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Belle of Bellville Ch. 01-02

By: Catharinas_Lit



NOTE: This chapter story is fiction and a romance. Although there are explicit, sexual scenes described herein, this story is not intended as a "quick read". I hope you will enjoy this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

**~*~**

Chapter 1

Bales of hay surrounded the tractor shed where a couple was engaged in some quick and steamy afternoon sex. A beautiful Latina stood with her back against a wide wooden post, gasping in sexual delight while clinging passionately to her tall blond cowboy lover.

The button bodice of her dress was loose and open. Her bra was tugged down exposing her plump breasts that were jiggling tantalizingly for his hungry mouth. His hot breath burned her golden nipples as he vigorously suckled and nipped each one, making her throw back her dark head with sharp gasps and moans with lusty delight.

"Ah, mi ranchero grande! Papi! Harder! Harder!" she begged in-between "oooh's" and "aaah's", enjoying the rock-hard cock plunging into her wet and willing pussy.

She had her soft brown and green-checkered skirt hiked up around tummy, her golden legs tightly wrapped around his half-clothed hips. He was pumping hard between her soft thighs, savoring each deep plunge into her sucking channel.

"Ah, madre dios, you feel so good inside me, mi ranchero grande!" she gasped breathlessly with arms around his big shoulders, her bare buttocks grasped by his big, warm hands.

Aside from deep grunts, he said nothing. He wasn't much of a talker. He was a doer. In sexual delirium, he grabbed her to him, and then dropped her on a bale of hale so he could thrust a little harder, feeling his balls already tensing, ready to fill her with his hot seed. He twisted lean stiff fingers in her deep brown curls, shoving deeper and harder into her as she gasped in lustful ecstasy, clinging desperately to him.

"Puta madre! I'm cumming . . .!" she wailed.

"Urrrrggghh..." he growled long and deep, feeling as if every molecule in his body was exploding when he hit his climax. His cock swelled and exploded, jetting thick strings of sperm deep inside her contracting tunnel, over and over again.

Moments later, he laid himself quietly over her as they both caught their breaths. Their hot, no-strings-attached sex was always a welcome break from hard work on the ranch, and Elena was always ready for him. She was ready for anyone, but especially for him. They've been lovers for months now, and although she was adamant that she didn't want more than this, he was beginning to feel more for her than lust.

"I always cum hard with you, mi ranchero. You're the best," she said with a smile.

He lay a moment with eyes closed until he felt every ounce of sperm drain into her willing body. "I reckon you say that to all us pokes," he chuckled, hearing her giggling above him. He raised his head and then got off her before walking to the washbasin to clean himself.

"Si, but I mean it only with you," she said coyly. She rose to sit and found her white panties on the bale of hay. She slipped her golden slender legs through the openings and rose to her feet, pulling them up around her curvaceous hips and behind, ending with a snap.

"Gotta get back to work," he said, adjusting his denims. Then he ran his hand back through his blond locks before he put his cowboy hat on.

"Me too," she sighed. "I still have to change the sheets in your father's room although they're never dirty. He's been at me to hang 'em out in the sun to dry instead of using the dryer, but that's just too much work. So he makes me change his sheets every day to punish me," she said with a cute pout.

They both walked toward the wide doors of the shed and into the sunlight, heading back to a large, white ranch house in the distance.

"Well, he's an old cuss who's set in his ways," he said, shrugging. His mind was already on the new bales of hay that had come in earlier that day. There was a lot, and he wasn't looking forward to stacking them.

"Hey ranchero? Would you be jealous if I slept with your younger brother? He's been lookin' at me in that way and I don't think he's been with a woman for a long time. You know how I love to mentor the young ones. Unless," she smiled coyly up at him, "you want me to be yours only."

Her words stung him deeper than he was willing to admit. His handsome face grew just a little harder, but he merely shrugged as they climbed onto the verandah that encircled the entire house from front to back. It was then when he noticed it needed a good sweeping.

"I don't hold any papers on you, Elena. Do what you want." Then he smiled down at her. "You always do, anyhow," he said with a chuckle.

"Cabron!" she said and she slapped him playfully before they parted ways...

**~*~**

A dusty dark green Range Rover drove along the rural roads of longhorn cattle country in southeast Texas. On her way to her destination, Isabella Beaumont-Boucher, a native of the next State over, had passed quite a few of those magnificent beasts with the enormous horns. They fascinated her. Those horns looked so disproportionately large in relation to the rest of their body that she wondered how they kept from toppling over.

"They have to weigh at least a ton," she whispered in awe as her eyes seemed glued on one longhorn that stood, up close and personal, by a stretch of white fencing...looking right back at her. "Amazing" she whispered. "And cheeky."

The radio softly played pleasant country music. It astonished her how music on the radio can suddenly change depending on the region. She'd listened to at least ten different stations from Nevada to here already! Quite an experience.

An all too familiar golden-oldie country song came on and she looked at the lit face of the car stereo with suddenly wounded eyes. It was Rose Garden by Lynn Anderson: her mother's favorite song.

"Is that you, Mama? Are you trying to tell me something?" she whispered as she briefly gazed up at the blue skies. Then she sighed. "Hoping against hope, I really hope it's the rose garden part. I can use it right about now."

Then she cleared her throat, perked up behind the wheel, and began to sing along, "You'd better look before you leap, still waters run deep, and there won't always be someone there to pull you out...and you know what I'm talkin' about." Then she sighed again. "Yes, Mama, I do now. I do know what you're talking about," she said with a sad whisper. "And that's why I'm traveling on this dusty road to god-knows-where."

When she felt tears burning behind her eyes, she cleared her throat again. She hated getting all choked up although she had every right to feel sad. But that's not why those tears were threatening to fall now. Whenever she thought about her mother, she couldn't help it. She missed her so damn much. No sense in crying over spilled milk, though. Time to change the radio channel, so she did...

Although she drove a luxury vehicle of foreign make and model, the Range Rover was well equipped for the bumpy dirt and asphalt roads of rural southeast Texas. It wasn't a vehicle normally found around those parts. Heavy pick-ups were the norm, and American made jeeps, SUVs, and vehicles outnumbered any foreign model by far.

This was Bellville, Texas: ranch lands, farmlands, and cattle country—and she was clearly out of place there. That would be because she wasn't from Bellville or Texas, for that matter.

She slowed the Rover when she came to what appeared to be the end of the white wood fencing surrounding the spread of many acres. A few large longhorns were grazing on lush green lands behind those fences and far beyond. She had to admit, this was by far the best-maintained spread she'd seen for miles—and she'd seen many.

This ranch, with its prominent two-story home, was also well cared for. The sight of it bolstered her mood. When she first drove off in search of Barrington Ranch, she was afraid that she might end up on some rundown spread in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't as if she'd refuse employment if offered. After all, beggars couldn't be choosers. And that was the sole reason for her being there: employment. She was destitute, and she'd beg if she had to.

She felt lucky today, though. She needed employment quick and when she saw the advertisement in the Postal Plus shop, she grabbed it with both hands. She was running dangerously low on funds and needed to replenish her resources posthaste.

She finally came to the wide opened gates of the drive that led toward the big white house. An oversized mailbox was perched on a heavy post, and she peered at the name in bold black lettering engraved on a large brass plate: Barrington Ranch.

Smiling, she steered the Rover through the gates and up the wide brick drive toward the white house. The closer she got, the larger it grew. A few ranch hands heard her coming and they paused in their work, peering curiously at the dusty Rover driving by as she made her way to the front of the main house.

One ranch hand smiled at a fellow worker. "Trouble," he chuckled from beneath his cowboy hat. "Must be one o' those boys' angry girlfriends."

"Don't know, Bob. Never seen her before. But she sure is pretty."

"Yea," Bob said, chuckling as he shook his head. "Like I said...trouble."

And that she was—the "trouble" part, not the girlfriend part. She was a stranger in those parts and she didn't know any of the Barringtons. Up until that visit to the Postal Plus, she never knew the Barringtons even existed. Had she known them, she would've been wise to stay far away from their spread. Her presence alone could stir trouble and light the wick that would have the Barrington men at each other's throats in no time flat. In fact, her timing couldn't have been more off.

Ignorant of those facts, she slowed her Rover before she brought it to a stop in the curve of the drive in front of the great house. She shut-off the engine and looked curiously at the giant white house with the deep verandah, not seeing the curious looks cast her way by the small army of ranch hands walking around the property.

"Well, cross your fingers, Isabella," she said, speaking courage to herself. She took a deep breath and then pushed the door open and climbed out.

The ranch hands stopped to stare at the pretty young woman exiting the fancy jeep. From the look of her clothes, they knew she couldn't be from around those parts. In fact, none of the stunned ranch hands ever saw a woman more elegantly dressed than that raven-haired beauty standing by her dusty, foreign-made jeep.

She wore a snug-fit ivory pencil dress with pretty flowers that fit her slender frame. It was definitely much too elegant for rugged Bellville. The dress seemed to follow her curves perfectly before it ended just below her knees. A pink fine-knit sweater tied by the sleeves around her graceful shoulders completed the ensemble. She wore heeled dusty pink strap-sandals on her slender feet and moved naturally in them as if she'd worn nothing else all her life. In fact, her entire body moved that way, despite the restrictions that her pencil dress should have had on her.

Her long raven curls had a blue glimmer in the sun. They were bound low with a pretty pink ribbon in a bow, and a single and long curly tail tumbled down one shoulder. Except for body lotion and lip gloss against the dry weather in Texas, she was devoid of any makeup.

Although she knew she was a little over-dressed for the occasion, this was her most simple cut dress. She vowed that the moment she had made a little money, she'd pay a local fashion shop a visit to find daywear more suitable for Bellville. But right now, this was the best she could toss together that she believed wouldn't make her stand out all too badly. One look around her told her she'd failed in the endeavor.

"Oh my," she said with a sigh when she'd noticed the dusty ranch hands walking around her and looking curiously at her. She gave them a tentative smile and a brief nod, and felt so out-of-place. They smiled as they touched their hats to her in return. She tugged uncomfortably on the hem of her skirt a few times, as if she could stretch the skirt's hem right down to her ankles. She felt so awkward.

"Well," she whispered to herself. "No sense in crying over spilled milk." And with that, she swept a large off-white macramé bag over her shoulder before she double-checked the crumpled yellow piece of paper between her slender fingers and closed the Rover's door with a hip. "Yes," she said softly to herself. "This is the place."

As she looked up from the piece of paper, a lazy and deep voice called out to her.

"Can I help ya, Miss?"

She quickly turned her head and looked for the source of that voice. "Oh, good afternoon—" she paused as the sun hit her in the eyes and she squinted against the sting, "—sir," she finished, hesitantly, before shading her eyes with her hand.

When her sight adjusted, she saw the silhouette of a tall man with broad shoulders on the verandah. He was wearing a cowboy hat and was leaning down, gloved hands braced on the railing of an outcrop. The mid-afternoon sun stood at his back giving him the advantage while she was in full view, and she could barely make him out, but she could see he was wearing a denim shirt and pants. His hair was untied and long, reaching just passed his broad shoulders. His face, unfortunately, was hidden from view in the shadows of his wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

She suspected he had chosen that spot on purpose to give himself the advantage.

"Miss?"

"Yes? Oh! I mean, yes!" She smiled. "Yes, you may help me. I'm here to speak with Mr. John Barrington. Is he in?" she asked politely, still squinting. She should have bought those sunglasses at the gas station when she had the chance but money was tight for unnecessary purchases. Too late, she realized that sun glasses weren't unnecessary in those parts. Then she realized he hadn't responded so she repeated, "If it's not too much trouble, sir, I'd like to speak with Mr. John Barrington if he's in?"

"What do you want to speak with him for?"

"Am I speaking to Mr. John Barrington?" she asked a little taken aback, but undeterred. She wasn't sure how things were done in that part of the country; how men behaved toward women, so she couldn't decide if he was being rude or if he was just behaving the way men in those parts behaved—which was pretty impolite, in her opinion.

"You sure you're supposed to be here? Cuz you look lost."

"Um, no, I'm not lost, and yes, I'm quite sure this is the place I was looking for, if the directions in the advertisement are to be believed." She smiled, trying friendliness. "This is the Barrington ranch, isn't it?"

"That's what it says on the mailbox."

"Good. Then I'm where I'm supposed to be," she said with friendly laughter, but she still didn't get a reaction. She bit her lower lip a little anxiously. She really didn't need any quarrels right now. It had been one very long, very warm day. With this in mind, she tried polite friendliness and flashed her best smile, but it quickly became apparent that this stoic and uncouth ranch hand wasn't even trying to be accommodating.

"Um, to clarify my presence, I'm here for the position of housekeeper and cook. Are you Mr. John Barrington?" She forced herself to keep that smile on her lips as she walked over to him. Much like the house she drove up to, the cowboy got bigger as she got closer.

"Housekeeper? You?" His tone sounded almost disdainful. Scratch that. It was disdainful.

"And cook. Yes," she said with a smile and a nod, struggling to maintain a friendly disposition. He wasn't making it easy!

When he made no further move or comment, she thought it would be a good idea to introduce herself. Perhaps that would break the ice. So with hand extended she walked up to him, but her smile faltered when she realized he wasn't about to accept it. His gloved hands seemed glued to the railing, but coming this close to him gave her a clearer view of him.

She was surprised that he turned out to be a very handsome man with wild long blond hair around a chiseled face that had intelligent deep-set sterling blue eyes. He was younger than she first thought—somewhere in his late twenties, early thirties. He was at least six feet tall, and from his elevated position on the verandah he appeared even taller and, much to her dismay, quite intimidating.

His expression hadn't changed as his blue eyes openly stared at her. His gaze moved down then up her length, and she felt highly uncomfortable—as her hesitant smile hinted at. Had he studied her with a degree of male admiration, she might've still felt a little uncomfortable but not the way she was feeling now. The way those deep-set blues studied her, it was as if he was critically scrutinizing some longhorn at market.

Her hand slowly lowered. She suddenly didn't feel all that friendly now. Actually, she felt downright cross. Still, she had a more important goal in mind and circumstances were dire, so her temper would have to remain at bay. Years of etiquette training taught her patience, and it came in handy now.

"Sir, please be so kind as to tell me if Mr. John Barrington is in."

She made clear that she didn't believe he was the man she was looking for. Her tone was as controlled as she could muster, but when his blue eyes flickered up to look at her, she knew he had heard the irritability in her voice. Then he moved as he leaned forward over the railing and his gaze seemed to pierce through her.

"If I was you, Miss, I'd get back into that Range Rover and high-tail it outta here. Do the right thing and leave. Now."

Although his words were hushed, they were no less threatening—or insolent!—than had he yelled them at her. Her eyes grew round as her cheeks flushed with pink color. She clearly saw a spark of interest when he noticed her frightened reaction and she quickly looked away, thinking that it was may be a good idea to take his advice and run for her Rover to "high-tail it outta there".

Suddenly the big wood frame screen door opened and the choice was taken from her. Her gaze shot to the tall, older gentleman coming out of the house as he stepped out onto the wide verandah with squinting eyes. He seemed curious as he looked around and, up until then, hadn't noticed her yet since he was looking at the Rover.

He had a thick crop of salt and pepper locks that were combed back over his proud head. He was dressed in a clean cream shirt, black leather vest, and blue denims. He was a big and solid man, and his black cowboy boots thumped loudly on the painted wooden floor of the verandah as he strolled toward the steps. It was then when he finally caught sight of her—and stopped in his tracks.

She flashed her most disarming and friendly smile. "Good afternoon, sir."

"Howdy, Miss." He smiled curiously. "Thought I'd heard an unfamiliar engine." He smiled a handsome and friendly smile as a strange look appeared on his handsome face. "Are ya lost or somethin'?" he asked as he proceeded toward the steps and took them with confident gait.

"My name's Isabella Beau—Boucher," she said, quickly correcting herself. She smiled as she walked over to the tall, older gentleman. She held out her hand in greeting and this time it was accepted—by a huge warm hand.

"Beau-Boucher? Never heard a name like that before," the older man said curiously.

She suddenly understood that her fumbled attempt to hide her true name and speak before thinking gave him the impression that Beau-Boucher was her name. Of course, it wasn't, but quick thinking on her part told her that this was as good of a name as any, and since she'd already decided that she wasn't going to take the job and just move on to something else, there was no need to correct him.


Belle of Bellville Ch. 01-02



"Uh, yes. Beau-Boucher. Hyphenated. Perhaps not a popular surname in southeast Texas, but not as uncommon in Louisiana," she said as she nodded with a friendly smile.

Their hands parted as he smiled curiously at her. "You're from Louisiana?"

"Yes, sir."

He smiled. "I thought I'd recognized the accent."

She had an accent?

"Well, I guess I should be on my way. I was just asking directions—"

"—She's here for the housekeeper and cook position," the unfriendly cowboy said from his perch on the verandah.

She snapped big eyes to him and saw him look back with a lazy gaze. For the life of her she couldn't understand why he had to mention that when he had made it perfectly clear she wasn't welcome! Did he just want to ridicule her in front of this man?

A spark briefly lit in her eyes, irritated with him, but if he'd seen it, he wasn't the least bit impressed by it. Then again, what threat was she to a man of his size and attitude?

"You are?"

She directed her attention back on the older gentleman. "Yes, sir, I am. Are you Mr. John Barrington?"

"Since pa dropped it on my head after I near dropped outta my momma's lap," he answered in colorful Texian-speak, nodding with a generous smile.

She smiled a little shyly, briefly dropping her thick eyelashes before she looked at him. "Well, I was in the process of asking one of your men here," she looked briefly at the younger cowboy, "if you were in. I had indeed come to solicit the position of housekeeper but it's been made perfectly clear to me that I'm not what you're looking for."

To her dismay, she got the same scrutinizing look of disbelief from this older Texan, but she maintained her polite smile and disposition. At least this one looked shocked rather than hostile and impolite.

"You wanna apply for the position of housekeeper?" he asked with open surprise.

"Wanted," she corrected. "But I assure you, I'm quite capable of strenuous menial work—"

"—Menial work?" the previously silent ranch hand scoffed with a cynical chuckle.

She looked over at him with a disapproving frown as her lips briefly tightened. "Yes. Domestic work is also referred to as "menial" work, last time I checked."

"We just call it housekeepin' and cookin' around these parts."

She arched an eyebrow at him, but then she returned her attention to the man whom she had come to see and her frown evaporated as she smiled politely again. She had no idea why she suddenly felt the need to be defensive, but she did.

"I assure you, I'm a hard worker, and I've garnered extensive experience in the preparation of hearty meals for a party of no less than two hundreds guests. I bake, cook, and clean, and have adequate First Aid and CPR skills. I have references."

The insolent cowboy had to inject himself in her conversation again.

"Headin' a household full of dusty men is a whole different deal than playin' Belle organizing tea parties, Miss," he drawled. "We ain't got much need for cucumber finger sandwiches and champagne around these parts."

Isabella's confused gaze shot to him. She was baffled by his attitude since he was the one who had to go and tell John Barrington that she was there for the position when he could've just remained silent and let her leave! Then she realized that he could be playing a game with her, and her sapphire-blue eyes shot fire.

The older man chuckled. "Now, Jacob, mind your manners."

She looked cross at this "Jacob" as he returned a lazy look back. "I assure you, sir, I'm equally adept at preparing a ten-pound roast as I am at preparing cucumber sandwiches for two."

"Aw, don't mind my son, Miss Beau-Boucher. He's just an ornery cuss today."

She smiled at him, accepting the challenge. "Only today?"

John Barrington roared with laughter and she looked at him with a genuine smile. The big man had a contagious laugh that brought one on her lips. She was secretly relieved that he wasn't offended because she suddenly realized that he'd just outed the obnoxious cowboy as his son, Jacob Barrington. It explained his arrogance, she thought silently.

"And be rest assured that your son doesn't bother me as much as I believe he would like," she added with kind smile. She really had to restrain herself and mask her disappointment, though. Having heard that the rude and obnoxious cowboy was no ordinary ranch hand but the son of the man whom she'd come seeking employment with was very disappointing. There was no way she'd stay on now.

"I was just explainin' to the lady that she didn't look old enough to leave her momma's skirt, let alone head a household like ours," Jacob Barrington said.

She arched an eyebrow as she looked at him. "I apologize for having this inherent "flaw" of not aging quickly enough for your taste, sir," she said with a cool tone, "but I assure you, I'm not as young or as inexperienced as you persistently want to believe. I'm twenty-five years old, and I have excellent recommendations from other families I've been privileged to serve."

Why didn't his father intervene?

"Don't care how old you are, or how many families sing your praises, Miss. You still ain't right for the position."

Okay. So she finally got her answer. He still wanted her to leave, but he wanted to make sure that he got his pound of flesh and thoroughly ridicule her in front of his father before she did.

"On what grounds do you base your judgment? Appearances? Appearances don't bake bread, roast beef, or keep the dust from settling in the home any more than the appearance of a grown man is any indication that he is a gentleman."

"Never said I was a gentleman."

"To your credit," she quipped.

John Barrington chuckled his approval of the young woman's spirit and the reprimand she dealt with such flair. His boy, however, remained stoically silent.

"She beat you like a rented mule, fair and square, Jacob," John Barrington chuckled. "Well done, Miss Beau-Boucher. I've gotta hand it to you, you've got spunk. But about you wantin' the position headin' our household, well, that's a whole nuther thing." He scratched his head with a doubtful look on his handsome, weathered face, "I was actually lookin' for an older woman."

She was disappointed but relieved at the same time. She nodded and looked briefly away before she looked at the patriarch of the Barrington family. "I fully understand, Mr. Barrington," she said. "I won't take up more of your time. Thank you for speaking with me. Good afternoon, sir," she said without doing the same for his son, and turned to leave.

"Now wait just a minute, young lady!" John Barrington said.

She turned with a quizzical look in her big eyes.

"I didn't say no," he said as he looked at her big eyes. "Tell ya what," he nodded, "any woman who can hold her own against Jacob is worth a second look. And since we're gettin' tired of my youngest boy's whatever-the-heck-he's-been-whippin'-up for supper, and seeing it's nearin' that time of day, why not come in out of the sun and I'll show you where the kitchen is. If you can whip up a simple meal not pre-frozen, pre-instant, or pre-boxed, the position is yours. If not, you'll still get a full day's pay and be on your way. Sounds fair?"

She looked stunned at him.

"Well?"

"I-I-I..." Then she made a furtive look at the silent cowboy on the verandah. "Yes, Mr. Barrington. Very fair." She nodded. She could use the money and it's just a few hours anyway. What did she have to lose? Then she smiled. "I would like to take you up on your offer, sir. Thank you."

"Then let's get to it," John Barrington said with a smile and a nod of his head.

Jacob Barrington dropped his gloved hands from the railing as he straightened and looked at her. His gaze never left her as he approached the steps just as she followed John Barrington up them, but when he took them down and they came shoulder to shoulder, he paused and she looked curiously at him. Up close, Jacob Barrington was even more handsome... and intimidating.

"Don't get your hopes us, Miss Beau-Boucher," he said with an unmistakable tone of warning.

Her smile faded some as she looked a little alarmed into his piercing blue eyes. "Thank you, Mister Jacob. I'll take that under consideration," she said politely although she looked anxious.

He didn't say more as he resumed his way, dismissing her already.

"Don't let Jacob rattle you, Miss Beau-Boucher. You might not know it by his attitude today, but my son's good with the ladies. He's just testin' you, as I'm sure you know. Now let me show you the kitchen where you can show your skills and whip us up a meal like you say you can. I promise you," he said as he held open the screen door for her, "Jacob will be happier than a boardinghouse pup with some good home-cookin', tell ya what."

She smiled, hiding her aggravation with that Jacob Barrington, and nodded. "I won't disappoint you, sir."

"Call me, John," he offered.

"If it's the same to you, sir, I'd rather address you with Mister Barrington," she said. "It's what I was brought up to do."

"Suit yourself."

"But you may call me, Isabella, if you like."

He smiled. "Beautiful name." He nodded. "I just might do that...Isabella," he said.

She smiled as she nodded and entered the cool house with John Barrington behind her. He showed the way to what would turn out to be a somewhat barren but well-equipped and well-stocked Barrington kitchen and pantry.

