Home to Blue Stallion Ranch

by Stella Bagwell

  “Ouch! If that’s how you think of me, then why did you invite me here tonight?”

  That was a good question, Isabelle thought. Just why exactly was she spending time with Holt when she knew there was no future in it?

  “You invited yourself, remember? And I agreed to it.”

  “Because?”

  The smile she gave him came from deep inside her. “I like you, Holt. And I like your company. And I’m not expecting anything more from you than friendship. That’s why I agreed to see you again.”

  He studied her face for long moments and Isabelle was struck by the look in his eyes. It was almost like she was seeing hurt or disappointment, yet that couldn’t be right, she thought. Holt was a guy who was just out for a good time. He wasn’t wanting anything from her, unless it was sex. And so far, he’d not given her any sign that he wanted even that.

  “Hmm. That’s fair enough. And being your friend would be special for me. I’ve never had a female friend before.”

  No, she thought dismally, he most likely considered them lovers rather than friends. “You have Reeva,” she told him.

  “She’s like a second mom.”

  “What about Jazelle? The blond woman who brought the pastries to your office?”

  He nodded. “Jazelle is like family, too. She’s been with us for a long time.”

  “Really? She looks very young.”

  He ate a few bites of the casserole before he commented. “She is. But she came to work for us when she was only in her teens, so we’ve all known her for a long time. She’s a single mother of a little boy. He’s probably four or five now. Sometimes she brings him out to the ranch, but mostly her mother watches him while Jazelle works.”

  A single mother. Isabelle hadn’t ended up being one of those, but sometimes she wished Trevor had given her a child. Even though he hadn’t loved her, a child would’ve been something more than his money could buy. With a child, she wouldn’t be so alone now. She’d have a real purpose and reason to build her ranch. And most of all, she’d have someone to give her love to. But he’d kept putting her desire to have a baby on the something-to-do-later list, like many years later.

  Shoving those miserable thoughts aside, she asked, “What about your siblings? Do they have children?”

  He laughed. “Lots of them. Blake and Kat have a son, Nick. He’s getting close to thirteen. And then they have twin toddlers, Abagail and Andrew. Chandler and his wife, Roslyn, have a baby girl, Evelyn. Viv has a fourteen-year-old daughter, Hannah, and she recently learned the baby she’s carrying is actually twins. Joseph, my youngest brother, has a three-year-old boy, Little Joe, and they’re expecting again, too.”

  “Sounds like the Hollister family is growing fast. So you’re the only one who isn’t married with children?”

  “No. My baby sister, Camille, is still single. She lives at our other ranch, Red Bluff. And before you ask,” he added with a little laugh, “none of the horses down there are for sale.”

  She laughed with him. “Well, it never hurts to try.”

  * * *

  When Holt finally pushed his plate to one side, the casserole dish was nearly empty and the corn chips were little more than a pile of crumbs in the bottom of the basket.

  “You were telling a fib when you said you couldn’t cook, Isabelle. That was delicious.”

  “Thanks, I’m glad you liked it.” She stood and began to gather dishes. “Don’t forget we have Reeva’s pie for dessert. I’ll carry these things to the kitchen and get some coffee going.”

  “I’ll help you.” Rising from the chair, he collected his dirty plate and silverware and followed her out of the dining room.

  “Actually, there’s something other than the dishes that you could help me with,” she said. “Do you know how to build a fire?”

  His gaze instinctively dropped to the sway of her shapely little butt. “What kind of fire are you talking about?”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she pulled a playful face at him. “I’m not asking you to be an arsonist, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m talking about the fireplace.”

  He’d forgotten she even had a fireplace. His mind was too preoccupied with the bedroom. Damn it! He must be developing some sort of personality disorder. What else would explain his uncharacteristic behavior? Where women were concerned, he’d always had one objective. Until the morning Isabelle sat in his office looking like a breath of spring. From that day on, something had tilted in his head. Now he wanted Isabelle more than any woman he’d ever known, but he was hesitant to even allow himself to touch her. What the heck was he doing here anyway?

  Seeing that she’d paused to look at him, he mentally shook himself and tried to sound normal. “The fireplace,” he repeated inanely. “Sure, I’m great at building fires.”

  The faint curve of her lips told Holt she’d also been thinking about another kind of fire. The notion not only surprised him, it rattled him right down to his boots. Making love to Isabelle might prove to be fatal to his common sense. That was something he needed to remember.

  “I thought you would be.”

  Holt kept his mouth shut as he followed her into the kitchen and, after depositing the dishes in the sink, he went to deal with the fire.

  In the living room, he found wood and kindling stacked on the left side of the fireplace and matches lying near a poker stand. In a few short minutes, he was standing with his back to the flames, soaking up the heat while he waited for Isabelle to appear.

  When she finally entered the room, carrying a tray with the pie and coffee, she glanced appreciatively at the blazing fire.

  “That’s nice, Holt.” She walked over and placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch. “I can feel the heat all the way over here.”

  So could he, Holt thought, and it had nothing to do with the burning mesquite logs.

  “Come on over,” she invited as she took a seat on the long green couch.

