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  She can tame any wild stallion...

  but can she change this cowboy’s mind?

  Rancher Holt Hollister has no interest in selling his horses to new neighbor Isabelle Townsend. The petite blonde looks like she stepped off a runway, not a ranch. Yet Isabelle is determined to prove she can hold her own—both in and out of the saddle. Holt may have finally met his match, but is he ready to be the man Isabelle needs to make her dreams come true?

  “Do you ever get lonely here, Isabelle?”

  Her head turned toward his and his heart skipped a beat as he watched her lips slowly spread into a smile.

  “I’m not lonely now. You’re here,” she said simply.

  Something in him snapped, and before he could stop himself, Holt was sliding over to her and wrapping his hands over the tops of her shoulders.

  “Isabelle, I—” He paused, unsure of what he wanted or needed to say.

  When he failed to go on, she shook her head back and forth. “I thought you didn’t want me—like this. Do you?”

  The doubt in her voice was so opposite of the yearning inside him that he groaned with frustration. “You can’t imagine how much I want you, Isabelle. How much I want to do this.”

  He didn’t give her, or himself, time to think about anything. He lowered his head until their foreheads were touching and his lips were lightly brushing against hers. She tasted soft and sweet and as tantalizing as a hot drink on a frigid night.

  “I’ve thought too much about you,” she whispered. “About how much I wanted this to happen.”

  Her last words tore away the safety net he’d tried to erect between them.

  MEN OF THE WEST:

  Whether ranchers or lawmen, these heartbreakers can ride, shoot—and drive a woman crazy

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome back to Three Rivers Ranch! Foaling season is in full swing, and as manager of the ranch’s horse division, that means Holt Hollister is spending most of his days and nights making sure his mares are safely delivering their babies. He doesn’t have time for his life to be interrupted by a beautiful woman. Especially one who believes she’s capable of building her own horse ranch.

  Over the past few years, Holt has watched his brothers, Blake, Chandler and Joseph, along with his sister, Vivian, marry the loves of their lives and start families of their own. He’s happy for all of them, but he can’t see himself following in their footsteps. Holt has always been the rebel of the family. He has no plans to be fenced in by one woman. He’s perfectly content to play the field and be an uncle to his little nieces and nephews. But the moment Isabelle walks into his horse barn and kisses his prized stallion on the nose, he knows he’s in trouble and that all his well-laid plans are about to change.

  I hope you enjoy this return visit with the Hollister family and reading how Isabelle eventually tames Holt’s wild heart.

  God bless the trails you ride,

  Stella Bagwell

  Home to Blue Stallion Ranch

  Stella Bagwell

  After writing more than eighty books for Harlequin, Stella Bagwell still finds it exciting to create new stories and bring her characters to life. She loves all things Western and has been married to her own real cowboy for forty-four years. Living on the south Texas coast, she also enjoys being outdoors and helping her husband care for the horses, cats and dog that call their small ranch home. The couple has one son, who teaches high school mathematics and is also an athletic director. Stella loves hearing from readers. They can contact her at [email protected].

  Books by Stella Bagwell

  Harlequin Special Edition

  Men of the West

  The Lawman’s Noelle

  Daddy Wore Spurs

  Christmas on the Silver Horn Ranch

  Her Rugged Rancher

  His Badge, Her Baby...Their Family?

  The Cowboy’s Christmas Lullaby

  Montana Mavericks: The Great Family Roundup

  The Maverick’s Bride-to-Order

  The Fortunes of Texas: The Secret Fortunes

  Her Sweetest Fortune

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  To all my horses,

  for the love and happiness they’ve given me

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Marine's Family Mission by Victoria Pade

  Chapter One

  Who the hell is that?

  Holt Hollister pushed back the brim of his black cowboy hat and squinted at the feminine shape framed by the open barn door. He didn’t have the time or energy to deal with a woman this morning. Especially one who was pouting because he’d forgotten to call or send flowers.

  Damn it!

  Jerking off his gloves, he jammed them into the back pocket of his jeans and strode toward the shapely figure shaded by the overhang. Behind him the loud whinny of a randy stallion drowned out the sounds of nearby voices, rattling feed buckets, the whir of fans, and the muffled music from a radio.

  As soon as the woman spotted his approach, she stepped forward and into a beam of sunlight slanting down from a skylight. The sight very nearly caused Holt to stumble. This wasn’t one of his girlfriends. This woman looked like she’d just stepped off an exotic beach and exchanged a bikini for some cowboy duds.

