"Well, first thing, I'm going to have a well dug on my place so I don't have to keep going to the creek for water. Then I might add more trees because watering them won't be so difficult. And I'll fix my house up. I want to paint the porch white and put on a new roof. Of course, I'll be canning my lemon syrup and sauce. I may even open a little stand in my front yard--you know, like that widow woman over on Willow Street who sells eggs."
John regarded her with eyes that told her everything about how he felt. He understood her dreams, because he had the same ambitions. She was wrong about him. He wasn't a loafer. He just hadn't had the right opportunity come along to help him out. This contest was a godsend for both of them. And if they didn't win, she'd be almost hopeless again. He felt the same way. She could see it
Her thoughts stalled when he leaned toward her as if he meant to cover her mouth with his. Firm lips were mere inches from hers. His breath mingled with the light sigh she made. Warmth from his hard body surrounded her even though they didn't touch. A fraction separated them and she waited... her eyelids fluttering closed.
Then he kissed her. His mouth moved over hers with a gentleness she hadn't expected. Warmth pooled in the bottom of her stomach and radiated outward with every beat of her heart. His kiss was a leisurely exploration that set her aflame in his arms--arms that had wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. She laid her own over his shoulders and skimmed the compact feel of muscle.
He must have sensed her total surrender, because his touch grew firmer. His lips pressed against hers in a possessive seal, coaxing a response from her that she had never experienced before. Could he know how shaken he made her feel? How desirable?
She leaned closer into him, and he molded his rock- solid body to hers. His hand reached into her hair, sifting and touching, caressing. She swept her own fingers at the nape of his neck, feeling the play of tendons as he slanted his head over hers.
Isabel trembled. Wanting John shattered her reasoning, her senses. Every thought she had focused on one thing: John Wolcott... and what he did to her, how he made her feel... special.
She could have lain back and given herself to him. She would have... if...
The coffeepot sputtered as water boiled over. Water that could put out the precious fire. John pulled back and Isabel felt cold for the first time.
His movements were jerky and restless, as if he was pent-up and frustrated. She could relate to that. But she hadn't been the one to move away. If it had been her, she would have damned the fire and let it go out. Who cared about coffee anyway?
Straightening and willing her jagged emotions to disappear, Isabel collected the cornbread and jar of stewed apples she'd packed.
"I suppose you're hungry." In spite of her best effort, she couldn't keep the tartness from her tone. Apparently, she wasn't as appealing as a hot cup of coffee.
"I could go for a bite." His voice sounded taut and edgy.
They ate in complete silence, Isabel wishing she'd never let herself think of John as more than a partner. Why had she let herself pretend there could be more between them? Pretend he liked her?
"Rain looks like it'll last for a while," John said at length. "We're stuck here until it lets up."
"I don't mind traveling in the rain." Her words were clipped.
"Neither do I. But that creek isn't a creek anymore. It's three times as wide as Main Street. To get back, we can't cross it for hours."
That sobered her out of her testy mood. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"But we're high enough... right?"
"We are."
Their eyes came together, and Isabel felt sorry she'd been so snappish. If she hadn't been longing for him, she could have been more civil. But her pride had been wounded. And, yet, her heart still wanted to reach out to him.
"Isabel..."
John's voice wrapped around her in a shimmering warmth, and his fingertip lifted to the seam of her mouth to lightly touch her. "You don't want to get tangled up with me. I'm no good."
"There's good in you," she whispered.
"Good for nothing. I can't hold a job for too long."
"Me either."
He cracked a slight smile.
She gave him one in return. "People like us do better working for ourselves."
"I reckon. But that takes money. We may not win."
"We have to win," she admonished. "We just have to."
She thought that if they didn't... what they had--or what was springing to life between them--would be gone, dead and buried. They'd have no reason to be with one another. But if they won... they'd have to divide the money. Then she'd want to see what land he bought, and watch how he drilled for the oil. In turn, she'd invite him to come over and see her porch painted up, show off her new lemon trees.
The contest was holding them together. If they walked away losers when it ended, both would go on with their lives... with nothing.
With no one.
Isabel didn't want to accept that.
John lowered his hand and gazed pensively out at the meadow. Isabel put the lunch away and watched the rain with him. He cradled her close with his arm, and she leaned her head onto his shoulder. After a while, he lay back and took her with him. She snuggled beside him, feeling as if she'd been made to fit perfectly in the contours of his body. Her palm rested on his chest, and beneath her fingertips, she could feel the thrum of his heartbeat.
Neither said anything, both heavily into thoughts, she supposed.
She stared at the tent's roof, her mind wandering to Bellamy Nicklaus. She knew him... she was sure... the way he'd looked at her. He'd read through her and seen her past Christmases as if he'd been there. And she'd seen him, too. Maybe not in the physical sense... but seen him just the same. In a book? In a carte de visite? A colored holiday card? There was something so familiar about him. So warm and cheery. So...