Although the house was furnished with a woman's touch, there was no woman in sight, and it looked as if there hadn't been one for some time. It wouldn't be her place to ask where Mrs. John Barrington was, assuming that the woman had passed away and that's why they needed a housekeeper and cook.

Then, to her surprise, she saw a young and beautiful woman with chestnut brown hair standing halfway on the elegant stairs. She was wearing a green and brown checkered dress and had paused on her way down when she saw her. She instantly knew by the look on the young woman's face that she wasn't happy to see her. This couldn't be John Barrington's wife, could it?

Then John Barrington himself wiped all doubt when he called, "Elena!" the moment he spied her on the stairs. "Have ya changed the sheets on all the beds?"

Definitely not Mrs. John Barrington.

Elena gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Am busy doin' it now, John."

"Still?"

She only smiled as she turned and climbed up the stairs again.

John Barrington shook his head. "She's like a blister, that one," he said with a sigh.

She frowned, confused. "Excuse me, sir?"

"That one never shows up till all the work's done," he said as he resumed his way.

"Oh." Then she looked up to find Elena glaring hostile down on her. She knew the young woman had heard John Barrington's colorful words, and she felt a little sorry for her so she smiled and nodded a hello. She got a cold glare in return. Her smile faded before she quietly followed John Barrington down the hall.

**~*~**

Chapter 2

Jacob was in the horse stables giving orders to the ranch hands. He was overseeing the work of cleaning out the soiled hay from the fourteen stalls that held fourteen of the finest riding horses in Texas. As a Barrington, neither one of his brothers nor he shied away from hard work. They all stood side-by-side with all the ranch hands all the time.

As he took a huge bale of fresh hay in his big arms, a more slender built golden-haired cowboy rushed excitedly into the stables. The look on his young handsome face beneath the brim of his dark brown hat told his older brother he'd met the new woman in the family kitchen.

"Hey Jake!" James Barrington called as he rushed up to his older brother who had just tossed a large bale of hay onto the growing tower by the south wall.

"Whoa there, James! Ain't it too hot to be runnin' like the devils nippin' at your heels?" Jacob said, chuckling, and his smile smoothed out the hard lines in his generally stoic face.

"Speakin' of hot, there's this really pretty gal back at the house in the kitchen whippin' up a helluva meal! I think she's made corn bread from scratch! Have ya seen her yet?" James asked excitedly as he came to a sprinting halt by his older brother; powder blues bright and full of excitement.

"Yeah. We've met," Jacob said as he twisted his lean waist and reached for another bale of fresh hay.

"Doggone it, Jake! She's got her some eyes on her! Never seen eyes like hers on any gal. Biggest and brightest blue," James gushed with young male admiration.

"Dime o' dozen."

"And she's got hair blacker'n midnight under a skillet," James continued to gush, not hearing his brother's scoff.

James dropped back his dreamy head against the rough wooden wall, and let his romantic thoughts fly every which way while his brother silently worked. Then he frowned and lifted his head as he looked at his older brother tossing another bale of hay onto the rising stack.

"You think Pa'll keep her, Jake? I mean, if he did, we'd have the prettiest cook in whole of Bellville—maybe even Texas!"

"Keep her? You're makin' her out to be some stray dog or somethin'," Jacob chuckled as he looked at his younger, more sensitive brother. "Just a week ago you said that gal, Reese, is the prettiest gal in all of Bellville and Texas."

"Oh, yea, Reese." The excitement drained from his face.

Jacob frowned with a curious smile. "You look like your cheese fell off your cracker, James. What? Reese ain't the prettiest anymore then?"

"Yea, I reckon she still is pretty, but she's hooked up with that quarterback in college. There's no way I can best that," he said as he shook his head.

"Yea well, doesn't surprise me. You're uglier than sin anyhow," Jacob teased with a chuckle and promptly got a punch in the arm for it, but at least he got James to stop sulking about that pretty gal he's been eyeing since High School.

"You're a horse's ass, Jake, you know that?" James said wryly, making his older brother laugh heartily. "Anyhow, with a gal like the one back at the house at my side, I bet she'd even make Reese green with envy. She'd be the prettiest on campus, that's for sure."

"Whoa now, young buck," Jacob quickly interjected. "Now, don't go thinkin' she's come down to the ranch to find herself a poke. Hearin' and seein' what I've heard and seen, she ain't gonna be here long enough to make a shadow."

"That's not what I'd seen. I think she's gonna stay."

"Yea, that's just wishful thinkin' you're doin'." Jacob shook his head as he tossed another bale on a stack, making it look as if the thing didn't way a ton like it did. "You said so yourself, she's pretty and pretty gals don't become housekeepers and cooks."

"Like I said?" James cried in disbelief. "All the pokes around the ranch have been talkin' about nuthin' else than that pretty gal."

"They'd been in the sun too long."

"Oh right!" James scoffed. "Like you ain't got eyes in your stubborn head! I know you'd seen how pretty she is, too—"

"—James!" another deep male voice barked, and both brothers looked up to find the oldest Barrington brother on horseback appearing outside the high and wide open stable doors. He looked disapprovingly at the youngest whelp of the family. "Thought Pa told you to get the pickup and git to town to fetch supplies?"

"I was gonna! I just stopped by to talk to Jake, is all." James looked put out.

Jacob laughed, clapping his baby brother on his back. "Enough talk. Git your lazy ass in gear, James!" he said, laughing before he firmly shoved him forward as James chuckled and was just able to avoid a quick boot-kick from his blondest brother as he scampered out the other way.

John Jr. dismounted his horse and handed the reins over to a ranch hand that had rushed over to him. The moment their younger brother was out of sight, tension developed in the stables. There was some bad blood between the two older brothers, and the light mood in the stables evaporated.

Jacob's smile vanished as he turned and resumed his work, hearing his brother saunter over to the big porcelain sink to splash his face and cup a hand of cold water for a refreshing drink. It became uncomfortably quiet, making the few ranch hands who had returned walk on eggshells.

"Coulda used your help repairin' Parcel-nine's fencing," John Jr. said without looking at his younger brother as he switched off the faucets.

"Shoulda asked," Jacob replied.

"Reckon you'd get the hint this mornin' at breakfast when I said there's more damage done to the fencing than we'd first figured," John Jr.'s sterling blues were as cold as ice in his tanned handsome face as he turned to look at the broad back of his younger, most difficult brother.

Jacob tossed the bale of hay in the last stack, and then he turned to look at his older brother from under the rim of his hat, his handsome face grim and his full lips near tightened into a single line.

"Yeah well, I didn't. Next time you need my help, Junior, best ask for it 'stead of droppin' hints my groggy head don't pick up that early in the day," he said before he turned and stalked away as John Jr.'s eyes narrowed on Jacob's broad back.

"I'll do that! Reckon I'll put it writin' next time just so you don't forget!" John Jr. called after him, but Jacob didn't respond and was out the stables with long, angry strides, hinting at an explosive and dangerous temper every cowpoke from there to northern Texas knew better than to taunt.

**~*~**

Isabella was as energetic and as swift as she could be as she moved around the big Barrington kitchen. She was rushing from the counter to the stove where one giant pot was steaming with hearty brisket stew; another was steaming with boiled potatoes. The oven was filled with two trays of biscuits made from scratch. Although John Barrington told her to "whip up a simple meal" she wanted to show her best side, and it was a good thing the Barrington pantry and freezers were well stocked so she could do just that.

The Barringtons had a formal dining room, but John Barrington told her to deck the big round kitchen table instead. This wasn't unusual to her since back home, the grand dining room was reserved for formal dinner parties. Her family usually dined in a secondary dining room where it was more casual and easier accessible for kitchen staff.

Having decked the round kitchen table with a white and red-checkered tablecloth, she set a basket with freshly baked cornbread in the center to cool. Four plain but rather large porcelain plates were neatly set with silverware neatly placed beside them.

Although it was a sterile kitchen—translate: no frills—it was equipped with all the modern-day appliances ranging from two microwaves to a super-sized dishwasher. But it could use some color, some wall decorations, or at the very least, drapes.

She had all the appliances going since she saw it was nearing five. Five-thirty was when the Barringtons sat down for dinner. She'd been at it for about two hours now and she only had less than an hour left.

Fresh coffee was already in the coffeemaker ready to go, and she set tall blue glasses by their plates for the milk that they apparently had with their evening meals. She was certain that her peach cobbler would convince Jacob Barrington to be sorry for driving her off. She was certain that after they had a taste of her cooking, she'd prove herself an asset that got away.

Aside from the fact that her resources were running frighteningly low, she realized that this place could have offered the perfect place to lay low until something changed back home. Until then, she planned to stay away from Louisiana and Connecticut.

It had never been her choice to leave her home, her friends, and her privileged life behind and end up as a housekeeper and cook at some cattle ranch. She didn't mind strenuous physical work although she was actually born and bred for a more genteel way of life.




Belle of Bellville Ch. 01-02



She sighed as she wiped her hands on the dark blue apron with huge pockets after washing the stack of dishes that couldn't fit in the dishwasher. There were just too many. Apparently, no one in the Barrington household took the time to do the dishes. So what was Elena's position in the house? What did she do other than change bed sheets?

Wearing oven mitts, she was now busy straining boiled potatoes in the sink, holding the big stainless steel pan by the ears. The steam that rose made black wisps of hair curl around her heated face—a face that looked upset.

It was all Charles' fault, she thought angrily. He was the reason she had to flee her home in Baton Rouge. Why couldn't that pompous ass just leave her alone? His conniving little scheme to burrow himself into her family was nothing more than a clever tactic to fulfill his unwavering desire to make her his wife even though she told him repeatedly she didn't want him. She couldn't stand the man. Actually, she loathed him with a vengeance.

Charles Deville was the son of her father's partner in their successful shipping business. After that first time when he arrogantly walked up to her at the Perriwinkle's summer party in Greenwich when she was just a girl and he already twenty-one, he'd decided then and there that she was going to be his.

She apparently had no say in the matter. Her mother, however, did, and she put an immediate stop to his shenanigans. Were her mother alive today, she wouldn't be in this unfortunate predicament.

Armand Deville was Charles' father, and a persuasive man. He doted on his only son, so whatever his son wanted, he got. Now it seemed that his son wanted her, and Armand continuously kept after her father to betroth her to him. So far, her father refused but she was afraid he'd eventually lose the battle.

Although Charles was by no means a man that couldn't have any woman he set eyes on, he was as appealing to her as a wet rag. He'd quickly built himself a reputation of being a player, and was known for having female company sleepovers ever since he was old enough to appreciate the opposite sex. Sometimes even his company had company of their own! Scandalous! Why would any woman want to be with a man like that?

If all his philandering and his unwavering arrogance wasn't enough to make her loathe him, the unforgiveable that he committed against her closed the door to her forever.

In the eyes of the girl that lost her mother when she was so young, he had gone from being a pompous ass to a terrifying and aggressive monster. She recalled how he had one day, a year after her beloved mother met her tragic end in an auto accident, told her with that trademark haughty look of his that she so hated, that he had decided they would marry after the allotted year to mourn her mother's death.

Her mother had always been there to keep Charles away. She didn't like the man, either, and not only because he was so much older than her daughter. She didn't like him because she didn't trust him.

"There's something inherently ugly about the man," she recalled her mother telling her one afternoon after she'd sent Charles away from their door for the second time that week. "I don't like him. You stay away from Charles DeVille, Isabella. He's dangerous."

Of course she never told her what it was that made her dislike Charles DeVille so because he was always cordial and kind around her. Later, when she was older, she learned what that was—his appetite for the darker desires of a sexual nature.

Among the highest of society in Green Village, Connecticut, gossip ran like wildfire. It didn't take all that long for news of Charles Deville's sordid reputation to burn its way down to the south and into the upper echelons of Louisiana and into her mother's sharp ears. It eventually came to Elizabeth Beaumont-Boucher's attention how scandalous Charles DeVille had behaved toward a few innocent girls who were horribly treated by him. She decided then and there that Charles Deville was NOT the man for her only daughter.

Then, a few short years later, her mother died. She was killed in an unfortunate and tragic auto accident on her way back from a doctor's appointment. Charles heard of the sad news, but instead of understanding her grief, he became more aggressive in his pursuit for her hand.

He enrolled in Louisiana State University and shoved his way into their home. He skillfully won her grieving father over and started his pursuit of her in all frightening earnest, especially when no one was looking. He exhausted her, terrified her with each passing day, and made life a living hell until she saw no other way out than to flee whenever he was around.

When she discovered that Charles never ceased his dogged pursuit of her even after that, she knew it was only a matter of time before her father would finally cave simply out of sheer exhaustion. She knew that in order to protect herself, she had to take drastic measures.

Deep in thought, she absently took the heavy pan of boiled potatoes and set it on the counter. She paused a moment to catch her breath and then she removed the oven mitts before she wiped the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands. It still hurt so profoundly that she couldn't even mourn her mother's death properly. Charles had seen to that. He had successfully driven her out of her home and away from all she loved and knew. It angered her that she had to run across the country to hide from the man who professed to love her but who had hurt her more than anyone could ever know...

The sound of ice cubes tumbling into a glass behind her startled her and tore her out of her thoughts. She snapped around with red-rimmed eyes round and big. She looked at none other than Jacob Barrington. The way she looked at him was as if she were looking at the devil himself.

A pair of azure blue eyes looked back at her over the rim of a glass of water, and as the painful memories cleared her head, she suddenly looked upset. "I had something in my eye," she muttered as she took a corner of her apron and wiped her eyes. "And couldn't you have at least made your presence known? You startled me and I could've dropped something," she admonished. She didn't really ask a question as much as she, once again, reprimanded him, and already turned from him to resume her task.

"I did."

She responded by sending him a withering glare over her shoulder.

"But you were so deep in thought you didn't hear me."

She was grateful, at least, that he didn't mention her tears. She wasn't sure if he believed her excuse but that didn't matter now. Her emotions were still in turmoil for just having recalled that terrifying day when she believed she had looked up at the face of the devil. She was still a little shaken. In that state, it was almost impossible for her to control her temper.

"You're just skulking around trying to find something, anything, to convince your father I'm as inept as you want everyone to believe." Then she turned to face him and flipped palms up by her shoulders with a bright smile that didn't reach her hard upset eyes. "But as you can see, Mister Jacob, I have everything under control." Then her smile vanished as she fixed him with a hostile look, turned, and resumed her task, straining the last bit of water.

He finally lowered his glass and held it against his flat stomach as his hatless, blond head tilted back while he stared at her stiff profile through surprisingly long dark eyelashes.

"Never said you were inept."

"But that's what you believe, isn't it?" She looked at him. "It's why you chose to tell your father why I had come here when you could have just as well said nothing and I would've gone my way. I know you don't want me here. I know you think you're clever, but I'm on to you."

He arched eyebrows.

She narrowed eyes on him. "Oh, don't you look at me as if you don't know what I'm talking about. You want me gone but you want to extract that pound of flesh first. You want to prove me wrong and put me in my place." She arched an eyebrow but then turned to her task. "Dinner will be served in ten minutes. I'd appreciate it if you could let your family know."

"Had me a look at your Rover," he said before he took a sip of water.

She frowned as she looked at him. "Why?"

"It don't have Texas or Louisiana license plates. They're Nevada license plates."

She looked at him for a few moments before she turned her head and set the large pan of potatoes on a cork trivet so as not to damage the tile countertop. "Yes," she merely said but with a slight tone of apprehension.

"That means you bought it there."

She paused before she sighed and turned and looked at him. "Was there something you wanted to ask me, Mister Jacob? If so, please feel free."

"Who're you running from?"

She expected another snide remark delivered in some colorful Texian, but she never expected that. It took her so by surprise that she went briefly ashen before she turned her profile to him as she stared into the steaming pot of potatoes.

"The answer ain't in them boiled taters."

"I know that," she said. Then she looked cross at him. "And to be honest, I don't believe I owe you an answer, Mister Jacob. Just my cooking. Or, at least, I owe your father that much. But just so you don't believe I've broken out of prison and I'm some dangerous convict on the run, I'll answer you. I just wanted to travel the country—"

"—Bull."

She stiffened, then looked angrily and offended at him. "Excuse me?"

"You think all us ranchers are a bunch of ignorant folk that you think you can easily pull the wool over our eyes, Bella?" he said with a rigid jaw and icy blue eyes.

She suddenly felt threatened and she placed a hand over her throat. "No. Of course not. I would never think that," she said, shaking her head.

With eyes unchanged and as icy cold as ever, he repeated, "Then don't lie to me."

She looked away.

"I know a person on the run when I see one."

She swallowed big. "I'm not running from anyone."

"I don't believe you."

"That's your choice," she said with an annoyed frown. Then she presented her stiff back to him before she snatched up the pan's lid sending steam up into the air, and set it aside. She took the butter and the measuring cup of milk, and poured these into the pan. "My name is Isabella, or you may address me with Miss Beau-Boucher, Mister Jacob."

Her hand was shaking. She knew that he'd touched a nerve buried deep inside her that now threatened to shut her body down. Please not now. Not now. She slowly folded her fingers and brought her fist to her chest as she closed her eyes and fought down the rising panic. "If you'll excuse me, Mister Jacob," she said quietly, "I have work to do and you're distracting me." She opened her eyes and quickly took the salt and pepper and, with aggressive shakes, added the spices to the potatoes.

"The name's Jake."

"Thank you for informing me," she answered, not thankful at all, "but I will address you properly with "Mister Jacob" for as long as I'm here, if it's all the same to you."

"It ain't. No one calls me "Jacob" 'cept my pa and no one calls me "mister" 'cept the bank people. You ain't my pa, and you ain't a bank person—"

"—And yet," she snapped firm blue eyes at him over her shoulder, "I'll address you properly in your father's house until I leave."

"Why not leave now, Bella?"

"Thank you, Mister Jacob, but I have a promise to keep." She smiled smoothly at him, not at all pleased with the stupid nickname he gave her, but she surmised that that was the reason why he gave her one.

She began pulling open and shoving closed the myriad of drawers in search of something. She was well aware that he hadn't left nor made any move to leave. Instead, he made himself comfortable as he leaned back against the double wide refrigerator, and sipped his water as he watched her in silence. And although it was clear that she needed his help, he made no move to offer it.

She finally gave up her search with an exasperated sigh. She looked hard and tightly at his emotionless face while he lowered his glass, and with arms folded over his wide chest, he absently dangled his glass off elbow as he silently looked back.

"Thank you, yes, Mister Jacob, I would love your assistance since it's obvious you're not planning on leaving the kitchen anytime soon."

"I ain't leavin' till you leave."

She glared openly at him now, but then she sighed in exasperation. "Well, then, why not make yourself useful while you're here?" She arched eyebrows. "Can you point to the drawer that holds the potato stomper?"

"Thought you had everything under control."

She went visibly rigid as her blue eyes shot fire. Oooh, if only she could let loose on that impossible bastard! He'd understand she was not a person to be messed with! Were they in Louisiana, she'd give him a piece of her mind, all right!

He didn't immediately make a move as he watched the myriad of emotions flicker across her eyes and her rigid features—and none of them were good. Then he finally pushed from the refrigerator and, while keeping his gaze on her, seeing her arch a snooty eyebrow, he walked to the end of the counter by the second six-pit stove, and pulled a drawer open before taking out a large potato stomper. He hipped the drawer closed before he suddenly tossed the kitchen utensil to her, and with a gasp, she barely caught it up against her.

She stared flabbergasted at him. Then her blue eyes shot fire. "Thank you for hurling the stomper to me," she said through clenched teeth.

"Don't mention it," he said unemotionally.

She couldn't help glaring hard at him, as he calmly turned to lean back against the counter at the far end. He continued his silent treatment while sipping his ice water as he watched the angry emotions flash across her damp, upset face before she turned to the counter and with both hands, mashed the potatoes into a thick, creamy puree with unusual vigor.

He finally set his empty glass on the counter, and drew her attention as she paused with her chore before she looked over at him at the end of the counter. A pregnant silence filled the big kitchen with neither saying another word, and she watched as he took a large Red Delicious apple and took a bite.

"Why are you being this way toward me, Mister Jacob?"

"What way?" he asked with a disinterested tone.

"Belligerent."

He raised his eyes and looked at her annoyed and heated little face.

"Ever since I exited my car," she continued, "you've been nothing but belligerent, rude, and unfriendly toward me, and for the life of me I can't understand what I could've done to deserve such treatment—"

"—You know why," he said, standing in profile; jaw hard as stone.

She blinked confused eyes and then slowly shook her head. "No. I don't."

"Yea, you do, Bella," he said. Then he turned his head and looked at her with a face that looked like it was carved out of granite. "You lie. I don't take too kindly to liars."

"Excuse me—?"

"—And above all else, I don't trust women who lie."

She blinked big eyes. "Well, put your mind at ease, Mister Jacob. I'll be on my way right after I've served dinner—"

"—We call it supper around here, and by then it'd be too late. If you're gonna leave, best you leave now."

"What?" She shook her head. "Why?"

He didn't respond.

She sighed. "I gave your father my promise." She shook her head. "And..." she dropped eyelashes as his gaze sharpened with interest on her, "I need the money." She looked up at him. "Your father's offer is very generous and I'd be a fool not to take advantage of it."

"You're a fool if you don't leave before supper."

"Mister Jacob," she sighed with exasperation as she wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "I'm down to my last fifty dollars. I can't even afford a motel. I've been forced to sleep in the Rover for the past two nights because I have no place else to go. All I ask is that you allow me to do my job here so that I can feel as if I've earned the generous money your father is willing to pay me. I promise, I'll be gone the moment he hands me an envelope—"

"—Assumin' you're leavin'."

She looked stunned at him. "Yes. Because that's what I intend to do after I've earned my pay," she said quietly. "The moment I'm finished, I'll be on my way."

"If I offer you one thousand right now, will you leave now?"

"What?" She looked confused. "Why would you—?"

"—Will you?"

"I've already told you, I'll leave when the job is done—"

"—I know what you said," he cut her off again. "I'm askin' if I gave you one thousand dollars will you go now."

She was getting really annoyed with his bad habit of interrupting her. It reminded her of Charles. He was just as obnoxious and dismissive about anything she had to say. In fact, there were a lot of things about this man that reminded her of Charles, and it fueled her dislike of him.

"It's a good offer," he said. "Were I you, I'd take it."

"But you're not me." She raised her chin a little. "I won't leave until I've finished here."

"Why bother?"

"I gave your father my word."

"And we both know you're a liar, so I'm sure he'll get over you breakin' your word."

She studied his unreadable face with an angry look; lips tight with inner aggravation. They both knew there was something he wasn't telling her, something that bothered him about her, but she surmised that since he believed she was a liar—which she wasn't—she didn't deserve any clarification. Well fine! If he wants to be that way, then fine. She'll just stick to her guns.

"It's his advertisement I've responded to, so only he can make me leave prematurely, and that's the end of it," she said with finality, and then she dismissed him by snapping around to resume mashing potatoes.

"I know you're smarter than that, Bella," she heard him say from across the kitchen. "You already know I can make you leave if I wanted, but I'm givin' you an option to do the right thing, because I'm tellin' ya now, if you don't go now, you're not gonna like how that plays out."

She whirled around and glared openly at him. "Stop it! Just stop it! Stop threatening me!" she shouted.

He was in front of her in a blink of an eye. She started when she realized he now towered over her with a face harder than granite! She felt all the color suck right out of her face as she dropped back against the kitchen counter while he slowly leaned down to her, drilling icy blue eyes into her.

"I don't threaten, Bella. I don't give warnin's, either, but you being new and all and not from these parts, I'm makin' an exception. I reckon you think real hard about what you wanna do. The one thousand dollars is a good offer considerin' your time here. If I was you, I'd take it and leave 'fore you regret it."

She swallowed again. "It's-It's not your decision to make whether I stay or go—"

"—That's right," he cut her off again. "It ain't mine and it ain't my pa's. Not at this moment, at least. This moment, it's yours, but it ain't gonna be like that for much longer. You best think hard, real hard, about that."

She swallowed again, but after so many, many years of threats and harassments from the likes of Charles DeVille—and he was formidable!—she'd grown a layer of callus thick enough to withstand a "lesser" Charles. Or so she thought.

