a big way and eventually started training for breeders in southern California. After I moved to New Mexico, I began to acquire the mares.”

“I see. So until now, you’ve not actually had a horse ranch?”

She sipped the coffee, then shook her head. “Believe it or not, my ex-husband was overly generous in the divorce settlement just so I’d have plenty to purchase the property and the horses.”

The taco in his hand paused halfway to his mouth. “That’s hard to fathom.”

No. She didn’t expect him to understand. Something about Holt Hollister said he was the sort who’d love with all his heart, or not at all. And whatever he possessed, he’d fight to keep. Whether that be a wife, or material assets.

“I realize it sounds a bit crazy,” she said. “But we’re still good friends. And he wants me to be happy. Add to that, the man has more money than he knows what to do with. That’s the way with some folks in the oil industry. Money flows and things are acquired so easily that after a while everything loses its luster.” She cleared her throat, confused and embarrassed that she’d shared such personal things with this man. “Anyway, Trevor is a good and generous man. And he’s made it possible to invest in my dreams.”

“Lucky you.”

His quipped reply rankled her, but she carefully hid her reaction. “There was nothing lucky about it. I didn’t ask for the money. Or the divorce.”

His gaze dropped to the cup he was holding. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Was he really sorry? She doubted it. But then his opinion of her personal life hardly mattered. After today, she wouldn’t be rubbing shoulders with the man.

“Forget it,” she told him. “I have.”

* * *

She might’ve already forgotten, but Holt hadn’t. Damn it!

He didn’t know how their conversation had turned to such personal issues. One minute they’d been talking about her connection to horses and the next she was telling him about her divorce.

Hell! He didn’t care if she was married with five kids or devotedly single. He didn’t care if she had a good and generous ex-husband. And he sure didn’t care that she was the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. To Holt, she was a horse buyer. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Has your family always owned Three Rivers Ranch?”

Her question jerked Holt out of his reverie and he looked at her as he swallowed down the last bite of taco.

“The Hollisters first built this ranch back in 1847. Since then it’s always been a family thing.”

“Wow! That must go back through several generations,” she said, then shrugged. “I can’t remember the house my parents and I lived in when I entered middle school, much less know what sort of place they had when I was born. They were nomads. Still are.”

“So you think you want to root down.” He wished she’d quit talking about homes and family. She didn’t look the sort and he was as far from a family man as Earth was from Mars.

“More than anything,” she said with conviction.

Jazelle had brought a few little pecan tortes along with the cinnamon rolls. He gobbled down two of them and was finishing his coffee as fast as he could when she said, “I realize you’re in a hurry to get me out of your hair, but at the pace you’re eating, you’re going to have stomach issues.”

Dear Lord, was there nothing she missed? “I always eat fast. Otherwise, I might not have the chance to eat at all. If you’re finished with your coffee, we’ll go have a look at the horses.”

Smiling faintly, she leaned forward and gracefully placed her cup on the edge of his desk. “I’m ready any time you are.”

Rising from the desk chair, he pulled on his jacket and buttoned it up to his throat. By then, she’d gotten to her feet and fastened the hood over all that white-blond hair and pulled on a pair of fuzzy black mittens. She looked as sweet as Christmas candy and as fragile as a sparrow’s wing. How could this woman ever manage to work a horse ranch?

That’s none of your concern, Holt. All you need to do is keep your mind on your job and off the way Isabelle Townsend looks or sounds or smells. She’s not your type. She never will be.

Shoving away the mocking reminder in his head, he gestured toward the door. “You’re welcome to look at the mares and babies here in the barn, but none of them are for sale. Anything I might be willing to part with is outside.”

“I’d love to take a leisurely look. But you’re just as busy as I am. Let’s just head on outside.”

Her response should have pleased him. The quicker he could get this meeting over with, the better. Yet he had to admit a part of him had wanted to show her some of the fine babies his mares had delivered in the past few days. Like a proud dad, he would’ve enjoyed sticking out his chest and preening just a little. But she wasn’t going to give him the chance.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll exit the barn on this end.”

* * *

Outside the building, she followed him over to a ten-acre patch surrounded by a tall board fence.

“This is where I keep the mares that have two or three weeks before foaling,” he told her. “When they start getting to that point in their gestation, I like to keep a closer eye on them.”

“Do you have a resident vet here on the ranch?”

“My older brother Chandler is the vet,” he told her. “If something comes up that I can’t handle, he’ll come running.”

“I’m just now putting two and two together,” she said thoughtfully. “He must run the Hollister Animal Hospital. Does he live here on the ranch, too?”

