Home To Blue Stallion Ranch. Stella Bagwell

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 weary chuckle was more like a groan. “Don’t worry, Blake. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

      * * *

      By the time Isabelle reached the outskirts of Wickenburg, she’d managed to push her simmering frustration aside and set her thoughts on the breakfast she’d missed earlier this morning. Endless chores were waiting for her back at the ranch, and it would make more sense to go home and fix herself a plate of eggs and toast. But she was already close to town, and after that humiliating encounter with Holt Hollister, taking time for coffee and a pastry at Conchita’s would be a treat she desperately needed.

      After driving through the main part of Wickenburg, she turned onto a sleepy side street where the tiny coffee shop was located. Shaded by two old mesquite trees, the building’s slab pine siding was weathered to a drab gray. Worn stepping stones led up to a small porch with a short overhang.

      At the moment, the single wooden door stood open to the warm morning and Isabelle could hear the muted sounds of music. As she stepped inside the dim interior, she was met with the mouthwatering scents of fresh baked pastries and brewing coffee.

      An elderly man with a cane was at the counter. Isabelle stood to one side and waited patiently while Emily-Ann sacked his order.

      “Hi, Isabelle!” the waitress greeted. “I’ll be right back as soon as I help Mr. Perez out with his things.”

      “Sure. Take your time. I’m in no hurry,” Isabelle assured her.

      The gentleman waved a dismissive hand at the young, auburn-haired woman and spoke something to her in rapid Spanish. Emily-Ann replied in the same language and made a shooing gesture toward the door.

      “He insists he can carry his order out to the car on his own,” she explained to Isabelle. “But I’m not going to let that happen.”

      While Emily-Ann assisted the customer, Isabelle stepped up to the glass cases holding a huge array of pastries and baked treats. She was still trying to decide between the brownies and the apple fritters when Emily-Ann returned and gave Isabelle a tight hug.

      Laughing, Isabelle hugged her back. “You must have missed me!”

      “I have!” Emily-Ann exclaimed, a wide smile lighting up her pretty freckled face. “You’ve not been in for a few days.”

      “I’ve been busy. So busy, in fact, that I missed breakfast this morning.” Isabelle pointed to a top shelf. “Give me a brownie and an apple fritter. And a large regular coffee with cream.”

      Emily-Ann, who was the same age as Isabelle, looked at her in disbelief. “A brownie and an apple fritter? And you look like that? Do you know how frustrated that makes me? Just breathing the air in here makes me gain a pound!”

      Isabelle shook her head. “You look lovely. I only wish I had your height. For the first fifteen years of my life, I was called shorty.”

      “That’s better than being called freckles.” Emily-Ann turned to a counter behind her and filled a cup with coffee. “Do you want this to go?”

      “No. I don’t want to gobble it down while I drive. I want to enjoy every bite.”

      “Great,” she said. “The customers have let up for the moment so I’ll join you. That is, if you’d like the company.”

      “C’mon. I’d love your company.”

      The two women walked outside and sat down at one of the small wrought iron tables and chairs sitting in the shade of the mesquites.

      “So what’s been going on with you since I was here?” Isabelle asked as she broke off a piece of the brownie and popped it into her mouth.

      Emily-Ann tilted her head from side to side in a nonchalant expression. “Nothing new. At this time of year, lots of snowbirds come in for coffee. Most of them are friendly and want to chat and ask questions about things to see and do around here. Honestly, Isabelle, when you’ve lived in one little town all your life, you don’t really see things as a tourist. For example, that saguaro over there across the street. The tourists ooh and aah over it. To me, it’s just a saguaro.”

      “That’s because you see it every day.” Isabelle sipped her coffee, hoping the caffeine would revive her from the long morning she started before daylight. “But think of it this way, one of those snowbirds that walk into the coffee shop might be your Mr. Right.”

      Emily-Ann grimaced. “I’m not sure I want to look for a Mr. Right anymore. The men I’ve dated СКАЧАТЬ