"If you so much as harm a hair on my head—"

"—Don't." He slowly shook his head. "Don't ever threaten me." His blue eyes were sheer ICE. "I've never laid a finger on any lady she didn't want, and I ain't about to start with you, but there're more ways to skin a possum, even a pretty one. Don't let it get that far. Do what's smart, take the money I'm offerin', and leave 'fore someone gets hurt."




Belle of Bellville Ch. 01-02



She remained still, stiff, and defiant. Her delicate nostrils flared and her blue eyes grew dark with pent-up anger, but she refused to utter another word. He wouldn't listen anyway. Men like him never do. She loathed it when they threatened her, and although deep in her heart she was a trembling, cowering mess; outwardly, she refused to show her weakness again. Never again.

"I've put an envelope with cash on the passenger's seat of your fancy jeep. You're gonna leave now while the family ain't come in for supper. You'll leave this place and never come back. With the cash in that envelope, you'll be fine 'til you find some other place to stay. Do I make myself clear?" He arched an eyebrow.

She remained silent as she glared at him, but he flashed a smile as if they were having a pleasant conversation. His smile could tempt the stripes off a zebra.

"I...I can't break my word." Then she looked at him with a plea in her eyes. "My word is all I have left to give—"

"—Then see it as doin' right by a man who don't need another southern belle to break his heart," he said with a suddenly calm voice. He stared at her for a few moments before his gaze dropped to briefly gaze at her lips. He suddenly bit a curse before he turned and marched for the kitchen door...breaking his word that he wouldn't leave until she did...

The moment he stepped away from her, she felt her body shake uncontrollably. She quickly wrapped arms around herself as if she were freezing. She became light in the head and she could barely breathe.

It was then when he looked casually back at her...

Nearly twelve months—a full year—on the run was about to take its toll. Constant stress of being hounded down, having to hide, being hungry, penniless, and constantly afraid... it was all too much already, but Jacob Barrington's Charles-like manner was the final straw, and her nerves snapped.

The world began to spin, and a loud whooshing noise filled her head. Her knees began to buckle, and she desperately grasped for the counter sending cooking utensils and dishes flying to the floor. A sob broke from her lips because she knew she'd follow the way of the dishes...just when strong arms caught her before she'd hit the hard tile floor...

"Please don't...don't...hurt me," she whispered just before her soul was sucked into a black abyss of oblivion, as her exhausted body finally shut down...

To be continued

*

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Belle of Bellville Ch. 03-04



She could still hear the elegant music even this far in the DeVille's grand house. It, and the fact that she was there with her mother and father, calmed her, giving her a false sense of security.

She should've known better.

She felt it in her bones that something was off. But she ignored that tiny voice and was lulled into that deceptive sense of security by being with her parents and when Charles didn't even look at her since she arrived at the Periwinkles' spring garden party.

"Izzy?"

She snapped around making her black pipe curls bounce around her small face. Her eyes were big and full of apprehension. There he stood: tall, dark, handsome, elegant, deceptively polite... frighteningly menacing, the devil in an elegant summer coat and slacks. His eloquent demeanor fooled them all, but he has never fooled her or her mother...until that fateful day.

Her heart leaped then pounded in growing fear. He was so incredibly tall. Charles never failed to invoke fright within her, but she'd always refused to let him see it... up until that day when he showed her she had every reason to be terrified of him.

He had her alone now. She'd just visited the bathroom and was trying to hurry back out to the garden party and to her mother's side when he blocked her way in the hall... and like a big, dark cat, walked slowly toward her. It was such an absurd moment. There was a menacing Charles Deville coming for her accompanied by elegant music filtering into the great Periwinkle family home...

Her heart was pounding in her throat now. She fought for composure and courage as she gave him her best, most aggressive glares. She had always been a brave girl, and she was showing her disdain and rejection as always, but Charles, as always, was deaf, dumb, and blind for it.

"How long do you think you can keep me at bay? Since when has a woman been able to resist the desires of a man bent on making her his?" he asked with a deceptively polite smile.

"Get out of my way, Charles. I want no part of you," she hissed.

"But that isn't really so. You merely confuse virginal shyness with lack of desire simply because it's well known that all women not yet initiated as a man's lover find it... confusing. I know you care more for me—"

"—I care nothing for you! I'm not confused! I don't even think about you unless it's to find a way to finally make you understand I don't WANT you!" she shouted at him as loudly as she could, hoping someone passing by would hear her, but the live orchestra was playing their instruments loudly. No one heard her. No one came to her rescue...

His smug, arrogant smile vanished, but she refused to back down. In fact, her young pride felt a little stronger, vindicated by his response—a response that told her, she had hurt him. Good! He had hurt her for over a year now, so now he knew how she felt.

"You're young and confused. You need a strong man to guide you—"

"—and what makes you think you're the man to do it? I have a father and there are plenty of boys my own age to choose from," she sneered at him, but she saw too late the insane jealousy flash across his stony features, and the spark of rage in his almost black eyes.

In the next instant, he grabbed her by her bare arms, and shoved her back into a dark nook in the hallway. She struggled to free herself, but he was too big, too strong. Charles drew his snarling mask of enraged jealousy close to her pale frightened face as she tried to duck her head.

"You ought to be careful what you say to me, petite. I don't tolerate women expressing their independence in front of me," he ground out through clenched teeth.

All her courage vanished in the face of Charles DeVille's aggression.

"I didn't-didn't mean to upset you. Please... just let me go..." she pled softly, and winced when his vice-like grip tightened painfully around her arms.

"I'm getting impatient waiting for you to accept the inevitable. It would make it so much easier if you just understand there's no escaping my love for you. It would make it so much easier for me, but especially... for you. It's because I love you I'm this way, Izzy—"

"—You don't love me. You just want to make me your slave," she said, trying to sound strong and willful, but she heard her own voice and it sounded timid and frail.

"That's how it is between a man and a woman, petite. A woman is submissive to her man, and I am that man for you," he chuckled evil seeing her glaring up at him in mute hatred. "So be smart and give it up. You won't win."

"Never!" she got angry, her own ego stung by his words, but it only made him chuckle in cruel arrogance. "You're the devil," she suddenly hissed, and he ceased laughing, "and I'd rather be crucified than be with you."

His dark eyes flashed dangerously.

"Why so dramatic, petite? If spilling blood is what it takes to convince you that you belong to me, then I have a better, far more pleasurable way we can accomplish that."

"NO!" she screamed in terror, snapping out of the nightmare, and shooting upright.

She was breathing hard, her chest pumping up and down, her vision blurred with tears. She gulped air before her she touched her throat with a shaky hand, frantically going from her throat to her clothes, and then her body. Everything ached again, as if she'd just suffered the pain of that day anew; reliving the agony of that horrible moment in her life, emotionally as well as physically...

Slowly, though, she felt calm return when she realized it was just another bad dream. She wasn't in that scary dark basement alone with Charles. It had just been a nightmare. Still, the emotions were real, and she bowed her head in hands as tears trickled down her pale face while she struggled to force her pain back into the deep recesses of her mind; not hearing the muffled footsteps nearing her...

"Miss Beau-Boucher?"

She gasped, snapping up her head with a terrified look in her big teary eyes. She wasn't in her bedroom, but in a room that looked like a parlor—and she was looking straight into the friendly face of an elderly man she didn't recognize.

Was she still dreaming? Oh god, please don't let that be the case...

"Wh-Who are you?" she got out choked and disorientated.

"It's all right, Miss Beau-Boucher, calm down. You're safe," the friendly gentleman assured with a calming voice. "I'm Doctor Seymour Bennett. People around here just call me "Doc". John Barrington called me when you suffered an episode and collapsed, and he was unable to wake you."

"Episode?" she asked, confused.

"You fainted," he quietly clarified.

"Fainted?" she cried out in shock before she shook her head. "No, that's impossible. I don't faint. I never faint. There must be some mistake..."

"It's okay, now. It's not a bad thing. You appear to have been under a great deal of stress. It's compounded over time and it finally came to a head. Don't be alarmed, Miss Beau-Boucher. It's just your mind telling your body to take a much needed break."

"I've been feeling fine up until today."

"Your body and mind put you in a state of suspension for the sake of your health," the doctor explained and then, all of sudden, in one rush, her memories came pouring back into her head.

"Isabella?" John Barrington called with a quiet, calm tone. She looked up at him with a look that broke his kind heart. She looked desperate and devastated as it was, and he knew he would never forget that look—one that was all too familiar to him since it haunted his every waking moment.

He lowered down to his haunches in front of the divan she was on while her teary blue eyes followed. She looked frightened, and he was certain he knew why. She was obviously afraid that he'd send her away now. He couldn't be more wrong. He couldn't know that she wanted nothing more than to leave as soon as she could stand. She'd embarrassed herself enough already, and there was no coming back from that. At least, that's what she believed.

"I do so apologize, Mr. Barrington. I assure you, I have never fainted in all my life and I felt very well this day."

"I believe you," he said kindly.

She searched his gentle blue eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said with a smile and a nod.

Then a look of defeat appeared on her face as she lowered her eyes. "I sincerely apologize for failing you so. I understand if you don't want to pay me, and I'll just be on my way as soon as I can stand—"

"—On your way?" he asked, frowning.

She looked at him with a curious frown. "Yes. I'll take my leave as soon as possible."

"I'll have to advise against it, Miss Beau-Boucher," Doc Bennett said as he shook his silver head. "You need rest. I would also like to run some tests on you to make sure all is well. That would mean you'll have to come to the hospital." Then he frowned as he eyed her. "May I ask when was the last time you had something to eat?"

"Oh. Oh don't worry about that—"

"—Please, Miss Beau-Boucher," Doc Bennett said quietly. "I'm asking not to be polite but as a medical practitioner."

She stared at him with big embarrassed eyes before she dropped her eyelashes. "In the kitchen. I had a piece of cornbread."

"And before that?"

She turned her face away.

"I see," Doc Bennett said, seeing how ashamed she was. He looked at John Barrington who frowned in worry as he looked at her. "She'll need something light to eat. Maybe some chicken broth and Saltines. Got any of that around here, John?"

"I'm sure we can find somethin' like that," John Barrington said before he looked passed her to someone behind her. "Jake! Can you tell Elena to open a can of soup and get some Saltine crackers from the pantry?"

"Sure, Pa."

The moment she heard John Barrington address his son, she snapped her gaze over her shoulder to see Jacob Barrington standing by the wide entryway into the parlor. He moved his gaze to look at her and she snapped around, presenting her back to him so she wouldn't have to look at him. She couldn't be more embarrassed.

"Are you feeling all right, Miss Beau-Boucher?" Doc Bennett asked.

"Yes. Yes," she said with a smile. "I'm fine."

"I believe she needs something to eat soon," Doc Bennett said.

She didn't protest.

"And I believe you need to stay around for a few days—"

"—Oh, no, I can't, doctor," she quickly said as she looked almost frightened at him. "I have to be on my way—"

"—You ain't goin' nowhere in the state you're in, Isabella," John Barrington said, shaking his head with a resolute look on his face. "I'm not convinced you're healthy enough to drive off just yet. It'd be irresponsible of me to let you go after what you've been through."

"Oh, but I feel fine, really," she said. "It was just a little heat exhaustion—"

"—And yet you've confessed that you've never fainted before," Doc Bennett said with a concerned look. "I'd rather you stay a couple of weeks so I can run some tests to make sure you're all right."

"A couple of weeks?!"

"At least," Doc Bennett said with a nod.

"Also," John Barrington said, "a gentleman would never allow a young woman to leave his care after what you've been through."

"I don't mean any offense, Mr. Barrington, and I'm infinitely grateful, please believe me, but I really can't stay. I've already overstayed my welcome—"

"—I feel responsible for what happened to you."

She blinked big eyes. "But you shouldn't."

"But I do," he said, nodding. "You whipped up the finest home-cooked meal this house has ever seen, but I feel I must have put too much pressure on you to prove yourself and it's done made you ill."

"No, sir, you shouldn't think that. I just haven't eaten a full meal for some time, and it's been a rather hot day—"

"—Can you allow me to make amends, Isabella?" he asked as he looked at her with the gentlest blue eyes she hasn't seen in such a long time.

She closed her mouth and stopped her protesting. It wouldn't help anyway. John Barrington appeared to be determined to make her stay and he was stubborn enough to have his way in this.

"I-I..." She lowered her eyes. "Yes, of course." She nodded. "Thank you, sir." She looked at him. "I humbly accept your hospitality for as long as necessary."

Doc Bennett looked relieved.

"Then it's settled," John said with a nod and bright blue eyes. "You'll stay as long as you want and as long as the Doc needs you. When Doc gives you your clean bill o' health, then you can go with my blessings. We don't want you squatting on your own spurs just to high-tail it outta here 'fore you're ready, do we?"

She frowned when she heard another colorful Texas saying. She gathered he meant that she shouldn't harm herself just so that she could leave as soon as possible. "If I came across rude and ungrateful, please forgive me," she said. "I just don't want to impose on your family."

"And I've already said you're not imposin'," he assured her. "So don't worry your pretty head anymore, okay?" he said with a kind smile that drew a tentative one from her.

She smiled softly and nodded. "Okay."

"Good," John Barrington said with a warm smile.

**~*~**

She was shown to her room by none other than John Barrington himself. Luckily, she saw that Jacob Barrington had left the house. She could breathe easier now.

The room she was shown and what she would occupy for the duration of her stay was located between the kitchen and the laundry room. It was a nice-sized room, big enough for a bed, a small sitting group by a stone hearth, and an armchair with a lamp for reading at night. It must have been the room of some former housekeeper since it was ideally located and it was furnished in soft pastels and florals—ultra feminine.

She walked to the window draped with delicate floral drapes and opened the window to allow fresh air in. She smiled softly as she closed her eyes and drew in a long and refreshing lungful. It felt cozy and safe, and she hadn't felt cozy or safe for what felt like an eternity.

The brass queen-sized bed was decked with pastel colored quilts and many pillows—some with frill trim, some not—that matched the curtains. The full bathroom was complete with a clawfoot bathtub and it, too, was decorated in pastel curtains, drapes, and floor mats.

Then she realized everything was brand-new. She frowned as she ran delicate fingertips along the shining brass of the headboard. Even the bed frame was new. Although the sheets and bedding had been washed to rid the fabric of the scent of new bedding—which had thrown her off—she could see that they were all recently bought for both the bedroom and the bathroom, most likely with the idea of hiring a new housekeeper and cook.

She felt a little guilty. She knew she wasn't going to stay longer than Doc Bennett needed in order to hand her a clean bill of health, and she felt guilty for being the first to occupy this room that was meant for a more permanent housekeeper.

Although both of these rooms combined could fit six times over in her old room back in Louisiana, she was far from disappointed. In fact, she couldn't be happier. It felt as if she'd just won the lottery because she felt...safe. And these days, safe was an invaluable commodity.

There was a knock on her door, and she turned from the window.

"Come in!"

"I'd like to but my hands are full," she heard a feminine voice say rather testily through the door.

She quickly rushed to the door and opened it, finding none other than the exotic beauty looking at her as she held a serving tray with a bowl of soup, a new roll of Saltines, and a glass of orange juice—all presented with an unfriendly look.

She smiled. "Thank you. You can put it on that table there."

"Or you can," Elena said and nearly shoved the tray into her hands.

"Oh! Oh, all right," she said, quickly taking the tray just before the other woman dropped her hands from it and turned and already headed down the short hallway to the open door that led into the main house.

"Thank you!" she called friendly after her but Elena didn't seem to hear her as she exited the hallway and closed the door. She turned with tray in hand and set it on the small table against the wall, and then closed her door again.

As she sat down to have the light meal, she made a mental note to try and be friendly with Elena. Although she really didn't have to bother since she wasn't planning on staying very long, she felt she needed to put the young woman at ease and to convince her that she wasn't there to take her place.

She had a few spoons of chicken broth and nibbled on a cracker as she thought about how to go about doing this. But when she absently sipped the orange juice, she made a face and set the glass down. The orange juice was frozen concentrate. She could taste the stuff even with a bad cold. She decided then and there that she'd make breakfast the following morning to make up for ruining dinner tonight, and that breakfast would include freshly squeezed orange juice.

She just needed to find out what time the Barrington men had their breakfast.

When she had her fill of the chicken broth and finished the entire roll of Saltines—yes, she was that famished—she got up and opened one of her suitcases. She didn't bother to set her clothes away in the armoire and dressers since she wouldn't be staying long—two weeks tops.

She paused when she saw her shimmering white nightgown with spaghetti-string shoulder straps and its matching wrap. It had been a long time since she was able to wear anything as luxurious as this and she wanted to take full advantage now she had a nice bed to sleep in. With a happy smile and jump in her step, she took her nightgown and went into the bathroom.

After a refreshing shower and now dressed in the pretty nightgown, she seated herself on the edge of the bed and rummaged through her suitcases looking for her comb and brush set. She frowned when she couldn't find them. She got up and really began going through her clothes and things and then her macramé bag, but they were nowhere to be found.

She straightened and put a finger to her lip as she tried to remember what she did with them. Then her eyes lit with dawning before she snapped her fingers and swept them up her forehead.

"Of course!" she said.

She recalled having brushed out her hair before driving out to the Barrington Ranch because the humidity had made her hair a little frizzy—and she had looked like a lost scarecrow. She must've left the set in the Rover. She walked to the mirror above the dresser and looked at her wet scraggly thick black hair that swirled down alongside her disenchanted face.

"Ugh. I can't go to bed like this!" She tossed up a hand and shook her head. "It would be unmanageable by tomorrow morning and I can't very well serve up breakfast with an old bird's nest on my head."

She looked at her keys on the nightstand and quickly made a decision before she hurried and pulled on her flat slippers and wrap and swept up her keys and the tray before she quietly exited her room.

The house was surprisingly silent and it was only ten o'clock. People must retire early since they had to rise early so she decided she'd have to rise earlier in order to prepare breakfast for the family.

She set the tray down in the dimly lit kitchen that had been cleaned up, and washed her dishes before putting them in the drip-rack. Then she toweled her hands dry and quietly left the kitchen in search of her Rover. She recalled John Barrington had mentioned that Jacob had parked it with the other vehicles—which was somewhere in the back. So that's where she headed.

It was a sultry summer evening and fairly dark outside. She heard crickets and an occasional horse whinny as she made her way through the dark and toward what she believed was the garage. It was.




Belle of Bellville Ch. 03-04



The garage was a huge building that housed five large pickup trucks. She had no time to dillydally and sight-see so she hurried along, entering the giant space which was dimly lit by recessed lighting. She didn't need to switch on the main light to find her way among the giant trucks and to her dusty Rover although now it wasn't dusty anymore! Someone had washed it.

She disengaged the alarm and crawled in over the driver's seat. She found her brush and comb set in between the leather bucket seats. What she didn't find was an envelope with cash. Pleased that she'd found her precious brush and comb—with silver handles, a gift from her mother when she turned fourteen—she smiled happily as she quietly closed the door, engaged the alarm, and headed back to the door to leave.

Then she noticed a flight of stairs leading up to a second floor. She also noticed that there was light coming down from an opening above. She froze for a moment, frightened that perhaps someone was up there, but she didn't hear a sound. The building felt abandoned of all human life except for her.

Now curious than ever to find out what was up there, she quietly took the stairs and found herself in what appeared to be someone's living quarters. It was furnished in southwestern style and pretty masculine. There was a large bed at the far wall with warm southwestern covers. There was a roll-top desk, a sofa with a southwestern throw, and a door that most likely led to an adjoining bathroom.

Perhaps the living quarters of the staff member who cared for the trucks? She wasn't certain whether the Barringtons had a chauffeur or not. It didn't seem plausible since they were all men who'd prefer to drive themselves. Back home, the family chauffeur's living quarters was above their garage, too, and her father needed Abe to drive him around the busy city for business. Out here, it would be overkill since there was little traffic and the nearest town didn't have the kind of traffic a large city had.

Then she noticed the many framed pictures on a credenza.

"A brief peek won't hurt," she whispered to herself and quietly walked over to look at the pictures.

She blinked big eyes when she recognized that they were family portraits. Lots of them, in all shapes and sizes. They were all of the Barrington boys when they were very young and they stood smiling with a beautiful blonde woman who stood between them. That had to be Mrs. John Barrington. She noticed that Jacob resembled his mother the most.

What surprised her was the fact that although there were plenty of framed pictures of the three boys and their mother, there wasn't a single photo of their father. Then she realized that she'd been there entirely too long, and she turned and made to hurry to the stairs when she suddenly started with a gasp.

Someone had quietly come up the stairs and was now standing in the way of a quick exit, looking mighty upset with her. The shadows in the room played tricks on her mind, because what she saw was none other than Charles DeVille standing half in the shadows, tall, menacing, terrifyingly real and glaring at her with red eyes...

The keys, brush, and comb, dropped from suddenly limp fingers, and for the second time that day, she fainted...

**~*~**

Chapter 4

Isabella felt her eyelashes flutter before her eyes opened. She frowned and blinked, not recognizing the thick wooden beams of the ceiling high above her. She laid a hand over her eyes, closing them briefly when she felt a lightheadedness that could easily become a full-fledged headache. Had she fallen into a deep sleep? Was she that tired?

After taking a few moments, she dropped her hand and set elbows under her before she rose on them, blinking, and gazed disoriented around the unfamiliar room. Then she froze when she saw a pair of astute blue eyes watching her from the sofa with right next to him, a curious and panting tri-colored long-haired dog with strange blue eyes.

"Where am I—?"

"Where you shouldn't be."

A quick gaze around told her exactly where she was as her memories flooded back. She was laid out on a bed—his bed! With a cry she was on her feet beside the bed but that was one hell of a foolish move! She was immediately overcome with an acute case of vertigo and she teetered, about to fall on the floor—again—just when she was caught in his arms.

"I swear," Jacob said, shaking his head as he carefully helped her to sit on the edge of the bed. "If you had a brain, it'd die out of loneliness."

She was clearly confused as she looked at him kneeling in front of her. "What?"

"Nuthin'," he said as he rose to his boots. "How're you feelin'?"

"Better," she said. Then she pressed her hand against her head and frowned. "I think."

"Yup. Out of loneliness," he said again and she heard his cowboy boots thump over the large rug as he walked away from her and then again as he returned to her. "Here."

She looked up to find him holding a glass of water to her. She felt parched and she took it before she thirstily drank.

"You need to drink a lot of water out here in the southeast. You dehydrate quicker around these parts, and I reckon it's what had you faint twice already."

She recalled that she hadn't touched the orange juice earlier. She hadn't much to drink the entire day, really. He had a point. After she finished the glass of water, she moved to set it on the nightstand but his hand was there. She looked up at his unreadable face before she handed it over to him, and watched him as he walked to the small countertop and set the glass down, now standing in profile to her.

Then a thought hit her. "Wait," she said with a curious frown. "I fainted...again?"

"Yup," he said as he looked over at her with a calm expression. "How're you feelin' now?"

"Much better," she admitted.

"Good." He nodded. "Now do you wanna tell me what you're doin' in my home?"

She blinked big eyes before she felt color rise in her face. "Your-Your home? I-I thought your father told me to recuperate from the earlier, uh, earlier black-out—"

"—I meant here. This place."

She swept her big eyes around. "This is your place?"

"Most times."

She quirked her head with a confused look. "Most times?"

He didn't answer. He just stared at her for a moment. Then she realized what he meant. Of course a healthy Texas boy like him rarely slept in his own bed! She felt color shoot into her cheeks before she swallowed and looked away.

"Oh."

"So," he said, "are you gonna tell me what you were doin' in my place?"

She kept her gaze averted. "I...I was looking for my brush and comb. My hair...I washed my hair," she frowned down at the scraggly swirls down her left shoulder, "and if I don't comb and brush it out, it tends to tangle and become unmanageable. But I couldn't find them in my suitcases or my shoulder bag."

He popped eyebrows. "And you reckon you'd find 'em up here?"

"What? N-No. No," she shook her head. "I found them in the Rover where I remembered I'd left them."

"That doesn't explain why you're up here."

