Waves crashed beneath the deck, lapping against the pilings and creating a serenade that was to John's hieing. The waning sun bronzed the white of his shirt. He'd bought himself and Isabel new clothes. His shirt had embroidery on the cuffs with full, billowing sleeves and an open neck where lacings lay undone. Hie pants were snow white as well, making him feel somewhat uncomfortable--too pristine. But it was the best he could do. The boardwalk vendor's price was right, not to mention that he was the only one around selling clothes.
Isabel was in one of the rooms cleaning up and changing. He'd paid for an hour's use with a bath and an attendant to help Isabel if she needed it. They'd had to come to the hotel on one horse. That mare he'd rented for her had taken off when she'd let go of the reins. No doubt the piebald was back to Limonero by now--with its panniers empty of berries. At least they hadn't picked any yet for somebody else to make off with when they caught the horse.
John had thought of booking the room for the night and staying in Ventura. But he hadn't wanted Isabel to feel trapped with him--he'd sensed she'd felt that way in the tent. He wasn't easily goaded into an argument. He didn't like them; he'd watched his parents have too many.
Tonight would be different, though. They weren't mad at each other. In fact, he felt as if they were closer now than they'd ever been. They could travel at night. He'd bought a set of blankets and a small lantern. Picking berries in near-dark wasn't a picnic. It could be done, though, if necessary. He was willing if that's what Isabel wanted.
Turning and resting his elbows on the railing, John looked through the magenta bougainvillea-covered arch that led to the hotel's rooms, to catch a glimpse of Isabel. He stood in the courtyard, where a single table and two chairs had been set up at his request. All around, palm tree fronds whispered in the breeze. Bird-of-paradise surrounded a softly trickling fountain. A gull cried overhead. Hibiscus flowers were in bloom in every color.
A slip of white caught his eye, and he turned.
Isabel walked toward him wearing her black hair in a high twist with many braids forming a loose effect at the top of her head. Pink flowers had been pinned in various places, adding a sweet softness he longed to breathe in. The three-tiered skirt and white blouse he'd picked out for her hadn't looked nearly as good on the vendor's table as they did on her.
The skirt had a wispy fullness to it and came only to her ankles. On her feet she wore Mexican sandals. The colorful embroidery on her blouse made a marbled splash at her bare throat and the crook of her arms. The ivory skin on the column and slope of her neck seemed almost golden in the sunset. A lacy shawl of fine white wool draped about her shoulders.
She was a vision...
John left the railing and went to her to take her hands. She let him. "Isabel, I don't know what to say. 'Beautiful' isn't enough."
Shyly, she looked down, then at him. "Lupe told me this skirt isn't too short, and the blouse is worn off the shoulders, but I feel... undressed," she confessed; then she added, "All over. If it wasn't for the shawl, I wouldn't have come out."
"Shawl or no"--he brought his fingers beneath her chin and lightly brushed his lips over hers, as if it were natural to do so--"you're exquisite."
Her cheeks pinkened. "Look at you... all dressed up."
"Yeah." He shrugged, uncertain she really liked how he looked and wanting to impress her.
"You look handsome."
He gave her a half smile, pleased. "Well, we're all gussied up so I reckon we should do something about it."
"What?" Her voice was breathless; her eyes shone as soft as purple irises.
"Enjoy the sunset."
"I'd like that." She made a move toward the railing and he stopped her.
"No, Isabel. This way." Her hand still clasped in his, he guided her to the table with its flickering amber globe and red oil lantern. "We'll have dinner, then we can do whatever you like." He held a chair out for her.
With indecision, she paused. Her tone was low when she said, "But we don't have any berries to pay for this..."
"They don't take berries here. Only money. And I had some. Enough for the room and clothes. And the dinner."
He thought back to Monday when his paycheck had been wearing a dent in his wallet, waiting for him to drink it away. He'd left the bar early and hadn't spent a cent since the contest began. A damn good thing. He wanted to give Isabel a night she'd never forget.
"If you're sure," she murmured, then let him help her sit.
Rounding the table, he sat across from her. "I'm sure."
The last vestiges of the sun were slipping into the ocean and the air felt soft. For a December evening, only a slight chill surrounded them.
Everything had to be perfect for Isabel. He didn't want to mess it up. He'd never wooed a woman and really meant it before.
She glanced at him, the fiery sunset shimmering off her hair. He remembered something.
"S'cuse me," he said in a rush as he yanked his hat off and plopped it beneath the table. "I forgot I had it on."
Her laughter sounded as silky at the palm fronds. "You're forgiven."
He could tell she was making light of him. But he didn't care.
A waiter came to the table with a tray carrying a pitcher and two glasses. He bowed and set the table.
"For the se�orita," he said as he poured sangria for Isabel.
Then to John he said, "Se�or."
John nodded, watching the sliced oranges spill into his glass along with the red wine.
Isabel didn't take a sip until John grasped his glass. Gazing into its depths, he could have sworn he saw a golf ball. Knitting his brows together, he gave the wine a swirl. What he thought had been a ball turned out to be an orange slice. But he would have made a bet there was a golf ball in his drink.