Home to Blue Stallion Ranch

by Stella Bagwell

  While he tried to ignore the taunting voice in his head, she said, “To be honest, I’ve not done any dating since my divorce. I’m not sure I’m ready to get back into that sort of thing.”

  That hardly sounded encouraging, Holt thought. But perhaps she meant dating in a serious way. If so, then the two of them would make a perfect couple. If there was one word in the dictionary that Holt tried his best to avoid in the presence of a woman, it was serious.

  “Why?” he asked. “Is your heart too broken to enjoy an evening out with a man?”

  She looked away from him and cleared her throat. “Do you think that’s any of your business?”

  She was his business. When and why he’d decided that, he didn’t know. He only knew that at some point between eating pastries with her earlier this morning and making the final deal for the mares a few minutes ago, he’d become slightly infatuated with her.

  “Probably not. But I’m a curious kind of guy. And I figured if I asked, you’d tell me.”

  She rolled her eyes and then her lips began to twitch as she fought off a smile. “Okay, since you asked, I’ll tell you. I’m not carrying a torch for Trevor. My choice to stay away from dating is more about keeping myself on course with more important things.”

  “And having a man in your life isn’t important?”

  “No. And I’m not sure it will ever be important again. Not unless some incredible superman comes along. And I can’t see that happening.”

  No. Holt couldn’t see that happening either. The only superman he’d ever known was his father and he’d died several years ago.

  “Sorry. Most of us guys do have faults,” he said. “But I’ll do my best to keep them to a minimum for one night. That is, if you’re willing to spend an evening with me.”

  She laughed and Holt was surprised at how relieved he was to hear the sound. Normally, he didn’t give a whit whether a woman turned him down. There was always another one waiting. But Isabelle was different.

  “All right. I’ll have dinner with you—sometime,” she told him.

  “Sometime? No. I’m talking about tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at six.”

  She placed the envelope filled with the horse papers into her handbag and pulled the strap onto her shoulder. “I might have something else to do tomorrow night.”

  He gave her a pointed grin. “Like feed the horses? You can let the hands do that.”

  She held up her hands. “These are the only hands I have.”

  “Oh. Then I’ll come early and help you.”

  “Persistent, aren’t you?”

  “When something is important to me.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, then turned and started out of the office. Holt followed after her.

  “Okay, I’ll be ready. At six.” At the door, she paused and looked back at him. “Goodbye, Holt. And thank you.”

  He clasped a hand around her elbow. “I’ll walk you to your truck.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “I wasn’t thinking it was a necessity. More like a pleasure.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I have to say, when your older brother promised me you’d be in a better humor today, he wasn’t kidding. What did he do? Give you some sort of nice pill this morning?”

  Holt laughed as he ushered her through the doorway. “Isabelle, I have a feeling we’re going to be more than just friends. We’re going to be great friends.”

  * * *

  The next morning Isabelle was out stretching barbed wire on a fence close to the barn when she heard the rattle of a livestock trailer.

  Unfastening the stretcher from the wire, she allowed the heavy tool to fall to the ground, then turned and, shading her eyes, watched as a truck and trailer barreled up the dirt road that led to her ranch yard.

  Was that Holt delivering her horses?

  The mere thought that the driver of the big black ton truck might be the sexy horse trainer was enough to cause her pulse to quicken, but as she began walking in the direction of the barn, she determinedly kept her stride at a normal pace. If Holt was behind the wheel, she hardly wanted him to think she was eager to see him.

  Still, she paused long enough to wipe her palms down the front of her jeans and smooth back the loose tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail. As for the long streak of grease on the front of her flannel shirt, there was nothing she could do about that.

  However, by the time Isabelle reached the barn area, she realized all her preening had been for nothing. Instead of Holt climbing out of the truck, she spotted a pair of Three River Ranch hands. One was burly with red hair while his tall, lanky partner appeared to be much younger.

  The older one of the pair was the first to introduce himself. “Hello, Ms. Townsend. I’m Pat,” he said, then jerked a thumb toward the man standing next to him. “And this is Cott. We do day work for Three Rivers Ranch. Holt sent us over with your mares.”

  Disappointment rippled through her. Which was a totally silly reaction, she thought. He’d only suggested he might deliver the horses himself, he hadn’t made it a promise. Still, it would’ve been kinda nice if he’d taken the time out of his busy morning to deliver the mares personally.

  “Nice to meet you, Pat and Cott. Thanks for bringing the mares. If you’ll follow me in the truck, I’ll open the gates for you.”

  A few minutes later, the horses were bucking and running around the wooden corral, sending a huge cloud of dust billowing into the air. The sight of their excited antics caused Isabelle to laugh out loud.

  “They’re feeling good, Ms. Townsend,” Pat said as he and Cott joined her outside the corral gate.

  “I’m very happy to get them,” she said, then politely offered, “Would you guys like something to drink? A cold bottle of water or lemonade? Sorry, but I don’t have any beer.”

  “Thanks, but we’re fine. We have water in the truck,” Pat told her. “If you’ll just show us where you want the feed unloaded, we’ll be on our way.”

