Home to Blue Stallion Ranch

by Stella Bagwell

  Only yesterday he’d told her that the bulk of his mares had already foaled, so he’d been spending his time in the training pen, breaking two-year-old colts. It was a slow, painstaking job, along with being extremely dangerous. Holt’s text message earlier this evening hadn’t explained why he would be late. Now as time ticked on, without him showing up, she was beginning to worry that something had happened with one of his horses or, God forbid, to him.

  The fire in the fireplace had turned to little more than a pile of burning coals, so she got up from the couch to add another log. She was finishing the chore when a sweep of headlights passed in front of the living room windows.

  Relieved, she put away the poker and hurried out to meet him. As soon as he stepped down from the truck, she hugged him tight.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” she said.

  He kissed her cheek. “You got my text, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but it’s getting so late I was afraid there might’ve been some sort of accident.”

  “No. Just lots of company at the house.” He wrapped his arm around the back of her shoulders. “Let’s go in and I’ll tell you about it. Got anything to eat?”

  “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” she said, loving the warmth of his arm around her. “The pork chops and scalloped potatoes are ruined. Oh, but if you don’t want the peanut butter and jelly, you can have bologna. I know you like that.”

  “Are you serious?”

  The deflated look on his face had her laughing. “Yes. I’m kidding. I have the chops and everything to go with them in the warmer.”

  He playfully pinched the end of her nose. “You little teaser. I’m going to get you for that.”

  She let out a sultry laugh. “I’ll just bet you will.”

  They entered the house and the first thing he noticed was the fire. “Wow, you built a fire for me? I feel special.”

  “That was my intention,” she said, then tugged his head down so that she could kiss his lips.

  “Mmm. You keep that up and those chops will have to stay in the warmer a little longer,” he murmured, then kissed her twice more before she grabbed both his hands and tugged him into the kitchen.

  “We’d better eat,” she said. “You look famished and I’m starving. Let’s fill our plates off the stove and carry them to the dining room. It’ll be quicker.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Minutes later, they were eating at the long table, where Isabelle had lit a pair of candles and poured blackberry wine. Beyond the row of arched windows in front of them, the starlit sky shone down on the quiet ranch yard. The view was always beautiful to Isabelle but having Holt sitting across from her made it perfect.

  As their conversation naturally turned to work, he asked, “How’s the fence building coming along?”

  “Good. We’re making progress. And since we’ve moved farther away from the ranch yard, I’m finding more good grazing land. There’s one little valley where Mr. Landry used to grow hay. I’m thinking I might like to try my hand at that. Ollie and Sol seemed to know a bit about it. And they believe they can get the irrigation system going again.”

  He said, “Sounds like you’ve turned Ollie and Sol into big dreamers, too.”

  She pulled a face at him. “Ollie and Sol believe in themselves and me. The three of us plan to get all sorts of things accomplished—together. And to grow my own hay would be a big savings. Especially when my herd gets a lot larger.”

  He smiled. “You really love this place, don’t you?”

  “I do love it. Very much. It makes me feel—well, like I’m home. Really home. Do you understand what I mean?” she asked, then shook her head. “That’s a stupid question. Of course, you understand. Three Rivers is undoubtedly in your blood the way Blue Stallion is in mine.”

  His fork hovered above his plate, while his green eyes made a slow survey of her face. “Is there anything that could make you move away from here?”

  The question surprised her. Not only because he’d asked it, but because it was so easy to answer.

  “No. I’m here to stay. Like I told you before, my parents were free spirits. While they were together, we moved around. Mostly to follow Dad’s gigs, but sometimes just because my parents wanted something different. As a kid, I didn’t know what it was like to put down roots. Later, Mom and I settled in San Diego, but city life wasn’t for me. Then I thought I’d found a home in Albuquerque with Trevor. But that place was never really where I was meant to be.” She gestured toward the window. “This is my land, my home. It’s where I want my children to be raised. Where I want to live out my life.”

  “I figured that’s what you’d say.”

  She wasn’t going to ask him to explain what had prompted his question. She didn’t know why, but she had the uneasy feeling she might not like his answer.

  Picking up her fork, she began to tackle the mound of scalloped potatoes on her plate. “You haven’t told me about the company at Three Rivers tonight.”

  “Every year my mother throws a little family party in honor of Gold Rush Days. My whole family was there. Plus Matthew, our foreman, and Sam, the Bar X foreman. I think they were all a little peeved at me because I didn’t stay.”

  A family party. Isabelle supposed she should feel honored that Holt had chosen to spend the evening with her. And yet, a part of her felt dejected because he’d not invited her to attend the party. With everyone there, it would have been the perfect time for him to introduce his new girlfriend.

  But Holt might not think of her as his girlfriend, Isabelle pondered. In his eyes, she might just be a woman he had sex with and that’s all she’d ever be.

  Stop it, Isabelle! Quit feeling wronged or sorry for yourself! You went into this thing with Holt knowing who he was and what he was. You even told him there’d be no strings, so don’t go thinking he’s going to change.

