Located about eighteen miles north of Three Rivers by way of a ten-mile stretch of narrow asphalt, plus eight more miles of rough, graveled road, the land butted up to only a half-mile section of Three Rivers’ land. But that was enough for the Hollisters to consider the owner a neighbor.
Before he’d left home this evening, Holt had been about to step out the door when Blake had caught up to him. Seeing his brother had been curious as to where he was going on a weeknight, Holt had explained he was having dinner with Isabelle. In response, Blake had barely lifted an eyebrow.
I didn’t figure you’d waste any time trying to get her into your bed, he’d said.
Ordinarily, Blake’s coarse comment would’ve elicited a laugh from Holt. But Holt hadn’t laughed. In fact, he’d felt strangely annoyed at his brother. Blake didn’t really know Isabelle and to imply she was an easy girl had hardly been fair. But Holt figured his brother’s remark had been more directed at him than at Isabelle.
The road he was traveling climbed a hill covered with agave and century plants, then curved abruptly to the right through spires of rock formation. After another curve in the opposite direction, the landscape opened up and far to his left he could see the house and the nearby cluster of barns and work sheds.
Holt remembered the ranch being in a beautiful area of Yavapai County, but until this moment he’d never really thought about how isolated the property was from neighbors or town. The idea of a tiny thing like Isabelle living out here alone left him uneasy. But then, she wasn’t his responsibility. And how she chose to live was nobody’s business but her own.
He’d barely had time to stop the truck in front of the hacienda-style house when he spotted Isabelle emerging from the front door. The sight of her jolted him and for a moment after he’d killed the motor, he sat there watching her walk to the edge of the porch.
She was wearing a black sweater dress that stopped just above her knees. The fabric clung to the curves of her body, while black dress boots outlined her shapely calves. Her blond hair was brushed to one side and waved against the side of her face. She looked sexy as hell and he wondered how he was supposed to eat a bite of food with that sort of temptation sitting across from him.
Collecting the flat box from the passenger seat, he left the truck and walked to the porch where she waited for him.
“Hello, Holt,” she greeted. “I see you found the place.”
The smile on her face was like sunshine on a spring day and it sent his spirit soaring.
“It wasn’t hard. I’ve been here a few times. Back when the Landrys still lived here.” He offered the box to her. “Here’s a little something for you.”
She took the fancy chocolates. “Thank you, Holt. This should keep up my energy.”
He grinned. “I figured with all those extra horses you bought from me, you’d need it.”
She gestured to the door behind her. “Would you like to come in and have a drink before we go?”
“That would be nice. We have plenty of time to make our dinner reservations.”
She tossed him a wary glance before moving toward the front door. “You made reservations?”
“That’s what I normally do when I go out to eat. Don’t you?” he asked, as he followed her over the threshold and down a short, wide foyer decorated with potted succulents and a wooden parson’s bench.
“No. I normally go to a fast-food joint. Or a café where you simply walk in and sit wherever you’d like.”
They entered a long living area and Isabelle walked over and placed the box of chocolates on a dark oak coffee table.
“Well, I do that sort of thing with my buddies or my brothers,” he admitted, then grinned at her. “If I took you out for a hot dog, you might think I was cheap.”
She walked back over to where he stood and Holt was once again staggered by the incredible smoothness of her skin, the vivid blue of her eyes. He’d heard the term breathtaking used many a time, but he’d never experienced it until he laid his eyes on Isabelle.
“As long as there’s good conversation to go with the hot dog, I’d be happy.”
Was she really that easy to please? She didn’t look like a simple woman, he thought. But then, she didn’t look like a hardworking horsewoman either. “I’ll try to remember that.”
An impish little smile played around her lips as she gestured to a long, moss green couch.
“Have a seat,” she invited, “and I’ll get the drinks. What would you like? Something alcoholic or a soft drink?”
Deciding he’d be able to breathe a bit better if he put some distance between them, he walked over and took a seat on the end of the couch, then crossed his boots out in front of him. “I’d really like a bourbon and Coke, but since I’m driving, a soft drink will do.”
“I’ll be right back,” she told him.
She disappeared through an arched doorway and Holt glanced curiously around the long living room. He decided there was nothing frilly or overly feminine in Isabelle’s taste. The furniture was solid and comfortable and all done in rich earth tones of greens and browns and yellows. Braided rugs added a splash of color to the dark hardwood floors. A TV filled one corner, while a tall bookshelf filled another, and though he was only guessing, Holt figured Isabelle reached for a book far more than she reached for the TV remote.
At the front of the room, a large picture window looked out at a distant cluster of hills dotted with cacti and rock formations. Since there were no curtains or blinds, Holt figured she either appreciated the view or enjoyed the sunshine streaming into the room or both.
The click of her high-heeled boots announced her return and he looked around to see her approaching with a glass of iced cola in each hand.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the glass she offered.
“Would you like a chocolate to go with your soda?”
“No, thanks. I don’t want to ruin my appetite.”
