Home To Blue Stallion Ranch (Men 0f The West Book 42)

by Stella Bagwell

  He chuckled. “Not any that I know of.”

  She didn’t reply, but the scornful expression on her face spoke volumes.

  “I’m teasing,” he felt inclined to say. “I don’t have any children. And I don’t plan on having any. I have plenty of four-legged babies to keep me happy.”

  She cut him another dry glance. “At least you know to stick to your calling.”

  If any other woman had said such a thing to him, he would’ve laughed. But hearing it from this blond beauty was altogether different. For some reason, it made him feel small and sleazy.

  “At least I know my calling,” he agreed. “Do you?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Suddenly Blake’s voice was back in his head, reminding him to be nice to Isabelle. But damn it, Blake wasn’t the one dealing with the woman. Holt was. And with each passing minute, she was getting deeper and deeper under his skin.

  “I’m wondering if you’ve really thought about what you’re taking on. Raising horses isn’t an easy job.”

  “If it was easy, it wouldn’t be rewarding, now would it?” she asked. “And I know all about hard work.”

  The sweetness in her voice was overlaid with conviction and Holt decided she was one of those stubborn females who’d rather die trying to prove a point than admit she might be wrong.

  They reached the paddock and he opened a wide gate so the two of them could walk out to where the mares were munching hay from rows of mangers.

  As they neared the horses, Holt pointed to one in particular. “I have one mare in this bunch that I’d be willing to part with and that’s Blossom, the little chestnut over there with the star on her forehead and snip on her nose. She’s made perfectly, I’d just prefer her to be a tad bigger. She was bred late—in May to be exact, so she should have a late April or early May baby.”

  “I’ll go take a look.”

  They walked over to the mare and as she approached the horse for a closer look, Holt opened his mouth to remind her to be cautious, but instantly decided to keep the warning to himself. If Isabelle knew so much about horses, he shouldn’t have to tell her a thing. This might be a good way to find out if she was the real deal or a woman with money and her head in the clouds.

  Five minutes later, Holt had his answer. Blossom had not only forgotten the hay in front of her, she was nosing up to Isabelle as if they’d been friends forever. On top of that, the young mare had always been skittish about her feet, but Blossom had allowed Isabelle to pick up all four like she was a diva waiting for a manicure. It was amazing.

  “She has a really nice eye and her teeth look good,” she said as she dropped the mare’s lip back in place.

  “Chandler floats their teeth on a regular basis,” he said, his green eyes dropping away from her hands and down to her rounded bottom encased in faded denim. Yesterday he’d been too tired and annoyed to notice Isabelle’s perfect figure. This morning he was having trouble keeping his attention away from it.

  She turned to face him and Holt jerked up his gaze before she caught him staring at her cute little butt.

  “What sort of sire is this mare bred to?”

  “The ranch’s foundation stud. He’s black and big boned. I’ll show him to you after we look at the other mares.”

  She smiled and Holt’s attention was drawn to the alluring sight of soft pink lips against white teeth. And suddenly he was wondering how she would look naked and lying next to him with her hair spilled over his shoulder.

  “I look forward to seeing him,” she said.

  “So what do you think of Blossom?”

  “She’s nice. But I need to see the others before I make any kind of decision. Okay?”

  Another smile softened her words and Holt felt his resistance crumbling like a shortbread cookie. Any man with half a brain could see she was a heartbreaker. But why should he let that put him off? He never made the mistake of letting a woman get near his heart. He enjoyed them for a while and then moved on. Isabelle was no different than the last beauty to warm his bed.

  “Certainly,” he answered. “Let’s go find a truck and we’ll drive out to the horse pasture.”

  * * *

  Throughout the short trip to the pasture, Isabelle tried to ignore Holt’s presence in the cab of the truck, but the more she tried to dismiss him, the more suffocated she felt. Back at the ranch yard, he’d wrapped a hand around her arm to assist her climb into the tall work truck, and even through the quilted thickness of her coat, the touch of his fingers had left a burning imprint.

  But that was hardly a surprise. Everything about the man, from his sauntering walk to the growl in his voice, shouted sex. Or was he really no different than any other man she’d ever met? Could the long months of a cold, empty bed be causing her to see him in a different light?

  Whatever the reason for her ridiculous reaction to the man, she needed to get over it and quick. There was no way she could make a smart business transaction when her mind was preoccupied with how he’d look with his shirt off, or wonder how it would feel to have those strong arms wrapped around her.

  Damn it! She didn’t need a man. Not now. And definitely not a Romeo in cowboy boots.

  “I’ve not been here long enough to learn about your weather,” she said, hoping to push her thoughts to a safer place. “Is it usually this cool in January? I was hoping that this part of the state was southern enough to miss the cold and snow.”

  “Other than a few rare flurries blowing in the wind, you won’t see snow around here,” he answered. “But it can get fairly cold. Especially at night. What little rain we do get comes in the winter months. I hope you have plenty of water sources on your ranch. Otherwise, when the dry months come, you’re going to be in trouble.”

  Did the man think she’d gotten to Arizona on the back of a turnip truck? Or was he doubting her common sense because she was a woman? Either way, he seemed intent on insulting her intelligence.

