“You know, roses are delicate and romantic. Most women like having a garden of roses in their backyard,” Holt said as he peered down at Isabelle who was on her hands and knees, carefully planting a large barrel cactus. “But no, you want a garden of tough, thorny cacti.”
Tilting her head back, she pulled a playful face at him. “That’s right. How long do you think a rose would last in this blistering heat? Besides, cacti have beautiful blooms,” she argued.
“They grow at glacier speed and you’re lucky if they bloom once a year,” he pointed out.
She stood up and brushed her gloved hands on the seat of her jeans. “You want instant gratification. That’s your problem,” she joked and poked a finger into his hard abs. “I honestly don’t know how you bear to wait eleven months and twenty days for a foal to be born.”
“Patience, my beautiful Isabelle. I’m brimming over with it. That’s why I waited until I was thirty-three to find the perfect wife for me.”
“Ha! You mean you waited until I chased you down. Or did you chase me?” She laughed and curled an arm around his lean waist. “It doesn’t matter, does it? We caught each other.”
A little more than six months ago, she and Holt had been married in a simple ceremony here on Blue Stallion Ranch. All of the Hollister family and a few of their close friends had attended, along with Isabelle’s mother and father. Emily-Ann had acted as Isabelle’s maid of honor, while Chandler had stood next to Holt as his best man.
Isabelle’s dreams had come true that day as she and Holt had spoken their vows of love to each other. And since then, she could truthfully say she was happier than she could have ever imagined.
Holt nudged her toward the back door of the house. “The sun is going down. We’d better go in and get ready. If I know Reeva, she’ll have Jazelle passing out drinks and appetizers two hours before dinner.”
Tonight they were going to Three Rivers Ranch to attend Blake’s fortieth birthday party. From past visits to the big ranch house, Isabelle knew there would be piles of delicious foods and all sorts of drinks, along with plenty of conversation and laughter.
“I’m going to miss seeing your mother tonight,” Isabelle remarked. “Do you have any idea when she might be coming home?”
A little more than two weeks ago, Maureen had packed up and driven down to Red Bluff to visit her youngest daughter, Camille. Her decision to make the trip had been rather sudden and Isabelle knew the rest of the family didn’t quite know what to make of Maureen’s unexpected departure. All of them wondered if she’d gone down there with intentions of bringing Camille back to Three Rivers, or if she’d made the trip just as a way to escape whatever was gnawing at her.
“Blake heard from her last night. He said she sounded cheerful enough, but he couldn’t pin her down as to when she might be coming home.” He shook his head. “This isn’t like her at all, Isabelle. Normally, she’s content to be working around the branding fire or herding cattle.”
“Well, you do you have a few cowboys working the ranch down there. Could be she’s keeping busy helping them,” Isabelle reasoned. “Or it could be that she simply wants to be with her daughter.”
Holt nodded. “That’s true. Camille has been gone for a couple of years now. I know Mom misses her.” He wrapped an arm against her back and urged her into the house. “Come on, we can’t let any of this dampen the party.”
Inside the house, they walked through the kitchen and started down the long hallway to the bedroom. As they passed the open door to the guest bedroom, Holt said, “Speaking of mothers, where is yours? Isn’t she going to the party with us?”
A month ago, Gabby had flown up from San Diego for an extended visit. So far, her mother had been having a blast getting to know the Hollisters and exploring Wickenburg and the surrounding areas. Isabelle loved having her mother’s company and Holt seemed to enjoy her offbeat personality. Thankfully she made it a point not to intrude on their privacy.
“Yes. Mom’s going to the party. But not from here. She’s over at the Bar X with Sam. They’ll be leaving for the party from there.”
Holt paused to shoot her a comical look. “Gabby is with Sam?”
Isabelle laughed. “I know. It’s hard to figure. She took one look at the old cowboy and flipped. Now she’s talked him into sitting still long enough to let her paint his portrait.”
Chuckling, Holt shook his head in amazement. “Do you really think she’s attracted to him? In a romantic way?”
Isabelle made a palms-up gesture. “Who knows? I thought she was falling for the guy who exhibited her artwork. But she’s obviously forgotten all about him.”
They entered the bedroom and while Holt showered, Isabelle began to lay out the clothing she was planning to wear for the party.
“Isabelle? Are you sure you don’t mind going tonight?” Holt called to her over the sound of the running shower. “I know it must feel like we go over to Three Rivers for some reason all the time.”
