Upon a Midnight Clear Read online

  "He did?"

  "Hell yes. Why do you think he knows the landscape?"

  "I assumed he knew it because he used to drill for oil… and came up dry all the time. That's why they call him Duster."

  "That reputation came a long time after he gave up his illegal ways."

  "Why… I never would have figured Duster for an outlaw. He's just too sweet."

  John grew annoyed by the way she stuck up for the old man. "Well, some people can lead a surprising life. And Duster's one of them. He goes on and on about this rock cut and that creek—"

  "—this ridge and that ravine…"

  "Where white alder grows and where purple sage is thickest."

  Isabel nodded. "And where black sage is compact or junipers are the tallest." She gave an audible sigh. "Rigby Glen."

  He knew the spot—the next logical place to search for hollies if a man… or a woman… had been listening to Duster go on. After that—John threw up his hands in resignation. "Foster's Hideout."

  "And the day after… ?" Isabel baited him, but he remained quiet.

  Then after a long pause, they both said: "Moontide Ridge."

  "Well, damn," John muttered.

  "Damn," Isabel seconded, surprising him. "No wonder we keep stepping over each other. We both think like Duster."

  Isabel plucked her gloves off, wet the kerchief at her neck with water from a canteen, and wiped the damp cloth over her cheeks, nose, and mouth. He watched in fascination. Then he fixed his stare on her horse weighted down with ungainly panniers—a much safer target for his preoccupation.

  "That's the sorriest horse I've ever seen."

  The liver-spotted nag with a swayback deeper than a gully, and knock-kneed to boot, looked ready to keel over.

  "It's a rental," Isabel replied.

  "It's a standing corpse."

  "Well, she was free for the day." Her lips pursed. "Or almost free."

  "How many berries did she cost you?" John had seen the livery tacking up a big sign out front saying deals would now be made berries on the barrel or no deal at all.

  Isabel's face lit up, as if she felt real proud of herself. He liked the spirit and merriment in her eyes; they made her look lively. "She didn't cost me any berries. Just a case of my lemon syrup. I wanted a pretty piebald mare, but the livery said she was two hundred and forty-eight berries for a day's use. Highway robbery."

  "Yep, it was highway robbery to give you this one."

  "Well, I didn't have to give up a single berry for her, so she's good enough for me."

  He wondered about her lemon syrup, but not enough to ask her about it right now. The problem at hand took precedence.

  "Seems we're bound to keep tripping over one another."

  "Seems like it."

  The reins in his fingers tugged as his horse shook his head. John looked down, thought a minute, then looked up into Isabel's expectant face. Even though his plan made sense, his words surprised him. "We could work together."

  Wariness crept into her features. "How so?"

  "Collect the berries together, then split the prize money down the middle. Fifty-fifty."

  She pondered this with a gnawing of her lush lower lip, then a gaze at the sky where a condor soared overhead. After a moment, she stared at him. "How do we know this Bellamy Nicklaus is for real? Has anybody seen him?"

  "Somebody's had to. Lights go on and off in that house at night. That I've seen for myself."

  "Well, what if this contest is a hoax?"

  "Can't be a hoax. I've heard it said Nicklaus is the main man for Calco Oil"

  "I heard he owns the Pacific Coastal Railroad."

  "Whatever the case, he took that rundown house on Ninth and turned it into a show palace overnight. That takes money and power. He's some big man from someplace, and for reasons I'm not going to question, he's willing to part with a bundle of his cash." John adjusted his hat against the afternoon glare. "You may think a lot of low-down things about me, but I've never battled a woman. The best thing would be for us to pair up."

  "As much as I hate to admit it… you may be right." She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, then slapped the dust off her gloves against her thigh. "But there's a problem with your plan."

  "Which is?"

  "We don't trust each other." She laid the gloves next to the fork of her saddle. "Where do we keep the berries?"

  John mulled this over. She had a point. They didn't trust each other. She'd no sooner have him hold the berries than he would her. So where to put them as they built up their store?

  The idea of hiding them out in the countryside didn't thrill him. Animals might come across the cache and have a real feast. The possibility of discovery was even stronger out in the open without being guarded—not to mention that berries shouldn't be in the heat A dark cool place was best—like beneath the floorboards of his bungalow___or the inside of a cabin—where they would be behind a locked door.

  It was a choice between the two. But before he made up his mind, he had to know if she was playing with a full deck.

  "Why are you growing trees in dirt that's no more than rocks? And with no water on your property?" He refrained from adding: Only a crazy person would do such a thing.

  She bristled, her posture going erect. "My trees aren't planted in rocks. I cleared every last one from that bed. And I'll get a well just as soon as I can afford to have one dug—which will be when I get the contest money. I know there's water. Then I'll have a lot of lemons and I'm going to sell lemon syrup."

  He gave her a sidelong stare, thinking over her explanation. She seemed to know what she was doing and her efforts weren't misguided. He liked lemon syrup on his pancakes. Knowing what she was up to greatly relieved him and gave him the reassurance he needed for what he had to say next.

  Amid the buzz of grasshoppers, John asked, "What's your word worth to you?"

  Isabel's violet eyes unflinchingly measured him. "Everything. My word is everything."

  John eased back in the saddle. "Then we'll keep them at your place if you give me your word you won't take off with them."

  "I give you my word."

  "So, then, are you in?" Slowly she replied, "I'm in." "Partners," he said.

  "Partners," she agreed, extending her hand. John took the offering and they sealed the deal with a handshake.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Isabel drifted awake to the chitter of finches and a warm shaft of sunshine that spilled across her bed. Snug and drowsy, she didn't feel like getting up. Eyes still closed, she relived the dream that clung to the edges of her sleepy mind.

  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