Upon a Midnight Clear Read online

  It was humiliating at best to win a pair of birds when she had her heart set on currency. No doubt John was thinking the same thing. He hadn't said a word.

  Bellamy put a hand on each of their shoulders, bringing them closer together. "I entrust you with my little friends. Keep them happy and you'll be happy for all your days. Merry Christmas."

  Then he threw his head back and laughed, "Ho, ho, ho!"

  Isabel didn't know whether to cry or sock him in the jolly old stomach.

  Lovebirds! They'd been tricked. John was right. Bellamy wasn't Santa Claus. He was a demented old man who'd gotten his holidays mixed up. This was no Christmas prize. This was the trick in a Halloween trick or treat!

  The crowd dispersed as Bellamy walked back up the steps to his house, his wife following and then the two bruisers, who waved to the crowd. Many waved them off with a grumble.

  Isabel and John were the only ones left on the street. She lowered her arm and her shoulders sank.

  "You were right," she dismally croaked. "Bellamy is a crackpot."

  To her amazement, John didn't readily second her conclusion. After a long moment, he quietly took the cage from her and began walking. She went alongside him.

  The wind kicked up out of nowhere. Warm gusts of the Santa Anas brought an unnatural shower of… snow?

  Those scurrying down Main Street paused to see what was what.

  Small white petals thickened the holiday sky and sprinkled down with the most delightful fragrance.

  A gentleman off to Isabel's side shook his head. "Sun-Blessed," was all he said before running off to his home.

  Of course. Lemon blossom petals from the Sun-Blessed groves. But how did there get to be so many of them? This had never happened before. It was a flurry of flowers that looked like real snow. The delicate smell of them filled the air with a magnificent perfume beyond description.

  John glanced over his shoulder at Bellamy's house. Isabel followed his gaze. The residence had grown dark. The breezes must have blown the candles out on the tree.

  "I'll walk you home," he said in a low voice.

  He had distanced himself from her, she could tell. They hadn't won what they had thought and now he was angry. This was it, the end. They'd go their separate ways. It would be as if they had never known one another.

  She should have known. Money had ruined her first marriage. Money had just ruined her chances for a second one.

  But what about the birds… ?

  Who would keep them? She didn't think she could. They'd always remind her of John. It would be too painful.

  The road became covered with a snowfall of white blossoms. They clung to Isabel's shirtwaist and sleeves, they lay in her hair. She blinked several from her lashes.

  Once at her cabin, John stopped at the base of the steps. She could barely face him. She'd been so sure everything would be perfect tonight.

  "I'm sorry we didn't win like you wanted to, Isabel."

  Tears filled her eyes. "That's all right. You said all along we were being fooled by a silly old man. I didn't listen to you. I should have."

  John set the cage on the porch and put his arms around her from behind. He cradled her close and kissed the side of her neck. How easy it would be to lean into him and to let herself feel better. But kisses and embraces weren't the answer to anything.

  "I was the one wrong about the contest," John said, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. "It was real."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because if it hadn't been for hhn, I wouldn't have known you, Isabel. For that, I'll forever be grateful. He said in his notice that the winner would be forever grateful. Well, I am." Then he moved away from her and she heard the shaky intake of his breath. Turning toward him, she brushed the tears from her eyes.

  He stood with blossoms dusting his shoulders and hat, softness sifting on a man who'd shown her softness… kindness… love.

  "You keep the birds, Isabel. They'd like your place a hell of a lot better than they'd like mine. You've got"—his voice clogged, and he cleared his throat—"got hope around here. They'll like that. Take care of them." Then with a lowering of his head and a shove of his hands into his pockets, he said, "Take care of yourself."

  Tears slipped down her cheek as John followed the lane into the night.

  When he was gone, she lowered herself onto the steps and buried her face in her hands. Hot tears spilled through her fingers.

  Even with every emotion inside her in turmoil, a single thought surfaced and saddened her most.

  They hadn't lit the candles on their Christmas tree.

  A kerosene lantern burned on the bureau of John's room, giving off a mellow light. He lay stretched out on his bed, fully clothed and staring at the ceiling. In his hand, the golf ball he'd pocketed when he'd found water for Isabel. With a flick of his wrist, he pitched the ball upward. It soared back down and he caught it. He threw it again. Caught it again. He'd repeated this process some hundred times since returning home from Isabel's house.

  He couldn't get her out of his mind. Her despair over the contest playing out like that had been blatant. She'd wanted the money more than he did. Hell, he'd wanted the cash, too—maybe more than her. But he would have gladly given it all up.

  Lovebirds.

  Who did Nicklaus think he was kidding? Lovebirds were a pair. A couple that couldn't be parted. Nicklaus knew from the start of his damn contest that he was giving away a prize with complications. And he'd known they'd win and they'd have the birds to contend with.

  Why?

  Did the great Saint Nicholas know them better than they knew themselves? It was the only conclusion John could come to grips with.

  Money would have bought him a lot of things he could use. Only it wouldn't have bought him Isabel's love. That, he'd have to earn.

  He tossed the ball and it fell into his palm with a smack.

  He should have told her how he felt, should have damned the consequences and just been honest for a change. He could live with rejection. He couldn't live without knowing if Isabel loved him in return, and he'd walked away from something.

  Tomorrow morning, first light, he'd tell her. Get it all out in the open and let it be whatever it would be, future or no future. But for once, John Wolcott wasn't going to run from a commitment. He wanted to be a husband and a father, and if Isabel felt the same way, he'd marry her by sundown Christmas day.

  On that thought, he forgot to catch the ball and it thwacked him on the brow. With the wincing impact, he had the oddest feeling that Nicklaus had slugged him for taking so long to see the light.

  Isabel didn't sleep much at all that night. The birds rustled around in their cage for most of it And this morning just before the sky turned golden, they began to chirp and coo at one another. They were so much in love, she could actually feel it overtaking the room.

  Barefooted, she padded out of bed in the gray dawn. Finding the white shawl that John had bought for her, she went outside and sat in her rocking chair to greet the day—bleak as it would be for her.

  She'd been so hopeful she'd win the money and her life would be everything she wanted, she could have the things she needed. But money didn't give her John. She'd been a fool to let him go. She was in love with him. Why hadn't she told him so? It hurt to think how much she longed to be in his arms…

  Wrapping the shawl tighter about her, she brought the ends to her cheek and rubbed the softness next to her skin.

  She'd been selfish last night and she didn't like herself for it today. Telling John how she felt about him was worth the risk of his not returning her affections. At least she'd know.

  The ripple of a chance stirred within Isabel. Yes… she'd tell him. Right away.

  Several minutes later, Isabel dashed down the steps to the lane, but stopped shy to gaze at her lemon grove. Her mouth softly fell open.

  Cardinal red ribbons were tied in bows around the branches of every single tree-—just the color of ribbon she'd wanted as a child. W