  Shutting out the taunting voice, she said, “I’m sorry you’re missing the party, Holt. You should’ve told me. I wouldn’t have been annoyed if you’d canceled your time with me.”

  The frown on his face slowly turned into a wan smile. “That’s nice of you, Isabelle. But to be honest, I didn’t want to stay for the party. I wanted to be here with you.”

  His words wrapped around her heart and she reached across the table and folded her fingers over his. “I’m happy you are here with me.”

  “So am I.”

  Chapter Eleven

  In the past, Holt had never been bothered very much by his conscious. The only time he’d ever regretted his behavior was when he’d believed he’d disappointed his father or mother. Other than that, he was usually the to-hell-with-it sort. He tried to be a decent person, but he wasn’t going to break his back trying to please everyone. If he offended or disappointed someone, it was their problem to get over it. Not his.

  But tonight as he sat across the table from Isabelle, he suddenly realized he was a bastard. He didn’t deserve her, or her sweet, understanding nature. If he had any decency about him at all, he’d put an end to this thing between them. He’d step away and let her find a good man, one who’d love her with all his heart.

  Yeah, if he was a decent man, he could do that. But he was selfish and for most of his adult life he’d taken what he wanted and not worried about the consequences. And he wanted Isabelle. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  “Are you going to attend any of the Gold Rush Days celebration in town?”

  Her question broke into his troubled thoughts and he looked over to see she’d finished the food on her plate.

  “I used to go to the rodeo,” he said. “But not these days. I have too much work at the ranch.”

  “I do, too. But it sounds like fun. Emily-Ann tells me Valentine Street is filled with a carnival and all sorts of interesting vendors. She thinks I
should try my hand at gold panning.” She paused and laughed. “I told her I could do that right here on the ranch.”

  He swallowed the last bite on his plate and pushed it aside. “You might find a nugget or two. The ranch hands on Three Rivers sometimes find rocks with streaks of gold. And Blake and Joe found a couple of nuggets in the same gulch where they believe, uh, where they found the scraps of Dad’s shirt.”

  A thoughtful look suddenly came over her face. “Holt, did you ever think someone might have been digging around on your property for gold? I know it sounds far-fetched, but think about it. With gold prices what they are nowadays, one nugget would be worth a lot of money. Your father could’ve run across a trespasser and a fight ensued.”

  “That’s a very logical deduction. But that’s not what happened,” he said resolutely.

  Her brows arched. “How can you say that? You told me that you don’t know what actually happened concerning your father’s death.”

  Unable to look her in the eye, he rose to his feet and gathered up his glass and plate. “Trust me. It didn’t happen that way!”

  He carried his dirty dishes to the kitchen with Isabelle following directly behind him.

  As she began to put the leftover food in plastic containers, she said, “I’m sorry I theorized about your father’s death, Holt. I realize it’s not something you want to talk about.”

  Holt watched her place the containers in the refrigerator and walk over to the coffee machine. He should’ve already told her that she looked extra beautiful tonight in a long, blue and green skirt that swished around the tops of her cowboy boots and a matching green sweater tucked in at her tiny waist. It amazed him how she could go from a rough and tumble ranching woman to a soft, feminine siren. But then everything about Isabelle amazed him. That was the problem.

  “Would you like coffee and dessert? I have ice cream. Or candy bars. The kind with caramel and nuts.”

  He walked over to where she stood and wrapped his arms around her. The feel of her soft body next to his was like a sweet balm that filled him with goodness. “I don’t want anything—except to hold you. Make love to you.”

  She tilted her face up to his and he kissed her for long moments before he bent and picked her up in his arms.

  With her hands locked at the back of his neck, he carried her to the bedroom and carefully placed her in the middle of the mattress. Then without bothering to remove his clothing or hers, he lay down beside her and gathered her into his arms.

  His lips hovering near hers, he said, “I think about you all day. About you. About being inside you. You’re making me crazy, Isabelle.”

  She slipped her arm around his neck. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be. Crazy good.”

  With a groan that came from deep within him, he completed the connection of their lips and kissed her deeply, urgently. Her desperate response caused desire to erupt in him, arousing him to an unbearable ache.

  Mindlessly, he rolled her onto her back and pushed the hem of her skirt up to her waist. She moaned as he hooked his thumbs beneath her lace panties and peeled the scrap of fabric down around her ankles and over her boots.

  The urge to be inside her was pounding in his brain, gripping every cell in his body. There could be no holding back. No waiting.

  His hands shaking, he managed to unzip his jeans and release his arousal, but that was as far as he got before she grabbed his hips and pulled him into her.

  The hot, frantic connection wiped all thought from his brain, except that Isabelle was beneath him. Her arms were around him and her lips and breaths were merged with his. His thrusts were rapid and each time she rose up to meet him, she took more and more of him. And each time he felt his control slipping.

  He was going to die right here in her arms. And he was going to die a happy man. The fateful thought was flashing through his mind just as she cried out.

  “Oooh—Holt! Hold me—hold me tight!”

  He tried to answer her pleas, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. In the next instant he felt everything pouring into her until there was nothing left of him, except a beating heart. And even it wanted to belong to her.