"I didn't know it was your home—place." She shook her head. "But no. It doesn't explain my being here." Then she looked at him. "I just...I saw stairs after I'd found my brush and comb and I was...um...I don't know," she shook her head. "I guess I was—"

"—Bein' nosy."

She looked a little irritated. "I was going to say, curious."

"Nosy. Yea."

She cleared her throat. "I apologize for that."

"For what? Bein' nosy?"

She was getting really annoyed now. "For obviously treading on hallowed ground."

He heard the irritation in her tone and stared at her until she looked away.

Feeling somewhat better—and wanting nothing more than to be out of his "home" as soon as possible—she rose to her feet to leave. Then she paused and frowned as she remembered something and patted the pockets of her wrap.

Occupied with looking for that elusive brush and comb set, she didn't notice how his gaze ran slowly down her slender frame in that elegant nightgown that followed her feminine curves perfectly. She also didn't notice how his gaze lingered at the level of her breasts where twin bumps pressed wantonly against the satin of her gown.

"Where can they be?"

He turned his eyes away as a tic appeared in his lean cheek and jaw as he switched on the faucet and filled the glass with water again. "Lookin' for somethin'?"

"Yes. My brush and comb. I seem to have misplaced them again."

"They're right here," he said, and he looked at her, seeing her big eyes on him before he nodded down at the counter. "You dropped them when you fainted again."

She went apple-red and her eyelashes fluttered as she gave him an apologetic smile before she quickly came over to him and took the brush and comb. "Thank you," she said softly. Then she nodded. "Good night, Mister Jacob," she said softly before she passed him to make for the stairs posthaste!

"Who's Charles?"

She came to an abrupt halt. Then she snapped around and found him looking over his shoulder at her as he sipped on a glass of water.

"What?"

He lowered the glass. "Who's Charles?"

She swallowed big and looked away. "Why do you ask?"

"Cuz you'd screamed out that name just 'fore you fainted."

She stared at him with big anxious eyes. She screamed? Then she looked away as she shook her head. "No one important."

"I reckon he's important enough to make you scream out his name when you saw me. You did that once before, just 'fore you fainted back at the main house," he said. "I'd wager anythin' he's the poke who put tears in your eyes earlier."

"I-I wasn't crying. I told you, I had something in my eye."

"I'd bet the farm that he's the one you're runnin' from, too," he said, ignoring her excuses. "Yea. I'd be mighty surprised if that ain't the case." He set the glass down and turned and he began walking toward her. He noticed that the closer he got, the more anxious she became. "And you know what else?"

"I-I really need to go. It's getting late—"

"I reckon you see him in me."

She snapped up her head and looked at him as if she'd seen a ghost. Then she shook her head and her eyelashes fluttered wildly. "No. No, that's not true," she said, shaking her head.

"Ain't it?" he asked quietly.

"No." She shook her head. "Please...Please don't come any closer, Mister Jacob."

"You ain't gonna faint on me again, are ya, Bella?" he asked as he kept a tight gaze on her while she began to back away.

"I-I-I have to insist you keep your distance, Mister Jacob," she said with as much bravado as she could, but even she could hear how her voice trembled—which only made her feel even less confident.

"Why?" he asked as he continued to slowly come to her.

"Because I'm asking you to." She took another step back, looking panicked now.

"You came up to my home, to my room, in the night, in your nightgown. What am I supposed to think, Bella?"

She snapped up her head and stared in shock at his unreadable face. "You could think that I was disoriented and lost. You-You don't have to think the worst—"

"—Worst?" He quirked his head quizzically. "Is that how you see it? As somethin' bad?"

"No, of course not!" she protested hotly. "It was a poor choice of words, I'll admit, but I don't want you to think that I've come to...to...to..."

He arched an eyebrow. "To...what, Bella?"

"I was just curious what was up here!" she cried desperately.

"And then you saw it was my place and you stayed?"

"I wasn't planning on staying. I-I couldn't know this was your place! I didn't know. I swear I didn't."

"But you'd seen the pictures. You hadda know this was no ranch hand's place and you still ain't high-tailed it outta here. Why not?"

"I-I made a mistake. I apologize. I promise it won't happen again," she quickly said. "Good night, Mister Jacob." And with that, she snapped around to flee for the stairs, but she didn't get very far.

An arm snatched her around her waist and with a gasp she was tugged back against his hard body. The physical contact had her immediately freeze and go stiff as a board. Her body was as tight as a bow-string and she felt dizzy again as a third fainting episode was looming.

"Shhh...shhh...shhh," he whispered in her ear. She was so tense that if he didn't calm her, she'd either faint again or snap her back. "Breathe, Bella," he coaxed with a gentle tone. "Relax. You're backin' out quicker'n a crawfish and there's no need for that. No one's gonna hurt you here."

She shook her head as tears pooled in her eyes, but she couldn't speak. Her throat had constricted almost painfully and she was getting lightheaded again. She tried to forcibly push his arm down off and away from her but he'd have none of that. His other hand came around and covered hers on his wrist.

She had such slender and soft hands—softer than anything he's ever touched. And determined, too. It took a while but he finally laced their fingers in order to stop her from shoving him away until their fingers, entwined, lay still against his arm. She ceased her struggles although her breathing was shallow and quick. She was near panting.

"Please..." she choked out breathlessly.

With his blond head gently against hers, he whispered in her ear, "Hush now, Bella. Shhh, shhh, shhh. Hush now. I ain't gonna hurt you."

She closed her eyes and tears rolled down her face before she finally nodded. Once. But that seemed to be enough for him because in the next moment, she felt his fingers curl around her hand and he slowly turned her around to face him, but she kept her eyes shut and she was still stiff but less so than before.

Then, when it dawned on her how silly she must appear to him, standing in front of him with her eyes closed, she finally opened them. Fresh tears spilled down her face as she looked up at his gentle but otherwise unreadable gaze. She didn't care that he saw her tears. For some strange reason, the deep-seated fear she felt inside began to slowly subside.

He, in turn, was spellbound by her in every way. He was captivated by her big, beautiful blue eyes. The wounded look in them struck him square in the chest and stirred something inside him.

"I ain't him," he said quietly when he could finally speak. "I need you to know that."

"I-I know," she whispered.

He stared into her eyes for what felt like an eternity. She couldn't know that at that moment he was waging a fierce battle within himself. The only sign of that were his fists that slowly clenched at his sides, and the rigidity of his frame as he forced down the urge to reach for her.

He slowly shook his head. "No, Bella, you don't know. Not yet. But you will."

Although his response was casually given and apropos for their tense discussion, there was an underlying tone that she picked up and what made her frown in confusion. Strange, but it was as if he were talking about something else.

She didn't know what to say. But at least she knew that he understood that she had lied when she told him that she didn't think he was Charles, because that's exactly how she saw him: another version of the man who had hurt her so deeply that it left lasting damage.

She recalled that he had called her a liar...and she now knew with full clarity of mind that he was right. She was a liar. She was a pretender, too—something Charles had forced her to become in order to stay sane. It was her way to cope with what had happened to her. She'd begun to see all men as a threat...especially strong-willed ones like Jacob Barrington.

Her nostrils flared when she suddenly became aware of the scent of horses, country air, a hint of cologne and...man. In the soft lighting of his quarters, she felt as if everything around her had become dreamlike. In that state of mind, when she felt no threat, her gaze dropped and her heart skipped a beat as she stared at his lips. They were full, strong, and so close. It wouldn't take much for her to...

She suddenly took a step back and clasped her brush and comb tightly in her fist against her hard-beating chest. She hadn't realized that he'd already released her hand and that she'd stayed close to him out of her own. She flickered up big shimmering eyes to see that she couldn't read his thoughts as he looked at her.

"I apologize for trespassing—"

"—You need to go now," he said quietly as a tic appeared in his sinewy cheek.

She stared at him for a few moments before she finally nodded. "I-I just want you to know that I'm sorry for coming up here—"

"Go now, Bella."

She looked at his unreadable face for a moment, but then she nodded and looked away. "Good night, Mister Jacob," she said softly before she turned and reached the top of the stairs, and this time he didn't try to stop her.

She took the stairs and left his home and the garage without a single look back. Once outside, however, all her calm vanished, and she threw herself into a run and didn't stop until she was back in the safety of her room.

In her haste to flee, she missed the silhouette of his tall broad-shouldered frame standing in the window above the garage as he watched her go.

She made it to her room without fainting again. After she locked the door to her room, she turned and fell back against it, cupping her gaping mouth in shock. She couldn't believe that she had actually wanted to-to-to kiss him! She had never wanted to touch any man—let alone kiss one—after what Charles had done to her, but she suddenly found herself wanting nothing more than that—and possibly more—with a man she hardly knew.

Possibly more?? She was shocked to the core of her wounded soul that she had actually wanted to find out how his lips would feel against hers. It was an awakening for a girl who had been convinced that Charles had killed that part inside her. The pathetic thing was...Jacob Barrington was a stranger to her!

Granted. He was unbelievably handsome, magnetic, and charismatic. He was undeniably sexy. And despite her innate fear of men, she wasn't blind to his arsenal of male appeal.

But Jacob Barrington was the kind of man women swooned over the moment they saw him. She was certain he had his pick of the prettiest girls in the western hemisphere and beyond, and she was just as certain that he took full advantage of it. And with that kind of experience, he must've seen how she felt when he looked into her eyes.

"He must think I'm an idiot," she whispered, downtrodden.

Yes, he must certainly think she was pathetic. She was a blabbering fool who couldn't stop herself from fainting almost as if on cue, but who suddenly couldn't resist the urge to kiss him. Wretch.

She dropped her hand from her mouth and shook her head with a look of despair and deep shame. "I must have suffered brain damage from all that fainting," she whispered, grasping for excuses. "There cannot be any other explanation for my behavior."

She tossed her brush and comb onto the dresser before she rushed for the bed and threw herself on it. She bunched some pillows under her with clenched hands and buried her face in shame in their softness before she turned her head in them. With a blank stare, she looked at the pastel stripes of the wallpaper on the wall with tearful eyes.

"I have to leave here before I do something I'm certain to regret." She sniffled and wiped her eyes. "That's what I'm going to do the moment I have a chance. Tomorrow. Yes. Early tomorrow morning, I'll grab my things before anyone is awake and leave—"

Then she snapped her head up from the pillow and her wet eyes flew around her room, from dresser to table to credenza to nightstand. Then realized that they were nowhere to be seen! She'd forgotten to ask them back before she left his quarters. He still had her car keys!

"Ohhh...great! Just great," she groaned in despair as she dropped her head back on the pillow. "Dear lord..." she whispered as she squeezed her eyes to a close. "Now I have to talk to him again."




Belle of Bellville Ch. 03-04



*

To be continued

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Belle of Bellville Ch. 05-06



Chapter 5

She was surprised that she'd even fallen asleep, let alone awakened refreshed after what felt like the best night's rest she had in long while. Or ever.

The incredibly comfortable memory foam mattress she slept on must've had something to do with that. Then again, she hadn't slept in a real bed for what seemed an eternity, and then there was the fact that she'd suffered no less than two fainting episodes in the past twenty-four hours.

Clearly, her body needed some serious rejuvenation.

Whatever it was, she felt energized when she awakened early the next morning. After she dressed in a dark blue Trixie circle skirt dress with yellow and white Waterlilies, and after strapping simple strap sandals on her feet, she exited her room early in search of the kitchen.

She donned the apron she had used the day before and went straight to work. She began preparing a hearty breakfast for the Barrington men, understanding they had big appetites. She didn't know how much time she had since she'd forgotten to ask what time they had breakfast, but she was certain that four in the morning was sufficiently early to get breakfast cooked and table-ready.

By six o'clock, she had the large kitchen table decked and breakfast cooked. Six o'clock was what she aimed for and it was what she got. With slender hands clasped to her as she smiled, admiring her hard work and feeling elated about it, something dawned on her, making her smile fade and a frown appear on her brow. Something was missing. Then her sapphire eyes lit and she snapped her fingers before she began searching the many cabinets until she found a tall thin glass.

Taking it, she studied it for a moment and then sighed. "It'll have to do."

She quickly set the glass down and rushed out the back door and onto the back verandah. She'd seen a small patch of ground in the back with beautiful bluebonnet flowers. She plucked a few before she returned to the kitchen and set her small bouquet in the tall glass, added some water, and then set it in the center of the table.

"Magnifique!" she said softly in French—her second language.

"Who you tryin' to impress?"

She turned her head and looked over her shoulder, seeing Elena with crossed arms leaning in the doorway to the laundry room. The exotic beauty was dressed in a denim dress with drop shoulders and a decently long skirt...if she bothered to button the last three buttons from the hem up, that is. She didn't.

"Good morning, Elena."

The other woman shrugged. "So again, who you wanna impress?"

"No one."

"Yea?" She pushed from the doorframe and sauntered into the kitchen as she arched an eyebrow at, what she believed to be, the uppity Louisianan. "Flowers? You're from Louisiana, right?"

"Yes."

"Who're you puttin' bluebonnets on the table for if it ain't to impress the Barrington men? You know those are the State's official flower, don't you?"

"No, I didn't. I just thought they were pretty and they're the only flowers around."

Elena gave the raven-haired beauty a wry smile and a wink. "Sure," she said. "You wanna impress the Barrington men, aw'right, bein' that they're proud Texans. Or," she said slyly, "you just want to impress one o' them?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" Elena said, clearly not believing her. Then she looked at the basket of buttermilk biscuits and took herself one before she plucked a piece off and popped it into her mouth, chewing as she smiled at the other woman. "You think you're gonna lasso the wildest steed in the Barrington stables with your pretty face and lady-like manners?"

Isabella frowned, confused. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I heard the words," she shook her head with a frown, "but I don't understand your meaning. What are you trying to say?" Then her sapphire-blue eyes went cool. "Do you honestly think I'm here to find me a husband?"

Elena smiled as she chewed on another piece of buttermilk biscuit. "Plenty of gals prettier than you tried and failed to lasso that wild blond mustang," and then she leaned a little closer, "and frankly, you ain't got it in you. You're too..." she let her gaze drop before she slowly grazed the other woman's length until their eyes met again, "genteel." She smiled. "He don't like his women that way. It's boring. That's what he told me once."

"Only once?" Isabella asked with cool, arched eyebrows. "How disappointing it must've been for you."

"Oh, he wanted more," she continued with her gossip session as she poured herself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, "but he and I are a lot alike." She swept coy eyes at the other woman. "We like our lovers wild and we like variety. We're not the marryin' kind, know what I mean? It's like with Angie."

"Who?"

"Junior's ex-fiancée," she said before she had a sip of the orange juice, removed the glass from her lips, and popped eyebrows. "Fresh squeezed. This is good."

"Thank you."

"But a waste of time and effort on a bunch of rough and tumble cowpokes like the Barringtons." Then she smiled at the other woman. "Anyway, Jacob just takes what he wants. You have eyes, so I know you can see that he can have his pick of the gals. Why do you think he ain't married yet already bein' twenty-nine, nearly thirty? That's because we think the same. Why buy the cow when we can get the milk for free?"

Isabella briefly frowned on hearing that idiom. "Anyway," she began, "twenty-nine isn't exactly too old. I know plenty of men who are much older and aren't yet married." Then she arched an eyebrow. "Take Mister John. He's Mister Jacob's older brother and he isn't married yet."

"Pff!" Elena scoffed. "He would'a been had circumstances been different."

Isabella looked curiously at the other woman, but she appeared to only want to talk about Jacob Barrington.

"And sure, Jake'll act like a gentleman and all that...until he gets what he wants. Then he tosses you aside like nuthin' and moves on to the next willing filly."

"Well," Isabella shrugged. "He's an unmarried man and he'll do what unmarried men do. I wouldn't hold that against him."

Elena didn't like that response, so she upped the ante. "Yea, but would you be that flippant if you knew he'd done it with John Junior's fiancée?"

Isabella arched a surprised eyebrow, not because of the gossip Elena was doing, but because she was surprised the woman knew what the word "flippant" meant.

"Yep," Elena continued, oblivious to the other woman's thoughts, "he took her right from under his own brother's nose and the girl was sent away pregnant with his baby and all. Junior didn't want her anymore and Jacob never did to begin with."

"You're giving Mister Jacob more credit than he's due. He can't "take" what can't be given. In other words, the young woman isn't blameless in this, Elena. She was the one who was engaged, and if she allowed herself to be seduced by the brother of her fiancée, then she created her own problems."

Elena listened with a thoughtful look. Then she quirked her head. "You know what?"

"What?"

"You remind me of Angie. Yea. She was a lot like you. Genteel." Then her green eyes turned to stone. "Weak. And he don't care for weak women. None of the Barrington men do."

Isabella arched an eyebrow. "It's a good thing I'm not interested in any of them, isn't it? Being that I'm supposedly weak and all."

"What's wrong, Izzy?" She smiled when she saw the other woman stiffen when she heard that silly nickname. "Did he send you away from his quarters last night cuz he didn't want you? Was that why you were cryin' like a little baby, bawling your little eyes out when you rushed to your room and locked the door?"

Isabella's sapphire blue eyes turned to stone as she glared at the other woman. To hear that name, that horrible nickname that Charles used on her coming from the other woman's mouth made her soul freeze to sub-zero and it made her deaf to anything else the woman had said.

"My name is Isabella or Miss Beau-Boucher, Elena. But don't you ever address me with Izzy again," she said with enough venom that it briefly knocked the other woman off her pedestal. "Is that understood?"

Elena slowly frowned as she stared into the coldest blue eyes she's ever seen—and that's saying something. All the Barringtons had blue eyes and they could freeze fire with a single angry. But there was something about this woman that made her icy glares far more menacing. She began to doubt the wisdom of asserting her authority over this Louisiana woman. Maybe she was a Bayou witch? She heard about those. Maybe this Isabella Beau-Boucher was one, and if she wasn't careful she'd have a hex put on her.

"Yea. Sure, Isabella." Then she watched as the other woman nodded and turned before she got the second batch of cooled biscuits from the counter and brought it to the table. Curious rather than antagonistic now, she eyed the Louisianan and cautiously asked, "Are you a witch? Like one o' them Bayou witches?"

"Only when I'm vexed."

"You're not gonna put a hex on me, are you?" Elena asked, narrowing her eyes.

Isabella couldn't believe what she was hearing and seeing! Was the woman serious? Witches don't exist, but apparently someone had forgotten to let Elena know. Just when she was about to open her mouth to tell her not to be so silly, another voice chimed in.

"What's this talk about hexin' and stuff?" John Barrington said as he entered the kitchen, followed by his three sons. By the look of them, they appeared to have been up for some time.

So much for rising early.

She immediately turned her face away as she proceeded to add the cooled biscuits to the rest in the large basket on the table. Elena turned to the foursome entering and smiled the brightest smile she could muster.

"Nuthin', John. We were just havin' some girl-talk." Then she smiled at each and every one of the handsome Barrington boys and put a sassy hand on her hip. "Howdy, boys."

"Good morning, Mr. Barrington," Isabella greeted politely.

"And it sure is," John Barrington said as he looked hungrily at the cooked breakfast in front of him. "Good mornin', Isabella. Elena."

"Mornin', Elena," Junior said with a smile.

She smiled and batted her eyes, but then his gaze roamed over to the other woman, and her smile faded before she snapped hard eyes toward Isabella who'd just finished putting the rest of the biscuits in the bread basket on the table.

"Mornin', Isabella," he said.

She lifted her head and smiled politely. "Good morning, Mister John."

"Mornin', Isabella," James said with red cheeks.

She smiled and nodded. "Good morning, Mister James." Then she looked away, feeling Jacob's eyes on her as he stepped around the table to take his seat. "Good morning, Mister Jacob."

"Mornin', Bella."

She gave him a polite smile but he was already teasing his younger brother as the men took their seats.

"My, my, my," John Barrington said, astonished. "But you ladies have been busier than a stumped-tail bull in fly season this mornin'. Everythin' sure looks good. Me and my boys just don't know where to start," he said as he already reached for the big skillet with hash browns.

"Elena?" Isabella said, and the other woman looked at her. "Will you pour the orange juice while I get the coffee?" She didn't wait for an answer and proceeded to get the coffee, leaving Elena with no choice than to do as she said.

As the Barringtons made good of her cooking and talked amongst themselves, she smiled as she poured their coffee and set the coffee pot on its base on the hotplate behind Jacob. She accepted their compliments with polite poise and didn't mind that they believed that Elena had anything to do with the food they "wished they could have at, ruminate, and have at again". She did, however, learn that they'd been up and about since three thirty that morning, a full half hour earlier than she had awakened. It was most likely their sounds that had stirred her awake although she couldn't be certain.

Although John Barrington kept telling her to take it easy, she kept telling him she needed something to do. Everyone at the Barrington Ranch pulled their own weight—with, perhaps, Elena as the exception—and she didn't want to just sit around. However, she promised she'd take it easy.

After the brothers had their fill and thanked the two ladies for a wonderful breakfast, they left the house to get back to work. With the handsome Barrington brothers gone, Elena had no desire to stick around and she exited the kitchen as well, leaving the clean-up to the new woman.

John Barrington stayed behind for a last oversized white cup of "Arbuckle"—which was just plain coffee.

"This is excellent, Isabella. It's better'n my youngest boy's Arbuckle." Then he pulled an envelope out of his inner pocket and set it on the table. "That there is wages for a full day. In cash. It'll help tie you over till next payday this Friday," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrington." She smiled gratefully. "I could really use it."

"I figured as much," he said with a kind smile. "Oh, and 'fore I forget, Doc Bennett is droppin' by this afternoon just after afternoon supper," he informed her. "I think he'll be pleasantly surprised to see how well you've recovered and that you're up and about—although I still think you need to rest since I know you've done all the cookin' this mornin'."

Surprised that he knew the truth, she blushed a little and quickly said, "Oh, but Elena helped."

"Pourin' juice ain't cookin', Isabella," he said with a chuckle. "And when it comes to cookin', Elena couldn't knock a hole in the wind with a sackful of hammers," he said. "But I don't want no bad blood between you and her right from the git-go, so that's why I said what I'd said. I hope you understand it don't minimize your hard work and that it's being appreciated."

She smiled. "Don't worry, Mr. Barrington. I understand. But since we're on the subject of cooking...what would you like for lunch—um—afternoon supper?"

"No need for that. We have a caterer come out to the ranch for that. Elena sets up the tables outside. It's the least she can do. And I've already put in an order for pizza for evenin' supper since I know you're gonna try and whip us up another hearty feast, and as much as me and my boys enjoy and appreciate your cookin', you should be restin'." He arched an eyebrow at her, and she smiled. "We still got some leftovers, too, so don't worry, aw'right? We'll manage. Have been for some time and we can do it a few days more," he said as he got up from the table and headed for the door to leave.

The moment he walked toward the door, she quickly moved to clear the table.

"Isabella?"

She paused and looked up.

"I need you to mind what I say."

"Yes, Mister Barrington."

"You git some rest now!" he tossed over his shoulder as he exited the door.

Outwardly, she nodded. Inwardly, she felt as guilty as could be. She so wanted to tell him that she wasn't going to be there another day. She was hoping to cook up a large meal that they can use for a couple of days before they find someone else to replace her. But that was unrealistic. She couldn't just up and leave without having someone replace her. It just wasn't right.

Then she got an idea to drive to town and put up an advertisement for her replacement. That would only be fair. But in order to do that, and in order to be able to drive off tonight when everyone was in bed, she needed her keys, and she still didn't have them.

So after she'd cleaned up the kitchen and carefully wrapped away what wasn't used—and there wasn't much—she went off in search of the one Barrington she knew would help her. James.

She found him in the stables already saddled up and ready to ride out. Luckily, Jacob had gone with a group of men to guide the longhorns to another patch of land so he was nowhere to be seen. James was about to follow them out.

"Mister James?" she called.

He looked around and saw her standing in the opening of the stables. "Howdy, Isabella," he said with a shy smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Are you about to ride out and meet up with your brother?"

"Jacob? Yea. Why?"

"I'm wondering if I might ask a favor of you," she said with her most disarming smile—which she immediately regretted when she saw that admiring look in his blue eyes she knew all too well. "Um, could you ask Mister Jacob to give you my keys to the Rover? I need to go to town to pick up some things."

