Home To Blue Stallion Ranch. Stella Bagwell
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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.”
Isabelle didn’t give a damn about the horse manager. As far as she was concerned, the man could ride off into the sunset and never return.
“Honestly, Mr. Hollister, I have no desire to do business with your brother. Exhaustion isn’t an excuse for bad manners.”
“No. And I agree that Holt can be insensitive at times. But you’ll find that when it comes to horses, he’s the best.”
He might be the best, but would dealing with the man be worth it? If it would help make her dream come true, she could surely put up with Mr. Arrogant for a few minutes, she decided.
Shrugging, she said, “All right, Mr. Hollister. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He helped her into the truck, then shut the truck door and stepped back. And as Isabelle drove away, she wondered why she’d agreed to meet the good-looking horseman with a tart tongue for a second time. Solely for the chance to buy a few mares? Or did she simply want the pleasure of giving him a piece of her mind?
The answer to that was probably a toss-up, she decided.
* * *
“Holt? Are you in there?”
The sound of Blake’s loud voice booming through the open doorway penetrated Holt’s sleep-addled brain. Groggily, he lifted his head just in time to see his older brother step into the messy room he called his office.
“I’m right here. What’s the matter? Is Cocoa having trouble?” He leaned back in the desk chair and wiped a hand over his face.
“As far as I know, nothing is wrong with Cocoa. I saw her five minutes ago. She was standing and the baby was nursing.”
“Thank God. I had to call Chandler back to the ranch to deal with her afterbirth. I was afraid she might be having complications,” he explained, then squinted a look at Blake’s dour expression. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve been eating green persimmons.”
“That task would probably be easier than trying to fix your mess-ups,” Blake retorted.
This wiped the cobwebs from Holt’s brain. “My mess-ups? What are you talking about?”
Blake shoved a stack of papers to one side and eased a hip onto the corner of the desk. “Don’t feign ignorance. You know damned good and well I’m talking about Isabelle Townsend. The blonde who left the horse barn with smoke pouring out of her ears. What the hell did you say to her anyway?”
Holt used both hands to scrub his face again. “Not much. I basically made it clear that I didn’t have time for her. Which is hardly a lie. You know that.”
Blake blew out a heavy breath. “Yes, I know it. But in this case, you should’ve made time. Or, at the very least, been polite to the woman.”
Holt picked up a coffee cup and peered at the cold black liquid inside. He’d poured the drink about five hours earlier, but never found a chance to drink it. Now particles of dust were floating over the surface. “What is the big deal, Blake? It was very clear to me that the woman had no legitimate business here on the ranch. I seriously doubt she’s ever straddled a horse in her entire life. We’ll probably never see her again.”
“Wrong. I invited her to return tomorrow. And I made a personal promise to her that you’d be behaving like a human being instead of a jackass.”
Holt plunked the coffee cup back to the desktop. “Oh, hell, Blake, you have no idea how I behaved with Isabelle what’s-her-name. You weren’t there.”
“I didn’t have to be. I know how you are whenever you run out of patience. Like I said, a jackass.”
“Okay, okay. I wasn’t nice. I’ll admit it. But I’m running on empty. And just looking at her rubbed me the wrong way.”
Blake arched a brow at him. “Really? She was damned pretty. Since when has a pretty woman got your dander up? Unless—” His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Dear Lord, I hope you didn’t make a pass at her. Is that what really happened?”
“No! Not even close!” Holt rose from the chair and began to move restlessly around the jumbled room.
His mother often mentioned that he needed a nicer office, one that was fitting for a respected horse trainer, but Holt always balked at the idea. He liked the dust and the jumble. He liked having metal filing cabinets filled with papers instead of flash drives and computers with spreadsheets. If he wanted to throw a dirty saddle across the back of a chair, he did. If he wanted to toss a pile of headstalls and bridles into a corner of the room, he didn’t worry about how it looked or smelled. He was in the business of horses. Not ostentatious surroundings. Or technical gadgets.
“Yeah, pretty women and I go hand in hand,” he went on with a dose of sarcasm. “Except I don’t like it when they pretend to be something they aren’t.”
“I don’t get you, Holt. You don’t know Isabelle Townsend. Why you’ve made this snap decision about her, I’ll never understand. But I’m telling you, you’ve got it all wrong. She’s purchased the old Landry Ranch and has intentions of turning it into a horse farm. And from what I hear about the woman, she has enough riding trophies to fill up this room.”
Holt stopped in his tracks and stared at his brother. “Who says?”
“Emily-Ann for one. And working at Conchita’s, you know she hears everything.”
Holt sputtered. “Sure, Blake. Working at a coffee shop means she hears gossip.”
“This is more than gossip,” Blake countered. “Emily-Ann has become fairly good friends with the woman.”
Holt looked away from his brother and down at the dusty planked floor. This part of the foaling barn had been built many years before Holt was born and the cypress boards, though durable, were a fire hazard. The floor actually needed to be ripped out and replaced with concrete, but like many parts of the century-and-a-half-old ranch, they remained as pieces of tradition.
“The old Landry Ranch, you say? That means she’s our neighbor on the north boundary.”
“Right,” Blake replied. “And we don’t need any kind of friction with a neighbor. So you think you can play nice in the morning?”
Holt grinned. “Sure. I’ll be so sweet, she’ll think she’s covered in molasses.”
Blake rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you need to spread it on that thick, brother. Just be yourself. No. On second thought, that could be dangerous. Just be congenial.”
Holt’s