She took a seat on the opposite end of the couch and carefully adjusted the hem of her dress toward her knees. The action drew Holt’s attention to the shape of her legs and he found himself imagining what her thighs would feel like wrapped around his hips. Even though she was small, he had the feeling she’d be a strong lover. One that would look him boldly in the eye and dare him to thrill her.
“I’m glad I got this chance to talk with you before we left for dinner,” she said.
Her voice jerked him out of the erotic daydreams and as he looked at her, he hoped to heck she couldn’t read his mind.
“Pardon me, but what can we talk about here that we can’t talk about later?”
“The feed you sent over with the mares. I need to pay you for it.”
“The grain was a bonus that went with the mares. I won’t accept pay for the feed.”
She grimaced and looked away from him. “That makes me feel...very uncomfortable.”
“Why? I’ve thrown in extras on other horse deals.” Which was true, he thought. But he’d never given anyone else as much as he’d given her. The feed was something they mixed for their own use on Three Rivers. It wasn’t sold or given to anyone. Until Holt had broken the rules this morning and sent her two tons of it. But she didn’t need to know any of that. Nor did she need to know Blake had been a bit peeved at Holt’s unusual generosity.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. “It was meant to help you and the mares.”
She leveled him with a pointed look. “And that’s all?”
“What else?” he asked.
Through narrowed eyes, he watched her nervously lick her lips.
“Nothing, I suppose.” She shrugged and glanced down at her drink. “I just don’t like feeling beholden to anyone.”
So she didn’t want to owe him anything. Holt could understand her feelings. What he couldn’t understand was how this woman affected him, how much he’d like for
her to depend on him for advice and help and whatever else she needed. Which made no sense at all.
“That wasn’t my intention,” he said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I care deeply about my horses and even after they no longer belong to me, I want to know they’re well taken care of. The feed was to help them make the transition from Three Rivers to here. It wasn’t some sort of bribe for romantic favors. If that’s what you were thinking.”
The compression of her lips coupled with the bright pink color on her cheeks told Holt she was more than embarrassed; she was also annoyed.
“That wasn’t what I was implying—well, not exactly,” she said stiffly. “Anyway, I honestly doubt you need to play such silly games with the women you date.”
Silly games? His sister Vivian had often accused him of playing women for fools. But that wasn’t true. He never tried to manipulate a woman’s feelings. That would be like trying to ride a horse without a bridle. It wasn’t an impossible task, but it would take way more patience and time than he had.
He shook his head. “It’s obvious you’ve already heard gossip about me. That I’m a playboy or worse.”
The color on her face turned a deeper shade. “Believe me, Holt, whether you’re a playboy or not means little to me. What you do with your private life is your business. You and I are just having dinner. That’s all.”
Just dinner. That’s all he wanted, too, Holt thought. Having anything more to do with this woman would be inviting trouble. The kind he didn’t need.
In spite of feeling oddly deflated, he smiled at her. “I’m glad we got all of that behind us. So if you’re ready, I think we should be leaving. The drive to the restaurant takes a while.”
Appearing relieved by his suggestion, she rose to her feet. “Certainly. Just let me get my bag and coat.”
While she gathered her things from a nearby chair, Holt placed his empty glass on the coffee table and left the couch to join her. As he helped her slip into the coat, he was stuck by her flowery scent and small, vulnerable size. He could swing her into his arms without any effort at all. And with the silence of the house surrounding them, he could easily imagine himself carrying her to bed.
Dinner is what this evening is about, Holt. Remember? Not sex or drama or stifling strings or a broken heart.
And why the heck should his heart get involved if he took this woman to bed? He practically yelled the retort back at the negative voice going off in his head. He was thirty-three years old and he’d never made the mistake of falling in love. It wasn’t going to happen to him. Not now. Not ever. He had nothing to worry about.
* * *
As Holt drove the two of them away from the ranch, Isabelle studied him from the corner of her eye. She couldn’t deny he looked incredibly handsome tonight in a white shirt and dark Western-cut slacks. A bolo tie with a slide fashioned of onyx and silver was pushed almost to the top button, which had been left open. The black cowboy hat settled low on his forehead was made of incredibly smooth felt, the sort that cost a fortune. But the price of the hat was probably only a fraction of what he’d paid for the fish-skin boots.
The fact that Holt Hollister was rich should have been a total turnoff. Once her divorce to Trevor had become final, she’d made a silent vow to never waste her time or emotions on a rich man. From her experience, a man with stacks of money was rarely the homey sort.
He glanced in her direction. “Pat and Cott tell me you’re looking to hire some day workers.”
While the two men had been unloading the feed, she’d mentioned she needed to find a couple of dependable ranch hands. Apparently they’d relayed the information to Holt.
“That’s right. I need help with the heavier chores. Right now I’m repairing fence and it’s a rather hard job to do with only one pair of hands.”
He shook his head. “Building fence without help is asking for trouble.”
“The way I see it, working with a pair of creeps trying to take advantage of me is more dangerous than building fence alone.”
