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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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