Upon a Midnight Clear Read online

  He caught her staring and she forced away a blush. "I'll get the coffee ready."

  His gaze lingered on her, as if he knew what she'd been thinking. Then he moved into action and assembled the wood beneath the canvas canopy at the tent's front. The flames from a small fire soon burned and they set the pot to simmer.

  The space was confining. Their knees bumped because they both sat in the same manner. Her dress felt clammy against her hot skin. She wasn't cold, far from it. Even so, she couldn't dispel the shiver that ran down her arms when he reached over to poke the fire and coax it higher.

  "Cold?" he asked once more.

  She shook her head. "You?"

  "No. But my boots are full of water. Mind if I take them off?"

  "It's all right with me." She suspected he rarely asked if anyone minded anything he did.

  First one then the other boot shucked free and she looked at his stockings. He had a hole in one of them at the toe. She kept a smile at bay.

  "Yeah, well," he muttered self-consciously and tugged the end of his sock over his toes so she couldn't see the hole. "I was meaning to get to that. But a spool of thread is fifteen berries and I was tapped out."

  "You don't have to explain."

  "I sure as hell do. You think I'm a pig."

  "I never said that."

  "Tramp. Pig. Same thing."

  This time she couldn't fend off the blush. "I'm sorry… I didn't know you then."

  "Now you do?"

  "Kind of."

  "Well, Isabel Burche," he said leaning back on his elbow and extending his feet to the fire. "What do you kind of know about me?"

  Taking in a breath, knitting her fingers together in her lap, and biting her lip she said, "You're lonely."

  "Is that so?"

  "I think you are."

  "And why's that?"

  "Because." She lowered her lashes, then lifted them to see his face expectant and waiting for her reply. "Because… I'm lonely, too, and I know how you feel."

  He didn't move. Nothing in his eyes revealed how he felt. Then in a voice that was as deep as midnight velvet, he asked, "Do you ever want to get married again?"

  She grew flustered. "I… I haven't ruled it out. But…"

  "But what?"

  "But I haven't found anyone I'd care to marry." Hastily she added, "What about you? Do you want to get married—for real? Legal, that is?"

  "Never thought much about it."

  Crestfallen, she swallowed the lump in her throat.

  "Until recently," he went on. "I've thought some about it."

  "Have you?"

  "Yes. I figure after we win this contest, I'll have some money. Some kind of stability."

  She nodded knowingly. "Me too."

  The turn in the conversation was safer. No sense in talking marriage when neither of them was talking with the other in mind. Well… she'd been thinking of him. But he'd said nothing specific about her.

  Isabel leaned back on her elbow, too, so that she faced him while propping her head in the palm of her hand. "What are you going to do with your share of the money?"

  "Oil. That's where the future is."

  "You think?"

  "I know. Calco Oil's made a bundle. Only I don't expect to make as much as them. They've got the pipeline. I'll have to pay thirty cents a barrel to ship mine up to Santa Barbara on the train." A strand of hair fell over his brow and she had the strongest urge to tuck it back for him. But her hand remained still. "Start-up costs will be big, but I'll use oil to fire the boiler rather than coal. That'll save me some." His fingers caught the lock and smoothed it back. "What about you? What are you going to do?"

  "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