He'd left Texarkana and made his own way, doing just enough to stay afloat. Enjoying a game of cards. A glass of liquor. The soft and willing flesh of a woman.
A disturbing musing filled John's head. How did he get to be so much like his father? Why couldn't he be more like his younger brother, Tom?
Tom, who was ambitious enough to open his own sporting goods store. Tom, who saved enough earnings for it to amount to something. Tom... to whom John owed a pocketful of money. Every time John asked his brother for a loan, Tom complied. When would he wise up and realize John would never pay him back?
John lived day to day. It had been the smell of flowing oil that had attracted him to Limonero. But what did he have to show for years of working for Calco? Not a damn thing.
When Bellamy had looked at him, a single word had played over and over in John's head, knotting him up with apprehension:
Change. Change. Change.
What did Nicklaus want him to do? Change his ways? How could he? It had taken him thirty-four years to get this way. He didn't know any other existence but the one that had him Irving by the seat of his pants.
Change. Change. Change.
The branches of valley oaks stretched overhead, framing Isabel as she rode through them. They traversed oil country--all of it owned by Calco. The vast spread of shale glistening with a rainbow of petroleum and water oozing from the slopes made John think. If he could just get enough money together and buy a piece of land... he could drill for himself... be rich... have something to offer a woman.
A woman like Isabel. Where that thought came from John didn't want to go. He didn't even know her very well--other than to know she worked hard, was trustworthy, and was more pleasant to look at than the sunset over Ventura beach. And that was saying a lot, because he surely enjoyed that hour when the sun slipped into the ocean.
"How much farther?" Isabel called over her shoulder.
"Not that much. Across the creek and over that ridge." He pointed and her gaze followed his hand.
Along the hillside stretched an endless length of pipeline. Calco's. They'd finished it some five years back and saved a bundle on transporting fees through the railroad. The oil flowed from the fields all the way to the pier in Santa Barbara, making for one hell of an enterprise.
The distant gallop of horses caught John's ear in the windless canyon. The cliffs and large grove of oaks muffled sound, so the horses had to be well inside the canyon's mouth for John to hear them. They were close. Too close. He didn't want anyone giving them a run for the berries, so he trotted up to Isabel.
"We're crossing here." He steered his horse down the incline, Isabel falling in behind.
As he cantered toward the water, he flushed a flock of buzzards looking for a little wind to ride up over the ridge. But nothing moved down here except dust and heat. Not even the gunmetal layer of clouds that hung low in the sky could give any respite from the simmering air. Rain would be a salvation. And while he thought it, several fat drops hit him on the face and arms. John didn't want to be near the creek when the downpour hit. Flash floods could strike swiftly.
He urged his horse fast up the incline, making sure Isabel could keep up. He didn't see the riders behind them, but a swirl of dirt rose from an area in the canyon about a mile back. Whoever else was on the berry chase wasn't that far away.
Isabel caught up to him and they rode side-by-side in the peppering rain. "Do you think we're being followed?"
"Not followed. It's just that there aren't any bushes left around Limonero that have berries. People have to spread out. And after that speech Bellamy gave, I reckon the frenzy is only going to get worse."
Although he hadn't heard all of what Bellamy had to say, whatever it was had put the angst of a stirred beehive into town. When he and Isabel rode out the main street, shop windows had been painted with signs offering a penny for every berry brought into the store. The mercantile had upped their payment to two cents for every berry. And the Republic had done one even better--three cents.
While exiting Limonero, voices had been raised with excitement. Some said Bellamy was giving away five hundred dollars in gold. Others claimed it was one thousand in cash. Another assured the prize was the key to Bellamy's house. As the speculation increased, so did the fervor.
That was why John had buckled on a gun belt with a loaded Remington in the holster. He wasn't about to get shot over berries. Nor was he about to let anything happen to Isabel.
The need to protect her welled inside him and he rather liked the feeling. It made him think he had a worthwhile purpose, something important and more of a cause than sitting in the Republic drinking beer.
After a few miles, the climb grew steep and the oaks gave way to evergreens. A meadow loomed ahead, and with the rain coming down as hard as it was, John decided to make camp here on the sleek grass.
He reined in and dismounted. Keeping hold of his leathers, he dipped under his horse's neck and went to help Isabel. She was light in his arms as she sprung to the ground. He would have lingered a moment if it hadn't been for the need to put up the tent.
"Hobble the horses," he directed, his gaze on the raindrops clinging to her full mouth.
She set out to do so.
John began cutting poles for the tent and worked fast to stake it down. When he was finished, both he and Isabel were soaked through.
Sitting beneath the canvas and listening to the pulse of rain, John tucked a striped Mexican blanket around Isabel's shoulders.
"Cold?" he asked.
"No. The rain's warm."
Her hair had come loose from its twist. She lifted the length from beneath the blanket and the glossy black hair fell in a wet river down her back. He wished he had a brush on him... he would have liked to run it through her hair to get the tangles out.