John Wolcott had been kissing her.
And she'd been kissing him back.
Rolling from her side, Isabel put her arm over her forehead. Dreams of such a passionate nature hadn't snuck up on her in longer than she could remember-- and never as vivid a one as she'd had about John's mouth covering hers. It was as if he'd actually been kissing her. Her lips tingled even now. .
With a lift of her hand, she ran her fingertips over the seam of her mouth. A kiss as tender and light as the breeze... that's how it had started. Then it turned to an intensity that sent spirals of ecstacy through her.
Reckless abandon, that's what it had been.
How could she? Even in a dream?
He was a good-for-nothing, a serenader to full moons--not the kind of man she wanted.
Isabel became aware of a tinny sound that didn't belong outside her window. Her heartbeat faltered. Sitting up and flipping her braid behind her, she grabbed the tiny derringer she kept in a bedside drawer. The gun wasn't very powerful, but it was enough to persuade any intruder to think twice about trespassing or harming her.
Not bothering to slip into her wrapper, she crept onto the porch and walked to the side of the house, pistol raised. She paused when she saw John.
He was watering the last lemon tree with her metal bucket. All the other trees had sloppy wet pools at the bases of their trunks. He must have been at this for hours. Why hadn't she heard him before?
Her mind had been too occupied with thoughts of kissing him... that's why.
Lifting his head, John spied her. The sides of his mouth curved down. "I didn't think you'd stoop this low."
Nonplused, she murmured, "What...?"
"Shoot me and take the berries for your own."
"I'd never do that." Indignation laced her reply. Isabel gazed at the gun, then at John. She lowered the pistol to her side. "I heard a noise. I didn't know it was you out here."
"Somebody had to get these trees watered if we're going to get an early start over to Rigby Glen. Half the damn morning's been wasted."
Embarrassment clutched Isabel. She normally did rise early. It still was early, by the looks of the sun. Usually she'd have been up by this hour and already had half her trees watered. That John had gone out of his way to help her... it just... well, the gesture flustered her. She didn't know what to make of him.
She caught him eyeing her nightgown with a smoldering stare. To be precise, he was eyeing the thin muslin covering her legs as the rays of sunlight poured through it left the fabric as transparent as white poppy petals.
"I'll get ready," she said and turned toward the house, unable to rid herself of the longing that gnawed inside her. With a single gaze, John made her feel like she ought to be in his arms.
Inside the cabin, Isabel collected herself and rushed to dress and pack a meal for the day. A couple hours later, they sat beneath a pungent eucalyptus eating the tortillas with brown sugar, powered cocoa, and cinnamon rolled into tubes that she'd made, and handfuls of dried apricots.
They'd gathered a good share of berries, having dodged a group to the south by riding west several miles, then doubling back in the higher country and heading for the glen undetected.
John had surprised her with that piebald mare she'd wanted--saddled and waiting in the yard next to his mount. When she asked him how he'd managed to get the horse when he'd given her all the berries, he wouldn't tell her. For a few flickering seconds, she wondered if he'd held out on her... if he'd kept some berries for his own vices.
She knew that nearly all the businesses in town were now taking only berries as payment. And she knew that John liked his liquor... But she didn't press him for an answer. She had to trust him. They were partners now.
"Goin' to be a cooker today," John mentioned as he brought his leg up and rested his forearm on his knee.
His accent made her ask, "Where are you originally from?"
He turned toward her. They shared the small blanket she'd brought, John leaning his back against the eucalyptus trunk. "Texarkana, Texas."
"You sound like you're from Texas."
"Do I? I didn't think my drawl was that noticeable."
She shook her head while smiling softly.
"Where're you from?"
"Los Angeles," she replied.
Isabel faced forward and looked at the expanse of wide open country growing wild with lilac, spicebush, and California juniper. It was hard to believe that she'd actually lived in the city, been confined by brick buildings, the first motor cars, and street noises so loud she'd grown used to them.
"You lived alone?"
"No. With my sister and her husband."
She thought about the two years prior to her arrival in Limonero.
She'd been living in a tiny apartment with Kate and Andrew while working as a maid at the Hotel Ramona. As much as she loved her sister, Isabel found the close quarters disquieting, especially when tensions rose between the couple.
Having gone through a bad marriage herself, Isabel hadn't wanted to add to Kate and Andrew's troubles by being in the way. So she'd packed her belongings, wished her sister well, and left on the first northbound train with the promise that she'd write. She did stay in touch, and was glad to hear the couple was working out their differences.
"Do you have family back in Texas?" she asked, folding her napkin and John's and putting them back in her picnic hamper.
"Nope. My dad and his new wife live in Mexico. My mother's dead. I've got a brother--Tom, who lives in Montana. I haven't seen him in ages." His expression grew distant, as if talking about his brother wasn't something he was used to. "You see your sister much?"
"No."