  Isabelle stared at him. “Excuse me? Did you say feed?”

  Cott answered, “That’s right. Two tons of horse feed. It’s Three Rivers’ special mix. Or I guess I should say Holt’s special mix. He’s the one who originally concocted it.”

  She shook her head. “But I didn’t purchase any feed from the ranch. Only the mares.”

  “No matter, Ms. Townsend,” Cott replied. “Holt said to bring it to you and what he says goes.”

  Holt said. Holt said.

  Just what was he trying to say to Isabelle? That much high-quality feed would be worth hundreds of dollars. Was he trying to butter her up?

  She was being stupid. A man like him didn’t need to score points with her, or any woman. She figured this was more about being concerned for the mares. Abruptly changing a horse’s feed often caused serious health issues with their digestive track. Mixing the Three Rivers feed with hers would allow her to easily make the gradual change.

  Realizing the men were waiting on her response, she gestured toward the far end of the big barn. “Okay. My feed room is around at the back of the barn. Follow me and I’ll show you the way.”

  With the two men working in tandem, they had the stacks of fifty-pound sacks unloaded in no time. After Isabelle had thanked them and they’d driven away, she went straight to the house, where she’d left her cell phone on the kitchen counter.

  A quick glance at the face told her she had two new text messages. One from her mother, who lived in San Diego, the other from Holt.

  She punched Holt’s open first and read: Sorry I couldn’t make it with the mares. I’ll see you tonight at six.

  Tonight at six. The reminder caused her heart to thump hard in her chest.

  What was the matter with her? Only two days before, she’d wanted Holt Hollister to jump off the rim of the Grand Canyon. How had she g
one from that to agreeing to go on a date with the man? Sure, he’d been charming yesterday. But her failed marriage had left her emotionally drained. She had nothing to offer any man.

  Deciding Holt’s message didn’t require a response, she opened the one from her mother.

  I’ve managed to snag a showing at the Westside Gallery! Call me when you have a minute.

  As far as Isabelle knew, Gabby Townsend had never had a one-minute conversation in her entire life. Especially when she got on the phone with her one and only child. But Isabelle hadn’t talked with her mother in the past few days and now was just as good a time as later to call her.

  Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, Isabelle downed a hefty drink, then sat down at the kitchen table with her phone.

  “Issy, honey,” her mother answered. “Can you believe my work is going to be shown at the Westside Gallery?”

  The excitement in her mother’s voice caused Isabelle to smile. “I absolutely can believe it. Your artwork is fabulous, Mom. It deserves to be shown to the public.”

  “That’s what Carl said. Actually he was just as impressed with my charcoals as he was my oils, so both are going to be displayed. It’s incredible!” Pausing, she let out a breathless little laugh. “I guess you can tell I’m walking on air.”

  “Just a bit,” Isabelle said. “But you deserve to feel that way, Mom. Uh, who is this Carl? Do I know him?”

  “I don’t think so, dear. Carl Whitaker is the owner of the gallery. I met him a couple of weeks ago at the Green Garden Winery. Caprice has a few of my paintings on her walls there and Carl spotted them. You remember the Green Garden, don’t you? That’s where that suave Italian businessman tried to pick you up.”

  Isabelle remembered, all right. He’d been good-looking and wealthy to boot. But she’d been turned off by his constant boasting and sleazy looks.

  “You mean that snake wearing alligator shoes? I try to forget those kinds of encounters.”

  “If you’d cozied up to him, you might be relaxing in a Mediterranean villa about now,” Gabby suggested slyly.

  “I’d rather jump into quicksand with concrete blocks tied to my feet.”

  Gabby groaned, then said, “I don’t want you to get involved with a creep, but I do wish you’d take an interest in men again. It just isn’t right for you to be alone.”

  For some odd reason, her mother’s remark caused Holt’s rugged face to appear in front of her vision and she promptly tried to blink it away.

  “You’re alone, Mom.”

  “That’s different,” Gabby said. “I’m sixty-three. I’ve already done the marriage-baby thing. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

  Isabelle grimaced. “You’re not exactly over the hill, Mom. And I’ve already gone through the marriage thing, too. Remember?”

  Her mother’s short sigh was full of frustration. “Issy, your marriage—”

  After a long pause, Isabelle wanted to butt in and change the subject, but she’d learned long ago that trying to steer her mother was like trying to make a cat obey commands. The task was pretty much impossible.

  Finally, Gabby said, “Yours wasn’t a real marriage.”

  Bemused by that remark, Isabelle pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a brief second before she slapped it back to the side of her head. “Excuse me, Mom, but it was real to me.”

  “If it was so real, then why did you divorce?”

  Isabelle let out a long, weary breath. She’d not planned to get into this sort of conversation with her mother today. In fact, it had been ages since Gabby had brought up anything about Isabelle’s divorce.

  “Okay, Mom, let me rephrase that. It was real on my part. For Trevor, I was just an enjoyable companion.”

  “Oh, honey—well, at least you didn’t have a baby.”

  Isabelle pressed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Thanks, Mom. That reminder makes me feel great.”

