The creek ran in a placid flow here, close to the mountain that separated the inland from the shore. She wouldn't have thought the torrent could have dried up so quickly, but it had. The only evidence of the downpour were the broad sandbars and deeply rooted willows along the banks; they were limp and coated with grit. The banks had wavy ripples in the sand that marked the receding flow.
John dismounted and single-handed his reins. "Well walk the horses across. After a flood, the river bottom's not too stable."
She gave him a slow nod, then scanned the water. The shallow trickle didn't look ominous to her. But she heeded his advice and hopped down from her horse to take the reins in her gloved hand.
He let her go ahead of him..
The rocky gravel gave way to silt that stuck to her boots, making a suction sound when she lifted her foot. On the opposite side was a shoulder of hills, and over them, the ridge that led to the coast. It was on the coastal side of Moontide Ridge where berry bushes grew in abundance. This far northwest from town, the chances of their still being lush with fruit was strong.
"You know, I've been thinking about Bellamy," she said in what she hoped came across as an offhand manner. Choosing her steps carefully, she went on when John didn't prompt her to divulge what exactly she'd been thinking about Bellamy. "He said he was in Pago Pago last year for Christmas. I looked up Pago Pago in the mercantile atlas. Do you know where it is?" "Cross on the rocks," John directed, not answering her question.
She frowned and took a short leap onto a rock as the mare behind her sloshed through the water. "Pago Pago is on the southern coast of Tutuila Island, in Samoa." She paid little attention to her next step, trying to get him interested in the relevance of what she had to say. "You know where Samoa is?"
"On the rocks!" he barked at her. "Don't walk on the sandbars."
Isabel pitched him a glare over her shoulder. "I asked if you knew where Samoa was."
"What do I care? I'll never go there."
With a toss of her chin, she faced forward. "Well, you could go there if you were Santa Claus. Pago Pago is in the Pacific Ocean somewhere, this same ocean we have here. And they have pineapples. That's fruit."
"Your left foot, Isabel. Watch it."
Frowning, she stomped her left foot purposefully into the sandbar. "All I was trying to say is Pago Pago is far away. And for Bellamy to have been there he had to travel on a boat--I think... but I doubt it. You know, the books say Santa Claus can fly--"
The last words whooshed out of her as her right leg sunk straight down into an ooze of sand and she fell forward. Her hold on the horse released, and then both her hands were in front of her trying to push herself back to her feet. But she became caught in the quicksand.
Isabel was too stunned to do anything but sputter and gasp for air. The sand started to pull her under quicker than she could think.
Vaguely aware of John's voice and the light splash of creek water as he leapt from one rock to the other to reach the other side, she called out to him.
"Isabel, don't fight it! Stay still!"
She tried to find him on the shore, but she'd lost her hat and the sunlight was in her eyes. "John?!" She had to get out. Wiggling her feet and legs did no good.
"Don't move! You'll dig yourself in faster!"
"Help me!" But her cry sounded lost to her as she lowered nearly to her chin. Everything was happening so fast Somewhere in her mind, she found the strength to do as John asked. She went still.
Then hands caught her beneath her arms. John's face loomed over hers and he never looked more handsome or heroic. Even if he couldn't save her... he'd tried, and she... loved him for his effort.
"Hold on to me!" She wasn't a weak woman, but her strength was all but sapped. She did the best she could, her limp arms draping over his shoulders.
"You have to hold tight, Isabel! I can't pull myself out if I've got to hold you, too."
She barely nodded, seeing for the first time that he'd fastened a rope around his middle that reached the other side of the creek and was anchored to the limb of an oak.
In what seemed like forever, John made the slow journey with her out of the sand and onto the banks, where he went to his knees to help her get her bearings. She could hardly move other than to tighten her grasp around his neck and cling to him as if she'd never let him go.
"You saved me," she murmured against his ear. "You could have left me and had everything for yourself... but you saved me."
"Isabel." Her name grated from his throat in a pained whisper. "I would never have left you. Isabel... I couldn't. I... care too much. Everything wouldn't be anything to me... without you."
To her embarrassment, she began crying--softly, gently, against his strong shoulder.
They were wet and muddy and had nearly been pulled into the sand. But she couldn't think about that. The words swirling in her head weren't only the ones of gratitude and affection. There was a silent declaration she was too afraid to speak.
I love you, John.
John Wolcott had fallen in love for the first time in his life.
He loved Isabel.
Standing at the railing of the Pierpont Inn and gazing out at the ocean, John got used to the idea. Not that he needed to--he'd been in love with her for days, but he hadn't recognized how strongly until he'd nearly lost her.
What would she say if he told her?
It seemed too soon, too sudden. But sometimes a man just knew. She was the woman for him, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Hell, he'd been waiting for her all his life. And because of a contest... he'd found her.