"Why does he have your keys?" He looked jealous.

"He had to park the Rover in the garage when I had my, um, episode yesterday."

"Ohhh...right," he said in dawning, and then he nodded as he flashed a smile that she might've appreciated had she been five years younger. "Sure'nuff. Anythin' for a pretty lady, Isabella."

She smiled with a curious frown. "Thank you, Mister James." Then she turned around to leave.

"Isabella!"

She turned and looked at him with big quizzical eyes.

"I don't mind doin' this for you cuz I just might need a favor from our Belle of Bellville someday soon," he said with a smile before he touched his hat and rode off on his horse as she watched him go.

"Belle of Bellville?" She shook her head and then headed back to the house. All along the way she was greeted by the other ranch hands that had all stopped and touched their hats with broad smiles her way.

When she entered the house, she just caught Elena heading up the stairs. She was cursing in Spanish, clearly upset, but when she heard the door open she quit her cursing, turned, and looked down and then she smiled. "Sorry for the noise. He wants clean sheets," she said and rolled her eyes.

This curious change of the exotic beauty's attitude toward her made her smile. By the way she had looked at her earlier, she knew that Elena really was convinced that she was some Bayou witch. Well, if that disciplined her more hostile side toward her, she'll gladly leave that misunderstanding as is.

"Who?"

"John. He's only makin' me do the sheets every day cuz I won't hang 'em out in the wind and use the dryer instead," she said with a sigh and a shake of her head.

"Do you know where I can find Mr. Barrington?"

"You mean John?"

"Yes."

"He's in his study just down that there hallway. He's always there listenin' to some stupid song and doin' some paperwork 'fore he heads out to make a nuisance of himself with his sons," Elena said as she climbed the stairs, and she watched until the spirited Latina disappeared around the bend.

Since she wasn't familiar with the house yet, she had no idea where John Barrington's study was. So she just decided to wing it and then walked down the hallway, peeking into several rooms on the way until she finally found one that, from through a crack in the door, that looked like a study. She let fingertips fleetingly pass along her face and hair before she straightened and knocked on the door.

"Yea!"

She pushed open the door to find John Barrington standing by a shelf stereo behind a prominent oak wood desk. He turned his silver-gray head and smiled when he saw her. "Oh, howdy, Isabella. Shouldn't you be nappin'?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Barrington." She noticed that he had a strange look in his blue eyes that even his smile couldn't mask. She'd noticed that look every time he looked at her. She smiled as she entered and walked toward him. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but I was wondering if I could borrow a pen and a sheet of paper?"

"Yea, of course," he said with a curious frown. "Need to write someone?"

"What? Oh, yes. Yes." She nodded.

"Good. Family is everythin'," he said with a smile.

"Yes," she merely said as she dropped her eyelashes for a brief moment. "Oh, and I noticed that we need some groceries. Fresh fruit and potatoes."

"Not a problem," John Barrington said. "You can call Ginny's Grocers where they have all that natural food stuff people like these days. Good produce. We have an account there so get what you want and make sure they charge to the Barrington Ranch. They'll deliver to the house."




Belle of Bellville Ch. 05-06



"I would rather go personally so that I can acquaint myself with their selection." Then she smiled. "Now that you made me rich, I would also like to do a little personal shopping."

"Oh." He frowned as he looked at her. "Well, I'll see if I can rustle up a ranch hand to take you to town."

"No need. I'll drive out on my own."

"I don't know if I can agree to that," he said with a concerned frown. "Maybe you need to wait till Doc gets here and gives you the OK 'fore you drive the thirty five minutes to town."

"I'll be fine, sir. So," she quickly added to avoid more objections, "where can I find the pen and paper?"

"There's some over there on my desk. Take any pen you want."

"Thank you, sir." She nodded and stepped to his desk, watching as he lifted the arm and needle of the turntable and put it on a spinning vinyl record.

She noticed a roller index and she saw a blank index card. It was perfect for the advertisement she planned to put up at the Postal Plus or the grocers' advertisement board. She took it and quickly slipped it into her pocket before she reached for a pen when her hand froze midair as her smile faded when she heard what song came out of the hidden speakers...

Lynn Anderson's "Rose Garden". Her mother's favorite song.

Tears immediately welled up in her eyes.

"Isabella?"

She looked up to find that John Barrington had come to her side. She had no idea just how much time had passed but it had to be substantial enough that it gave him time to come stand beside her. To her surprise, she saw tears in his eyes, too. Then she quickly fingered her tears away and sniffled.

"My apologies, Mr. Barrington," she said before she quickly took a pen and reached for a piece of paper but suddenly felt his hand gently take hers. She snapped big teary eyes up to meet his shimmering blue eyes as he took the pen and set it down on the desk before he gently pulled her to him.

"It's been a long, long time, but...will you do me the honor and dance with me?"

"D-Dance?"

"Please," he asked quietly. "A simple two-step. Do you know it?"

"Yes."

He arched an eyebrow with a happily surprised smile.

She laughed softly. "My mother taught me to dance since I could walk." Then she rolled teary eyes. "Among many other dance styles, the Texas two-step was one of her favorites, which, I'll confess, I couldn't appreciate then as I do now."

"Interesting lady. Hope to meet her someday," he said as he gazed into her eyes, but then he saw pain flash there and he immediately took her hand as she laid her hand on the upper part of his arm—just as a lady should do in a two-step. He smiled appreciatively. "She taught you well."

"Thank you."

He led her into a gentle two-step and smiled when she followed his lead with skilled steps. They danced to her mother's favorite song in his study until they were both smiling, even laughing, before she made an elegant outside turn, making her circle skirt fan out around her slender legs to nearly mid-thigh.

It took him by surprise. "Didn't see that comin'," he said with a chuckle.

"That makes two of us, Pa."

They both quickly looked to the door where they found Jacob leaning a broad shoulder against the doorframe; arms crossed. He had the most deceptively lazy look on his face that it was almost...cold.

"Jacob! What're you doin' back at the house this early?" John Barrington said with a smile as his hands dropped from Isabella.

"Got word that Bella here needed her keys."

"Yea. She needs to go into town."

"Does she now?" Jacob asked.

"Ah, um, yes." She cleared her throat. "I need some personal things and I'd like to familiarize myself with the selection offered at Ginny's Grocers."

"You sure you're up to it, Isabella?" John Barrington asked. "The offer to have a ranch hand drive you still stands."

She smiled. "I'll be fine, sir."

"Pa's right to be worried, considerin' you'd fainted just yesterday. You shouldn't be drivin', just to be on the safe side," Jacob said and drew their attention back to him as he pushed from doorframe and motioned with his head. "Let's go."

She looked at him as if he'd just offered her a fistful of worms!

"I'm quite capable of driving myself, Mister Jacob."

"Naw. My son's right, Isabella," John Barrington said, shaking his head. "You shouldn't be drivin' until Doc says it's okay. I'd feel a helluva lot better if Jacob drove you to town."

"I really don't want to impose. I know he's a very busy—"

"—It's gettin' late, Bella. The sooner we get goin', the sooner we're back. 'Sides, I need to put in a new order for feed for the longhorns. We're runnin' low," he said as he looked at his father.

"Okay, Jacob." Then he looked at Isabella. "Don't worry, Isabella, Jacob is an excellent driver. You'll be in good hands."

She seriously doubted that.

"Yes," she said. "Right." Then she nodded and walked away from the desk toward Jacob whose eyes followed her every move. "I'll need to fetch my sweater," she said in passing as she exited the door, but he didn't say anything as he turned and followed her out.

Neither noticed the way John Barrington's eyes had shifted from his son to the pretty Louisiana lady and back, nor how a slow and cunning smile spread across his lips. "Hm. Interestin'," he said before he turned and put the needle on the vinyl again and played the song again, chuckling when he heard Elena's outraged cry in the hallway...

**~*~**

Chapter 6

Since climbing into Jacob Barrington's truck—and it was necessary to actually climb to get in that tank—she'd been silent. She was cross with him for interfering with her plans to leave Barrington Ranch that day. Very cross.

As the trip proceeded in silence, however, her temper ebbed. Desperation began to set in when she realized she'd have to have a change of plans.

"How am I supposed to pull off putting up an advertisement at the Postal Plus with Jacob Barrington breathing over my shoulder?" she thought silently, biting her lip as she sat on the passenger's side of the...bench...in his ginormous white pickup truck. "This is so frustrating."

Then she turned her head and looked at the handsome cowboy beside her. He was now wearing his dark brown cowboy hat again with his eyes glued on the road ahead. He didn't look all too happy with this arrangement, either, and that was surprising since he all but foisted his big body into the decision making!

On the other hand, didn't that obnoxious cowboy want her to leave Barrington Ranch from the get-go? Perhaps he'd be willing to help her in that endeavor. They'd both get what they eventually wanted, right?

She decided to feel him out; to see what mood he was in.

"You really didn't have to do this, you know," she said. "All I wanted were my keys back. I feel just fine and I could've driven the Rover to town myself."

"City."

She frowned. "What?"

"Bellville's a city."

"Oh." She was quiet for a moment. "Your father called it a town, too."

"He knows it's a city. You don't."

Okay. So maybe now wasn't the time to enlist his help. His curt tone surprised her and she looked flabbergasted at his hard profile. What was wrong with him?

"So...," she began, "before I forget again, um, I'd appreciate it if you could return my keys to me." She paused. "Preferably before Doctor Bennett comes by to check in on me? Now would be even better if you have them on you."

He didn't respond. He didn't even look her way. As a matter of fact, he made it pretty clear that he wasn't in a talking mood since they left the ranch! Perhaps he was upset that he had to drive her into town—into the city—and perhaps that was the reason for his brooding silence?

Well, no more excuses! That was just unfair!

She cleared her throat and flipped a hand as she casually shrugged. "I mean, I know how busy you are at the ranch, and I'm quite capable of driving without the threat of another incident. I mean, I have driven out to the ranch yesterday, right? So in light of that, I don't believe there was any need for you to accompany me to t—the city. And there's a working telephone at the house, so you could have just as well called in the reorder for cow food."

"Cattle feed," he corrected as he kept his attention on the road ahead of them.

She frowned curiously as she looked at him.

"Are you all right, Mister Jacob?"

"The name's Jake."

"And I've already told you, I prefer to address you as Mister Jacob—"

"—Yea." He turned his cool gaze on her big curious eyes. "At the house. We ain't at the house, are we?"

She blinked nervous eyes before she couldn't hold his gaze and dropped her eyelashes as she fumbled with a corner of her sweater. "I'd rather not break with form if it's all the same to you."

"It ain't," he said curtly. "It ain't form here in southeast Texas. We ain't as formal as folks in Louisiana, and you ain't in Louisiana anymore."

She arched an eyebrow. "Fine," she said a little testily. "I'll address you less formally when in public, but when at the ranch, I'll hold true to decorum required of paid staff—which is universal." She made a mental note to avoid, whenever and wherever possible, to address him informally. She didn't want to get all too familiar with him.

"And at my place."

She briefly stiffened in her seat. "Well, you don't have to be afraid that will ever happen again," she said a little quieter.

"Never said I was afraid. You're welcome to come by any time you like."

"Yes, I'm certain you wouldn't mind that."

"No. I wouldn't."

"Well, I would," she said. "I'm here for cooking and cleaning, not for entertaining the son of my employer. And I never intend to become just another notch on a philandering man's bedpost, so you'll never have to be afraid—" She paused. "You'll never need to expect a visit from me. Ever."

He arched an eyebrow as he looked over at her. "Philanderin'?"

She cleared her throat again. "Yes. It means—"

"—I know what it means," he said. "Sounds like Elena's been gossipin' again."

"Well, they say where there's smoke, there's fire, and a warned person counts for two, so you'll have to excuse me if I'm more appreciative of Elena's "gossip" than you are." She cleared her throat and looked out her window, feeling the color creep into her cheeks. How on god's green Earth did they get on this difficult subject? "So, again, do you have my keys on you?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Didn't work.

"This Charles must've hurt you somethin' bad."

She stared silently at his profile until he turned his head and looked at her. She felt color rise in her cheeks before she dropped eyelashes and shrugged. "That's inconsequential to the topic at hand—"

"—Yea. Made you so shy that a man's touch is as welcome as an outhouse breeze."

She felt her body go so stiff it gave her physical discomfort. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't understand your Texas-talk—"

"—Oh, you darn well know what I'm sayin', Bella."

She cleared her throat and arched a snooty eyebrow. "About those keys—"

"—Even now," he continued, "even on this wide bench, you're sittin' as far away as you possibly can without fallin' out the door, as afraid as you are to touch me."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she defended hotly. "Even if I sat in the center of this-this enormous seat, I still wouldn't touch any part of you."

"That's exactly what I said."

"You know very well I didn't mean I wouldn't touch you—"

"—Would you?"

She looked cross at him despite her bright blush, and saw him smile that arrogant smile of his. "I meant, even if I were to sit right smack in the center of this bench, there would still be a gap of at least half a foot or more between us. So the chances of our bodies touching in any way are next to nil."

"I asked you a question, Bella. Would you touch me?"

"That's an inappropriate question to ask the paid housekeeper and cook, and as the son of my employer, your question borders on sexual harassment so I'll pretend I didn't hear you," she said.

"I didn't mean sexual."

"Mister Jacob!"

"Jake."

"Ohhh...no." She shook her head, wagging a finger in the air. "When you talk like that, you're Mister Jacob."

He arched an eyebrow. "So you can keep me at a distance?"

"To remind you of clearly defined stations and personal boundaries," she gave back.

"Yea," he said with a handsome smile—however cynical, "to keep your distance. But it ain't gonna work, Bella."

She was so stunned by how his smile changed his face that it took a few seconds more for his words to sink in. He had a spectacular smile with strong white teeth that made creases appear in his cheek and jaw. She could see why even his older brother's ex-fiancée couldn't resist him.

When his words finally sank in, she frowned. "What's not going to work?"

"How 'bout we try somethin'," he suggested without answering.

"And what would that be? Returning my keys to me without me having to repeat the request three times?" she said with a cool look.

"Touch me."

She blinked big eyes. "I'd rather not."

"Nuthin' personal. Just my arm or hand."

"Why would I?"

"To prove you're not scared of me."

"I'm not afraid of you! I just don't go around touching men as if they're some strange new thing." She crossed her arms and looked stubbornly out the window.

"But that's how you see us, don't you? Like strange things—things that scare you."

"This discussion is over."

He looked at her before he turned his attention on the road. Just when she thought he'd given up, he steered the pickup to the side of the road and parked it, but he left the engine running.

She swept surprised eyes around before she looked at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

He half turned in this seat as he looked at her, watching her color alternate between pale and fiery red. He could see that her anxiety level had gone sky-high already. Her eyelashes were flickering almost nonstop and her chest rose and fell with increasingly shallow breaths.

"Calm down, Bella. No one's gonna hurt you." Then he caught and held her gaze before he slowly lifted his gloved hand and held it out to her. "Just take my hand."

She nearly cringed. Her hands came up against her chest as if protecting them from a venomous snake bite and she began nervously lacing her fingers. "This is ridiculous! There's no need for me to touch you—"

"—Take my hand."

"I'd rather not."

"Why?" He arched a dark blond eyebrow.

"Because I'd rather not." Her lips tugged into a single line as she all but glared at him. "We need to be going. Doctor Bennett is due to come by in a few hours and if we don't resume our trip to the city now, we'll be late—"

"—We're gonna sit here 'til you're outta excuses and take my hand even if it takes all day." He looked in earnest at her. "Take my hand, Bella. It's gloved. There ain't gonna be any skin on skin. Take my hand."

"You're being ridiculous and inappropriate!"

"That's cuz you're scared o' me."

"Nooo..." she lagged the word. "It's because it's unnecessary. When it's necessary, I won't hesitate. Now please put your hand down."

"It's necessary now."

"I disagree."

His wrist finally went limp but he didn't pull his hand back. "Tell ya what," he began and watched as she arched an eyebrow. "Tell me if your shoulder, thigh, and knee are touchin' the door."

She glared at his calm handsome face before she turned her head and looked down to her right. Much to her surprise, her shoulder, her hip, her thigh, and her knee were pressed against the door. She quickly swept her knees away and just as quickly tugged her skirt down—that hadn't crept up at all—over her knees.

"See what I mean?" he said, and he actually chuckled, too; infuriating her. "I won't say it's far, but I'd have to grease the wagon twice just to come over to you."

"What?"

"There's enough space between our bodies to seat two extra people."

She looked away with high-red cheeks. "I have to keep a professional distance. It's the proper thing to do."

"But only with me."

She snapped her head around and tried to give him a snooty look, but her big eyes were too wounded and too expressive to pull it off. "Don't flatter yourself, Mister Jacob—"

"—Just Jake. No "mister". No Jacob. Just Jake. And believe me, it ain't flatterin' that a pretty lady's too timid to warm the spot beside me."

She clamped her jaw shut as she looked out of her window again. "Can we go now?"

"Funny thing, though, you didn't seem to mind my pa touchin' your hand and your back."

"We were dancing," she said as she looked cross at him. "You have to touch your dance partner to do the Texas two-step."

"I know."

"Of course you do," she said as she looked out her window. "From what I've heard, you've "danced" the two-step more than any other man can boast."

"I ain't ever claimed to be a saint, Bella, and each and every one of them had their place and time, but that don't mean I've been paintin' the town red every minute of every day."

She turned her head and gave him a cool look. "Don't you mean paint the city red?"

"Take my hand, Bella," he said as he stared at her.

She glared at him as her delicate jaw went rigid. Then, with hard-blinking eyes, she quickly grabbed his gloved fingers with the idea to immediately release him. "See? Happy now—?" But the rest of what she wanted to say stuck in her throat when his fingers immediately curled around hers and she discovered she couldn't pull free.

She quickly looked at him with eyes round as saucers, and she realized her jaw had dropped. Then her lips closed when he continued to stare into her eyes while easily holding on to her fingers. She knew he was looking for her reaction; whether she'd faint or something embarrassing like that, but she did none of that. She just stared at him, a little insecure, a little surprised, and more than just a little apprehensive.

"There," he finally said with a hushed tone. "That wasn't all too bad was it?"

She swallowed and dropped her eyelashes as she shook her head twice. "No." She felt him release her and she quickly retracted her hand. She fought the desire to rub the sensation his touch left behind. Instead, she directed her attention out the window and chose to play with her hair in a subtle attempt to stop that tingling feeling.

He watched her delicate profile before his gaze roamed down to observe how her slender fingers shook as they quietly stroked and played with her thick raven curls; how her index finger shook as it gently wrapped a curl around it before she slipped it free and repeated the act.

Then he put the pickup truck in "R" and backed out before he shifted again and drove off toward town with his gaze directed ahead of them again. They finished the rest of the trip in silence; both in deep thought and thinking about the same subject, only from completely different perspectives.

**~*~**

They arrived in the heart of Bellville in less than fifteen minutes after that uncomfortable and unnecessary stop.

When he parked on the courthouse square, on Holland Street, she was out of his truck even before he finished pulling out his key. She knew it was rude to do what she did, but she had enough of Jacob Barrington. Besides, she didn't want him asking all kinds of questions—or getting bossy again.

She felt his eyes were on her as she closed the door. Then she walked briskly to the covered walk and out of the sun before she headed for the newly opened Postal Plus in the row of shops that looked as if they came straight out of the Wild, Wild, West.

She had arrived a week earlier before discovering the Barrington Ranch advertisement. She was in search of employment and had opened a postal box at the Postal Plus and also sent a letter to Gordon Shaw, Esquire, the attorney who held and handled her trust. She was in dire need of funds, and had requested some money to be sent to this mailing address posthaste. She could trust him since he was bound by client-attorney privilege, so she felt it was safe enough to let him know her whereabouts.




Belle of Bellville Ch. 05-06



The electronic bell in the Postal Plus made a hollow but not unpleasant ring as she entered the air-conditioned shop. It was fairly packed with customers since the post office was a bit far for most residents, and the Postal Plus was a godsend.

She immediately caught the attention of the Brody's, an elderly couple that had purchased the franchise with their retirement money, and she had built a friendly rapport with them. They were also the ones who had suggested she try getting the job of housekeeper and cook at the Barrington Ranch.

"Well, howdy, Miss Isabella!" Stan Brody greeted the pretty and spunky young lady from Louisiana.

She smiled as she walked up to counter. "Hello, Mr. Brody. Mrs. Brody," she returned with a charming smile. "Any mail for me?" she asked as she stepped to the counter and slipped off her bag to pull out some envelopes she wanted to mail.

"As a matter of fact, I think we've got an important looking envelope for you from Nevada," Mrs. Brody, a pudgy, ever friendly gray haired woman said with a nod as she turned to the square shelves behind her that were filled with mail.

"Nevada? Really?" she asked, and then looked curiously at a wall with TracFones. "Are those disposable cell phones?"

"Yea. And they're on sale, too. Wanna see one?"

"Don't mind if I do," she said as he handed her a plastic-sealed box with the phone. "How much are these?"

"They're goin' for nineteen ninety five with a ten dollar setup fee. But you get unlimited texting, internet, and calls for a whole thirty days, and you can add time after the thirty day special for just twenty-five dollars."

"Sounds like a deal."

"It is a deal," Mr. Brody said with a smile.

"I'll have one," she said and handed the box back so he could get it setup.

"Here it is!" Mrs. Brody exclaimed and turned with a large orange envelope.

She took it and a slight frown appeared on her brow as she read the sender's name but didn't recognize either the company or the address.

"You look as if you don't know who it's from," Mr. Brody said. "Don't know anybody in Nevada?"

"Not really. But I've been there for a while," Isabella said before she raised her eyes and smiled. "I really can't fathom who this could be from."

"Maybe you won a prize!" Mrs. Brody said with an excited smile. "I hear they mail out those kinds of official looking envelopes to people who've won big prizes in contests around the country."

"Well, that would be curious indeed. I've never entered any contest," she said as she shook her head with a smile and stuffed the envelope into her macramé bag before she pulled out her Paisley purse to pay for the TracFone.

"I hear they've got this lottery going on around the country where they take random names from the registry and send people cash prizes worth up to two thousand dollars!" Mrs. Brody confided with a gossipy look and tone.

She smiled at the woman's penchant for spreading news—any news. "Really? I never heard of it," she said. "But two thousand dollars would come in handy right about now."

"You haven't heard about it cuz it's nuthin' but one o' them urban legends going the rounds at college campuses," Mr. Brody scoffed. "Those things ain't nuthin' but one of them chain letters that don't get anyone richer but the postal service."

"That's not true, Stan! Mable told me that her second cousin's second cousin in California got one of those letters and he won fifteen hundred dollars that paid for his vacation to Hawaii.

"Yeah well, I'll believe it when I see it," Stan Brody scoffed and earned himself a narrow-eyed glare from his wife which only made him chuckle as he handed Isabella her newly setup TracFone. "All ready to go."

Isabella smiled as she watched this cute exchange between two people who'd been together for more than forty years. "Well, if this is one of those letters, I'll be sure to let you know," she said with a smile and a wink.

"Now don't you get my wife here started, Miss Isabella," Stan Brody said with a sigh of exasperation.

"Stan!" Then Mrs. Brody looked at the pretty young lady on the other side of the counter. "I'd just noticed that your name is Isabella Beaumont-Boucher," she said.

Isabella paused with returning her change to her purse and smiled as she looked at the older woman, seeing her eyeing her. "I haven't had time yet to change my Nevada driver's license to a Texas driver's license," she said.

"No, that's not it," Mrs. Brody said, shaking her head. "It's been a while back, some thirty years maybe when I was younger woman..." She hesitated.

Now Isabella looked curious. "Yes?"

"It might just be a coincidence, but back then there was a young woman from Louisiana comin' through here from California, much like you," she said. "I tended my Ma's sewing shop back then when people still needed seamstresses." She shook her head. "She was the talk of the town. She was so ladylike and so beautiful." She sighed in fond thought. "The people around these parts called her the Belle of Bellville cuz she was."

"But I'm from Nevada, not California."

"Yea, yea," Mrs. Brody said as she nodded and waved that away, "but your name is hyphenated. That young lady's name was Elisa or Eleanor or some name like that, but her last name was Beaumont. Like yours. She was a pretty lady, too."

