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"We're crossing here." He steered his horse down the incline, Isabel falling in behind.
As he cantered toward the water, he flushed a flock of buzzards looking for a little wind to ride up over the ridge. But nothing moved down here except dust and heat. Not even the gunmetal layer of clouds that hung low in the sky could give any respite from the simmering air. Rain would be a salvation. And while he thought it, several fat drops hit him on the face and arms. John didn't want to be near the creek when the downpour hit. Flash floods could strike swiftly.
He urged his horse fast up the incline, making sure Isabel could keep up. He didn't see the riders behind them, but a swirl of dirt rose from an area in the canyon about a mile back. Whoever else was on the berry chase wasn
't that far away.
Isabel caught up to him and they rode side-by-side in the peppering rain. "Do you think we're being followed?"
"Not followed. It's just that there aren't any bushes left around Limonero that have berries. People have to spread out. And after that speech Bellamy gave, I reckon the frenzy is only going to get worse."
Although he hadn't heard all of what Bellamy had to say, whatever it was had put the angst of a stirred beehive into town. When he and Isabel rode out the main street, shop windows had been painted with signs offering a penny for every berry brought into the store. The mercantile had upped their payment to two cents for every berry. And the Republic had done one even better—three cents.
While exiting Limonero, voices had been raised with excitement. Some said Bellamy was giving away five hundred dollars in gold. Others claimed it was one thousand in cash. Another assured the prize was the key to Bellamy's house. As the speculation increased, so did the fervor.
That was why John had buckled on a gun belt with a loaded Remington in the holster. He wasn't about to get shot over berries. Nor was he about to let anything happen to Isabel.
The need to protect her welled inside him and he rather liked the feeling. It made him think he had a worthwhile purpose, something important and more of a cause than sitting in the Republic drinking beer.
After a few miles, the climb grew steep and the oaks gave way to evergreens. A meadow loomed ahead, and with the rain coming down as hard as it was, John decided to make camp here on the sleek grass.
He reined in and dismounted. Keeping hold of his leathers, he dipped under his horse's neck and went to help Isabel. She was light in his arms as she sprung to the ground. He would have lingered a moment if it hadn't been for the need to put up the tent.
"Hobble the horses," he directed, his gaze on the raindrops clinging to her full mouth.
She set out to do so.
John began cutting poles for the tent and worked fast to stake it down. When he was finished, both he and Isabel were soaked through.
Sitting beneath the canvas and listening to the pulse of rain, John tucked a striped Mexican blanket around Isabel's shoulders.
"Cold?" he asked.
"No. The rain's warm."
Her hair had come loose from its twist. She lifted the length from beneath the blanket and the glossy black hair fell in a wet river down her back. He wished he had a brush on him… he would have liked to run it through her hair to get the tangles out.
She gazed through the part in the tent flaps, sitting Indian style and with a pensive set to her profile.
With a leisurely sweep of his eyes, John admired the beautiful view. Then he asked something he'd never asked a woman before—because he'd never cared… until now. "What are you thinking, Isabel?"
A soft smile overtook her mouth. "I was thinking about how I got here."
He grew puzzled a moment, then realized she meant the grander picture. Not here on the meadow… but here as in her life.
"Why's that?"
"Well…" She licked her lips, and as she blinked, dewy sweet rain fringed her lashes. "I'd planned to be a modern woman. A teacher, to be exact." She gave him a quick glance to look for his reaction.
He had none that was ill-willed. He thought being a teacher was an admirable thing. But he just couldn't imagine Isabel hiding her womanly figure in a shapeless crow-black dress and with a severe bun in her hair for the rest of her youthful years. "And once I was a teacher," she continued, "I was going to save all my money and every summer I'd travel and go on a grand tour of Europe. While in Rome, I'd sit in the piazza and write poetry. Then I'd pen a novel while staying in an English cottage." Her expression fell somber, the luster left her eyes. "And I'd never have to do the will of a man… because I'd be independent and happy."
At that, any hope John had of them together dimmed. In a voice brittle with disappointment, he asked, "What happened?"
She slowly turned toward him. "I got married."
* * *
Chapter Five
