Home To Blue Stallion Ranch

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.”