John let the idea gel as he walked across Santa Paula Creek.
As he wove up the path and stared hard for signs of holly bushes, a beacon of light flashed across his face for an instant. He froze. Whoever had shot him with the reflecting lamp hadn't realized he was there or they would have kept the beam on him. The person was moving. He could see the sway of the lamp's bright shaft as the sound of footsteps rose upward toward the slope.
John fell in behind the moving light, eyes widening as he recognized who held the handle.
Isabel.
Being in a state of semi-drunkeness, his attempt to quiet his footsteps didn't succeed. Isabel turned sharply, the lantern in her hand swaying outward with her movement The brilliant white flame blinded him, and he swore beneath his breath. She lowered the beam. The manzanita-bordered path on which they stood was bathed in enough light for them to view one another.
They stared for a long moment
He noticed she held a hamper and wore an apron but no hat. Her black hair had been plaited in a thick braid that rested against the pale curve of her neck and fell across her breast like a caress. He couldn't decipher the color of her eyes. But her face was prettier than he would have thought for a crazy woman, its shape a perfect oval, her lips with a kissable bow. The arch in her brows lifted in a way he thought sensual.
She spoke first, eyeing his pillowcase. "What are you doing here?"
"Same thing as you, I expect," he drawled, a leftover remnant of his native Texas slipping into his words.
"Well, do what you're going to do over there." She pointed beyond him. "I've already got a stake on this spot."
"Says who?"
"Says me. I'm ahead of you."
Waving the lantern between them, she showed him their positions--which was like writing up a thimble shot on a bar tab: There was no reason to. She didn't own the ground. He could go wherever he damn well pleased.
"Just by one step," he said, then cut the space with a long stride. "Now we're even. What are you going to do about it?"
Her frown made her lips go pouty. He lowered his eyes and stared. She had a tempting mouth. They stood close enough that he could feel the slow fire from the lamp heating his thigh. At least he figured it was the kerosene flame. He'd never burned up over a woman before.
She breathed lightly between parted lips. "I'm going to ignore you."
Lost in the fullness of her mouth, he'd forgotten what he'd asked her and was slow to figure out what she meant. Her words hit him when she walked away and took the light with her. Like an idiot, he stood in the darkness.
A breeze knocked the pillowcase off his shoulder. He still didn't move. Then he muttered an oath, bent to pick up his sack and followed her.
Isabel could hear him coming closer. She did her best not to let him know she knew he was there. But it was very difficult. His presence took up the night and filled it with a commanding air of virility.
He was taller than she'd thought. He stood a full head higher than her. She hadn't been prepared for the tingling in the pit of her stomach when she'd looked into his face. The reaction disturbed her. Handsome didn't begin to describe his features. Even in the muted light, she could see the power in his face--the square jaw that had thrust forward, straight forehead, and mouth firm and sensual.
Her husband had been a good-looking man. They'd been married less than a year when he disappeared one day. He hadn't snuck off. In fact, he'd been seen in a variety of places before he'd gone to San Diego. She gave him two years to come back. He didn't, so she filed for divorce on the grounds of abandonment. It was a hard cross to bear, and now she was wary of men.
She didn't hate them. But after her disastrous experience with marriage, she was cautious and protected her heart. She'd never be hurt in such a manner again.
From the corner of her eyes, she could see John climbing the embankment to the bushes. He appeared granitelike, unyielding. The set of his shoulders told her he didn't like being told what do to. Still--she'd been here first.
The lower hillside and opposite bank of the Santa Paula had been thick with people going after the berries, but she'd gone farther up to the willows because she knew more berries grew there. Obviously John knew it, too.
Isabel raised her light and shone it on the glossy shrubbery. The California holly had leathery leaves with bristle-pointed teeth. She'd brought her gloves with her so she wouldn't get pricked. She'd also packed a canteen of water, a biscuit and jam, and hard lemon candy to keep her throat from parching.
Lowering the lamp, she did her best to forget that John was thrashing around in the bushes. She chose the left side of the patch while he chose the right.
She had a crisp view of her work area, while her competitor foraged in near dark. Unbidden, a smile snagged the corner of Isabel's mouth. She tried to bite it back, but couldn't. His arrogance over deeming the ground fair game nettled her, and she liked having pulled a small something over on him: intelligence.
He was a nitwit for not bringing light and food. He must not have expected to be out here long. She, on the other hand, was equipped to stay up the entire night.
Isabel went to work, keeping her mind occupied by thoughts of the prize and what she would do with the money. Later on, she made a check of the time on the watch pinned to her bodice. She noted the three o'clock hour and forced herself to endure. There were a lot more berries to collect.
Her back ached from bending over. Her knees felt bruised, even though she'd thought to bring a small braided rug on which to kneel.
As the night wore on, she and John sidled closer and closer toward the center. Not a word passed between them. Fine with her.
He swore a lot, and yanked the berries off rather than plucking. She bet he squashed quite a few.