"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
win."
"We have to win," she admonished. "We just have to."
She thought that if they didn't… what they had—or what was springing to life between them—would be gone, dead and buried. They'd have no reason to be with one another. But if they won… they'd have to divide the money. Then she'd want to see what land he bought, and watch how he drilled for the oil. In turn, she'd invite him to come over and see her porch painted up, show off her new lemon trees.
The contest was holding them together. If they walked away losers when it ended, both would go on with their lives… with nothing.
With no one.
Isabel didn't want to accept that.
John lowered his hand and gazed pensively out at the meadow. Isabel put the lunch away and watched the rain with him. He cradled her close with his arm, and she leaned her head onto his shoulder. After a while, he lay back and took her with him. She snuggled beside him, feeling as if she'd been made to fit perfectly in the contours of his body. Her palm rested on his chest, and beneath her fingertips, she could feel the thrum of his heartbeat.
Neither said anything, both heavily into thoughts, she supposed.
She stared at the tent's roof, her mind wandering to Bellamy Nicklaus. She knew him… she was sure… the way he'd looked at her. He'd read through her and seen her past Christmases as if he'd been there. And she'd seen him, too. Maybe not in the physical sense… but seen him just the same. In a book? In a carte de visite? A colored holiday card? There was something so familiar about him. So warm and cheery. So…
Isabel bolted upright, her hair falling in her eyes. Brushing it away, she gazed straight at John and declared, "I know who Bellamy Nicklaus is!"
Skepticism rode his brows as he waited for her revelation.
"He's Santa Claus."
A dubious frown marred John's mouth. "Is that so?"
"He is! I'm telling you. It's been so long since I believed, I've forgotten about Santa Claus. But that's who Bellamy is."
"Yeah, well, I never believed in Santa Claus, so he's still Nicklaus to me."
"Oh, but you have to believe in him. I think the whole spirit of this contest revolves around believing. Those of us who truly do, will win. I know it."
He lifted himself onto his elbow. "What about the reindeer and elves? The Olds automobile shoots the first one down, and those two bruisers he had with him blows the elf theory straight to hell."
"I don't know. I can't explain that." Deadly serious, she insisted, "But he is Santa."
John stared at her long and hard. "Isabel, I pegged you wrong. I used to think you were crazy." He drew in a breath and ruefully shook his head. "Now I know you are."