“Hmm. You do have a point there.”
She looked out at the passing landscape. “Trevor left me pretty well set financially. But not well enough for me to pay two hefty salaries every month. I can’t manage that until the ranch starts making a profit. Which won’t be for a long time yet. Right now I’d be happy to find a pair of trustworthy wranglers willing to work a few hours a day.”
“My family and I have plenty of connections. Maybe we can help you with that.”
“I’d appreciate your help, Holt.”
He glanced at her and grinned, and Isabelle thought how different he seemed now from that first day she’d walked up to him in the horse barn. He’d been cold and abrupt and anything but charming. The guy sitting next to her tonight had to be the one that Emily-Ann had called dreamy.
He asked, “Have you always been so adventurous?”
“What do you mean?”
“Other than my mother, I can’t think of one woman who’d be brave enough or ambitious enough to take on the huge task of starting a horse ranch. The idea of living alone in an isolated area would be enough to put most women off.”
She didn’t know whether he was giving her a compliment or questioning her wisdom. But then, it didn’t really matter what this man thought of her. Did it?
“I’ve never been the timid sort. My parents always taught me to follow my dreams, no matter how big or daunting.”
“What do your parents think about this new endeavor of yours?”
“They’re very supportive. Honestly, the idea of me failing at anything never crosses my father’s mind. He, uh, sort of lives in his own little world. He’s a musician, you see, and has played piano in a jazz band for more than twenty years. My mother believes in me, too. Except that sometimes she worries about me. She’s a very open-minded person, but she has this old-fashioned notion that I’d be happier with a man in my life. Thankfully she’d doesn’t pester me too much about it, though. With her being single herself, there’s not much she can say.”
He glanced curiously at her. “Your parents aren’t together?”
“No. Not since I was a small girl. But they’re still good friends.”
“Hmm. Must be something that runs in your family.”
“Divorce, you mean?”
“No. Being divorced friends. Like you and—what’s his name?”
“Oh, like me and Trevor.” She shrugged. “I guess in that way I’m like my parents. Except that they had a child together. Trevor and I didn’t. Which is a blessing—that’s what Gabby thinks.”
“Gabby?”
“That’s my mother’s name. Her real name is Gabrielle, but no one ever calls her that.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “So Gabby is relieved you didn’t have a child with this Trevor guy. Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Relieved that you don’t share a child with your ex.”
He was getting too personal, but then she’d practically asked for it with all this chattering she’d been doing. Darn it, she’d been talking way too much. Because she was nervous, she silently reasoned with herself. Not because she found this man easy to talk to.
Shifting around in the seat, she tugged the hem of her dress closer to her knees. “Relieved is the wrong word, Holt. Sad is closer to it. I promised myself that whenever I had a child it would be with a man who loved me. Trevor didn’t fall into that category.”
A frown puckered his forehead. “You can tell me to mind my own business, but why did you marry him if you believed he didn’t love you?”
He couldn’t begin to know how many times she’d called herself a fool, or how often she’d questioned her hasty decision to marry. “We had a whirlwind courtship and when Trevor whisked me off to a wedding chapel in Las Vegas, it was all so romantic. It felt like love. Later on I learned differently.”
/>
“I see.”
How could he see? He’d never been married. And from the vibes she’d been getting from him, she seriously doubted he’d ever been in love.
“You do?” she asked quietly.
“Sure. Your ex mostly wanted a pretty woman on his arm and in his bed. Now you want a real husband and children. But you aren’t interested in dating. How’s that going to work out?”
Her short laugh was a cynical sound. “I’m only twenty-eight. I have a few years before my childbearing days are over.”
His only reaction to her answer was the slight arch of one brow, and Isabelle figured he was probably thinking she was impulsive and silly and not the sort of woman he’d ever want to get involved with. Well, that was good, she told herself. Because he was the sort of man who would never fit into her future plans.
* * *
Twenty miles and just as many minutes later, darkness had settled across the desert landscape and Holt turned off the main highway and onto a narrow asphalt road. As the truck began to climb into a forested mountain, Isabelle grew increasingly curious.
“Excuse me, Holt, but are you sure we’re going to dinner? This looks more like we’re on the road to a hunting cabin. I’m getting the feeling that our food is hanging from a hook and you’re going to cook it over an open fire.”
He laughed. “What little I can cook, you wouldn’t want to eat. Trust me. We’re going to have a regular sit-down dinner with glass plates and silverware. No throwaway plastic.”
“Do you always go this far out of town to eat? Or are you just driving this far to avoid being seen with me in Wickenburg?”
He laughed again and the sexy sound slid down her backbone like the warm tip of a finger.
“Now, why wouldn’t I want to be seen with you?”
“You might have lady friends there who wouldn’t appreciate seeing you with me,” she said shrewdly.
“That would be their problem, not mine,” he said, then added, “Actually, I’m driving this far because the place is unique and I thought you might enjoy it. Plus the food is delicious. Their specialty is Italian, but they have American dishes on the menu, too.”
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