She walked over to the open doorway of the bathroom to answer. “I love visiting with your family. Gives me a chance to see all the new babies. Vivian and Sawyer’s twin boys, Jacob and Johnny, and Tessa and Joe’s new daughter, Spring. And just think, it won’t be long before Chandler and Roslyn have their second baby to go with little Evelyn. I think her due date is sometime before Halloween.”
The shower turned off and Holt stepped out of the glass enclosure and wrapped a towel around his waist. The sight of his hard, muscled body never failed to excite her and just for a moment she considered stepping into the bathroom and pulling the towel away.
Grinning slyly, his wet hair tousled around his head, he walked over to her. “Are you sure you don’t have something to tell me? Like the smell of breakfast is making you sick?”
She tried not to smile. “Actually breakfast has been tasting better than ever.”
“Damn.”
Her smile grew coy. “Could be I’m eating for two.”
His eyes grew wide. “Is that what I think it means?”
The eager hope in his voice told her how very much he wanted to be a father.
She nodded. “I made a doctor’s appointment today. We’ll find out for certain tomorrow.”
“Oh, Isabelle, honey!” He pulled her into his arms and she laughed as she wrapped her arms around his wet torso. “This is fantastic! I’m going to be a father! Let’s tell the family tonight. While everybody is there.”
She leaned back far enough to look at him. “But, Holt, we don’t know for certain yet.”
He gently touched his fingertips to her cheek. “I’m certain. You have a glow in your eyes.”
“That’s because I’m looking at the man I love.” She kissed him, then added slyly, “By the way, I thought you might want to know that Ollie and Sol made a confession today.”
His brows arched. “That’s good to hear. I’ll bet the priest was exhausted before they ever finished.”
She pinched his arm. “Not that kind of confession! They ratted on you. About how you paid them an extra salary long before we got married. Why did you do that?”
Pulling her close, he rested his cheek against hers. “Can’t you guess? That was just my way of saying I love you, darling.”
* * *
Be on the look out for Stella’s next book
The Rancher’s Best Gift
Available in December 2019!
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in the Men of the West miniseries:
His Texas Runaway
A Ranger for Christmas
Her Man on Three Rivers Ranch
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The Marine’s Family Mission
by Victoria Pade
Chapter One
Emmy Tate took off her soiled leather work gloves, stuffed them partially into the front pocket of her jeans and ran the back of her right wrist over her forehead to wipe the sweat away. Then she pressed both fists into the ache in the small of her back.
Enough for today, she decided.
As she surveyed her progress on the field that had, until two days before, been growing spring vegetables, she fought feeling discouraged and overwhelmed.
Bad enough that the record-breaking hailstorm had wreaked massive destruction on the organic farm on the outskirts of small-town Northbridge, Montana. But why did her progress clearing the damage have to be so slow? She’d barely made a dent.
Mandy would have done better, she thought.
Of course, her late sister would have known what she was doing, and that wasn’t true for Emmy.
But she was trying—and trying, and trying, for months now—to make the best of a bad situation.
But tomorrow was another day, she told herself, surveying the farm. She looked beyond the field to the apple orchard behind it, where branches were nearly bare of leaves now, where many limbs were dangling or left broken on the ground.
It would have made an effective photograph. One she would have taken long ago when she’d worked for the Red Cross documenting their good works in natural disasters or war zones.
But those weren’t the kinds of pictures she took now. Not that she had time for pictures at all lately, with all she had to do. At least cleaning up the field left her out in the open. She was dreading getting into that orchard.
She’d called the only arborist in the area to come and take a look at it. Because he’d known and liked Mandy, he’d come despite the fact that he was overbooked with all the damage in the area. But he refused to deal with anything under ten feet high or to start work before the already-downed limbs and the ground debris were cleared.
He’d assured her that it wasn’t anything she couldn’t take care of herself. Drag out the downed limbs. Rake the leaves. Use the pole saw and pruner to cut down the broken branches below ten feet.
He’d shown her how to do that, confident that she could manage.
It wasn’t that she didn’t think she could, it was just that she’d have to be in that orchard to do it. Under those broken branches that could—would—fall to the ground, sometimes without warning. If she wasn’t far enough back or quick enough to get out of the way, they’d trap her...
It’ll be fine, she told herself impatiently, tamping down on the panic trying to rise to the surface. It isn’t the school in Afghanistan, it’s a bunch of trees, for crying out loud.
And she was over what had happened. She was okay now, she insisted to herself.
But still she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, repeating the process again and again until the panic wasn’t looming.
Or at least until it was looming less.
“I don’t know how I’m gonna get in there, Mandy...” she confided to her late sister in a whisper.