Her question reminded Holt that he and his baby sister, Camille, were the only Hollister siblings left who didn’t have a spouse and children. As for Camille, he couldn’t speak for her wants and wishes, but on most days Holt was happy he was still footloose and fancy-free. There were too many women in the world to waste his life on just one.

“Yes, with his wife, Roslyn, and baby daughter, Evelyn.”

A bright smile suddenly lit her face. “Oh, so there’s a baby in the house. How nice.”

“It’s nice and noisy. There are three babies in the house. Blake has twins.” Curious, in spite of himself, he glanced at her. “Do you have children?”

To his surprise, a pink blush appeared on her cheeks. “No. Trevor wasn’t the type for fatherhood. But I’m hoping I’ll be a mother someday. What about you—do you have children?”

He chuckled. “Not any that I know of.”

She didn’t reply, but the scornful expression on her face spoke volumes.

“I’m teasing,” he felt inclined to say. “I don’t have any children. And I don’t plan on having any. I have plenty of four-legged babies to keep me happy.”

She cut him another dry glance. “At least you know to stick to your calling.”

If any other woman had said such a thing to him, he would’ve laughed. But hearing it from this blond beauty was altogether different. For some reason, it made him feel small and sleazy.

“At least I know my calling,” he agreed. “Do you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Suddenly Blake’s voice was back in his head, reminding him to be nice to Isabelle. But damn it, Blake wasn’t the one dealing with the woman. Holt was. And with each passing minute, she was getting deeper and deeper under his skin.

“I’m wondering if you’ve really thought about what you’re taking on. Raising horses isn’t an easy job.”

“If it was easy, it wouldn’t be rewarding, now would it?” she asked. “And I know all about hard work.”

The sweetness in her voice was overlaid with conviction and Holt decided she was one of those stubborn females who’d rather die trying to prove a point than admit she might be wrong.

They reached the paddock and he opened a wide gate so the two of them could walk out to where the mares were munching hay from rows of mangers.

As they neared the horses, Holt pointed to one in particular. “I have one mare in this bunch that I’d be willing to part with and that’s Blossom, the little chestnut over there with the star on her forehead and snip on her nose. She’s made perfectly, I’d just prefer her to be a tad bigger. She was bred late—in May to be exact, so she should have a late April or early May baby.”

“I’ll go take a look.”

They walked over to the mare and as she approached the horse for a closer look, Holt opened his mouth to remind her to be cautious, but instantly decided to keep the warning to himself. If Isabelle knew so much about horses, he shouldn’t have to tell her a thing. This might be a good way to find out if she was the real deal or a woman with money and her head in the clouds.

Five minutes later, Holt had his answer. Blossom had not only forgotten the hay in front of her, she was nosing up to Isabelle as if they’d been friends forever. On top of that, the young mare had always been skittish about her feet, but Blossom had allowed Isabelle to pick up all four like she was a diva waiting for a manicure. It was amazing.

“She has a really nice eye and her teeth look good,” she said as she dropped the mare’s lip back in place.

“Chandler floats their teeth on a regular basis,” he said, his green eyes dropping away from her hands and down to her rounded bottom encased in faded denim. Yesterday he’d been too tired and annoyed to notice Isabelle’s perfect figure. This morning he was having trouble keeping his attention away from it.

She turned to face him and Holt jerked up his gaze before she caught him staring at her cute little butt.

“What sort of sire is this mare bred to?”

“The ranch’s foundation stud. He’s black and big boned. I’ll show him to you after we look at the other mares.”

She smiled and Holt’s attention was drawn to the alluring sight of soft pink lips against white teeth. And suddenly he was wondering how she would look naked and lying next to him with her hair spilled over his shoulder.

“I look forward to seeing him,” she said.

“So what do you think of Blossom?”

“She’s nice. But I need to see the others before I make any kind of decision. Okay?”

Another smile softened her words and Holt felt his resistance crumbling like a shortbread cookie. Any man with half a brain could see she was a heartbreaker. But why should he let that put him off? He never made the mistake of letting a woman get near his heart. He enjoyed them for a while and then moved on. Isabelle was no different than the last beauty to warm his bed.

“Certainly,” he answered. “Let’s go find a truck and we’ll drive out to the horse pasture.”

* * *

Throughout the short trip to the pasture, Isabelle tried to ignore Holt’s presence in the cab of the truck, but the more she tried to dismiss him, the more suffocated she felt. Back at the ranch yard, he’d wrapped a hand around her arm to assist her climb into the tall work truck, and even through the quilted thickness of her coat, the touch of his fingers had left a burning imprint.

