Home on the Ranch: The Colorado Cowboy's Triplets (Cowboy SEALs Book 8)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Hugging the side of the mountain, the road wound in ever-tighter hairpin turns. He switched on the stereo, activating the FM’s auto-search feature until settling on Metallica. He might be a cowboy at heart, but sometimes a body needed loud bass.

  The cliff side was steeper than ever, but the lower in elevation he traveled, the more pines grew in spotty patches.

  The more he thought about Camille, the harder he pushed the car. She made him feel helpless—not a good state for a SEAL accustomed to winning. He’d poured out his heart to her and she’d stomped on it, right in the parking lot of the chapel where they’d just attended his sister’s—

  He rounded the next corner to encounter a herd of bighorn sheep in the road’s center. Jed swerved to miss them, but given his speed and the road’s narrow width, there was nowhere to go but over the edge...

  * * *

  Excited to start this new chapter of her life, emboldened by her decision to trust in Jed to never hurt her, and in both of them to protect the girls, Camille chased after him to not only apologize, but tell him she’d be honored to marry him—if he’d still have her.

  As tricky as the narrow dirt road was to navigate, she was surprised she hadn’t caught up with him. But then that was just as well, given that they’d both need to pull over for all she had to say.

  She’d driven a good ten to fifteen minutes, lightly trembling from the plunging drop-off alongside the nonexistent shoulder, when she saw a sight that made her blood run cold.

  No.

  Please, God, don’t let me lose Jed, too. Not when I’ve only just found him again.

  The tail end of his mother’s compact rental car teetered on the edge of the cliff, the front end barely supported by a few scraggly pines.

  Holding her breath, Camille swerved left, parking on the inside of the switchback curve, as close to the towering cliff as possible. With the engine off, she scrambled out the passenger-side door. “Jed!”

  A horrible screeching sound stopped her heart.

  Then the crack of one scrawny pine. And another and another, before a heaving metallic groan served as a prelude to the vehicle careening down the mountainside.

  “No...! Jed!”

  Losing him now would be unfathomably cruel.

  “Jed!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare leave me!” Crumpling onto the dirt road, she covered her face with her hands, sobbing at the injustice of her entire stupid life. “Please... I don’t want you to go...”

  “I’m not going anywhere...” said a faint voice from below her.

  “Jed?” She scrambled to her feet and ran toward the sound, to find him perched on a narrow ledge just below the road. “Ohmygod. You’re alive.”

  Once he’d pulled himself up onto the roadside, she dropped to her knees and held him tightly.

  “I love you. I love you,” she said, pressing dozens of kisses on every inch of his precious face. “I’ve always loved you. I’m so sorry for letting my hang-ups come between us. You were right. I do need counseling about the things I’ve seen, but mostly I need you and the girls. I need us to be the family I know we can be.” She kissed him again—this time on his lips. “I’m still afraid—of everything—but for once, with you, my hope for the future is bigger than the fear. If your offer is still good, I’d love nothing better than to be your wife for the next fifty years.”

  Still stunned from his near brush with death, he shook his head. “Woman...”

  “You don’t want to marry me?” Her heart plummeted further than his mother’s rental car.

  “Of course I do.” He kissed her again. “But after all you’ve put me through, I’d rather aim for a bit longer. Make it sixty and we have a deal.”

  Epilogue

  “Cam!” Jed had to look twice to believe what he was seeing.

  After two years in Coronado, he’d been honorably discharged. They’d spent the weekend driving home to the ranch—him behind the wheel of a U-Haul and Camille with the girls in the SUV.

  As the father of three toddlers, he was used to them causing major household upheaval, but this latest stunt signaled the start to a whole new era of three-tenors trouble.

  He’d just unloaded their plastic toy kitchen into the corner of the den Camille had designated as a play area, then headed back outside for a load of boxes, when he noticed the darlings had escaped their kitchen playpen where he’d stashed them for Camille to watch while she unpacked.

  “Jed?” she called from the office they would share for ranch business. His first fifty head of cattle would be delivered next Wednesday. He couldn’t wait to turn his family land into a working ranch again. “Everything okay? Printer paper mixed in with the...” Entering the den, she stopped to slowly exhale. “Please tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing...”

  The girls had outdone themselves.

  In the year since they’d been walking, they’d made some hellacious messes, but this one beat them all.

  While Sallie had had her way with Camille’s makeup case, putting lipstick on not only her sisters, but the walls, carpet, furniture and his mother’s favorite lamp, Callie must’ve visited the fridge.

  A few dozen eggs from the chickens that still hated him had been smashed into the pretend fry pan that had come with the pretend kitchen.

  Meanwhile, Allie had gotten her hands on a few cans of soda. She entertained herself by shaking them as hard as she could, then wildly giggling when she opened them, only to watch them explode, raining sticky cola all over the already disgusting mess.