Isabella's smile faded some but she quickly put it back on. "Really?"

"And now I'm lookin' at you, you resemble her a great deal, Miss Isabella."

"What a coincidence."

"Yea," Mrs. Brody nodded, "and ain't it a coincidence that she had known the Barrington's, too? I recall John Barrington, back then a strapping young man, had fallen hard for our Belle. He had just gotten married to Meredith Cole and she already expectin' their first child, John Jr., but everyone could see how he looked at Belle. There was somethin' strong between Belle and John." Then she sighed sadly. "But Belle left as suddenly as she'd come and we've never seen or heard of her again."

"Oh yea, Mabel! I recall pretty Belle," Stan Brody said. "She wasn't here long, though. Stayed maybe a month or so at the Abri de Nellie Bed & Breakfast . She was always so sad, but whenever she saw John Barrington, she'd light up whole Bellville with her smile and eyes."

"And his heart. That man was clearly smitten with Belle."

"Well, I have to be going. I have a grocery list I need to bring to the grocers," Isabella said with a polite smile.

"Of course! So," Mabel Brody winked, "if that's a cash prize you got there, we're lookin' for investors for the Postal Plus."

"I'll keep that in mind," Isabella said with soft laughter before she said her good-byes and left the shop, hearing their jovial good-byes. She exited the shop on her way to the grocers, and she waved through the window and the elderly couple waved enthusiastically back.

"Now that young lady sure is real charmin', ain't she Stan? Not like some of those uppity tourists we get from California from time to time," Mabel Brody said with a shudder.

"That she is, Bee, that she is," her husband said with a nod.

"Wonder if that maverick, Jacob Barrington, has noticed, too," she said with a giggle.

Her husband chuckled. "If he ain't by now, the boy's gone blind."

"Don't you think those two would make a nice couple? Like Belle and John only without the matrimony keepin' them apart."

Stan looked over at her, seeing a matchmaking gleam in his wife's eye.

"Now woman, I warn you," he narrowed eyes on his suddenly innocent faced wife, "don't you go playing match-maker, hear? You know what happened with Boris and Cynthia and how that ended."

"Oh don't worry, Hon. Jacob Barrington don't need no help from no old woman when it comes to lassoing himself a pretty thing. If he can see what we see, he'd be after her soon enough, and she ain't gonna be able to resist him once he sets his sights and Texas charm on her."

"Well, you keep that in mind if you get it in your head to try to get those two together. Jacob Barrington's got more women swooning after him than is good for any mortal man."

"Oh you!" Mabel laughed as she smacked her husband's arm. "You're just jealous of the boy."

"Damn straight!" And earned himself another slap on the arm.

To be continued

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Belle of Bellville Ch. 07-08



Chapter 7

After she put in an order for groceries that would be delivered to the Barrington home later that day, and after she'd put up the advertisement for a new housekeeper/cook on the grocery store's giant cork message board listing her new TracFone number, it was time to head back to the pickup.

With a few bags of items she'd purchased, she walked toward the spot where Jacob Barrington had parked the pickup. She was relieved she hadn't bumped into him all that time, but now she was a little worried that he might've left without her.

As she strolled along the over-decked walk, she saw that his giant pickup was right where he left it. Good. He was probably busy with some business that was taking longer than he'd expected. Then again, they hadn't been in town more than a half hour.

Satisfied that he hadn't left her behind, she set her bags down and took a seat, crossing a leg over the other with lady-like poise, on a public bench near the truck. From her position, she wouldn't miss him when he returned. In the meantime she could kill some time by having a look in that big orange envelope.

She opened her bag and took it out and briefly weighed it in her hand. It felt very packed. There was clearly more than one letter. She slipped a slender thumb under the flap and carefully opened the lip of the orange envelope before she reached in and pulled out a few stamped envelopes, and then a letter from Gordon Shaw which explained from whom those letters were.

She was happy to find a postal money order with a nice amount from him, as well. Among the few stamped envelopes that Gordon had included, there was a letter from her brother, Reginald, among them.

"Of course he'd know I'd have contact with Gordon," she whispered.

A bit concerned, she opened her brother's letter and discovered that it had been written some six months ago. She felt her fingers tremble as she carefully unfolded his letter that was written on their company letterhead paper.

"Dear Isabella,

I don't know if this letter will ever reach you, but I'll hope and pray it will. I must say, it's not been a simple task convincing your devoted and loyal friend, Gordon Shaw, to forward this letter to wherever you now may be. I hope all is well with you, for that is not the case with us.

Father and the family are rife with worry about you. Your immature decision to up and leave without so much as a good bye over six months ago has placed undue and unnecessary stress on us all.

We are all worried sick about you. We feel that you've not shown the maturity and dignity becoming of a Boucher, and are still puzzled why you felt you needed to do this. It's been a disappointment to the entire family, as I'm sure you know.

However, this letter is not to rehash what's been done.

The sole purpose in writing this letter is to inform you the man you have accused of harassment is set to marry this July, on the 25th. If he is the reason for your fleeing your home and your family, then you can be rest assured you no longer have to continue this senseless wandering. On behalf of the family and Father, I am asking you to return home and end the suffering you have put upon us all, but most specifically, Father.

I beseech you, return posthaste.

Enclosed is a sizable amount in the form of a postal money order. You can cash it at any United States Post Office or bank. If you are in need of more funds, call me on my private cell phone. You know my number. Call any time, day or night. I will instruct my assistant to wire more funds to you.

Finally, I also want you to know that Father's health is ailing, and we all believe that it's due to his endless worrying about you. For him, if for no one else, do the only right thing and come home.

Godspeed.

Your brother always,

Reginald A. Boucher"

She reread the letter again and again. Each time she did, she grew increasingly concerned. Although Reg had written as many accusations and words of spite he could possibly fit in those few paragraphs, he at least found enough space to mention the state of their father's health although it seriously and annoyingly lacked in details.

Although she knew that their father would suffer in worry when she had made the decision to leave their home, she never guessed for a single moment that it would affect him physically.

Her father, Andrew Reginald Boucher, was known for his strong constitution, but the sudden death of his wife had to have affected that very constitution dearly. It had nearly brought him to his knees. Apparently, though, and if Reginald is to be believed, her leaving without a word only exacerbated an already compromised immune system.

She sighed. She felt incredibly guilty...again.

"Well, Reg, you've succeeded in getting the reaction out of me you wanted," she whispered as she quietly folded up the letter and slipped it back into its envelope and then back that into the orange envelope as she fought an inner battle.

She was torn inside. She really didn't want to return to Louisiana in the event that Charles DeVille decided against marrying whoever it was he was able to fool to become his wife. And although the thought that he was getting married in about two weeks should lift her spirits and remove the pressure from her now—because he appears to have moved on—she still felt that old fear and terror just thinking about being anywhere near him where he had easy access to her.

Then there was the added fear that Reg had written one of his low-key letters, downplaying the seriousness of their father's ailing health. It could very well be far graver than he was letting on. She was certain it wasn't the common cold!

She knew she should call to find out the true status of her father's health. She really wasn't sure she wanted to, though, because although Reg claimed that his cell phone was safe and secure, she knew out of past experience that Charles was a clever man. She was afraid that he'd somehow find a way to wire-tap Reg's cell phone since her brother didn't have the healthy distrust for Charles that he should. She didn't want to risk to have Charles find out where she was.

In the past, her brother had always taken Charles' side against her and her mother. Of course, Reg didn't know what Charles had done to her, and since the two have been best friends ever since they were boys, she doubted he'd believe her if she told him that his best friend had a very dark side. She was certain that had Charles slipped up just once, her brother would have a change of mind, but Charles could be absolutely charming if he so chose and he was in such control of his emotions—like a sociopath—that she knew there was no way he'd make a mistake and unmask the true him. He even had his own parents fooled so how difficult could it be for him to fool a friend?

Reg's letter did something else, too. It reminded her that she was still very much homesick. The pain and sorrow she had suffered in the past year since she'd been on the run had suppressed her homesickness, but every now and then it would rear its ugly head—as it did now.

She hated Charles so deeply, more than she ever thought she could hate another human being on this Earth. He made her do this. He chased her away from the only home she's ever known, making her flee across the country, struggling to survive, to finally end up here, in Bellville, Texas, as a domestic at a cattle ranch. He forced her to have to hide her true identity. For nearly a year, she'd been forced to live a lie.

A teardrop splattered on the orange envelope, making the ink run. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with her fingertips as the pain she thought she had under control, trickled through her carefully built wall. It tore her up inside. She was now more than ever tired of running. She missed her old life, her home, her mother's house where she could find her in each and every piece of furniture, her mother's oil paintings and hand-sewn drapes. She missed her mother's gardens. She missed her father.

"Lord save me, but I hate you, Charles DeVille. I hate you..." she whispered through her tears before she tried to finger the stream away as her tears came with a little more vigor. Passersby were quietly looking at her now, feeling her sorrow. She smiled uncomfortably as she tried to finger away her tears and dry her eyes, hoping to get herself under control before Jacob Barrington returned.

But it was too late.

A hand holding a clean blue bandanna appeared in her visual periphery. She froze with fingertips still under her wet eyes before she slowly raised her head and looked up at Jacob's unreadable face shaded by his cowboy hat. It was as if time suddenly stood still.

She knew there was no hiding her distress from him now. Not a chance. Not the way she'd been bawling! Her long wet eyelashes dropped as she stared at the proffered bandanna in his bare hand, and she sniffled once before she took it with ginger fingers.

"Thank you, Jake," she said with a teary voice and began to dab her eyes. She only paused with her embarrassing task when he moved and turned before he seated himself on the bench and calmly stretched out his long legs. The public bench wasn't that long to begin with, so he was sitting closer than was comfortable for her.

She slowly rolled big eyes to him and saw that, from under the brim of his hat, he was looking straight ahead of them. At least he wasn't staring at her. Looking at him now, it was as if he'd stepped out of history, straight out of the Wild West. He looked rugged, handsome, mysterious, unpredictable, and with a no-nonsense attitude and self-confidence that was so rare those days. She could easily see him sitting in some 1800's saloon playing a risky game of poker. Frankly, he looked more gunslinger than cowboy.

"You eat sorrow by the spoonful, Bella," he finally said, shaking his head.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know you from Adam's off ox, but I know one thing for sure," he looked at her, "whatever it is that's ailin' you, you can't keep runnin'. Sooner or later, you're gonna have to take a stand and face your fears."

She turned her head and looked down at her lap. She wanted to deny anything was bothering her, but she couldn't very do that now that he caught her weeping. So she sighed and shook her head.

"I wish it were as simple as that," she said softly.

He turned his head and his gaze briefly softened on her. "It is," he said quietly. "You just gotta quit your runnin' and stay put."

She swallowed. "Thank you. I-I intend to," she lied.

He looked at her graceful profile for a few moments, seeing that she knew he was looking at her, but she didn't look back at him. "Ready to head back?"

She finally lifted her head but she didn't raise her eyes to look at him. "Yes." She was about to get up when he suddenly bent and took her bags for her. It was a gentlemanly gesture, and nothing out of the ordinary, really, but she suddenly found herself caught in a world filled with just Jacob Barrington. It was a brief moment, but it was enough to affect her and she closed her eyes for a moment.

"Thought you said you were ready?"

Her eyes quickly opened and she went red in the face. "I-I-I am," she stammered, a little out of breath, and quickly rose to her feet before she looked sheepishly at him. Lucky for her, he'd already turned and was leading the way to the pickup truck. She watched for a few moments before she softy sighed and then followed.

He unlocked the door for her and set her bags on the floor before he stepped aside. Then, and unlike what he'd done back at the ranch, he held out his hand to her. As rattled as she was at that moment by that unexpected but not unpleasant effect his closeness had on her, she didn't think and put her hand in his bare hand; skin touching skin...strong meeting delicate...

The sudden touch of his warm large hand against her fingers and palm sent a bolt of electricity through her, and she shuddered. She stopped and she quickly looked at him, seeing him quietly staring at her. Once again she felt as if time stood still. Then, as she descended from this heavenly place, she felt color rise in her cheeks. She quickly got in and seated herself but kept her eyes down as he closed the door. She only lifted them to peek over the dashboard, and watched as he rounded the front of his truck before he opened the driver's side door and got in behind the wheel. By then, she'd turned her head and was looking out her window.

She sat quietly on the far side of the bench again as he leaned forward and stuck the key into the ignition, soon bringing the heavy engine to life. Then, as she dabbed her face a little more with his bandanna, she paused when she heard the soft ringing of keys. She looked up to find him holding out a bushel of keys to her and immediately recognized them. They were the keys to her Rover.

She quickly looked at him, seeing him watching her with unreadable eyes. Then she looked at the bushel that he held out to her, and quietly took them, and watched as he leaned forward and shifted before he backed out of the parking space.

"Thank you," she said softly as she slipped her keys into her macramé bag. He didn't say anything as he concentrated on traffic, but even as they drove out of the city and back to the ranch, it was all done in silence.

**~*~**

After an eventful day, she decided to retire early to her room. No one questioned her need to retire early since they were all well aware that she still needed to rest. But that really wasn't the reason. She simply had a lot to think about.

Most of what she had to think about was Jacob Barrington and the affect he was having on her. To her surprise, it wasn't all unpleasant. In fact, she realized that she was feeling more for him than she should. She was feeling strange stirrings that were alien to her and what she thought she could never feel for a man after what Charles had done to her.

Earlier that afternoon, Doctor Bennett had dropped by as promised, and he had told her that she should get more rest. Her blood pressure checked out fine although he believed she was too skinny and she needed to eat more. He also made an appointment to see her at his office in a couple of days so they could begin with tests.

She really believed it was overkill, but it seemed to bring John Barrington some comfort that Doc was looking after her, so she agreed.

Earlier that day, she was able to find two soft blue cotton nightgowns that were more suitable for her environment in both texture and style, but she still had to wear her nightgown from the night before. She never liked wearing anything that hadn't been washed and tumble-dried first, so she decided that when everyone had retired for the evening—and she was happy that they retired early—she'd go into the laundry room and wash and dry her new clothes and underthings.

That evening, when the house was still, she took her small bundle of laundry and headed for the laundry room. She washed her things and was now waiting for the dry cycle to finish. She decided it was a good time to try and call her brother. He was still up around that early hour so she wouldn't be calling him out of bed. Unfortunately, the signal inside the laundry room was weak.

So she decided to go outside to see where the signal was stronger. She stepped outside onto the verandah, vaguely listening to the song of crickets all around her. Even standing on the verandah the signal seemed too weak and could easily break in the middle of what could be an important conversation.

"Ugh!" she said in frustration.

Then she took the steps of the verandah, and held her TracFone up in the air as she slowly walked and turned in a slow circle, making her long and free curls sway as she tried to catch that elusive signal. She was so caught up in her endeavor to find a strong signal that she didn't realize she'd come to a shed.

Then, finally, she caught a strong enough signal.

"There you are!" she said happily beneath her breath, but just when she was about to press in Reg's cell phone number, she became aware of some strange noises coming from inside the shed. She paused and listened, but it was silent again, and she listened a little while longer, but when she didn't hear anything, she resumed pressing in Reg's number before she held the TracFone to her ear.

It didn't take long for her brother to answer.

"Boucher."

She bit her lip as an uncomfortable look filled her pretty face. "You still refuse to use our family name, the name Papa agreed with Mama when they married? You remember, Reg? Beaumont-Boucher."

Silence.

"Isabella?"

"Yes," she said softly. "And before we proceed with this call, I need your word that when I hang up, I don't want you calling back. If you do, I'll shut this number down and never call again. Do not give this number to anyone, and do not attempt to trace me with it. Do I have your promise?"

Silence.

"I guess it's a no so then it's good bye, Reginald—"

"—Wait!," he said quickly. "Fine. I give you my word."

She nodded. Her brother's word was his bond and he never said or promised anything that he didn't intend to follow through with or keep.

"Thank you. Anyway, I got your letter."

"My letter? The one I sent six months ago?"

"Did you send another then?"

"No," he admitted. "I'm just surprised you've only now received my letter, or did you only now decide to call?"

"I only now received it."

"Where are you, Isabella? Tell me where you are so I can come get—"

"—How is Papa?" she asked, cutting him off.

"He's worried sick about you. We all are. You know your sudden disappearance didn't do him any good."

"Yes," she said. "You made that abundantly clear in your letter. The hint of guilt-tripping was a nice touch." She paused for him to respond, but he didn't. "Anyway, health-wise...how is Papa doing? Your letter mentioned that his health is ailing, but it didn't explain in what way."

"Why not call him yourself and find out? You know the number to the house."

"Is this your way of getting me to call him?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "He wants to talk to you, Isabella—"

"—I'd rather not. I-I don't think that's a good idea just yet."

"How do you mean?"

"Just..." She shook her head with a frustrated look on her face. "I don't want to talk about it. I just can't call him now, that's why I'm calling you."

"Jesus, Isabella," she heard her brother say with an exasperated sigh, "please don't tell me you're still under this illusion that Charles has wire-tapped the house phone?"

"Okay. I won't."

"Really? I mean, don't you think it's high time you outgrow—"

"—I don't want to talk about it. If you insist, I'll hang up right this minute—"

"—No. Please don't do that. Please don't hang up."

She looked down at her slippers under a frustrated frown. "I just called to find out how Papa is doing. I got worried when I read your letter. Has he seen a doctor?"

"He's home now. He's under Doctor Braithwaite's care—"

"—Wait," she interrupted him. "Home now? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she heard her brother say. "Of course you don't know."

"Know what?"

"Father had an episode and he was in the hospital for a few weeks."

"Episode?" she asked breathlessly.

"Heart attack."

She felt as if her own heart had stopped. "Heart...attack?"

"Yes. Listen, Isabella, you have to come home now. You have to stop this senseless wandering and come home. Father needs you now—" But that was as far as her brother could get before the line went dead. She'd hung up on him.

Isabella quietly stared at the face of her phone, waiting to see if he'd call back. As expected, he didn't. She sighed as she let her hand drop and looked up at the starry skies, her emotions in turmoil. She was also in a state of shock.




Belle of Bellville Ch. 07-08



Her father had a heart attack and he'd been hospitalized and she wasn't there to be by his side! She cupped her mouth with a shaky hand as if to stop that scream that wanted to tear out of her. She pressed her eyes closed as tears rolled down her face when the realization of her father's health situation hit her square in her chest. Her father could have died and she would have never known!

She suddenly heard a rustling sound in the surrounding bushes. Her hand dropped from her mouth and a sense of dread filled her when she realized that someone or something could be lurking in the dark. They could be watching her now.

Feeling suddenly very exposed and vulnerable, she quickly rubbed the tears from her eyes for a clearer vision, and turned around before she hurried into the shed to hide in the darkness. From that vantage point, she could peek out to see who or what it was. Hopefully it wasn't a stray longhorn, or worse! A bear.

When she entered the shed, she was surprised to find that it wasn't dark at all. There was light; a faint light coming from the back of the shed behind the large tractors. Then she became aware of those noises again. Grunts. Breathless gasps. Could someone be injured?

With her state of mind in that mode, she walked toward the sounds, but just when she was about to call out from behind one of the large tractors, she got a peek at exactly what was causing those sounds of pain, and stopped short. Her eyes went round as saucers as her heart skipped a beat because she realized she'd just stumbled onto a very intimate situation.

With a barely audible gasp, she snapped back against the tractor. Her chest was heaving and her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. She had just become a witness to a very intimate coupling between a beautiful dark-haired woman, Elena, who was clinging passionately to a tall...blond...cowboy. And she recognized them both.

Elena was on her back on a bale of hay. The bodice to her dress was completely unbuttoned and her bra had been tugged down to expose her plump breasts. The pale light on her naked breasts illuminated the saliva left around her nipples which told her that they'd been vigorously suckled by the cowboy moving swift and hard over her, savoring each and every almost aggressively deep thrust.

"Ah, madre dios, say something to me, mi gran ranchero!" Elena gasped breathlessly.

Shocked to the core of her soul, Isabella couldn't move. She could barely breathe! Oh god! She'd just walked in on Jacob Barrington making mad passionate love to none other than Elena! She had to get out of there before either one of them saw her!

On soft-soled slippers, she rushed out of the shed without making a sound; no longer concerned that there still might be a wild animal lurking in the bushes outside. She needed to get out of there quickly, and the moment she knew she was safely outside, she threw herself into the fastest run she's ever allowed herself. She raced back to the verandah and then into the laundry room before she quickly shut and locked the door, not seeing the tall hatless "gunslinger" emerge from the shadows with a curious look on his chiseled face as he just caught her hurrying into the house.

Having paced his room for what seemed hours, Jacob finally stopped by the window just in time to see a night nymph dancing in the moonlight. Then he saw it was none other than Isabella because he recognized the nightgown she was wearing which was, to him, the sexiest nightgown he'd ever seen on a woman even though it was designed for elegance rather than enticing a man's sexual appetite. But on Isabella, it was sexy.

She seemed to dance in the moonlight, with one hand up and her long, pitch-black hair dancing around her slender body. He thought he was dreaming when he first caught sight of her, but then he realized that it really was Bella out there and he felt this powerful desire to go to her.

He fought a battle inside him, pacing back and forth in his loft home. It was too early to approach her since he had made the choice to help her get over her fear of men and woo her. She was so damned skittish that he had to approach her slowly. The last thing he wanted was to have her continue to see him as a threat, and the last thing he needed to do was do anything to give her that excuse. He no longer denied he wanted her, but he understood that in order to make her his, he'd have to take it slow.

All of that went right out the window when he saw her below...

**~*~**

Inside the shed, Junior and Elena fought to catch their breaths as they descended from the stratosphere. Their hot, no-strings-attached couplings were always a welcome break after a hard day's work on the ranch, and Elena was always ready and willing. He loved that about her. He also liked to believe she was ready for him only.

"You're the best," Elena purred with a smile.

He lay a moment on top of her, eyes closed, as he fought to catch his breath and was unwilling to pull out her tight hot channel. "I reckon you say that to all us pokes," he chuckled, hearing her giggling above him. He raised his head and smiled upon her pretty face before she began pushing at him.

"You're heavy! Git off me," she said with a charming giggle.

He smiled as he pulled out of her and got off before walking to the washbasin. He wasn't looking forward to the cold water to wash him now, but one glance over at the bale of hay and Elena's naked and spread thighs told him, it was the best thing for him.

He sighed. That woman was going to be the death of him.

She smiled coyly as she pushed herself up and leaned back on elbows. "Yes, but I mean it only with you."

He frowned as he washed his groin and looked over at her. "Mean what only with me?"

"That you're the best." When she saw the jealous look on his face, she laughed softly. "You know you're the only one, mi gran ranchero," she purred.

He gave her sidelong smile. "Yea, sure," he said with a chuckle. "Anyway, we best call it a night. I reckon I'd git to the stables 'fore I hit the hay myself, see if Billy did as I told him and put fresh hay in with Lady. She's near foalin'." He finished adjusting his jeans before he ran his hand back through his blond hair and slipped his cowboy hat on.

"Yea," she said with an exasperated sigh. "I wish your pa hired a real housekeeper," she said with a sigh as she pulled on her panties, missing how he frowned curiously at her. "He's still making me change the sheets in his room although they're never soiled. He makes me change his sheets every day," she said with a cute pout. "When will that Isabella start doin' them?"

"Don't you think you should be helping her?" he asked with a curious smile.

"Hah! No." She scoffed as she went to the washbasin to wash her hands. "I know your pa would like me to, but it ain't gonna happen. And you know what else? He wants me to help with cookin', too!"

"Yea, well, it'd be nice if you'd help her out more, at least until she's feeling better." He chuckled, shaking his head. "She ain't one hundred percent yet and we don't want her fallin' and faintin' cuz we work her too hard, know what I mean?"

"Yea," Elena said with a thoughtful frown. "She's already fainted twice." Then she looked curiously thoughtful. "Or maybe she's fallin' in some trance."

"Trance?" Junior asked with eyebrows up.

She knew Junior didn't believe in witches and hexes, so she merely smiled. "With so many good looking men around, what woman can resist fallin' into a trance?"