  “Isabelle, you know what I mean. It’s terrible when a child is passed back and forth between parents—just because the parents can’t cohabitate. Just look at your own parents. Look what it did to you.”

  Isabelle’s parents had divorced while she’d been in middle school. And back then, she would’ve been lying if she said it hadn’t upended her life. She’d loved her father dearly and when he’d moved out of the house, she’d felt like he’d deserted her and her mother. She’d been too young to fully understand that her parents had divorced because they’d been two different souls, both wanting and needing different things in life.

  “It hurt for a while. But I think I turned out fairly normal.”

  Gabby said gently, “You’re better than normal. Especially with having a pair of hippies for parents.”

  Isabelle chuckled. “You and Dad aren’t hippies. You’re free spirits.”

  “Aww, that’s a sweet way of putting it, honey. Most of our friends would describe us as harebrained or worse.”

  “Who cares? As long as you’re both happy.”

  “I’m certainly happy. And I think your father is, too. The last I talked with him, he was in New Orleans playing nightly on Bourbon Street.”

  Her father, Nolan, was an accomplished pianist. Twenty years ago, he’d helped to form a small jazz band. Since then, the group had traveled all over the country playing small venues. He’d made a decent living at his profession, but like Gabby, his craft was really all he cared about. As long as he was making music, he was happy.

  “Hmm. A dream gig for him,” Isabelle replied. “I haven’t talked with him in a while. I’ll give him a call soon.”

  “He’d like that.”

  Once again, Holt’s image swaggered across her mind’s eye and the unexpected distraction caused her to pause long enough to cause her mother concern.

  “Issy, is something wrong? Have you quarreled with your father?”

  “No. Nothing is wrong. Actually, I was thinking about someone,” she admitted. “Believe it or not, I’m going on a date tonight.”

  Gabby reacted with a long stretch of silence.

  “Mom, are you still there? Or have you fallen over in a dead faint?”

  Gabby laughed softly. “I’m still conscious. Just a bit surprised.”

  Isabelle said, “I’m surprised at myself. I’m having dinner with the rancher that sold horses to me. It’s just sort of a thank-you date on both sides. Him for selling and me for buying.”

  “Oh. Sure, I see. It’s really a business dinner or...something like that.”

  Business? Isabelle could hardly look across the table at Holt and think business. In fact, she doubted she’d be able to think about much at all. But her mother didn’t need to know her daughter was looking at any man in such an intimate way.

  “I’m very happy for you, Mom. Maybe you’ll sell a few things and you can book that trip to Hawaii you’ve been wanting to take.”

  “I’m not really worried so much about selling right now. I’m just happy to have my work exhibited in such a notable gallery. The rest will take care of itself,” she said, then asked, “Will you be able to come down on the opening day? I’ll be there to meet and greet and the gallery is supplying refreshments.”

  “When is this happening?”

  “Two weeks from this coming Saturday. Don’t worry. I’ll remind you.”

  “I’ll try. But I can’t make any promises. It all depends if I can hire a couple of hands between now and then. Until someone is here to care for the horses, I can’t leave the ranch for more than a few hours at a time.”

  “Have you advertised for help?”

  “I don’t want to go that route. I’m afraid I’d have all sorts of creeps coming out here to the ranch. Before I hire anyone, I’m going to ask around and get some recommendations.”

  “I understand. Don’t worry about the showing. You have your
hands full right now. We’ll get together later on.”

  “I’d love that, Mom. Now, I’ve got to hang up and get back to my fence repairs.”

  Gabby let out a good-natured groan. “My beautiful little girl out building fence instead of making use of her college degree.”

  “I’m happier now than I’ve ever been.”

  “You’re just as much of a free spirit as your parents,” she said gently. “And that’s okay, too. Perhaps you can talk the rancher into helping you with the fence.”

  Holt Hollister stretching barbed wire? He was ranching royalty, a boss on one of the largest ranches in the state of Arizona. Isabelle seriously doubted he’d ever touched a posthole digger or a roll of wire.

  “I can’t talk that fast, Mom,” Isabelle said with a laugh.

  “Then add a little wink or two between words,” Gabby suggested.

  “Uh, if you knew what this guy looked like you wouldn’t be giving me that kind of advice.”

  “Why? Ugly as sin?”

  “No. Sinfully handsome.”

  “Oh,” she drawled in a suggestive tone. “I need to hear more about this man.”

  Isabelle chuckled. “Bye, Mom. I’ll call you soon.”

  “Isabelle—”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, honey.”

  Gabby ended the call and Isabelle put down the phone, but she didn’t immediately leave the chair. Instead, she sat there thinking about Holt and their date tonight. She’d only agreed to go out with him so she could bend his ear about the horse breeding business, she told herself. And for no other reason.

  Next time she talked to her mother, she’d explain the situation. For now it wouldn’t hurt to let Gabby believe her daughter was interested in finding a man to love.

  Chapter Four

  Holt couldn’t remember the last time he’d been anywhere near the old Landry Ranch. Not since the family had moved to Idaho several years ago and put the property on the market. Holt had practically forgotten all about the deserted ranch. Until Isabelle had shown up on Three Rivers and Blake had informed him that she’d purchased the place.