Home to Blue Stallion Ranch

by Stella Bagwell

  “When Joe got back to the Bar X, he found Tessa in one of her cleaning moods and asked him to carry some boxes down from the attic. She’s slowly been trying to sift through all the things that Ray had stored up there before he died.”

  “So what happened?”

  Chandler clapped his hat back on his head. “The two of them were digging through some old papers and correspondence and happened to run into a notebook filled with logs about Dad’s case.”

  Holt’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? This sounds too far out to be real, Chandler.”

  “I can assure you it is real. Joe brought the notebook over and showed it to me and Blake.”

  “Hell, I leave the house for three hours and all of this happens,” Holt muttered. “So what did it say? We’ve been hoping and praying for a break in uncovering the truth. Is there anything in there that’s going to help?”

  Chandler shook his head again. “We don’t know. Maybe. One thing is for sure, if the evidence gets out, it’s going to cause a hell of a storm.”

  Stunned, Holt stared at him. As sheriff of Yavapai County, Ray Maddox had ruled, for lack of evidence, Joel’s death an accident. But their old friend had never actually quit investigating the incident.

  “Evidence? I thought we had everything Ray had gathered.”

  “I shouldn’t have called it evidence. It’s not that exactly,” Chandler told him. “It’s more like a break that might lead to solving the case. Ray kept some things to himself.”

  “Why would he do such a thing? Ray and Dad were like brothers. He wanted to expose the truth about Dad’s death just as much as we do.”

  Chandler heaved out a long breath. “We suppose he hid the info because he couldn’t connect it with anything. And given the nature of it, he probably figured it would cause more harm than good. But damn it, he should have told us. Mom didn’t have to know then. And she sure as hell isn’t going to know now. Not unless we put two and two together and come up with a feasible explanation.”

  “I’m in the dark here, Chandler. Maybe you’d better tell me exactly what you found in these notes of Ray’s.”

  Chandler glanced away from Holt and swallowed as though he was trying to get down a handful of roofing nails. “From Ray’s notes, he believed that Dad was meeting a woman on a regular basis at the stockyards in Phoenix.”

  Holt couldn’t have felt more dazed if the ceiling of the barn had crashed in on his head. “What?”

  “That’s right. The same finding was entered several times in the notebook. More than once, Joel had been observed in the company of a blond woman. Petite in build and about the same age as him. Whoever gave Ray this information must not have known the status of their relationship, because Ray didn’t mention any of that. Ray scribbled down a list of dates with the word Phoenix written out to the side. One of the dates was a day after Dad’s death.”

  Holt’s mind was racing with a thousand questions and just as many possible answers. “The stockyards. A day after Dad’s death,” he mused out loud. “Chandler, a year or so ago, Mom found that old agenda book of Dad’s. There’s a note in it, saying he was to meet a man at the stockyards on that day. Joe researched the man’s name and learned the name was phony. Maybe it wasn’t a man Dad was planning on meeting that day, but rather the blond woman?”

  “It’s possible. But why would Dad have been so deceitful about it? Why would he put down a man’s name if it had been a woman he was meeting? Mother never was the jealous kind. If he’d been meeting a woman for a business lunch or something of that sort, she wouldn’t have cared.”

  Holt felt sick inside, then immediately felt guilty for even doubting his father’s fidelity for one minute. “I don’t know what you and Joe and Blake think. But as far as I’m concerned, I don’t believe there was any sort of romantic involvement between Dad and this woman. Yes, he probably was seeing her and what that reason might have been is a big question mark. But he wasn’t cheating on Mom. Dad wasn’t made like that. He was an honorable man. A family man. And he loved Mom more than anything on this earth. Even more than Three Rivers and that’s saying a lot.”