  Holt left the fireplace to join her and took a seat more than two feet away from her, all the while his brothers’ mocking laughter sounded in his ears. If they could see him now, they’d never believe it, he thought wryly.

  “Help yourself, Holt,” she said. “I brought the whole pie so that you could cut the size you want.”

  “I’ll do yours first,” he told her.

  After he handed her a dish of the pie and cut a hefty portion for himself, she said, “If you like, I can turn on the TV. I have satellite so the reception is good and there’s plenty of channels to choose from.”

  “I don’t necessarily need it, unless you’d like to watch.” He settled back with the desert and tried to forget that the two of them were alone. That fire was warm and she’d be even warmer in his arms.

  “It must be a horse trainer thing,” she commented between bites of pie. “I don’t watch either. After a day in the saddle, I don’t have the time or desire to watch.”

  “Once I grew past cartoon age, I forgot all about TV.”

  She slanted an amused glance at him and he chuckled.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You can’t imagine me watching Looney Tunes?”

  “I can see you rooting for that nasty coyote,” she teased. “He’s just your type. Fast and wily.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, I can’t see you as the little helpless heroine tied to the railroad track yelling for help,” he replied, then arched a questioning brow in her direction. “Do you ever yell for help?”

  “Things have to get pretty desperate before I yell,” she admitted. “But we all need a helping hand sometimes. And being too proud to accept it is really stupid.”

  And she was far from stupid, Holt thought. In fact, he’d never dated any woman who was ambitious and hardworking enough to build a ranch on her own. Was that why he was feeling so different about Isabelle? Because he admired and resp
ected all those things about her? He wished he knew the answers. Maybe then he wouldn’t be feeling like he’d lost all control of his faculties.

  “I’m glad you accepted Ollie’s and Sol’s help,” he said. “I won’t be worrying about you so much.”

  She frowned and reached for her coffee. “Worrying about me? You shouldn’t be doing that.”

  She was right. He had no right or reason to be fretting about her well-being. But something about Isabelle brought out the protector in him.

  “Anything could happen to you out here. If a horse bucked you off and the fall broke your leg—” He paused and shook his head. “Well, it’s just better that the men are here with you.”

  A gentle smile crossed her face and Holt noticed that even with her lipstick gone, her lips were still a soft pink. The color reminded him of cotton candy and he figured she’d taste just as sweet as the delicate treat.

  “I’m glad the men are here, too,” she said. “I like their company. I’m learning Ollie is the more talkative of the two and can be very funny at times. Sol is more solemn and serious, but just as nice.”

  She leaned forward to place her cup on the coffee table and Holt watched her silky hair slide forward to drape against her cheek. He didn’t have to be told the color was natural. The texture was too smooth and the shades too varied to be anything but what she’d been born with. Which made the pale color even more amazing.

  He was fighting the urge to reach out and touch the strands when she suddenly took away the opportunity by straightening from the coffee table and settling back in her seat.

  A pent-up breath rushed out of him and he quickly decided he needed to leave before he lost control and allowed himself to do something that might ruin their relationship.

  Relationship, hell! What are you thinking, Holt? You don’t have any kind of connection to this woman! And even if you did, what good would it do? The Holt Hollister you once were is gone. He’s turned into some sort of mushy cream puff. Since when did you ever worry about pulling a woman into your arms and kissing her?

  Since he’d met Isabelle, that’s when, he silently shouted back at the cynical voice revolving around in his head.

  Suddenly feeling trapped, he started to rise and cross to the fireplace. At the same time she chose that moment to shift around on the couch so that she was facing him and Holt stayed where he was.

  She asked, “Have you ever had any serious horse injuries?”

  Grateful for the momentary distraction, he scooped up the last of his pie and placed the small dessert plate onto the coffee table.

  “If I start listing all my injuries, you’re going to think I’d be lucky to ride a tricycle.”

  She laughed. “Not hardly. I’ve taken plenty of spills and bites and kicks. It just goes with the job.”

  He nodded. “I’ve had black eyes and a lost tooth. A broken ankle that required surgery to repair. A cracked wrist and ribs. Oh, yeah, and a dislocated shoulder. I’ve had a few concussions, too. Which my siblings say I’ve never fully recovered from.”

  “That’s mean of them.”

  “They like to tease me.”

  Her gaze dropped away from his. “I do, too,” she murmured. “I like how you’re such a good sport about it.”

  His mocking conscience had been wrong, Holt thought ruefully. He wasn’t even a cream puff anymore. She’d just turned him into a melted marshmallow.

  “Is that all you like—about me?” he asked.

  She looked up at him and Holt was fascinated with the way the corners of her lips tilted upward.

  “I like that you laugh about certain things instead of whine and complain.”

  There she went again, touching a spot in him that he’d thought was long dead. “Dad always taught his sons that real men don’t whine, they fix.”

  “Sounds like your father was a wise and fair man,” she said.

  “He was all that and more. It’s no wonder that Mom—” He broke off, surprised that he’d been about to share more personal details about his family with her. He didn’t do that with other women. Why did it just automatically seem to come out when he was with Isabelle? “Right now she’s going through a rough patch emotionally.”

