Home To Blue Stallion Ranch. Stella Bagwell
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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 it 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.”
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