  Chandler blew out another heavy breath. “Yeah, that’s what I think, too. I’m not sure what Blake thinks. You know how he is, he keeps most of his thoughts to himself. The important ones, at least. Joe is different, he sees things as a lawman. He weighs the evidence in an analytical way. And during his tenure as a deputy, Joe has witnessed some shocking things. I don’t think he’d be that surprised to discover our father had been having an affair. After all, think how stunned everyone one was when we learned that Ray was really Tessa’s father.”

  Holt swigged down a mouthful of the gritty coffee. “That’s true. But Ray’s wife was wheelchair bound. They had no children. That was no excuse for him having an affair, but I can kind of see why it happened. But Dad had a beautiful, vibrant wife with six children. He had no reason to have an affair.”

  Chandler eyed him for several pointed moments. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. You love women. I thought you didn’t have to have a reason to have an affair. Other than lust.”

  “Damn it, Chandler, that’s a low, low blow.”

  “Oh, come off it, Holt. Righteousness doesn’t fit you.”

  “Thanks. Being noble was never my goal in life,” he said sarcastically. “Just give me faster horses and more women and I’ll die a happy man.”

  He tossed the remainder of his coffee into a trash basket and replaced the glass cup next to the coffee maker.

  Behind him, Chandler groaned. “Okay, that was a low blow. I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it. I can admit that I’ll never be like my brothers. I’m not cut out for it, Chandler. But that doesn’t mean I’m a tomcat with no feelings or discretion.” He wiped a hand over his face as Isabelle’s image tried to push itself to the front of his brain. “Oh, God, brother, what if we’re wrong about Dad? What if he was cheating on our mother and an enraged husband or boyfriend killed him? Mom would be—well, I don’t want to think of what that might do to her.”

  Chandler looked resolute. “Listen, none of us are going to breathe a word of this to Mom. She’s already been having too many melancholy moods. This might send her into a tailspin.”

  “What does Joe intend to do with this bit of information?” Holt asked. “You suggested it might be a break in the case. But how? It’s been years since Dad died. It would be miraculous if anyone remembers anything.”

  “Joe is going to keep asking questions. He believes he’ll eventually find a cattle buyer or worker at the stockyards who might remember something about Dad and the woman.”

  Holt’s stomach gave another sickening lurch. “I understand now why Mom doesn’t want to search for the cause or reason of Dad’s death. The truth might make everything worse.”

  His expression grim, Chandler rose to his feet. “If we find that Dad was living a secret life, we’re going to bury the facts. No one will know except us four brothers.”

  Holt couldn’t believe Chandler was even considering the possibility that Ray’s speculations could be true, much less that they should hide the truth from their sisters. “And not tell Viv and Camille? Chandler, your thinking is all mixed up!”

  “If I’m confused, then so are Blake and Joe, because they think the same thing. Viv and Camille adored Dad. He was their hero. Nothing good would come from crushing their ideals and memories.”

  Their father had been Holt’s hero, too. He’d gotten his love of horses from Joel and his ability to laugh at the challenges that training them presented. Had he also inherited a straying eye for the ladies from his father?

  No! Until Holt’s dying day, he’d always believe Joel Hollister was a true husband and father.

  * * *

  Isabelle gazed out the passenger window of Holt’s truck at the desert hills covered with tall saguaros and areas of thick chaparral and sl
ab rock. In the past few minutes, the sun had dipped behind a ridge of mountains to the west and shadows were painting the rugged landscape. It was a lovely sight, she thought. A fitting close to the beautiful day she’d spent in Holt’s company.

  “Are you sure you didn’t mind leaving the auction early?”

  Holt’s question broke into her pleasant thoughts and she glanced over to where he sat behind the steering wheel, driving them toward Wickenburg. Throughout the day, he’d never left her side and during all that time, their hands had brushed, their shoulders rubbed. The touches had been incidental, but to Isabelle they’d felt like the sizzling contact of a branding iron.

  Now, with each passing minute, she felt a connection growing between them. Whether the link was emotional, sexual, or something in between, she couldn’t determine. And she wasn’t going to ruin the remainder of their trip trying to figure it out.

