Home to Blue Stallion Ranch

by Stella Bagwell

  “I’m not hard to please,” she told him. “I would probably even eat whatever you cooked over the fire.”

  He chuckled. “Maybe I’ll practice up and put you to the test sometime.”

  * * *

  Holt had been right when he’d said the restaurant was unique. The gray stone structure resembled an English manor and was perched high on the edge of a mountain. Footlights were strategically placed on the grounds to illuminate the planked board entrance and a beautiful lawn that was canopied with tall pines and spruce.

  “This is like a forested fairyland, Holt. It’s... completely enchanting!”

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  He helped her out of the truck, then tossed the keys to a waiting valet. Then curving an arm against her back, he urged her toward the main entrance.

  Once inside, they were greeted by a young hostess. She promptly ushered them to a small, square table near a wall of plate glass.

  After they were seated and the hostess had disappeared, Isabelle looked around in fascination at the sea of linen-covered tables, tall beamed ceilings, and intricate tiled floor. As Holt had suggested, it was unique and very special.

  “Beyond the glass wall, there’s a balcony with tables. Usually in the winter, they keep a fire going in the firepit. It’s a nice place to have after-dinner coffee—if you’d like,” he suggested.

  “Sounds wonderful,” she agreed, then asked, “What do you usually eat when you come here?”

  “Steak.” Chuckling, he attempted to defend his mundane choice. “What can I say? I’m a rancher. But I do usually get ravioli or spaghetti with it. That gets me a bit out of the box, doesn’t it?”

  She laughed. “The spaghetti alone puts you way out of the box.”

  A young waiter arrived with menus and Holt ordered a bottle of sparkling red wine. While they sipped and waited for the first course of their meal to be served, Isabelle did her best to keep the conversation on the safest subject she could think of, which in their case was raising horses. But after a while, she found herself wanting to know more about Holt Hollister the man, rather than the successful horse breeder.

  Throughout the delicious dinner, she managed to tamp down the personal questions, but after they moved to a table on the balcony, her guard began to relax and before she knew it, she was encouraging him to talk about himself and his family.

  “So you got your love of horses from your father?” she asked, as they enjoyed cups of rich, dark coffee.

  Behind her, the crackling heat from the firepit warmed her back and cast an orange gold glow over Holt’s rugged features. Nearby, in a ballroom attached to the balcony, music had begun to play and the occasional sound of laughter drifted out to them. The atmosphere was decidedly romantic, Isabelle thought, but she was trying hard not to focus on that part of the evening.

  He nodded. “The first time Dad put me on a horse I was too small to walk. Mom said I screamed to the top of my lungs when the ride ended. Dad was a great horseman and I always wanted to be just like him.”

  “You must have achieved your goal. From what people around Wickenburg have told me, you’re a regular horse whisperer.”

  Smiling modestly, he shook his head. “I might be good with horses, but I’ll never be the man that Dad was.”

  She frowned. “You keep saying was. Isn’t your father still living?”

  For the first time since she’d met Holt, she saw an unmistakable look of sadness on his face.

  “Dad—his name was Joel—died over six years ago. An incident with a horse. He was found with his boot hung in the stirrup. He’d been dragged—for a long distance.”

  She gasped. “Oh, how tragic, Holt. To lose him that way—I mean, to have his death connected to a horse—something he dearly loved. Something you dearly love. It’s horrible.”

  He cleared his throat, then took a sip of coffee before he finally replied, “A horse didn’t kill Dad.”

  Totally confused by his remark, she stared at him. “What?”

  His gaze left her face and settled on the shadows beyond the balcony. “I shouldn’t have said that. We—don’t really know what happened to Dad. But we’re pretty damned sure the horse didn’t have anything to do with his death.”

  The tightness of his features told her there was much more to this story, more than he wanted to talk about. And it suddenly dawned on her that Holt Hollister might’ve been born into wealth, but his life hadn’t been without heartache.

  “Oh,” she said. “Then you’re thinking he must have had a heart attack or stroke or some sudden medical problem while he was out riding.”

  “That would be the logical deduction, but you’re wrong. The autopsy showed no sign of any medical issue. Dad was in great health.” He looked at her, his expression both bleak and frustrated. “At that time, the Yavapai County sheriff was a close friend of ours. He ruled Dad’s death as an accident. Only because he didn’t have enough evidence to prove otherwise. He passed away a few years ago from lung disease, or he would still be working on the case.”

  In spite of the fire behind her, she felt chilled. “Evidence? You mean—that someone—purposely harmed your father?”

  He nodded. “That’s what I’m saying. My brothers and I have been searching for answers all these years. We think we’re getting close to finding out what really happened, but we need a few more pieces to put the whole puzzle together.”

  “I’m so sorry, Holt. I didn’t realize your father was gone, much less that anything so—horrible had occurred. I’m sure it’s not something you want to talk about.”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things that hurt.”

  Yes, like having a husband who hadn’t loved her. Like desperately wanting children and not having any. Yes, she’d experienced things that hurt.

  “What happened with the horse your father was riding?”