  “Please tell me this is a nightmare,” Camille said. “I literally left them alone in the kitchen for under a minute. How did this happen?”

  “Babe...” He rested his arm across her shoulders. “I seriously wish you were sleeping, because that would mean I don’t have to get out the carpet cleaner right after unloading the truck.”

  “Are we going to survive till their eighteenth birthdays?”

  Allie opened another can, showering them all with fresh cola. Her sisters danced and shrieked and clapped in the soda rain.

  “In the immortal words of the Magic 8-Ball you said they were too young to have—outlook doubtful.”

  Camille groaned. “When is the grandparent brigade descending?”

  “I thought Tuesday, but I forgot to tell you that they’re ahead of schedule and should be here fairly early tomorrow.”

  “Swell.” Since she and Jed married, love must’ve been in the air, as Barbara married Dr. Daniel, whom she’d worked with for years in Africa. Camille’s mother had married a retired stock analyst she’d met at a condo casino night, and had since moved to Boca Raton. Both couples had rented an RV and opted for a good old-fashioned road trip to come see the girls.

  “Knock, knock...” Ollie strolled through the open front door. “What happened? I’ve looked after the place and all your animals for two years and this is the thanks I get?”

  Earl trailed after him up the front porch stairs.

  “Gaapaa!” The girls knew and loved him from his visits to Coronado and frequent video calls. Abandoning the scene of their multiple crimes, they attacked him with sticky hugs.

  “There’re my favorite girls—a little young for makeup, Miss Sallie, but it’s a good look on you.” He swooped her, shrieking, into his arms. “You’re clearly destined for modeling.”

  “Me...!” Callie held up her arms, pinching her fingers. “Me, Gaapaa!”

  Allie joined her sister in demanding to be lifted.

  Ollie started to heft the other two girls, but Jed stopped him by plucking up the two sticky rug rats himself. “Don’t throw out your back.”

  “How about helping me get everyone in the tub?”

  “Yessir.” Both men were aimed for the stairs when a clacking on the entry hall’s wood floor had them turning in that direction.

  Hee-haw, hee-haw... Ear
l had strolled inside and now munched the side table’s dried flower arrangement.

  “I give up.” Camille groaned, then covered her face and laughed. “We might as well let the whole crew inside. Lord knows this house can’t get any messier.”

  “Lucy and Ethel are welcome. The goats, too.” Jed said. “But those devil chickens? No way.”

  “Oh—” Ollie froze at the foot of the stairs. “Something I’ve been meaning to tell both of you—well, aside from me finally hitting the motherlode, but that can wait.”

  “What’s more important than that, Gramps?”

  He looked to each of them in turn. “Told you so.”

  “Huh?” Camille cocked her head.

  Ollie busted out laughing. “I always said you two would end up together, and from the looks of it, this marriage is a lifelong deal. Lordy, how I love being right.”

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Home to Blue Stallion Ranch by Stella Bagwell.

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  Home to Blue Stallion Ranch

  by Stella Bagwell

  Chapter One

  Who the hell is that?

  Holt Hollister pushed back the brim of his black cowboy hat and squinted at the feminine shape framed by the open barn door. He didn’t have the time or energy to deal with a woman this morning. Especially one who was pouting because he’d forgotten to call or send flowers.

  Damn it!

  Jerking off his gloves, he jammed them into the back pocket of his jeans and strode toward the shapely figure shaded by the overhang. Behind him the loud whinny of a randy stallion drowned out the sounds of nearby voices, rattling feed buckets, the whir of fans, and the muffled music from a radio.

  As soon as the woman spotted his approach, she stepped forward and into a beam of sunlight slanting down from a skylight. The sight very nearly caused Holt to stumble. This wasn’t one of his girlfriends. This woman looked like she’d just stepped off an exotic beach and exchanged a bikini for some cowboy duds.

  Petite, with white-blond hair that hung past her shoulders, she was dressed in a white shirt and tight blue jeans stuffed into a pair of black cowboy boots inlaid with turquoise and red thunderbirds. Everything about her said she didn’t belong in his horse barn.

  Frustration eating at him, he forced himself to march onward until the distance between them narrowed down to a mere arm’s length and she was standing directly in front of him.

  “Hello,” she greeted. “Do you work here?”

  Holt might forget where he’d placed his truck keys or whether he’d eaten in the past ten hours, but he didn’t forget a woman. And he was quite certain he’d never laid eyes on this one before today. Even without a drop of makeup on her face, she was incredibly beautiful, with smooth, flawless skin, soft pink lips, and eyes that reminded him of blue velvet.

  “It’s the only place I’ve ever worked,” he answered. “Are you looking for someone in particular?”

  She flashed him a smile and at any other time or place, Holt would’ve been totally charmed. But not this morning. He’d spent a hellish night in the foaling barn and now another day had started without a chance for him to draw a good breath.

