Isabelle rose and extended her hand to the other woman. “Nice to meet you, Jazelle. And thank you for bringing the breakfast. It smells heavenly.”
Jazelle’s handshake was hearty and sincere and Isabelle liked her immediately.
“The cook and I bake pastries every other day. These just came out of the oven.” She continued to eye Isabelle. “I’m sorry I’m staring. But you’re just too darn pretty to be a horsewoman.”
Isabelle laughed. “And you’re too kind.”
Jazelle left the office and Isabelle looked around to see Holt had opened the lunch bucket and was in the process of filling two foam cups with coffee.
“Let’s eat,” he said. “There’s creamer and sugar for your coffee if you want it. And take what pastries you want. I have three chorizo and egg tacos. You’re welcome to one of them, too.”
“No, thanks. One of these cinnamon rolls will be enough.” She poured creamer into her coffee and with the cup and roll in hand, she sat back down in the chair.
Through the open doorway, Isabelle could hear the horses exchanging whinnies and the familiar clanking of gates as each stall door was opened and closed. Above those sounds was the faint hum of a radio and the noise of the workers as they called to each other.
Someday, she thought, her barn would sound like this. Look like this. With mares and foals everywhere and plenty of ranch hands taking care of the chores. As much as Trevor had tried to make her happy, he’d never shared Isabelle’s dream of having a horse farm. He’d only tolerated her obsession with equines because he’d been smart enough to know if he’d given her an ultimatum, she would’ve chosen the horses over him.
“Is working with horses something you’ve done for a while?” he asked. “Or is this a new venture for you?”
Isabelle swallowed a bite of the roll before she answered. “I first started riding when I was five years old. That’s when my mom introduced me to a little brown pony named Albert. And I fell in love. By the time I got to be a teenager, I wanted to be a jockey, but Mom steered me away from that and into reining and cutting competitions. She considered being a jockey too dangerous.”
He grunted with amusement. “Walking through the mare’s paddock at feeding time is dangerous.”
“That’s true. But anyway, I got into the reining thing in a big way and eventually started training for breeders in southern California. After I moved to New Mexico, I began to acquire the mares.”
“I see. So until now, you’ve not actually had a horse ranch?”
She sipped the coffee, then shook her head. “Believe it or not, my ex-husband was overly generous in the divorce settlement just so I’d have plenty to purchase the property and the horses.”
The taco in his hand paused halfway to his mouth. “That’s hard to fathom.”
No. She didn’t expect him to understand. Something about Holt Hollister said he was the sort who’d love with all his heart, or not at all. And whatever he possessed, he’d fight to keep. Whether that be a wife, or material assets.
“I realize it sounds a bit crazy,” she said. “But we’re still good friends. And he wants me to be happy. Add to that, the man has more money than he knows what to do with. That’s the way with some folks in the oil industry. Money flows and things are acquired so easily that after a while everything loses its luster.” She cleared her throat, confused and embarrassed that she’d shared such personal things with this man. “Anyway, Trevor is a good and generous man. And he’s made it possible to invest in my dreams.”
“Lucky you.”
His quipped reply rankled her, but she carefully hid her reaction. “There was nothing lucky about it. I didn’t ask for the money. Or the divorce.”
His gaze dropped to the cup he was holding. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Was he really sorry? She doubted it. But then his opinion of her personal life hardly mattered. After today, she wouldn’t be rubbing shoulders with the man.
“Forget it,” she told him. “I have.”
* * *
She might’ve already forgotten, but Holt hadn’t. Damn it!
He didn’t know how their conversation had turned to such personal issues. One minute they’d been talking about her connection to horses and the next she was telling him about her divorce.
Hell! He didn’t care if she was married with five kids or devotedly single. He didn’t care if she had a good and generous ex-husband. And he sure didn’t care that she was the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. To Holt, she was a horse buyer. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Has your family always owned Three Rivers Ranch?”
Her question jerked Holt out of his reverie and he looked at her as he swallowed down the last bite of taco.
“The Hollisters first built this ranch back in 1847. Since then it’s always been a family thing.”
“Wow! That must go back through several generations,” she said, then shrugged. “I can’t remember the house my parents and I lived in when I entered middle school, much less know what sort of place they had when I was born. They were nomads. Still are.”
“So you think you want to root down.” He wished she’d quit talking about homes and family. She didn’t look the sort and he was as far from a family man as Earth was from Mars.
“More than anything,” she said with conviction.
Jazelle had brought a few little pecan tortes along with the cinnamon rolls. He gobbled down two of them and was finishing his coffee as fast as he could when she said, “I realize you’re in a hurry to get me out of your hair, but at the pace you’re eating, you’re going to have stomach issues.”
Dear Lord, was there nothing she missed? “I always eat fast. Otherwise, I might not have the chance to eat at all. If you’re finished with your coffee, we’ll go have a look at the horses.”
Smiling faintly, she leaned forward and gracefully placed her cup on the edge of his desk. “I’m ready any time you are.”
Rising from the desk chair, he pulled on his jacket and buttoned it up to his throat. By then, she’d gotten to her feet and fastened the hood over all that white-blond hair and pulled on a pair of fuzzy black mittens. She looked as sweet as Christmas candy and as fragile as a sparrow’s wing. How could this woman ever manage to work a horse ranch?
That’s none of your concern, Holt. All you need to do is keep your mind on your job and off the way Isabelle Townsend looks or sounds or smells. She’s not your type. She never will be.
Shoving away the mocking reminder in his head, he gestured toward the door. “You’re welcome to look at the mares and babies here in the barn, but none of them are for sale. Anything I might be willing to part with is outside.”
“I’d love to take a leisurely look. But you’re just as busy as I am.