But that was hardly a surprise. Everything about the man, from his sauntering walk to the growl in his voice, shouted sex. Or was he really no different than any other man she’d ever met? Could the long months of a cold, empty bed be causing her to see him in a different light?

Whatever the reason for her ridiculous reaction to the man, she needed to get over it and quick. There was no way she could make a smart business transaction when her mind was preoccupied with how he’d look with his shirt off, or wonder how it would feel to have those strong arms wrapped around her.

Damn it! She didn’t need a man. Not now. And definitely not a Romeo in cowboy boots.

“I’ve not been here long enough to learn about your weather,” she said, hoping to push her thoughts to a safer place. “Is it usually this cool in January? I was hoping that this part of the state was southern enough to miss the cold and snow.”

“Other than a few rare flurries blowing in the wind, you won’t see snow around here,” he answered. “But it can get fairly cold. Especially at night. What little rain we do get comes in the winter months. I hope you have plenty of water sources on your ranch. Otherwise, when the dry months come, you’re going to be in trouble.”

Did the man think she’d gotten to Arizona on the back of a turnip truck? Or was he doubting her common sense because she was a woman? Either way, he seemed intent on insulting her intelligence.

But she was trying her best to ignore his remarks, the same way she was trying to dismiss the way his chin jutted slightly forward and the rusty stubble on his face had grown even longer since she’d seen him yesterday morning. Normally she had an aversion to men who didn’t keep their faces clean-shaven. But there was something very earthy and sexy about the way the whiskers outlined his square jaw and firm lips.

She cleared her throat and said, “I made sure about the water supply before I purchased the property. And I’ve had enough firewood hauled in for the fireplace to last through the winter. I have fifty tons of Tifton/ alfalfa in the hay barn and enough grain to last a month. In spite of what you might think of me, I do know how to make preparations.”

He glanced at her and grinned. “I’m glad to hear you’re prepared. And, by the way, how do you know what I’m thinking of you?”

She bit back a groan and decided the best way to deal with this man was to be forthright. Lifting her chin, she said, “It’s fairly obvious you think I’m an idiot. I’m not sure why you’ve put me in that category, but you have. And I’m trying not to let it bother me. After all, I think you’re a bit of an arrogant brute. So there—we’re even.”

Expecting him to be peeved with her, she was totally surprised when he let out a hearty laugh. “An arrogant brute, eh? I’ve been called plenty of things before, but never that one.” He directed another lopsided grin in her direction. “And you have me all wrong, Isabelle. I hardly think you’re an idiot. I merely think you might be biting off more than you can chew.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

He shook his head. “No. Because you’re clearly chasing a dream. Instead of facing the hard work in front of you.”

She wanted to be angry with him. She wanted to tell him that a person without dreams wasn’t really living. But she stifled both urges. There had already been too many personal exchanges between the two of them and it was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable. It was making her think of him as a man rather than a neighbor or horse trainer. And that was something that could only lead to trouble.

“I know all about hard work, Mr. Hollister,” she said stiffly.

“Please call me Holt.”

She rolled her eyes in his direction to see the grin on his face was still there. Five minutes with Holt Hollister was really too much for any woman to endure and hold on to her sanity, she decided.

He steered the truck off the beaten dirt track and braked it to a stop near a wide galvanized gate. Beyond the fence, Isabelle could see thirty or more head of horses milling around a cluster of long wooden feed troughs.

“Here we are,” he announced. “And fortunately, the horses are still at their feed. I think there are thirty-five head in this herd.”

Purposely keeping her gaze on the horses, she asked, “How many of these are for sale?”

“Four. I’ll take a halter with me so you can take your time with each one.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

They left the truck and after he collected a halter from the back, they walked over to the fence. While he slipped the latch on the gate, she said, “I thought you were in the business of selling horses. Why the limit of four or five?”

“This past year, we had to take several horses out of the working remuda for different reasons, such as lameness and age and so forth. And then Blake decided to add more cattle to our ranch down at Dragoon, so I’ve had to send more horses for the hands to use down there. Replacing them takes time and lots of training. So I’m actually running a bit short on older horses and somewhat short on the yearlings.”

He followed her into the pasture and as Isabelle watched him carefully fasten the gate behind them, she realized that for once in her life, she was just as interested in looking at a man as she was a herd of horses.

“I see. I was thinking you might just limit the buyers who have their heads in the clouds.”

He chuckled and Isabelle decided an arrogant brute who could laugh at himself couldn’t be all bad.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I have special deals for those buyers.”

Her laugh was shrewd. “I’ll just bet you do.”

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