  Petite, with white-blond hair that hung past her shoulders, she was dressed in a white shirt and tight blue jeans stuffed into a pair of black cowboy boots inlaid with turquoise and red thunderbirds. Everything about her said she didn’t belong in his horse barn.

  Frustration eating at him, he forced himself to march onward until the distance between them narrowed down to a mere arm’s length and she was standing directly in front of him.

  “Hello,” she greeted. “Do you work here?”

  Holt might forget where he’d placed his truck keys or whether he’d eaten in the past ten hours, but he didn’t forget a woman. And he was quite certain he’d never laid eyes on this one before today. Even without a drop of makeup on her face, she was incredibly beautiful, with smooth, flawless skin, soft pink lips, and eyes that reminded him of blue velvet.

  “It’s the only place I’ve ever worked,” he answered. “Are you looking for someone in particular?”

  She flashed him a smile and at any other time or place, Holt would’ve been totally charmed. But not this morning. He’d spent a hellish night in the foaling barn and now another day had started without a chance for him to draw a good breath.

  She said, “I am. I’m here to see Mr. Hollister. I was told by one of the ranch hands that I’d find him in this barn.”

  She was looking straight at him and for a brief second Holt was thrown off-kilter by her gaze. Not only direct, it was as cool as a mountain stream.

  “Three Mr. Hollisters live on this ranch,” he said bluntly. “You have a first name?”

  “Holt. Mr. Holt Hollister.”

/>   He blew out a heavy breath. He might’ve guessed this greenhorn would be looking for him. Being the manager of the horse division of Three Rivers Ranch, he was often approached by horse-crazy women, who wanted permission to walk through the barn and pet the animals, as if he kept them around for entertainment.

  “You’re talking to him.”

  Those blue, blue eyes suddenly narrowed skeptically, as though she’d already decided he was nothing more than a stable hand. And he supposed he couldn’t blame her. He’d not had time to shave this morning. Hell, he’d not even gone to bed at all last night. Added to that, the legs of his jeans were stained with afterbirth and smears of blood had dried to brown patches on his denim shirt.

  “Oh. I’m Isabelle Townsend. Nice to meet you, Mr. Holt Hollister.”

  She extended her hand out to him and Holt wiped his palm against the hip of his jean before he wrapped it around hers.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Townsend?” he asked, while wondering how such a soft little thing could have a grip like a vice.

  She eased her hand from his. “I’ve been told you have nice breeding stock for sale. I’m looking to buy.”

  If Holt hadn’t been so tired, he would’ve burst out laughing. She ought to be home painting her fingernails, or whatever it was that women like her did to amuse themselves, he thought. “Are you talking about cattle or horses? Or maybe you’re looking for goats? If you are, I know a guy who has some beauties.”

  “Horses,” she said flatly, while peering past his shoulder at the rows of stalls lining both sides of the barn. “This is a horse barn, isn’t it? Or are you in the goat business now?”

  The sarcasm in her voice was the same tone he’d used on her. And though he deserved it, her response irked him. Usually pretty women smiled at him. This one was sneering.

  “I’m in the business of horses. And at this time, Three Rivers isn’t interested in selling any. You should drive down to Phoenix and try the livestock auction. If you’re careful with your bidding, you can purchase some fairly decent animals there. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy.”

  Not waiting to hear her reply, he walked off and didn’t stop until he was out the opposite end of the barn and out of Isabelle Townsend’s sight.

  * * *

  Furious and humiliated, Isabelle turned on her heel and stalked out of the barn. So much for all she’d heard about Three Rivers Ranch and its warm hospitality. Apparently, those glowing recommendations didn’t include Holt Hollister.

  Outside in the bright Arizona sunlight, she crossed a piece of hard-packed ground to where her truck was parked next to a tall Joshua tree.

  Jerking open the door, she was about to climb into the cab when a male voice called out to her.

  Wondering if Holt Hollister had decided he’d behaved like an ass and had come to apologize, she turned to see it wasn’t the arrogant horseman who’d followed her. This man was slightly taller and perhaps a bit older than Holt Hollister, but she could see a faint resemblance to the man she’d just crossed words with.

  “Hello,” he said. “I’m Blake Hollister, manager of the ranch.”

  He extended his hand in a friendly manner and Isabelle complied.

  “I’m Isabelle Townsend,” she introduced herself, then added dryly, “It’s nice meeting you. I think.”

  His brows disappeared beneath the brim of his gray hat. “I happened to see you go in the horse barn five minutes ago. If you’re looking for someone in particular, I might be able to help.”

  “I was looking for the man who manages your horse division. Instead I found a first-class jerk!” She practically blasted the words at him, then promptly hated herself for the 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 th
at 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.”