He shook his head with a chuckle. "You're not tryin' to say that she's some kind of witch, are you?" He chuckled again. "You're the bruja, Elena. A crazy bruja," he said as he walked toward the wide doors of the shed to head for the stables.

"Si, but you like your bruja loco, don't you?" She batted eyes at him.

He laughed and shook his head.

She didn't like the way that Isabella was getting all the attention—especially with the Barrington men. She damn well knew that although he never mentioned it, her "gran ranchero" had been looking at that Isabella, too. And she didn't like it. Time to up the ante.

"Hey, ranchero?"

Junior stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Yea?"

"I was wonderin'," she began with a flirtatious smile, "would you be jealous if I spent some quality time with James and tutor him in the ways of el amor?"

He frowned, hiding his jealousy. "He's twenty-one, not twelve. I reckon he don't need no tutorin' from anyone anymore."

"Maybe. Maybe not." She shrugged. "He's still lookin' at me in that way, you know?"

"I haven't noticed."

"Yea," she said with a nod. "I don't think he's been with a woman for a long time, ever since that Rena girl."

"You mean, Reece."

"Yea." Then she smiled coyly. "You know how I love to help the young ones out," she said as she let a long golden leg sway off the bale of hay.

"Do I now?"

"Unless," she batted long eyelashes, "you want me to be yours only?"

His handsome face grew just a little harder, but he merely shrugged as he headed toward the exit. Elena was a great woman but she loved to play games. "Like I've said before, Elena, I don't hold any papers on you."

"But how do you feel about it?"

"Do whatever you want." Then he masked his irritation with a smile. "You always do anyhow."

"Cabrón!" she said as he exited the shed, but the moment he had, her smile faded as a look of hurt reflected in her big green eyes.

Outside, Junior's smile faded, not feeling at all good about what he heard. He knew Elena was out for a commitment from him, and he liked her well enough, but he wasn't sure how Pa felt about it. He couldn't deny he wanted her exclusively and although she acted like a flirt, he knew, in his heart, it was just an act. Elena was a sweet gal, and just a little playful. She never meant anyone any harm. As these thoughts lingered in his head, he stopped just outside the door when he realized he'd forgotten to zip up his fly.

"That woman's hotter than a stolen tamale and she's gonna do me in," he whispered to himself as he zipped up his fly. Then he suddenly started when he saw his brawny brother standing just in front of the bushes.

"Jake?" he said, seeing that glare in his younger brother's eyes. "What the hell are ya doin', lurkin' out here—?" That's as far as he got before he heard a growl, saw stars, and all the lights went out for him even before he hit the ground!

**~*~**

Chapter Eight

Tension was so thick in the air in the Barrington kitchen the following morning that Isabella was certain she could cut it with a knife. There was something terribly amiss between the two eldest Barrington brothers, and she appeared to be the only one clueless as to what. Well, she and John Barrington, that is.

Once again she failed to see her plan through to leave Barrington Ranch although there was no excuse for that delay any longer. She had her keys and she had been packing her things, but then she suddenly felt exhausted and was overcome with intense sleep. The emotional shock she suffered having heard about her father's health tore her up inside, and she couldn't deny having seen Jacob with Elena in the shed had affected her adversely, too.

That night, with her resolve to move on, she had allowed herself a break from packing her things and laid herself on the bed thinking about those jarring events, and how she needed to leave Barrington Ranch now more than ever. The next thing she knew, it was morning. Another chance missed!

As she thought about her failure, she quietly poured the coffee as Elena poured the juice. Neither one said a word as they served the four Barrington men their breakfast. Come to think of it, it was unusually silent at the Barrington breakfast table.

She could see, however, that John Jr. was glaring at Jacob from time to time. James seemed to try and make himself invisible in his chair as he quietly had his breakfast, and even the patriarch of the family was unusually quiet as he looked at his two oldest sons from under a darkening frown.

It was also pretty clear that John Jr. and Jacob had brawled. John Jr. had a bruise on his left jaw the size of an orange, and a healing cut on his lip. There weren't any cuts or bruises on Jacob, at least none she could detect, but his knuckles, now cleaned, had been cut and had bled some time ago.

Then she frowned when she saw how Elena would glare at Jacob from time to time. Her expression changed from sympathy to anger when she looked from John Jr. to Jacob. She was clearly upset with the latter and she obviously knew what was going on.

Then she finally put two-and-two together. She realized that the two brothers had gone fist to fist over Elena. She'd seen how Mister John eyed the exotic beauty when he thought no one was looking, and he must've come upon them the evening before—much like she had—and they must've fought about it...and despite being the older brother, Mister John clearly didn't emerge as the winner.

After the quietest breakfast she's ever attended was over, the Barrington men, one by one, got up and left for their work. With them out of the kitchen, Elena lost interest in staying, and she soon disappeared, too, leaving the cleaning up to her. As she cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen, she thought about that uncomfortable morning. It was obvious to her that talking things out in the Barrington home was not the norm. Brooding was.

The Barrington men, including John Barrington himself, were normally men of few words. She surmised that when it came to talking about feelings, they didn't talk at all. Instead, as with most men, they chose to be silent and allow any and all grievances go away all in their lonesome. Problem was, that never happened.

Whatever gripes they might have, if they don't talk them out, these could fester and become a big bitter ball and a feud. Simple disagreements would then become monumental grudges that can escalate into hatred. She knew this better than anyone since her father and her brother were pretty much the same way.

When her mother died, the relationship between Reg and their father became strained to the limit. In the past, it was her mother who kept the peace in their house. She always made Reg go to their father to talk things out, and she wouldn't take no for an answer. Now she was gone, Reg and her father's relationship only seemed to deteriorate. Was there even a relationship anymore? She couldn't be sure.

"So much time wasted," she whispered softly as, later that morning, she pulled the bedsheets out of the washer. Since Elena had gone a.w.o.l., she decided to do the bedsheets herself. She needed something to keep her mind off of her father's health issues, hush her guilt for not being there for him, nurture the hope that Charles really did plan to get married, and...try to ignore how she'd been feeling about Jacob Barrington.

A few moments later, she found herself in the gardens. The warm, early summer breeze made the washed sheets billow as they blew gently on clotheslines. It was mid-morning, and she busied herself with the daily laundry, hoping to get it done by noon. She'd seen that clotheslines had once been strung up but were never used. As long as she was there, and the weather permitted it, she was going to make good use of them.

Although the laundry room was well equipped with an industrial-sized washer and dryer pair, and although it was still quite a walk from there to the clotheslines, she believed it was worth the extra effort. For her, nothing beat washed sheets and bedding blown dry by nature's own.

Dressed in a yellow sleeveless cotton dress and a pink cardigan, she hummed softly as she set clothespins on the freshly washed sheets. She was enjoying this peaceful moment after the tense morning, and the delicate scent of clean laundry always made her worries go away, even if only for a brief half hour or so.

The breeze picked up a little, whipping the black tendrils of hair around her small face. The rest of her hair had been bound in a low tail down her back, and the bunch was heavy enough not to blow all too wildly around her.

Who would've guessed that she, Isabella Beamont-Boucher, child of privilege, young mistress of Boucher Manor, and the product of children of two prominent Louisiana families, would find herself hanging out bedsheets on a cattle ranch in rural Texas?

"How unpredictable life can be," she whispered as she adjusted a damp sheet on the line before she resumed humming her song.

"That song sounds familiar."

She started a little before she turned big blue eyes and looked at James who was standing to her right with a loaded basket of freshly washed sheets and pillowcases. Aside from John Barrington himself, James was by far the kindest, most approachable Barrington.

She smiled. "It was my mother's favorite song."

"It's Pa's favorite song, too." He smiled as he dropped the basket by her feet, and then straightened as he gazed around them and at the billowing sheets. "You just about need a compass to navigate around these sheets."

"I'd have to settle for a map since I've never held a compass, let alone know how to use one," she joined in the joke, making him chuckle.

"I use my smartphone for maps," he chuckled. "Need any help?"

She bent and took up another big damp white sheet, but when she shook it out, he immediately stepped back to avoid flying droplets.

"Oh, I see!" She laughed. "You want to help, but you're afraid of a little water."

He grinned. "Hey, I offered to help hang the sheets, not get wet by 'em."

She shook her head, smiling. "Then you have yourself a dilemma, indeed," she pointed out as she tossed the sheet over an empty stretch of line before she looked at him with a wry smile. "There's no avoiding getting somewhat wet when tending to the laundry. See?" She turned and showed him where dark spots dotted the front of her yellow dress and pink sweater.

"Didn't you notice we have this new-fangled metal box thing that dries clothes and big sheets like this in the laundry room?" he asked as he flicked a corner of a billowing sheet with a fingertip. "It'd get the job done with half the effort."

"Yes, but will they have that spring-fresh feel and scent?"

"I'd seen a box of "spring fresh" dryer sheets in the laundry room," he said with a big grin as he helped her hang up the last sheet, no longer bothered by droplets of water.

"Funny, Mister James," she said wryly as she finished.

"Didn't I tell you to just call me James without the "mister"?"

"Yes, I recall you have," she answered with a nod and playful smile dancing on her lips. "But can you recall my explaining to you that propriety dictates that I address you respectfully in your father's house?" Then she bent and swept up the empty laundry basket as she made her way out from behind the billowing sheets.

He caught up with her brisk walk and fell in step, walking side-by-side with her. "Yea, reckon I understood you in the beginning, but you've been here now three days. I reckon it'd be aw'right to be less formal now."

"Well established decorum knows no time limits, Mister James. You don't expect the others employed by your father to be as informal, do you? After all, they've been here far longer than I."

"You don't seriously think you're just one o' the ranch hands, do you?"

"No, of course not. But I am paid staff, Mister James."

"Naw. You're different."

"Aside from my gender, in what way am I different from the others?"

James shrugged. "You just are."

She smiled and shook her head. "It's very kind of you, and it's appreciated."

"I'm not just sayin' it just to be kind, Isabella," he said with a slight frown.

"I know, Mister James, but I also know my place here at Barrington Ranch and in your father's house. Aside from my gender, I'm no different than any other hired person here and I would truly appreciate it if you could accept that."




Belle of Bellville Ch. 07-08



"But what about Elena, then?"

"What about her?"

"She's your gender and she never says "mister"."

"Perhaps you need to ask her," Isabella said as they crossed the cobblestone walk to the back door of the house toward the steps leading up to the laundry room door.

"Naw. I already know why," he said with a sigh. "Elena's like family ever since her pa left her behind when she was only twelve and Pa took her in as his own."

Isabella was surprised to learn that Elena had been part of the Barrington family since she was a young girl. "What about her mother?"

James shrugged. "Her ma skedaddled when Elena was just six years old. She used to be our housekeeper and cook, but then when Ma left, Elena's ma went with her."

Isabella blinked big eyes as she looked at James. "Your mother is still alive?"

"Yea," he said, frowning as he looked at her surprised face. "What did you think?"

"I-I didn't think anything," Isabella confessed. "I assumed she'd passed away."

"Naw," James shook his head. "Ma didn't like life on the ranch. She was more into city life and left for New Orleans when I was just a couple of years old."

That was a surprise! Mrs. John Barrington was a resident of Louisiana??

"She writes Pa from time to time," James continued, oblivious to her surprise. "Well, she writes a letter every week." He shrugged.

"Do you still have contact with her?"

"I used to visit her every weekend," he admitted.

"Not anymore?"

"Naw. Just once a year. I'm fixin' to go visit her after college classes are done for the year like I always do."

"Do any of your brothers visit her?"

"Nah. And that's a shame. Junior don't want anythin' to do with her, and Jake, well, I reckon he's still upset that she'd left so he pretends he don't know she exists. But I think Jake misses her a lot. Oh, a team of wild mustangs can't git him to fess up about it, but I think he misses Ma the most since they were so close before she left. He took it hard. It's maybe the reason why he's so against marriage, ya know?"

"No, I didn't know but it stands to reason," she said with a brief smile. "And there you have your answer, Mister James," she said, drawing a curious look from him. "Elena is more like family than staff, therefore she's allotted privileges paid staff are not. It affords her the right to be less formal."

"Well, don't it count that you have a room at the main house? I mean, the ranch hands don't, so don't that make you different than them?"

"Although it's deeply flattering to me, no, Mister James, it doesn't change my status here. I'm still not a Barrington, I was not raised in the Barrington home and, at the end of the day, I'm still paid for my services. That makes me no more and no less than a member of the Barrington staff." Then she smiled. "And I'm fine with that," she said quietly as he opened the screen door to allow her through first.

Although she was well aware that John Barrington and at least one of his sons were nothing less than warm and kind toward her, she knew her place as just another employee, and she wanted to make sure that when she left, they'd never be able to say she took advantage of them.

She wasn't blind, though. She, too, had noticed how their interaction with her didn't seem to sit well with sexy, beautiful Elena. The spirited young woman she was supposed to oversee held a special place in the Barrington home, and even being the Barrington housekeeper and head of housekeeping, she knew better than to attempt enforcement of her position with Elena right from the start. She would eventually "woo" the sensual beauty to accept her, but for now, her barbs were up, and she kept her distance lest those barbs stab her.

Elena was also a few years older than she was. The exotic beauty's green eyes sent warnings loud and clear that she didn't appreciate her presence and she sure wasn't going to allow her to assert her authority with her. She had been with the Barringtons since she was a little girl, so the Latina, rightfully, still held seniority over her.

James had followed her into the laundry room and was still talking as she thought about these things, so she didn't hear half of what he was saying. She was busy tidying up the place for the day as he stood back against the long fold-up table on hinges that was used for folding clothes as he continued the conversation she'd already decided was over.

"I don't think Pa or Junior would either," he continued.

She had no clue what he was talking about.

"I really appreciate your help, Mister James," Isabella smiled up at him, but her smile faded when she saw him looking into her eyes with a look that sent alarm bells off in her head.

"Isabella?"

"Mister James?"

"I'd been thinkin'—"

The sound of heavy boot falls made him pause, and he raised his head to look over her head and at the door of the kitchen behind her.

"Oh, howdy, Jake," James said as he quickly straightened with pink cheeks.

Once again, she felt intimidated by Jacob even though she didn't even see him. He was standing in the kitchen doorway behind her, but the fact that he only stood within a few feet of her, unnerved her. She quickly took a rag and pretended to wipe down the dark red washer as James turned to face his brother.

"Was wonderin' where you'd been keepin'," Jacob drawled.

James cleared his throat and looked more uncomfortable. "Here, there... So, ah... what can I do for you, big brother?"

"Didn't Junior tell you to go help Dan with herdin' cattle to Parcel Six?" Jacob said with an authoritative, unfriendly tone that even surprised his younger brother.

"Yea, I was on my way to saddle up when I saw Isabella here strugglin' with some heavy laundry baskets out back. I reckoned she might need some help, is all."

She wished the floor would just open up and swallow her whole. The last thing she wanted was to be in the middle of this and she wished James hadn't brought her name up in his defense. She understood it, but she didn't like it.

"Really? That's mighty helpful of you, James."

"Just wanna help where I can, considerin' Pa had said that Isabella shouldn't overdo it," James said with a sheepish smile.

She frowned as she looked up at him, but he had his full attention on his brother behind her.

"Yea, well now that's done, you best go relieve Jerr. He had to take your place, and I had to pull 'im from Chet's group off Parcel Two."

"Oh?" James' blue eyes lit with tease. "Which Jerr you talkin' about, Jake? That smelly old dog or your Australian Shepherd?" He followed that up with a chuckle at his own joke.

Well, at least she now knew the name of Jacob's beautiful dog.

Isabella pressed fingers to her smiling lips, knowing the old cowpoke and his penchant for avoiding the showers, but she couldn't stop her shoulders from shaking in silent laughter. Momentarily forgetting herself, she looked over her shoulder with a smile behind fingers, but one look at Jacob Barrington's stony face wiped the smile from her face instantaneously—and he wasn't even looking at her!

"Yea..." James cleared his throat as his brother remained stoic, silent, and unamused. "Better git my behind in gear," he mumbled as he twisted his waist and took his hat off a higher shelf, plopped it on his head and headed for the screen door. "See ya, Isabella," he said as he pushed open the screen.

"Mister James," she returned politely as she watched him go. Then it dawned on her that she was alone with the last person she'd want to be alone with.

She turned her head, but Jacob had already strolled over to the screen door to watch his younger brother walk around the verandah before he exited via the screen door, too, and she quickly dropped the rag, turned, and hurried through the door into the kitchen.

**~*~**

An hour after that uncomfortable situation in the laundry room, she was in the kitchen finishing the bread dough. She had already packed it in bread pans and covered them with cotton cheese cloths. They stood side-by-side on the counter to rise, and would soon be ready for baking the perfect loaves that Marie, the Beaumont-Boucher's family cook, was famous for.

She had taught a reluctant five year old Isabella this little trademark secret, and although a curse back then for a playful child that wanted nothing more than to play outside, as a grown woman now, she could appreciate what she'd learned from the friendly Cajun woman now.

"You truly are a godsend, Marie," she said with a soft smile.

The sounds of the refrigerator door being pulled open behind her made her pause and look over her shoulder. She blinked surprised eyes when she saw Jacob had returned to the house and was helping himself to a bottle of coke—a Dr. Pepper. She soon learned that coke was the generic name for all carbonated drinks here in Bellville.

Thankfully, the refrigerator's silver-chrome door was in-between them, obscuring his view of her. It was then when she decided it would be a good idea to make a quiet exit...

"Need anythin' from town?"

Having only taken two steps into the direction of her room, she stopped in her tracks and let a moment pass before she turned and looked across the kitchen at him. He was sauntering over to the tidy round kitchen table to help himself to a big Red Delicious apple, his tall, imposing profile to her with hat in hand that left his wild blond locks free. For a brief few moments, she wondered how they would feel slipping through her fingers...

"Don't you mean "city"?" she said, clearing her throat and producing an amiable smile.

He turned his head and looked at her. "You know it's a city now."

She nodded as she looked away. "Yes. I understand." She understood that she could now refer to Bellville as "town" since she now understood that using "town" was relative rather than literal. Like coke was the generic word for all soda pop.

"Supplies? Groceries? Women things?" he said as he moved the apple as he spoke, looking at her now with no animosity.

"No. Not that can think of. Thank you, Mister Jacob," she said politely.

He calmly turned and leaned lazily back against the table. He crossed booted ankles and laid a muscular tanned forearm over his abdomen.

"You sure, now?"

"Yes, Mister Jacob, I'm sure," she answered, not at all certain that was the case, but it was the best answer to give. She wasn't planning on going anywhere with him. Ever. Not after that uncomfortable situation from the day before. "Now if you'll excuse me—"

"—I'd like you to come with me to town."

"What?" she piped with big, saucer-like eyes.

"Come on." He motioned with his head, already heading into the direction of the door as if it was a settled case.

It wasn't. At least, not to her.

"Um, Mister Jacob? Sir?" she tried but got no response. "Mister Jacob!" she finally called out a little louder and finally got him to stop and turn on heel to look calmly back at her. "I can't go with you. I still have the laundry outside, and I have bread rising for baking, and—"

"—It can wait. Evenin' supper ain't for another seven hours and we'll be back long before then."

"You're forgetting there's afternoon supper," she pointed out. "Your father is strict when it comes to three meals a day—"

"—Taken care of. Rosita's Caterin' is comin' by in an hour," he said. Then he quirked his eyebrows. "Any other excuses you wanna toss out, or can we git goin'?"

He was clearly telling her he knew she was making up excuses not to go with him, once again confirming for her that he was more astute than she gave him credit for. It irritated her, so when he arched an eyebrow, he got a cross look in return.

"I don't want to go into town," she finally conceded.

He stared at her and saw her flush with color before she looked away.

"With me? Or in general?"

"Please don't make it personal, Mister Jacob," she said softly.

"But it is personal, Bella." He finally moved and turned to face her, eyeing her with hard blue eyes. "I thought you understood that. It's very personal. And it's all your doin', too."

She blinked big eyes in disbelief. Was he upset with her? "My fault?!" She shook her head. "No. How can my not going to town with you be—?"

"—I warned you to leave that day, remember?" he said, narrowing eyes and watching color rise in her cheeks. "But you didn't listen. You had to stick around and prove somethin'. Now you've won my Pa's heart and nestled there, and it's too late. I offered you enough money to go and find another place, but you wanted to challenge me, and by doin' that, you made it personal. So yea, Bella, it's been personal since day one."

"You can't be serious." She shook her head incredulously. "How did you expect me to act after you came charging into the kitchen like an irate bull, bossing me around? From the moment I stepped on hallowed Barrington ground that day, you acted like a tyrant toward me. You even threatened me if I stayed."

"I wasn't threatenin'. I was tryin' to give you fair warnin'."

"Same difference!"

He slowly shook his head. "No. I was givin' you a chance to leave while you still could cuz I knew you couldn't understand what you were gettin' yourself into here," he said as he checked his wristwatch.

Her lips tugged into an annoyed line. "If time is of essence," she said, "I suggest you leave posthaste and tend to your business, Mister Jacob."

"I'm trying, but she ain't cooperatin'," he drawled.

She stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

"Now as I see it, you've got two choices, Bella," he slowly began as if talking to a slow child. "You can either come with me on your own two feet, or you can come kickin' and hollerin' over my shoulder," he said, ignoring her gasp of outrage, "but you're comin'."

"How dare you threaten me!"

"You got one minute to make up your mind," he said, unimpressed with her indignation. "And before you go thinkin' you can go callin' for my pa's help, he's gone for the day and he ain't gonna be back 'til supper."

Isabella narrowed her eyes but he arched a mildly surprised eyebrow. "Now you listen to me, Mister Jacob Barrington, I'm not one of your mindless cows that you can push and prod as you see fit. You're not the first man who thinks he can push me around, and I'm certain you won't be the last, but you'll learn soon enough that I refuse to be pushed around."

"Time's up."

Her heart skipped a terrified beat. The color in her face sucked straight out when she saw him take his first step toward her. Panic ignited but hope returned when she realized there was still a decent gap between them—big enough for her to easily run and stay out of his reach.

Acting purely on instinct, and absolutely not thinking, she quickly turned tail and fled for the door that led to the hall by her room, but despite his bulk, Jacob Barrington was quick on his feet!

In the next instant, she felt arms snatch around her, and she made a yelp before she was snapped about-face and shoved back against the wall. In her panic—and anger—she immediately flew into a struggle and began shoving at the offending arms around her waist, but then he pressed his entire body against hers, pinning her back against the wall, and the effect of that move was instantaneous.

She froze and ceased all struggles.

It was as if an electrical shock sped through her entire being. Her nipples puckered and hardened and her feminine parts far lower than that, heated up. Shocked by this purely physical reaction to feeling Jacob's hard body against hers, she quickly looked up at his handsome but tense face...and then she went bright red—brighter red than that Red Delicious that he'd just dropped on the floor. But she couldn't tear her gaze away from him.

Once again, her body betrayed her common sense, as her gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips. They were so close, so strong, and so full, well within her reach. She ached to know how they'd feel against hers. Her fingers that had come to rest on his hard shoulders, curled as she fought her desire to find out what it would be like to kiss him and to be kissed by him. Her desire proved too strong and her will, too weak, when he made the first move and his head lowered...

She felt his warm breath brush her lips, and she went instantly dizzy. Although he was so tall and so broad, his body didn't frighten her as she had expected. In fact, it was as if she couldn't get enough of being enveloped in the strength he emanated. They were touching from chest to toes and it felt heavenly...like nothing she's ever known...and when his lips descended, hers rose to meet him in a deceptively gentle kiss that hid the intense desire burning just beneath the surface.

Her mind spiraled out of control. She was overcome with a strange hot dizziness that made her unstable on her feet. In that state, she didn't trust her legs and leaned into him, pressing her body only tighter against his. The sensation of her hardened nipples grazing his chest sent fresh bolts of electrical current shooting through her, and she knew he could feel her tremble when he reacted by intensifying the kiss; gently twisting and molding her lips to his as he seduced her and welcomed her into the passionate world of lovers.