  “We all go through those.” Her gaze slid earnestly over his face. “Are you worried about her?”

  She wasn’t just mouthing a question. She really cared, he thought. The idea pierced something deep inside his chest.

  “No,” he said, then shrugged. “Well, perhaps a little. But she’s a trouper. Eventually she’ll get smoothed out. I’m sure of that.”

  She nodded and Holt told himself it was beyond time for him to go home. Even if the evening was still early, he was asking for trouble to keep staying.

  He was about to push himself up from the couch and announce he was leaving, but then he heard her sigh. The sound prompted him to look at her and all at once his intentions of fleeing were forgotten.

  “The fire is so lovely,” she murmured. “It’s especially nice when it’s quiet like this and you can hear the logs crackling.”

  What he found lovely was the way the glow of the flames was turning her smooth skin to a pale gold and lit her blue eyes with soft yellow lights.

  “Do you ever get lonely here, Isabelle?”

  Her head turned toward his and his heart skipped a beat as he watched her lips slowly spread into a smile.

  “I’m not lonely now. You’re here,” she said simply.

  Something in him snapped and before he could stop himself, he was sliding over to her and wrapping his hands over the tops of shoulders.

  “Isabelle, I—” He paused unsure of what he wanted or needed to say.

  When he failed to go on, she shook her head. “I thought you didn’t want me—like this. Do you?”

  The doubt in her voice was so opposite of the yearning inside him that he groaned with frustration. “You can’t imagine how much I want you, Isabelle. How much I want to do this.”

  He didn’t give her, or himself, time to think about anything. He lowered his head until their foreheads were touching and his lips were lightly brushing against hers. She tasted soft and sweet and as tantalizing as a hot drink on a frigid night.

  “I’ve thought too much about you,” she whispered. “About how much I wanted this to happen.”

  Her last words tore away the safety he’d tried to erect between them and the next thing he knew, his lips were moving over hers like a thirsty man who’d finally found an oasis.

  This wasn’t a kiss, he thought. It was a wild collision. A wreck of his senses.

  After a few seconds, he recognized he was in deep trouble. He needed to put on the brakes and lever some space between them before he lost all control. But how was he supposed to stop something that felt so incredibly good? Why would he ever want to end this delicious connection? He’d never felt so thrilled, or had so many emotions humming through his veins.

  Her arms slipped around his neck and then the front of her body was pressing tightly against his. Desire exploded in his head and shot a burning arrow straight to his loins.

  The assault on his senses very nearly paralyzed him and even though he was silently shouting at himself to pull back, he did just the opposite and deepened the kiss.

  It wasn’t until she broke the contact of their lips and began to press tiny kisses along his jaw that a scrap of sanity hit his brain.

  “Isabelle, this isn’t good,” he whispered, then groaned. “I mean—it is good—so good, but not the, uh, right thing for us.”

  That was enough to snap her head back and she stared at him in dazed wonder. “Oh. I thought... I don’t understand, Holt.”

  “Neither do I,” he said gruffly, then quickly jumped to his feet before he had the chance to change his mind and pull her back into his arms. “I really like you, Isabelle. I like you too much for thi
s. So I—have to leave. Now.”

  He turned and hurried out to the kitchen to collect his hat from the end of the cabinet. By the time he’d skewered it onto his head and reached the back door, Isabelle had caught up to him.

  “You’re leaving now?”

  The confusion in her voice intensified his determination to keep a space of sanity between them.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, Isabelle. But I—don’t want to ruin things with us.”

  She marched over to where he stood with his hand already clutching the doorknob.

  “Ruin things? How do you mean? You kissed me and realized you didn’t like it? Well, all you have to do is tell me so, Holt. You don’t have to hightail it out of here to avoid being tortured again!”

  Tortured? Yes, that was the perfect word for it, Holt thought. But not in the way she’d meant.

  Spurred by her ridiculous remark, he snatched a hold on her upper arm and tugged her forward. She stumbled awkwardly against him and Holt was quick to take advantage by once again latching his lips over hers.

  This time the kiss was just as deep, but he managed to end it before it turned into something neither of them was ready for.

  “Good night, Isabelle. And thanks for the dinner.”

  She didn’t reply. Or if she did, Holt didn’t stay around to hear it. He left the house and hurried to his truck before he lost the last shred of decency he possessed. Before she had a chance to see the real Holt Hollister. The one who gobbled up sweet little things like her and moved on to the next one.

  Chapter Seven

  Two days later, Holt entered Blake’s office, located at the north end of the main cattle barn. A few years ago, his older brother had worked out of the study where their father had always dealt with all the ranch’s official business. But as Three Rivers had continued to grow, Blake and the rest of the family had agreed it would be best to have the flow of ranch clients away from the house.

  With Holt’s office still a cubbyhole that had once been a tack room, he often teased his older brother about having the fancy digs to work in, while he had to deal with barn dust and pack rats. But in truth, Blake deserved the comfortable office, along with a devoted secretary, who helped him carry the heavy load of managing Three Rivers Ranch.