  “I didn’t mind at all. Each of us already purchased two mares,” she said pointedly, then chuckled. “And leaving when we did probably saved me a few thousand dollars. I would’ve probably gotten into a bidding war for that buckskin colt that caught my eye.”

  “Just about every horse at the auction caught your eye,” he said.

  “I’m guilty. I confess. Mom always said I never saw a horse I didn’t love.”

  “I’m curious about your mother,” he replied. “Where did she get her knowledge about horses?”

  “From her parents—my grandparents. They owned a small ranch near Bishop and Granddad was an excellent horseman.”

  “Are your grandparents still living?”

  “No. Granddad died from complications of diabetes. When he passed, Grandmother was in still in fairly good shape, but losing him took a toll on her. They’d been married for more than fifty-five years and she wasn’t the same with Granddad gone. She died about a year after he did.” She glanced at him. “What about your grandparents, Holt? I don’t think I’ve heard you mention them.”

  He shook his head. “Both sets are gone now. My Hollister grandparents lived and worked on the ranch all their lives. They both died of different ailments when I was in elementary school. My mom’s parents lived in another state and we didn’t see them very often. Her father passed away from a stroke and her mother died from a car accident. It was just a little fender bender, but she wasn’t wearing her seat belt and her head hit the windshield.” He reached over and slipped a forefinger beneath her belt and gave it a tug. “That’s why I want you to promise me that you’ll always buckle up.”

  Did he really care about her safety that much? No. She couldn’t let herself go down that path. No serious strings. No thinking about love or the future, she scolded herself.

  She forced a little laugh past her throat. “I promise. But we don’t have safety belts on our saddles.”

  “No, we just have to hang on tighter.” The grin on his face disappeared as he slanted her another glance. “I’m sorry you didn’t find a blue stallion for your ranch, Isabelle. I was hoping you would.”

  He honestly seemed to care about her dreams and wishes. Something that Trevor never bothered to do. Oh, he’d wanted her to be happy, but he was never interested in the things that were most important to her. He’d thought handing her a check to a limitless bank account was enough to make up for his indifference. Maybe that should have been enough for her, but it hadn’t been. She’d felt like an afterthought, something to be petted and admired and placed back on a shelf.

  “That’s okay,” she told him. “Blue roans are not that plentiful. That’s one of the reasons why they’re so sought after and expensive. The two that we watched go through the ring weren’t that great. I’ll find my stallion someday.”

  “There’s always a chance Blue Midnight will throw some nice colts. I won’t forget I promised you a shot to buy one.”

  She smiled at him. “That’s a long time off, but I’ll hold you to your promise.”

  He didn’t reply and for the next few miles Isabelle could see he was deep in thought about something. Was it her, the horses, or something too personal to share with her? Was he thinking about some other woman he’d rather be with? No. If he wanted to be with some other woman, he wouldn’t have invited Isabelle to join him today. At least she could take comfort in that.

  Minutes later, the lights of Wickenburg appeared on the dark horizon and Isabelle realized she was dreading telling Holt good-night. She didn’t want this special day to end, or her time with him to be over.

  They had passed through the small town and were nearing Hollister Animal Hospital when Isabelle questioned an earlier plan they’d made to deal with getting the two horses she’d purchased home to Blue Stallion Ranch.

  “Now that I think about it, Holt, leaving my horses overnight at the clinic barn isn’t such a good idea. They haven’t been quarantined. They could pass shipping fever to Chandler’s patients and I’d feel very guilty if that happened. Not to mention how angry it would make him. I can drive home, pick up my trailer, and be back in an hour or so to collect them.”

  His attention remained focused on the highway. “Don’t fret about it, Isabelle. We’re not leaving your horses or mine at the clinic. I’m going to take all four of them out to your ranch.”

