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 have all turned out to be stinkers.”
Isabelle shrugged. “At least you weren’t like me and made the mistake of marrying the wrong man.”
“From what you’ve told me, your ex would’ve been happy to stay married. And you did say that the two of you are still friends. Are you sure you don’t regret getting a divorce?”
“Trevor was a good guy. A nice guy. But he—” He just hadn’t loved her. Not with the deep, abiding love that Isabelle had craved. “Well, he was a great companion. Just not a husband.”
Shaking her head, Emily-Ann sighed. “I’m not sure I get that. But as long as you think you’re better off now, then that’s all that really matters, I suppose.”
Isabelle finished the brownie and unwrapped the square of wax paper from the fritter. “I am better off. I’m following my dreams.”
Emily-Ann leaned back in her chair. “How is the ranch coming along? Have you found any horses to buy?”
Instead of blurting the curse word burning the tip of her tongue, Isabelle snorted. “Actually, I drove out to Three Rivers this morning to look at their horses, but I didn’t get to first base.”
“Oh, what happened? Out of all of the horses they have, surely you could find something that suited you.”
“Ha! All I got to see was an arrogant cowboy and he promptly sent me on my way.”
Emily-Ann’s mouth fell open. “You mean Holt? He sent you packing?”
“He did. Emily-Ann, I thought you told me he was a charming guy and that he’d be easy to do business with. The guy is a first-class jerk!” Isabelle huffed out a breath and reached for her coffee.
Emily-Ann was perplexed. “I don’t understand how that could’ve happened. But he’s dreamy-looking. Right?”
Isabelle sipped the hot drink and tried not to think about the way Holt Hollister had looked standing there in front of her with his long legs parted and his arms folded against his broad chest. Dreamy? He’d looked rough around the edges and as tough as rawhide. “I’ll admit he’s sexy, but not the sort I dream about. I like manners and kindness in a man.”
Emily-Ann batted a hand through the air. “Holt knows all about manners. Him sending you away—that’s just not the man I know, and I’ve been friends with the whole family since I was a very little girl.”
Isabelle shrugged, while trying not to take the man’s behavior personally. “There must’ve been something about me that Holt didn’t like. Or maybe something I said. Like hello,” she added dryly. “No matter. Blake invited me to come back tomorrow and I’m going to take him up on the invitation.”
Emily-Ann looked relieved. “Oh, so you met Blake. He’s a real gentleman.”
“I’ll put it this way, he’s nothing like his brother,” Isabelle replied.
“So what did you think about Three Rivers? It’s quite a place, isn’t it?”
Nodding, Isabelle admitted, “Beautiful. But nothing like I was expecting. I thought the main ranch house would be a hacienda-type mansion surrounded by a stone wall with an elaborate gated entrance. Instead, it was a homey three-story house with wood siding and a front porch for sitting.”
Emily-Ann sighed. “The Hollisters are a homey bunch. Guess that’s why the family is so well liked. They’re just regular folks. Even though they have oodles of money.”
Isabelle’s ex had also had oodles of money. Perhaps not as much as the Hollisters, but he’d had enough to give her a tidy fortune in the