magazines and drinking coffee,” Holt teased as he snatched up three of the tacos.
Reeva swatted the spatula at his hand. “Get out of here, you worthless saddle tramp.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going. As soon as I find my insulated cup.”
“Right behind you. On the cabinet. And don’t go out without your jacket. It’s cold this morning.”
“It’s a good thing you’re around to tell me what to do, Reeva. Otherwise, I’d be in a hell of a mess.” He grabbed up the stainless steel cup and headed toward the door that led to the backyard.
“You stay in a mess even with my help,” she said tartly, then added, “I’ll send Jazelle down with some pastries later. And don’t call me old woman.”
Holt looked over his shoulder and winked at her. “Reeva, you look as fresh as a spring rose.”
Reeva continued to flip the frying bacon. “You wouldn’t know what a spring rose looked like. But I love you anyway.”
“Right back at ya, old woman.”
At the door, he levered on a gray Stetson and, to please Reeva, pulled on a Sherpa-lined jacket. After stuffing the tacos into one of the pockets to keep them warm on the long walk to the foaling barn, he stepped outside and was promptly slammed in the face with a cold north wind.
Ducking his head, he left the backyard and started toward the massive ranch yard in the distance. Along the way, he passed the bunkhouse where most of the single ranch hands lived. The scents of coffee and frying sausage drifted out from the log building and Holt figured the guys would be sitting down to breakfast any minute now, which was served at five on most mornings. Once in a while, he and Blake would join the group for the early meal, just to share a few casual minutes with the hardworking employees. But the bunkhouse cook was a crusty old fellow, who couldn’t begin to match Reeva’s kitchen skills.
At the cattle pens, there were already a half dozen cowboys spreading feed and hay. Dust billowed from the stirring hooves, a sign that so far the winter had been extremely dry. Grass on the range was getting as scarce as hen’s teeth and Matthew had already warned Blake that the hay Three Rivers had baled back in the spring would soon be gone. As for the Timothy/alfalfa mix Holt fed the horses, he’d already been forced to get tons of it shipped in from northern Nevada.
At times like these, Holt figured Blake acquired a few more gray hairs at his temples. As manager of the ranch, his brother carried a load on his shoulders and he worried. But Holt didn’t worry. Not about the solvency of the ranch. After a hundred and seventy-one years, he figured the place would keep on standing strong. No, the only thing he worried about was keeping the horses healthy. And his mother.
For the most part, Holt could control the well-being of the Three Rivers’ remuda, but his mother was a different matter. Lately she was doing a good job of acting like she was happy. But Holt and his siblings weren’t fooled. She was keeping something from the family.
Chandler wanted to think she’d fallen in love and was trying to hide it, but Holt didn’t go along with his brother’s idea. A woman in love had a look about her that was impossible to hide and his mother didn’t have it.
When Holt reached the horse barn, the hands were already feeding the few mares that were stalled with their new foals. T.J., the barn manager, met Holt in the middle of the wide alleyway.
“Mornin’, Holt,” he greeted. “Everything is quiet. No problem with Ginger. She seems to have taken to her little boy. He’s been standing and nursing and already looks stronger than he did two hours ago.”
Holt wasn’t surprised to hear T.J. had already been at the barn for two or three hours. He was a dedicated young man with an affinity for horses. He’d come to work for the ranch six years ago and since then had proved his worth over and over.
“That’s happy news. I was afraid we might have to put him on a nurse mare.” Grinning now, Holt patted his jacket pocket. “I have breakfast tacos. If you’re hungry, I’ll share.”
“Thanks, Holt, but I promised William I’d eat at the bunkhouse this morning. Now that you’re here, I’ll mosey on over there.”
“Better do more than mosey or there won’t be anything left.”
“Right. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The barn manager turned on his heel and hurried out of the barn.
On the way to his office, Holt made a short detour to Ginger’s stall. As T.J. had informed him, the colt was looking remarkably stronger since his birth yesterday. The fact that the first-time mare was now bonding with her baby was a huge relief and he smiled as he watched her lick the white star on the colt’s forehead.
“He’s a good-looking boy. Big boned, bright eyed and straight legs. By the time he’s a weanling, he’ll be strong and sturdy.”
The unexpected female voice had him whirling around to see Isabelle Townsend had walked up behind him. The sight of her at any time of the day would’ve surprised him, but he doubted it was daylight yet. Blake had told him she’d probably return to the ranch today, but he’d not mentioned she might show up at five in the morning!
“Ms. Townsend,” he said in the way of greeting. “You’re out early.”
To his surprise, she must’ve forgiven his nasty behavior yesterday. There wasn’t anything sarcastic in the smile on her face. On the contrary. It was warm enough to chase away the chill in the barn.
“Yesterday you were too busy to deal with me. This morning I came early in hopes I’d catch you before that happened.”
He had a thousand and one things to do, including eating the meager breakfast he was carrying in his pocket. He didn’t have time for Isabelle Townsend. Not this morning, or any morning. But he’d promised Blake he’d be a gentleman and one thing Holt never wanted to do was break his word to his big brother.
“I was headed to my office. If you’d like to join me, we can talk there.” He turned away from Ginger’s stall. “Have you had breakfast?”
“No. But I’m fine. Sometimes I don’t bother with that meal.”
From the looks of her, she didn’t bother with eating much at all. Yesterday he’d noticed she was petite. This morning, he could see she was even smaller than he remembered. Even with the heels of her cowboy boots adding to her height, he doubted the top of her head would reach the middle of his chest. The notion struck him that he could pick her up with one arm and never feel the strain.
But he had no plans to get that close to their pretty neighbor, Holt decided. Not unless she wanted him to.
Walking to his office, Isabelle was careful to keep a respectable distance from Holt Hollister. She had no idea if Emily-Ann’s remarks about him being a ladies’ man were true or just rumors. Either way, she didn’t want to give him the impression that she was interested in anything more than his horses.
“You must have assumed I start the day early,” he said.
“All horse trainers start the day long before