  She sat straight up and stared at him. “Oh. But I thought—”

  He arched a questioning brow in her direction. “The four of them have been trailered together for the past three and half hours. Penning them together tonight won’t hurt. I’ll leave mine at your place and haul them home to Three Rivers in a few days. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  “Um—no. I don’t mind.”

  That meant Holt would be following her home to Blue Stallion Ranch. After they tended the horses, would he want to stay? Or was he worried that if he let her get too close, she might try to throw a lariat on him?

  The notion of any woman trying to tie Holt down was ridiculous. He was a maverick. But even mavericks needed love sometimes, she mentally argued. And tonight he just might decide he needed her.

  Chapter Nine

  During the twenty-minute drive to Isabelle’s ranch, Holt tried not to think past getting the mares comfortably settled, but he knew the smart thing to do would be to kiss her and tell her goodbye. But the kiss would have to be on the cheek, not her lips. Otherwise, he’d be totally and completely lost to her.

  And what would be wrong with that, Holt? This day with Isabelle has been more than special for you. It’s been a game changer. She’s no longer just a sexy female you want to bed. You want much more from her. Like her company and friendship and—

  Muttering a curse, he reached over and turned up the volume on the radio in an effort to drown out the voice in his head. Tonight wasn’t the time to let his heart do his thinking for him. If Isabelle was ready to invite him into her bed, he’d be a fool to turn her down. It was that simple.

  When he braked the truck to a stop near Isabelle’s barn, she, along with Ollie and Sol, were waiting to help. With the four of them working together, it took only a few short minutes to have the mares settled into a sheltered pen with plenty of alfalfa and water.

  As Ollie and Sol headed back to the bunkhouse, Holt turned to Isabelle. “Now that we’ve finished that chore, how about you and me having coffee?”

  Her smile flashed in the darkness. “I can probably come up with a cup of coffee.”

  “Only one cup?”

  Her laugh was suggestive and Holt couldn’t stop his thoughts from heading straight to her bedroom. But what kind of consequences would that produce? After learning his father might have been involved with another woman, Holt had been pondering on his own past. Before, he’d never really wondered if his playing the field had ever caused anyone to suffer. Now it bothered him to think that what he’d considered fun and games might have actually hurt another person.

  He was getting soft, he thought sickly. He was ge
tting all messed up in the head, and why? Because he thought his father might have been an adulterer, or because Isabelle was transforming him into a different man? Either way, Holt felt like everything around him was rapidly changing. And he was helpless to stop any of it.

  “If you mind your manners, you might get two cups,” Isabelle said, breaking into his thoughts. “I might even give you a brownie to go with the coffee.”

  “I can’t wait.” He curled his arm around her waist and kept it there as they walked the remaining distance to the house.

  Inside the mudroom, they both shed their jackets and hung them on a hall tree. Holt added his black hat to one of the wooden arms, then followed Isabelle into the warm kitchen.

  While she went to work putting the coffee makings together, Holt stood to one side, watching her graceful movements. All day long, he’d had to fight with himself to keep his eyes off the way the soft pink sweater outlined the shape of her breasts and the way her jeans cupped her pert little bottom.

  Now that the two of them were completely alone, the urge to stare was turning into a need to touch. By the time she handed him a steaming cup of coffee and a brownie wrapped in a piece of wax paper, he didn’t want either one. All Holt wanted was her in his arms.

  “Do you want to go out to the living room?” she asked. “There’s no crackling fire waiting for us, but the furniture is more comfortable.”

  “I can build a fire—if you’d like,” he suggested.

  She paused for a second, then reached for her cup. “No. That’s too much trouble. And you’ll be leaving soon.”

  Her gaze lifted to meet his and the flicker of yearning Holt spotted in the soft blue of her eyes caused his heart to do a crazy flip.

  “I will?” he asked softly.

  Her rose-colored lips formed a surprised O. “Uh—I thought that’s what you wanted,” she said, huskily. “You said you needed time to think about you and me and—”