  “Major Bob is still on the ranch,” he said fondly. “Still being used in the working remuda. That’s the way Dad would’ve wanted it. And once Major Bob grows old and dies, he’ll be buried on the ranch next to Dad. They were great buddies.”

  “Like me and Albert.” Tears suddenly filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly and reached for her coffee in an effort to hide them. “I’d like to see Major Bob and the rest of the remuda sometime. If that’s possible.” She gave him a wry smile. “I’m sure you’ve already come to the conclusion that I’m horse crazy. Or maybe just crazy in general.”

  “Not yet.” He grinned and gestured toward her cup. “If you’ve had enough of coffee, let’s walk over to the ballroom. It has a really nice dance floor.”

  Isabelle loved to dance. But she wasn’t at all sure about taking a spin around the dance floor in Holt’s arms. No. That wouldn’t be smart, at all.

  “I, uh, think I’d better pass on the dancing.”

  His eyes narrowed with speculation. “Why? Scared you might miss a step and crush my toes?”

  She purposely straightened her shoulders. “No. I’m not scared of missing a step. Anyway, I’m not heavy enough to crush your toes.”

  Laughing, he rose to his feet and reached for her hand. “Then I don’t have a thing to worry about. And neither do you.”

  Deciding it would look silly to protest too much, she allowed him to pull her to her feet and lead her across the balcony.

  As they entered the ballroom, the band began playing a slow ballad and Isabelle didn’t have time to ready herself. He quickly pulled her into his arms and guided her among the group of dancers circling the floor.

  Even if she’d had hours to brace herself, she wouldn’t have been prepared for the onslaught of sensations rushing through her. Having his strong arm against her back and her hand clasped tightly in his was enough to cause her breathing to go haywire. But to have the front of his rock-hard body pressed to hers was totally shattering her senses.r />
  “This is nice,” he said. “Very nice.”

  His voice wasn’t far from her ear and she knew if she turned her head slightly to the right, she’d be looking him square in the face. The thought of what that would do to her put a freeze on her neck muscles and kept her gaze fixed on a point of his shoulder.

  “I’ve not danced in a long time,” she admitted, hoping the sound of the music hid the husky tone of her voice. “I’m a little rusty.”

  He moved his hand ever so slightly against her back and she momentarily closed her eyes against the heat that was slowly and surely beginning to spread through her body.

  “It’s just like riding a horse,” he murmured. “You get in rhythm and the rest comes naturally.”

  The man was undoubtedly a master at the art of seduction and if she didn’t do something and fast, she was going to become his next victim.

  “I’m beginning to think I should have worn my boots and spurs,” she said.

  His fingers tightened around hers and she wondered why the touch of his hand felt so good against hers.

  “You know what I’m beginning to think?” he asked.

  “I won’t try to guess.”

  “You’re scared of me.”

  That was all it took to repair the paralysis in her neck and she turned her head until her gaze was locked with his.

  Lifting her chin to a challenging angle, she said, “I’m not scared of anyone.”

  The corners of his lips tilted ever so slightly. “You think that’s wise?”

  Nothing about being with this man was wise. But it was darned thrilling. And every woman needed to be thrilled once in a while, she decided.

  She said, “I’d rather be brave than wise. Besides, I’m beginning to think you might just be a little afraid of me.”

  Amused by her remark, he grinned and Isabelle forced her gaze to remain boldly locked onto his.

  “And why would I be afraid of you?” he asked.

  She could feel her heart beating way too fast and hard. But with Holt’s arms fastened around her, there was no way she could make her pulse settle back to a normal rhythm.

  “You might get to liking me so much you’ll decide to sell Blue Midnight to me,” she answered.

  Laughing, he pulled her even tighter against him. “Oh, Isabelle, this evening is turning out to be better than I could’ve ever imagined.”

  Her resistance a crumbling mess, Isabelle rested her cheek against his shoulder and promised herself that she had nothing to worry about. This was just one dance, Holt was just like any other man, and tomorrow when she was back to stretching barbed wire, this magical night would be nothing more than a pleasant memory.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning Holt was up early enough to make his rounds at the barn and get back to the house for breakfast, which Reeva normally served at five thirty.

  When he entered the dining room, the dishes of food were just starting to make their way around the long oak table. The scent of warm tortillas and chorizo made his stomach growl with hunger.

  Blake, who always sat at the end of the table next to their father’s empty chair, looked up as Holt sat down next to his sister-in-law Roslyn.

  “Good morning, Holt,” he said. “I thought you were probably sleeping in.”

  Evelyn, his baby niece, was sitting on her mother’s lap and Holt leaned over and kissed the top of her little head before he glanced down the table at Blake.

  Holt smirked at him. “You know I’ve never slept past six o’clock in my life. Even on my sick days.”

  Sitting on the opposite side of Roslyn, his brother Chandler let out an amused grunt. “What sick days? You’ve never so much as had a sore throat.”

  At that moment, Jazelle leaned over Holt’s shoulder to fill his cup with steaming hot coffee. He gave the maid a wink before he replied to his brother’s comment.

  “It’s all my clean living,” Holt told him. “Keeps me healthy and fit.”

  Everyone at the table let out good-natured groans.