  She said, “I am. I’m here to see Mr. Hollister. I was told by one of the ranch hands that I’d find him in this barn.”

  She was looking straight at him and for a brief second Holt was thrown off-kilter by her gaze. Not only direct, it was as cool as a mountain stream.

  “Three Mr. Hollisters live on this ranch,” he said bluntly. “You have a first name?”

  “Holt. Mr. Holt Hollister.”

  He blew out a heavy breath. He might’ve guessed this greenhorn would be looking for him. Being the manager of the horse division of Three Rivers Ranch, he was often approached by horse-crazy women, who wanted permission to walk through the barn and pet the animals, as if he kept them around for entertainment.

  “You’re talking to him.”

  Those blue, blue eyes suddenly narrowed skeptically, as though she’d already decided he was nothing more than a stable hand. And he supposed he couldn’t blame her. He’d not had time to shave this morning. Hell, he’d not even gone to bed at all last night. Added to that, the legs of his jeans were stained with afterbirth and smears of blood had dried to brown patches on his denim shirt.

  “Oh. I’m Isabelle Townsend. Nice to meet you, Mr. Holt Hollister.”

  She extended her hand out to him and Holt wiped his palm against the hip of his jean before he wrapped it around hers.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Townsend?” he asked, while wondering how such a soft little thing could have a grip like a vice.

  She eased her hand from his. “I’ve been told you have nice breeding stock for sale. I’m looking to buy.”

  If Holt hadn’t been so tired, he would’ve burst out laughing. She ought to be home painting her fingernails, or whatever it was that women like her did to amuse themselves, he thought. “Are you talking about cattle or horses? Or maybe you’re looking for goats? If you are, I know a guy who has some beauties.”

  “Horses,” she said flatly, while peering past his shoulder at the rows of stalls lining both sides of the barn. “This is a horse barn, isn’t it? Or are you in the goat business now?”

  The sarcasm in her voice was the same tone he’d used on her. And though he deserved it, her response irked him. Usually pretty women smiled at him. This one was sneering.

  “I’m in the business of horses. And at this time, Three Rivers isn’t interested in selling any. You should drive down to Phoenix and try the livestock auction. If you’re careful with your bidding, you can purchase some fairly decent animals there. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy.”

  Not waiting to hear her reply, he walked off and didn’t stop until he was out the opposite end of the barn and out of Isabelle Townsend’s sight.

  * * *

  Furious and humiliated, Isabelle turned on her heel and stalked out of the barn. So much for all she’d heard about Three Rivers Ranch and its warm hospitality. Apparently, those glowing recommendations didn’t include Holt Hollister.

  Outside in the bright Arizona sunlight, she crossed a piece of hard-packed ground to where her truck was parked next to a tall Joshua tree.

  Jerking open the door, she was about to climb into the cab when a male voice called out to her.

  Wondering if Holt Hollister had decided he’d behaved like an ass
and had come to apologize, she turned to see it wasn’t the arrogant horseman who’d followed her. This man was slightly taller and perhaps a bit older than Holt Hollister, but she could see a faint resemblance to the man she’d just crossed words with.

  “Hello,” he said. “I’m Blake Hollister, manager of the ranch.”

  He extended his hand in a friendly manner and Isabelle complied.

  “I’m Isabelle Townsend,” she introduced herself, then added dryly, “It’s nice meeting you. I think.”

  His brows disappeared beneath the brim of his gray hat. “I happened to see you go in the horse barn five minutes ago. If you’re looking for someone in particular, I might be able to help.”

  “I was looking for the man who manages your horse division. Instead I found a first-class jerk!” She practically blasted the words at him, then promptly hated herself for the outburst. This man couldn’t be held responsible for his relative’s boorish behavior. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to sound so cross.”

  “Isabelle Townsend,” he thoughtfully repeated, then snapped his fingers. “You must be our new neighbor who purchased the old Landry Ranch.”

  Since she’d only moved here six weeks ago, she was surprised this man had heard of her. News in a small place must travel fast, she thought.

  “That’s right. I was interested in purchasing a few horses from Three Rivers. But unfortunately, your brother or cousin or whatever he is to you isn’t interested in selling. Or showing a visitor good manners.”

  “I’m sorry about this, Ms. Townsend.”

  The ranch manager cast a rueful glance in the direction of the horse barn and Isabelle got the impression it wasn’t the first time he’d had to apologize for his brother’s behavior.

  “Frankly, Mr. Hollister, I had heard this ranch was the epitome of hospitality. But after this morning, I have my doubts about that.”

  “Trust me. It won’t happen again.” His smile was apologetic. “You caught my brother at a bad time. You see, it’s foaling season and he’s working virtually 24/7 right now. I promise if you’ll come back to the ranch tomorrow, I’ll make sure Holt is on his best behavior.”