But cleanup had to be done. She needed the place in perfect condition if she was going to find someone to lease it so she could get back to her everyday life in Denver. Back to what she’d been doing since leaving her work with the Red Cross—taking photographs of happy occasions like engagements and weddings and taking portraits of newborns.
“It’s just a bunch of trees,” she said out loud this time before she headed for the farm’s truck, assuring herself that it was only a matter of time before she could go home to Denver.
Although it wouldn’t exactly be back to her everyday life. Not when she’d be taking her three-year-old niece and two-month-old nephew with her to raise.
But even unexpected single parenthood was less daunting than the farming her sister had loved—and mastered. She reached the truck and saw her reflection in the driver’s-side window.
She’d never seen Mandy look as bad after a day’s work as Emmy did at that moment.
“You’re a mess, Em,” she told her reflection.
Strands of her chin-length reddish-brown hair had come free of the topknot she’d put it in this morning and fell limply around her face.
She hadn’t bothered to put on makeup, so there was no blush on her high cheekbones, no eyeliner or mascara to accentuate her chestnut-colored eyes, no highlighter dusting her thin, straight nose or lipstick on full lips that craved balm at that moment.
But there was a dirt smudge across her forehead and a general griminess to her appearance.
Not wanting to get into the truck with too much of that grime, she took the work gloves from her pocket, slapped them against the side of the truck until no more dust billowed out of them, then used them to whack the loose layer of soil off her jeans and faded red crew-neck T-shirt.
Once that was done, she kicked her boots against the truck’s running board to clear some of the crusted dirt from them and then climbed up behind the wheel, glad no one but her mother and the kids would see her looking like this before she could climb into a much-anticipated shower.
A shower, after which she would dry off with a clean towel before she put on equally clean clothes fresh out of the laundry her mother would have folded and waiting for her. Then she’d enjoy the nice dinner her mother was making and some time with the kids her mother had taken care of.
For this one last day until Karen Tate left.
But Emmy couldn’t think about the fact that her mother was leaving tomorrow. About the fact that she would soon be on her own, not only with the farm and storm cleanup, but also with the house and the laundry and the meals and the kids, who included a colicky baby who cried for hours at night...
No, she couldn’t think about it. She was already tired and dirty and hungry, and she just couldn’t.
So she pushed everything out of her mind, turned the key in the ignition and started the truck’s engine.
“I sure hope you didn’t bite off more than I can chew, Mandy,” she muttered as she released the emergency brake.
Then she sighed and said, “One foot in front of the other, Em. That’s all you can do. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”
The truck made a cranky noise when she put it into gear and she reminded herself to add auto repair to the list of skills that would be good for a leaser to have. Then she drove down the dirt path that took her to the private drive leading to the house.
It was o
nly once she was on the private drive that she saw another truck ahead of her. A black one almost as dated as the pale blue one she was in.
Company? She wasn’t expecting anyone. She and her mother were supposed to spend this evening going over the food her mother had stocked the freezer with and the revolving schedule of babysitters her mother had lined up to help with the kids. Then her mother needed to finish packing. She was leaving early Saturday morning, so Emmy doubted her mother had invited anyone over.
Hopefully it was just someone coming to say an impromptu goodbye to Karen Tate and Emmy could leave them to it while she hit the shower.
The other truck came to a stop near the front porch of the white two-story farmhouse. Emmy parked her own truck, paying little attention to the guest, who she was increasingly sure must be there to see her mother.
Until she got out of the truck.
The other driver had already disembarked and was standing beside his vehicle, facing Emmy, apparently waiting for her.
That was when she realized who her guest was.
Oh no, not him! Anybody but him!
Of all the people who had come to give condolences for her brother-in-law, Topher, in October, of all the people who had come to give condolences for Mandy during the last six weeks, of all the people who had come to visit or help since Emmy had taken over, of all the people in the whole wide world, not him.
Declan Madison.
He was her late brother-in-law’s best friend. The neighbor Topher had grown up with and considered a brother. The person Topher had gone to the naval academy with, who he’d served with in the marines. He was the person who had been with Topher when Topher died seven months ago, in an IED explosion in Afghanistan that also left Declan wounded.
And if it wasn’t bad enough that he was also tied to Emmy’s Afghanistan nightmare four and a half years ago, he’d rejected her in the worst way at Mandy and Topher’s wedding not long after that.
Emmy had dreaded the thought of seeing him again ever since.
But there he was.
She wanted to get back in the truck and drive as far away from him as she could get.
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