  “Sure, Holt,” Chandler said. “If only we could all be as straitlaced as you, we’d live to be a hundred or more.”

  “Where’s Nick and the twins?” he directed the question to his sister-in-law Katherine while he filled his plate with eggs.

  “Upstairs,” she told him. “The twins are still asleep and Nick volunteered to watch them while his mom has breakfast with the rest of the family.”

  Holt nodded knowingly. “Nick is like me. Thoughtful.”

  Blake and Chandler groaned. Katherine said, “Nick is thoughtful. But he’s also wise. He wants to go to the res this weekend and ride horses with Hannah.”

  “See, the boy is like me,” Holt reiterated.

  Blake rolled his eyes, then asked, “So how did your date with our new little neighbor go last night?”

  Chandler glanced around the group at the table. “What new little neighbor?”

  “She bought the old Landry Ranch,” Blake explained. “And she’s just Holt’s type—young, beautiful, and single.”

  “What other type should I have?” Holt asked as he shook a heavy hand of black pepper over his food. “Homely and married?”

  Holt had directed the question at Blake, but Chandler was the one to answer.

  “I’m beginning to think you shouldn’t be looking at any type,” he said. “It’s damned annoying to have your jilted girlfriends come into the clinic wanting me to give you nasty messages.”

  “Sorry,” Holt told him. “The next time that happens just give her a worm pill and send her on her way.”

  “You’re a worm all right,” Blake retorted. “You worm right out of every relationship you’ve ever started.”

  Frowning, Holt picked up his coffee cup. Normally, he would simply laugh off his brothers’ remarks, but this morning he wasn’t feeling amused. True, after years of playing the field, he deserved a few negative comments from his family. But Blake and Chandler were already assuming that Isabelle would end up being just another jilted lover. They had no inkling that Isabelle was different. And that he had no intentions of treating her like a disposable toy.

  Really, Holt? Last night when you took her home, you were practically panting for her to ask you in for a nightcap. All you could think about was creating a chance to make love to her. And if she’d given you one, you wouldn’t have turned it down. So don’t be thinking Isabelle is any different. That you want to be a different man with her. You can’t change, Holt. You’re a cheater, a user. You’d never be able to exist as a one-woman man. So get over these soft feelings you’re having toward the woman.

  Hating the taunting voice in his head, Holt sipped his coffee and did his best to ignore it.

  “What is this?” he asked. “Be mean to Holt morning?”

  “I’m with Holt,” Roslyn said. “You two are being mean to your brother. Just because you both decided to become married men doesn’t mean that Holt wants to go down that same path. He has a right to date who and when he wants.”

  “Thank you, Ros,” Holt told her. “I’m glad someone around here is willing to stand up for me. And by the way, where is Mom? She’s never late to the breakfast table. Has she already eaten?”

  Katherine was the one to answer. “She gulped down a cup of coffee and a doughnut. She’s in a hurry to go to Phoenix this morning.”

  Holt exchanged a concerned look with Chandler. “Phoenix? Again?”

  Chandler gave him a clueless shrug, while Blake said, “She’s going to some sort of meeting for Arizona ranching women. Frankly, I think she just needs to get away for a few hours. And God knows she deserves some free time. We all know she works too hard.”

  A stretch of silence passed before Chandler said, “Maybe she’s going to see Uncle Gil, too.”

  Holt stabbed his fork into the mound of eggs on
his plate. For the past few months, everyone in the family had noticed a change in Maureen. At times she appeared preoccupied and even depressed. They all understood that she missed their late father. But this was something different. It was almost like she was hiding something from the family.

  “Yeah. I’d make a bet she meets with Gil,” Holt said flatly.

  Gil was Joel’s younger brother. He’d worked on the Phoenix police force for more than thirty years and had never married. Everyone in the family had been expecting the man to soon retire, but so far he’d made no sign of giving up his career as a detective.

  Holt could feel Blake’s skeptical gaze boring into him.

  “And what’s wrong with her seeing Uncle Gil?” Blake asked. “They’ve always been close.”

  “Nothing is wrong.” Holt wished he hadn’t said anything. Now everyone was looking at him as though he some sort of inside information. Which he didn’t.

  The group around the table suddenly went silent. Except for little Evelyn. The baby began to fuss and reach her arms out for Holt to take her.

  Happy for the diversion, Holt gathered the girl from Roslyn and with his arm safely around her waist, stood her on his thigh. She immediately began to laugh and tug on his ear. He tickled her belly and as she giggled with delight, Isabelle drifted through his thoughts.

  I’ve always wanted children.

  Her revelation hadn’t surprised Holt. At some point in their lives, most women did want to become mothers. And yet, hearing her voice her wishes had been a reminder that she was off-limits to him. That sometime soon, he’d have to step aside and allow her to find a man who’d give her children. A man who could give her that real love she’d talked about.

  For some inexplicable reason, the idea saddened him, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to dwell on the situation. Isabelle was sweet and lovely and a joy to be around. It wouldn’t hurt anything to date her a few more times before he told her goodbye. And by then, he was certain he’d be ready to move on to the next pretty face.