  But she was trying her best to ignore his remarks, the same way she was trying to dismiss the way his chin jutted slightly forward and the rusty stubble on his face had grown even longer since she’d seen him yesterday morning. Normally she had an aversion to men who didn’t keep their faces clean-shaven. But there was something very earthy and sexy about the way the whiskers outlined his square jaw and firm lips.

  She cleared her throat and said, “I made sure about the water supply before I purchased the property. And I’ve had enough firewood hauled in for the fireplace to last through the winter. I have fifty tons of Tifton/ alfalfa in the hay barn and enough grain to last a month. In spite of what you might think of me, I do know how to make preparations.”

  He glanced at her and grinned. “I’m glad to hear you’re prepared. And, by the way, how do you know what I’m thinking of you?”

  She bit back a groan and decided the best way to deal with this man was to be forthright. Lifting her chin, she said, “It’s fairly obvious you think I’m an idiot. I’m not sure why you’ve put me in that category, but you have. And I’m trying not to let it bother me. After all, I think you’re a bit of an arrogant brute. So there—we’re even.”

  Expecting him to be peeved with her, she was totally surprised when he let out a hearty laugh. “An arrogant brute, eh? I’ve been called plenty of things before, but never that one.” He directed another lopsided grin in her direction. “And you have me all wrong, Isabelle. I hardly think you’re an idiot. I merely think you might be biting off more than you can chew.”

  “Because I’m a woman?”

  He shook his head. “No. Because you’re clearly chasing a dream. Instead of facing the hard work in front of you.”

  She wanted to be angry with him. She wanted to tell him that a person without dreams wasn’t really living. But she stifled both urges. There had already been too many personal exchanges between the two of them and i
t was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable. It was making her think of him as a man rather than a neighbor or horse trainer. And that was something that could only lead to trouble.

  “I know all about hard work, Mr. Hollister,” she said stiffly.

  “Please call me Holt.”

  She rolled her eyes in his direction to see the grin on his face was still there. Five minutes with Holt Hollister was really too much for any woman to endure and hold on to her sanity, she decided.

  He steered the truck off the beaten dirt track and braked it to a stop near a wide galvanized gate. Beyond the fence, Isabelle could see thirty or more head of horses milling around a cluster of long wooden feed troughs.

  “Here we are,” he announced. “And fortunately, the horses are still at their feed. I think there are thirty-five head in this herd.”

  Purposely keeping her gaze on the horses, she asked, “How many of these are for sale?”

  “Four. I’ll take a halter with me so you can take your time with each one.”

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

  They left the truck and after he collected a halter from the back, they walked over to the fence. While he slipped the latch on the gate, she said, “I thought you were in the business of selling horses. Why the limit of four or five?”

  “This past year, we had to take several horses out of the working remuda for different reasons, such as lameness and age and so forth. And then Blake decided to add more cattle to our ranch down at Dragoon, so I’ve had to send more horses for the hands to use down there. Replacing them takes time and lots of training. So I’m actually running a bit short on older horses and somewhat short on the yearlings.”

  He followed her into the pasture and as Isabelle watched him carefully fasten the gate behind them, she realized that for once in her life, she was just as interested in looking at a man as she was a herd of horses.

  “I see. I was thinking you might just limit the buyers who have their heads in the clouds.”

  He chuckled and Isabelle decided an arrogant brute who could laugh at himself couldn’t be all bad.

  “Not at all,” he assured her. “I have special deals for those buyers.”

  Her laugh was shrewd. “I’ll just bet you do.”

  Chapter Three

  Over an hour later, Holt and Isabelle were back in the horse barn, where Holt had just finished showing her Hez A Rocket, the ranch’s foundation stallion. She’d seemed very impressed with the animal, but Holt got the feeling she wasn’t that enthralled with him.

  And why would you want her to be, Holt? Right off the top of your head, you can probably think of four or five blond beauties who’d be happy to get a call from you. The last thing you need is a divorcée with a head full of dreams.

  Holt purposely blocked out the voice of warning in his head as the two of them strolled in the general direction of his office. “Now that you’ve seen what I have to offer, are you ready to make a deal on one, or all?”

  “Yes, I would. I—” She broke off as an ear-splitting whinny reverberated through the barn. “Wow! Someone wants attention. That sounds like another stallion.”

  Holt silently groaned. She’d told him her dream was to find a blue roan stallion and build her herd around him. Blue Midnight definitely fit her wishes, but Holt was grooming the young stud to replace Hez A Rocket in a few years. He’d never put the young stallion up for sale.

  “That’s Blue Midnight, one of my other stallions,” he reluctantly admitted. “He can be quite a talker at times.”

  Her brows piqued with interest. “Blue? Is he a roan?”

  With a resigned nod of his head, he said, “That’s right. I was hoping to spare you from seeing him.”

  Confused by that, she asked, “Really? Why?”

  “Because you’re going to want him. And I’m going to have to say no and then you’re going to be peeved at me—again.”

  “I really doubt that would ruin your day.” She smiled and shrugged. “I’ve been told no plenty of times. I won’t burst into tears—unless you refuse to let me see this super stud.”