  When Holt eventually returned to earth, he felt as if he’d been on a long, long journey and his body was too spent to take another step. As to what had just occurred between them, he couldn’t define it, much less understand why this woman made him lose all control. But he did realize one thing: the whole thing scared him more than anything he’d ever encountered.

  He rolled away from her and with a forearm resting against his forehead, fought to regain his breath.

  Next to him, Isabelle stirred, then draped her upper body over his.

  “That was pretty darned incredible, cowboy,” she whispered against his cheek. “Just think how good we might be if we ever get our clothes off.”

  He chuckled, then silently groaned, as her lips came down on his and the fire in his loins started all over again.

  * * *

  Three days later, on Friday night, Isabelle had been expecting Holt to show up for supper and she’d taken the time out of her busy day to put a roast and vegetables in the oven. But shortly after dark he’d called to inform her that one of his young mares was about to foal and he didn’t want to leave Chandler with the job of watching over her.

  She’d understood his dilemma, but for the past three nights, he’d called with a reason he couldn’t see her. True, they’d all been legitimate reasons. But she was getting the impression there was something else going on with Holt.

  Was he getting ready to end things with her? He’d not said anything that hinted at those types of feelings. But then he’d definitely not spoken about how much he needed or loved her. No. Holt would probably never say the L word to her. Because, whatever he was, he wasn’t a liar. He’d be blunt and painfully honest before he’d lead her on with words he didn’t mean.

  Oh, well, she thought, as she bit back her disappointment. Tomorrow was another day. And the food wouldn’t go to waste. Ollie and Sol would be more than happy to eat it.

  With that thought in mind, she donned a coat, placed the roast pan into a cardboard box, and carried it out to the barn.

  The door to Ollie and Sol’s bunkroom was closed to shut out the cold night air. Isabelle stepped up on the wooden step and started to knock when she caught the sound of the men talking and one of them said her name.

  She’d never been one to eavesdrop. A person rarely heard good things said behind his or her back.

  With that old adage in mind, she raised her knuckles to the door, then let them drop a second time as Holt’s name was spoken by Ollie.

  “Have you noticed Holt hasn’t been over here in the past few days?”

  “Yep, I’ve noticed,” Sol said. “I’d be blind not to.”

  “Yeah,” Ollie said after a moment. “As much as I like the guy, I hope he stays away.”

  There was a long pause and during the intermission, one of the female barn cats began to weave around Isabelle’s legs and meow up at her. No doubt, the cat smelled the roast. Isabelle just hoped the men didn’t hear her loud cries and open the door.

  Finally, Sol said, “That’s bad for you to talk that way about Holt. After all the man has done for us. Why, even now he’s paying our way.”

  Paying their way? What did that mean?

  She held her breath and refrained from placing her ear against the wooden panel. If one of them suddenly opened the door, she didn’t know how she’d explain herself. She wouldn’t be able to. She’d simply have to confess that she’d been listening in on their private conversation.

  “That’s all well and good,” Ollie retorted. “But that doesn’t mean we’re blind to his ways. We both know if this keeps up, he’s going to hurt Isabelle. And I don’t mean just hurt her pride. He’s gonna break her heart wide-open. I can see it coming.”

 
There was another long stretch of silence and then Sol said, “Well, I’m thinking that she loves him, Ollie. We can’t just come out and tell her she needs to stop seeing Holt. We’re just a pair of old widowers. Neither one of us have had a wife in years. We don’t know anything about the way young folks feel and think nowadays. Besides, she’d probably tell us it’s none of our business.”

  “Don’t guess it is,” Ollie remarked. “But being her ranch hands sorta makes us her caretakers in a way. And I sure hate to see her heart broken. We both know Holt will never settle down with just one woman. And he’d sooner jump off a cliff before he’d get married.”

  “Yeah,” Sol soberly agreed. “Isabelle’s too good for that. She needs a man who’ll marry her and help her run this place. Holt is a Hollister through and through. He wouldn’t leave Three Rivers for any reason. And sure not for a woman.”

  After a moment, Ollie said. “Let’s talk about something else. Something happier. Are we going to the parade in the morning?”

  “We haven’t ridden in the Gold Rush Days parade in years. Why would we go now?”

  “I don’t know. Might be fun if we dug out our fancy chaps and spurs. We might catch the eye of some widow women.”

  “Hell.” Sol snorted. “What would we do with widow women? Invite them out here for a cup of tea?”

  “Well, what would be wrong with that? Isabelle drinks coffee with us. She likes it.”

  “Yeah, but Isabelle is different.”

  Isabelle had heard more than enough. She blinked back the foolish tears in her eyes and knocked on the door.

  Sol opened the door and looked at her with dismay. Hopefully he didn’t have a clue she’d been standing on the step for the past five minutes.

  “Hey, guys, would you two like some supper?”

  “Why, Isabelle,” he said. “What are you doing out in the cold and dark?”

  She did her best to put on a cheery smile. “I cooked a roast and vegetables for Holt, but he can’t come tonight. I thought you two might want to share it.”