  He shook his head. “You get a kick out of looking at a piece of pie even though you can’t eat it?”

  “I can always dream.”

  He should’ve seen that coming, Holt thought. “Ah, that’s right,” he said wryly. “You are fond of dreaming.”

  Taking her by the arm, he led her across the wide alleyway and past three empty stalls until they were standing in front of Blue Midnight’s roomy compartment. Always eager for company, the horse hung his head over the top of the mesh iron gate and nickered softly at the two of them.

  “Oh! Oh, Holt, he’s gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous! His hair is so slick and shiny! You must be keeping him blanketed.”

  Holt glanced over to see an incredible glow had come over Isabelle’s face. As though storm clouds had parted above her head and golden sunshine was pouring over her. He’d put some happy faces on a few women before, but none of those blissful looks compared to what he was seeing on Isabelle’s lovely features.

  “No blankets. Blue Midnight is naturally tight haired. He just turned four and I have to admit, he’s my pride and joy.”

  “Most stallions bite. Does he?”

  “Not this one. He’s very sweet natured.”

  She stepped up to the gate and quickly made friends with the horse. As she gently stroked his nose, she glanced over her shoulder and gave Holt a beseeching smile.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to sell him?” she asked. “I’d give you top dollar. Just name your price. If I don’t have enough money, I’ll get the money.”

  From her rich ex-husband? The notion left a bitter taste in Holt’s mouth and for one split second he wanted to tell her that if she’d keep smiling at him the way she was smiling right now, he’d give her the world and Blue Midnight with it. But thankfully, the urge only lasted a second before sanity stepped in and reminded him that pleasing a woman didn’t require losing his mind and his best stallion with it.

  “Sorry,” he told her. “I have big plans for this guy and they’re all right here on Three Rivers.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, too.” Disappointment chased all the lovely glow from her face and she turned back to Blue Midnight and rubbed her cheek against his. “You’re such a pretty boy,” she said to the horse. “I wish you could be mine. We’d be great buddies.”

  The interchange between her and the horse was something so palpable and real that Holt felt like an outsider listening in on a very private conversation.

  Clearing his throat, he stepped forward until he was standing at her side. Immediately, the sweet scent of her drifted to his nostrils and pushed away the smells of alfalfa, dust, and manure.

  “Blue Midnight has a few babies coming later this spring. If one of them turns out to be a colt, I’ll sell him to you.”

  She looked over at him and Holt was stunned to see a sheen of tears in her blue eyes. He realized he was denying this woman her most fervent wish, but mixing sentimentality with business never worked. Neither did getting dopey over a woman he’d just met.

  “Is that a promise?” she asked, her gaze searching his.

  Aside from his mother or sisters, Holt didn’t make promises to women. But something about Isabelle’s blue eyes was dissolving that rule.

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t meant it,” he answered.

  Her gaze turned back to Blue Midnight, who was gently nudging her shoulder for more attention.

  “Thank you, Holt. I’ll hold on to that promise.”

  After a couple more minutes with Blue Midnight, they returned to his office. A half hour later, she was using her phone to transfer money from her bank to a Three Rivers’ account.

  “You didn’t have to take all five of them, Isabelle. Unless you really wanted to.”

 
“I wanted to.” She slipped the phone back into her handbag. “When will be a convenient time for me to come back with my trailer and pick them up?”

  Holt wrote out a paper receipt, then went over to one of the many file cabinets lined against the wall. “No need for that,” he told her. “Myself or some of the hands will deliver them. After what you paid for the five mares, it’s the least I can do.”

  He flipped through several folders before he finally found what he was looking for. Back at his desk, he signed the transfers and placed them, the receipt, and the registration papers in a long envelope and handed it to Isabelle.

  “Here’s all the paperwork. If you have any problems changing the ownership into your name, just let me know. I hope you’ll be happy with the mares, Isabelle.”

  She stood and reached across the desktop to shake his hand. “Thank you, Holt. It’s been a pleasure.”

  Holt rose and clasped his hand around hers. “A pleasure?” he asked wryly. “Dealing with an arrogant brute?”

  A pretty pink color touched her cheeks and Holt was charmed even more by her modesty. He couldn’t remember making any of his old girlfriends blush, but then none of them could be labeled modest.

  “You made up for it. Especially with letting me meet Blue Midnight.”

  “Good. Because I’d like for us to be friends.”

  She pulled her hand from his and reached for her handbag on the floor. “I thought we’d already become friends.”

  He moved around the desk and stood in front of her. “We have. I only meant, uh, that I want us to be closer friends. The kind that have dinner together. What do you say?”

  Her eyes wide with disbelief, she looked up at him. “Are you inviting me on a date?”

  She made it sound like he was suggesting the two of them make a lunar landing. “That’s right. Nothing dangerous. Just a nice meal and some conversation.”

  Who are you trying to fool, Holt? For you, conversation with a woman is merely a means to an end. Just a step in the game of seduction. And once you do seduce Isabelle, then what? Is she the type you can brush aside like a pesky fly? You’d better think twice about this one, cowboy.