She never wanted the kiss to end. It was as if she fed a certain need inside her that had been starving. Her arms slipped up his shoulders and around his neck, and she kissed him with a growing hunger that even surprised her. Her lips never left his even when she felt him lift her as her feet left the floor; they never left his even as her legs wrapped around his hips as he carried her to her room, even as she felt the soft downy surface of her comforter at her back. Her lips only broke free with a gasp when she felt his groin press tightly high between her thighs, and she experienced the most incredible sensation of his hot bold erection burning through the layers of both their clothing against her spread parted labia and aching pussy.

They were both fully clothed, but he was unmistakably making love to her as if they were as naked as the day they were born. His tongue licked across her lips and she opened them, thirsting for him like a rose for the taste of first morning's dew, welcoming his tongue for deeper exploration.

His hands smoothed down her body and along her thigh and leg, slipping first one then the other around him, encouraging her with deed, not words, to wrap them around him. He never broke the pace of pushing his hips tightly against her; back and forth, demanding then relenting, mimicking the rhythm of the real thing.

To her, it was the real thing. She gasped and writhed under his gentle but persistent sexual seduction. Her body was set aflame. She never felt this incredible heat before and never thought she ever would. But he felt so good and hard against her, and she welcomed the bold outline of his erection, still separated by layers of cotton, against her, stimulating her aching hot core to surrender until she thought she'd go insane.

"Jacob..." she whispered breathlessly with growing desire, and began rubbing and pressing his groin against her in earnest. "Jacob—oh!" she ended with a cry when it felt as if her very soul was ripped from her body and hurled out into the stratosphere!

That rubbing, that pushing, and that pressing finally resulted in her first true orgasm with another. It was a wondrous experience that she's never had in all her adult years...and it was surprisingly draining. She discovered that she was unbelievably sleepy, but even as she fought against the tide of slumber, she was already succumbing to it.

When he finally broke the kiss, she was already quiet beneath him. He lifted his head and looked upon her with eyes that were still dark with unrequited lust. But this wasn't his moment. This was hers. And for a few moments more, he stared at her flushed, sleeping face before he gently slipped her arms from around his neck and laid them on her chest. Then he moved away and carefully moved her further onto the bed. He removed her uncomfortable looking strap sandals from her delicate feet, and then took the throw from the armchair and laid it over her. She stirred only once, mumbling something before she turned onto her side with hands under her cheek.




Belle of Bellville Ch. 07-08



As he was about to exit her room when he heard her whisper a name, and this time it wasn't the name of the man who haunted her. This time it was his name that she whispered with a soft sigh. He stared at her for a few moments before he quietly exited her room with a smile on his lips...

**~*~**

When evening supper came around, Isabella seemed no different than usual, but that was just a farce. To borrow one of the Barrington's 'Texasisms', she was as nervous as a fly in the glue pot. When all too familiar boot falls sounded in the kitchen as the Barrington men entered for supper, and she immediately tensed. She instantly recognized one pair of confident boot falls that could only belong to one.

She pretended as if nothing had happened as she turned from the counter holding a serving dish with a large beef roast on it. It was garnished with fresh radishes, romaine lettuce, and sliced bell peppers. She set the dish in the center of the table as the Barrington men congregated around the table at their usual seating places.

Jacob was the last to enter, and from the corner of her eye she could see that he looked showered and refreshed, just like his father and brothers. He glanced at her but she quickly lowered her eyelashes just as he pulled out his chair and seated himself and immediately helped himself to large helpings of buttery fluffy mashed potatoes.

"Isabella!" John Barrington called jovially.

"Yes, Mr. Barrington?" she asked as she returned with a large pitcher of fresh milk.

"Havin' consulted with my boys, we've decided unanimously that the position of housekeeper and cook is yours if you still want it."

She stole a glance Jacob's way, but he wasn't looking at her. "Unanimously?"

"You do make a fine home-cooked meal, Isabella," John Jr. said with an appreciative smile as he reached for the oversized fork on the serving dish with the roast.

"And the house ain't been this clean for a long while," James added with a smile.

"Thank you, Mister John, Mister James," she said with a stealthy glance in Jacob's direction as he lifted his head and looked straight at her. Her eyelashes fluttered briefly before she quickly returned her attention to the father and smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Barrington."

"No, Isabella, thank you," John Barrington said with his Texas twang. "Us four ornery cusses have been enjoyin' some real fine dinin' since you've arrived, and I particularly like how my bed sheets have been smellin' and feelin'," he said with a chuckle. "Nuthin' beats Mother Nature lingerin' in the sheets, tell you what."

"Yea," James chimed in, "Pa said you should get two days a week off. Everybody needs time off to do things like, I dunno, see a movie or somethin'."

Both John Jr. and Jacob raised their heads and frowned curiously at their youngest brother who had a suspicious blush in his cheeks.

"That really isn't necessary. I take my rests throughout the day," she said.

"Nonsense," John Barrington said as he scooped large ladles-full of gravy on top of his mountain of mashed potatoes, "like my boy says, everybody needs a day or two for some R and R."

Understanding that he wasn't going to take no for an answer, she relented. "Well, I guess it would be nice."

It didn't matter, anyway, she thought silently. The moment she awakened and remembered what she'd allowed to happen, she knew she couldn't stay. She also decided she would leave Barrington Ranch that very evening because she couldn't trust herself around Jacob Barrington. Earlier, she'd enlisted old Jerr's help to bring the Rover to her side of the house. This time she was going to do whatever she needed to do to leave. This time she was going to see it through, no ifs, ands, or buts.

She knew that her choice to leave so abruptly had more to do than her sexual attraction to Jacob. She was actually beginning to have stronger feelings for him, more than she was comfortable with. She wasn't sure if they were truly for him or just some misguided reaction to everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours. It was still all so confusing!

And to be honest, she wasn't really sure how he felt about her, either, considering his renowned reputation. Did he see her as a challenge? Another notch on his bedpost, metaphorically speaking? Did he only want her because she was convenient? She was nothing like the women he was most certainly accustomed to, and she had a lot of baggage she knew he didn't need.

"Then that's settled," John Barrington said. "What days do you reckon you'd wanna take, Isabella?"

She opened her mouth but James was quicker.

"How about Wednesdays and Thursdays?"

"Oh, um, yes, well that sounds fine," she said with a nod.

"Then it's settled. You'll have Wednesdays and Thursdays off," John Barrington said with a wink, drawing a shaky smile from her.

"Well, if there's nothing else, I'll leave you to your supper," she said. "There's chocolate mousse cooling in the refrigerator for desert." She turned to leave when James spoke up again.

"Well, we were kind of hopin' you might want to come and sit with us."

She stopped and turned to face him. "Thank you, Mister James. I'm honored, please know that, but it's not my place," she said with a kind smile. Then she turned and left the kitchen without further incident.

"Why didn't you say anythin', Pa?" James whined. "She should be at the table like the rest of us."

"Naw. Isabella's right, son," his father told him. "It ain't fair to Elena."

"It ain't like she can't. She just has her supper in her room cuz she's hooked on that stupid teevee show that she can't go a day without."

"Regardless," his father told his youngest son. "She might not like seeing Isabella gettin' special treatment. That can breed bad blood and we don't want any of that. Elena's set in her ways, and she's been with us for a long time. We've gotta think of her feelings."

"Yea, Pa's right, James," Junior said as he scooped up a large forkful of gravy-drenched mashed potatoes. "Until she decides to come sit with us at the table on her own, it ain't a good idea to have Isabella do it first. Elena has seniority."

"Elena's a spoiled brat," James said with an angry frown.

"Watch your tongue, James," Junior warned with a hard look.

"It's true, ain't it?" James said stubbornly. "She ain't pullin' her weight around here, and she's makin' Isabella do all the chores, even Pa's sheets now."

"I said," John Jr. growled, "watch your tongue. Or I'm gonna watch it for you."

"I'm just tryin' to say that she needs to start thinkin' about helpin' out around here more cuz she don't think she has to. Even Angie pulled her own weight around here—"

"—And then some," Junior said with a derisive sniff, looking at Jacob as his lips curled. "Right, Jake?"

Jacob flickered up cold blue eyes as he looked across the table at his brother. "If you've got somethin' to say to me, Junior?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Then say it already."

"You really want me to do that, Jake? Right here at the table?"

"Go for it."

"That's enough!" John Barrington said with a harsh tone as he looked at his sons. "You boys will keep a civil tongue at my table, hear? Whatever's goin' on between you two, it ain't comin' to a head here. Git it outta your goddamn system already! It's affectin' the morale among the men, not to mention makin' supper these days mighty unpleasant, and I ain't gonna stand for it anymore, hear? Not anymore."

The tension between the two eldest Barrington sons was thick and hot. After their father's reprimand, the meal proceeded in uncomfortable silence, the discomfort felt mostly by the youngest of the three sons.

Jacob was the first to finish, and he set his napkin aside and then rose from the table before he exited the kitchen. Not long thereafter, John Barrington, too, had enough, and muttered a curse before he threw his napkin on the table.

"I'll be in the study," he said as he shoved his chair back, got up, and stalked out of the kitchen.

John Jr. watched with head bent; eyes following his father's angry exit.

James looked disapprovingly at his remaining brother.

"It ain't his fault Angie left, Junior. You've gotta stop holdin' him responsible for somethin' he ain't had anythin' to do with. Pa's right, this has gotta end. It's tearin' the family apart. Angie made her choice. She wanted Jake—"

"—You've got a ten gallon mouth these days, James."

The youngest Barrington sighed. "You've gotta respect her choice and you've gotta let it go, all right?"

"You don't understand, James." John Jr. shook his head; his handsome face still grim and the hurt still very much alive in his blue eyes. "Jacob betrayed me. He betrayed her. He seduced her—"

"—Stop it already!" James snapped; seeing his brother descending into that place of hurt and rage again. "Now I don't know what she told you, but I know what I saw. Jake ain't ever made any designs on her. I swear, Junior, he did everythin' to avoid her. Her leavin' ain't his fault, it's her choice, and it's time you set this whole mess aside—" He abruptly stopped when Junior shot to his feet and set his napkin over his plate.

"Don't let Isabella's dessert go to waste, James," Junior said before he turned and left the kitchen, too.

"Jesus." James shook his head and set elbows on the table and held his weary, frustrated head in his hands. "This has gotta end already..."

"Was my cooking not up to par this evening?"

James looked up at the door and saw Isabella had returned from her room, holding her own half-full plate with a curious look in her eyes. She looked sheepishly at him as she walked to the sink to empty her plate in the garbage disposal.

"No, no, Isabella. Your cookin' was excellent as always. It ain't that. Honest," he said as he quickly got up and went to her to stand beside her. "My brothers have been like this long before you came, and ain't got nothin' to do with you or your cookin', which is pretty damn good."

She smiled wistfully before she bent and pulled out the dishwasher rack. "Good. Then what ever it is, it's not my concern," she said as she set her silverware and plate in the compartments.

"I just wanted to let you know you've got nothing to do with the quarrel between Junior and Jacob."

"Thank you. That's kind of you, Mister James." She smiled a quick, uncomfortable smile and passed him to clear the table as his gaze followed. Then he quickly followed to help her.

"You don't have to do that, Mister James."

"It's okay," he said with a charming smile. "I don't mind."

"Well then," she gave him a warm smile as she gathered and stacked the plates, "I appreciate your help."

"Y'know? Isabella is a very pretty name."

"Thank you."

"Are you named after your mother?"

"No, Mister James. My mother's name was Eleanora."

"Was?"

She was quiet as she rinsed a plate before setting it in the dishwasher. "Yes. Was," she finally said.

"I'm sorry," he said with genuine empathy.

"Thank you," she said kindly.

"How long ago?"

She understood that he wasn't being nosy. He was just showing polite interest, but it still stung to talk about her beloved mother. "Little over ten years."

"An illness?"

"No." She shook her head as she closed the dishwasher. "Automobile accident." She pressed the buttons and the machine started its cycle. "So," she said as she plastered on a smile, "would you like me to set a pot of coffee? Do you think they'd want some?"

Understanding that she was through talking about a painful and tragic event in her life, he decided to change the subject with humor. His eyes twinkled and he chuckled. "Arbuckle, you mean?"

She laughed softly. "Yes. I forgot. Coffee is Arbuckle around here."

He smiled with a nod. "I could use some."

"Then I'll set a fresh pot of Arbuckle for you, Mister James."

**~*~**

After she'd cleaned the kitchen, and with tablecloth carefully bunched up so as not to drop any crumbs, she went to the other back door that opened directly to the outside. She stepped out onto the short square porch under the burning lamp and tossed out the table cloth, shaking off any crumbs before she checked for stains.

She was lucky this time.

She began folding the big red and white checkered table cloth and quietly let her mind travel back in time. She recalled the moment her mother taught her to appreciate the hard work of their incredibly energetic and skilled housekeeper and cook, Maria, and to learn from her for her own benefit.

"However unlikely it may seem this moment, Isabella, there might come a day when you'll need basic domestic skills. You can't know what the future holds. A time may come when you'll find yourself in a less fortunate situation than today, so it's wise to familiarize yourself with these basic but no less important tasks and to learn to do them right. It also helps build character and a deep respect and appreciation for the work of those employed by us so that we may never take them for granted."

She smiled by that fond memory as she finished folding the tablecloth.

"Well, you're right, Mama." She looked up at the starry skies with quiet eyes, and sighed with a smile. "And I thank you with all my heart for pushing me."

Then the smile on her face froze and faded when she noticed a tall silhouette of a figure coming toward her from the darkness. She slowly narrowed her eyes and peered into the darkness, but when she realized who it was, her eyes widened and she blinked.

Jacob Barrington was coming directly to her. How did she know? Well, and he was looking straight at her! Unable to meet with him right now, she turned around and quickly stepped into the house—and made a beeline for her room, tossing the folded tablecloth onto a built-in cabinet along the wall that lead to the door to the short hall to her room.

Once through that door and after closing it behind her, she threw herself into a run and quickly rushed into her room before she shut the bedroom and fell back against it. Then remembering something, she quickly turned and managed to lock her door. When she finally felt safe enough—and her heart stopped its racing—she crossed the room and seated herself on the edge of her bed with an exasperated sigh.

"This is insane," she whispered as she ran a hand back over her head as she struggled to regain a degree of composure and calm. Then she sniffed and sat straight up straight before she brushed away imaginary wisps of hair from her face. "I can't afford to let him rattle me and have me lose my focus." Then her gaze slipped across the room to her packed suitcase, bag, and her keys on top of that bag. "But I can afford to leave tonight as planned," she whispered with, what she didn't know, a sad gleam in her determined eyes.

She rose to her feet and went to the adjoining bathroom for her last shower at Barrington Ranch...

**~*~**

Isabella waited till midnight before she'd make her move. She needed to be sure everyone was fast asleep when she left. She had written a good bye letter and slipped it into an envelope that now lay in the center of her tidy bed. Then she took her things and successfully crept through her window and packed her things in the Rover. Then she shut the window.

Using the silent mode button of her car alarm remote, she winced when it didn't turn out to be so silent after all. Two chirps signaled that it was disabled and the damned Rover lit up twice. She should've shut down the alarm earlier when Jerry drove the Rover to her side of the house and handed her the keys! But so far, so good. She tugged open the door and made to quickly climb in behind the wheel...

There was a suddenly a bark behind her, nearly giving her a heart attack. She snapped around with big eyes to find none other than Jacob's dog, Jerry, with tongue lolling and black and white bushy tail wagging behind her. Happy to see her, he barked a couple of times more and she quickly put a hushing finger to her lips.

"Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!" she hushed, and he responded by barking again!

"Hush, Jerry, hush!" she whispered with as firmly as she could, making the Aussie's ears perk and his head tilt before—much to her chagrin—he barked again as he bounced in a quick circle, thinking maybe she wanted to play with him.

"No. No. No. I don't want to play. Hush now, Jerry, shhh!" she desperately tried to silence him. He rushed over to her with ears flat in friendly greeting, and to her dismay, he barked again! She dropped to her knees on the grass and grabbed him to her as he playfully wiggled in her embrace. She took his snout and clamped it shut. "Please be quiet! Hush, you silly dog!" she said beneath her breath.

"Where do you think you're goin'?"

"Ah!" She whirled around so quickly that she tripped and fell on her butt on the ground!

Jerry barked happily thinking she was playing a game with him, and he immediately lapped her face.

That tore her out of her shock!

She spat in disgust when his doggie tongue lapped her lips and she finally grabbed his energetic body to her before she looked utterly furious and red-faced up at Jacob Barrington.

He was leaning against the Rover, big arms and ankles crossed, hood tipped back, and looking as if no matter what she told him now, he wouldn't believe her. It suddenly dawned on her that he already knew exactly what she was planning on doing...and that she was caught red-handed in the process of doing it.

To be continued

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Belle of Bellville Ch. 09-10







Belle of Bellville Ch. 09-10



She didn't stiffen up but caught a sharp breath as her eyes fell to a swift delirious close. Then he leaned down and captured her lips in a frenzied kiss that had their gasps end in each other's mouths, and as he distracted her with his thrusting finger and with his flicking and teasing thumb against her clitoris, he undid his belt and jeans, and shoved it down with his boxer-briefs and let his thick shaft spring free. As he distracted her with passionate kisses, he keenly crawled out of the last clothes he wore. There would be no barriers between them now.

He wrapped his free fingers around his hard girth and with his thumb, spread the viscous ooze of precum over his dome, preparing for that first, sweet plunge that would make her his.

He'd already felt that she was tight, maybe too tight for him. But she was very wet, too, and that in addition to his precum-slick dome, these would help make the experience for her far less unpleasant. To him—and most certainly to her—this wasn't merely a casual coupling. This was something far more intense, far more important to them both, and the anticipation was something he's never experienced before. It was becoming almost unbearable.

As he listened for her rapid and breathless gasps and the sweet cries of ecstasy, he brought up the tempo; thrusting his middle finger a little faster, a little deeper inside her. When she writhed and whispered unintelligible words, he slipped a second finger inside her; opening her for his girth and length...

She was delirious with lust and desire. She never felt anything like this before and although she'd heard about it, she never believed it would happen for her. He felt so good against her, so hard, warm, and strong, and when she felt him probing insistently against her aching core, she gasped softly in his ear and hugged him a little tighter to her. Then she felt him push into her. He felt larger than life in every which way...

"Jacob...Jacob..." she whispered breathlessly, as she felt his bold shaft stretch her inch for inch. The sensation was terrifying at first, but that fear was quickly washed away by the liquid fire surging through her and she soon found herself clinging to him.

As his gasping mouth twisted across hers, his hands stroked their way down to her hips and thighs, and he folded her legs around his thrusting hips. He took it slow at first, understanding that she hadn't been with a man for a long time, but when he felt her tight channel grasp a little less tightly, and ripple and stroke his invading shaft, he brought up the tempo and began thrusting a little hard, a little faster, a little deeper...

The bed began to groan beneath them as he began thrusting harder into her. She took what he gave and wanted more, and he gave as much as she could handle, slowly bringing up the pace until he could thrust hard and short into her hot, sucking sheath.

Soon her soft gasps became soft yelps and cries, and he felt her delicious tunnel contracting hard around his invading shaft. It was then when his hands took her hips, and he began thrusting in earnest. He broke their feverish kisses and raised his head to watch her lust flash across her face as she neared the pinnacle. As he had already guessed, Bella was breathtaking in the throes of her oncoming orgasm.

"Jacob!" she cried breathlessly when she felt as if her soul was ripped from her body and hurled out to the edge of the world. She flew up in an arch, crushing her breasts against his hard chest when that journey didn't end at the edge but was spun out into the stratosphere where she exploded among millions of stars...

Her tight sheath clamped hard around his thrusting shaft, and he bared teeth as he felt as if he'd been struck by a sledgehammer made of pure electricity. His fingers dug in the soft flesh of her hips as he felt his testes churn before he let go, and they shot up tightly before propelling his lust through his quick thrusting shaft until it erupted in rich shots of cum deep inside her, over and over again...

As she slowly descended from the heavens, back into her shimmering and exhausted body, she felt him continue to push and pull inside her, but slower, gentler. She could feel his shaft softly pulsating deep inside her, and it felt unbelievable.

She's never felt like this before. So fulfilled, so relaxed, so perfect, and so safe. She lingered in this perfect world, wishing she never had to leave it as her hands and fingers trembled as she slowly caressed his broad back. She was so relaxed now that she was certain she could sleep one thousand years just to recuperate from this extraordinary experience. For now, though, he was with her and she'd just hold him for these few blissful moments. A felinesque smile spreading across her lips as she closed her eyes...

For the first time in her life, she felt whole and one hundred percent woman.





Belle of Bellville Ch. 09-10



Isabella dropped her eyelashes and shook her head.

"No."

"But I know you want him." Then she studied the other woman's long eyelashes for a moment. "So you're tellin' me you ain't fallin' for him?"

"No."

"That's because you'd already fallen hard for him."

Isabella snapped up eyes and looked at the other woman.

"Yea," she watched as Elena slowly shook her head, "and I know you'd be his wife if he asked ya. I can see that with my own two eyes—"

"—I've already told you," Isabella said, harshly, "I'm not here to look for a husband."

"Then why are you here?" Elena asked, searching the other woman's eyes. "Why are you really here, Lady from Louisiana?"

"It was a mistake," she answered, truthfully. "One I intend to rectify." And having her fill of this conversation—her emotions weren't stable as it was—and knowing that the window of opportunity was quickly closing, she took Elena's wrist and, with surprising strength, shoved it down before she stepped passed her and quickly headed down the hallway.

Elena watched Isabella stalk away with a stiff back. The question mark mirrored in her green eyes slowly faded as a dawning began to appear and replace it. Then she nodded and, with a tiny smile playing around her lips, she pushed from the jamb and exited the kitchen as well.





Belle of Bellville Ch. 09-10



He so wanted her to touch his body, to explore every inch of him with her fingers and lips, but he felt it was too soon. Her fear of men was rearing its ugly head, and he had to squelch it before it took over. But before her panic had begun to set in, he'd at least seen that she was awestruck by him, and that was enough for him for now.

As he kissed her and had her tongue dance with his, he slipped his hands up along her silken arms and made them rise above her head on the pillow again. Bella felt so good, so perfect under his body. She was soft where he was hard, and she tasted so sweet on his tongue. He just knew she tasted sweet below as well, but he didn't want to risk frightening her more should he try and have a taste...

So he gathered her small wrists in a single hand, and with his free hand, he kneaded a magnificent breast before he gently tweezed a nipple, catching her gasp of lust into his mouth. She began to writhe beneath him, and he felt her thighs open wide for him in her desire for more. His hand left her breasts and caressed and stroked its way down her satiny soft body until he felt the dip and then the upswell of her pubic mound. His fingertips slipped through the raven curls warming her before he felt the slightly damp curls slide along his fingers. He curled them, and she shot up in an ecstatic arch with a gasp, breaking their kiss, when his fingers found her throbbing node.

"Jacob!" she gushed in a breathless whisper.

He slipped one then two fingers inside her and began thrusting. Sweat popped on his forehead as he held himself back with all his will. Her gasps and purrs were nearly driving him over the edge, and he wanted nothing more than to shove his aching shaft inside her and find release with her, but he wanted her to love all of him and not have her fear that part of him that had startled her earlier.

When he felt her ample flow flood his thrusting fingers, he moved a little to one hip and removed his fingers. He pushed the now purplish dome of his shaft, already covered with his own oozing flow, against her swollen nether-lips until they gave way under the pressure. Then he continued to push deeper inside her. He captured her mouth and kissed her sensuously until she relaxed enough for him to push into her, to his hilt...and then he paused as he took his time petting and stroking her clitoris and pubic mound, feeling her trembling with each sexual stroke. Then he broke the kiss and lifted his head and watched until she opened her eyes. When he had her attention, he silently let his gaze move down their bodies and her gaze followed.

He wanted her to see her swollen pubic mound, her body filled with him. He wanted her to see the oneness of their coupling and to feel proud of herself for having come so far. He wasn't certain if she'd get the message he wanted to convey, but as he looked at her, he saw her staring down her body at her swollen mound and at how tightly his hips were pressed against her since he was fully inside her. His shaft twitched inside her, and he watched as her long eyelashes swept to an ecstatic close.

When he was satisfied, he moved and covered her, bracing on elbows on either side of her. She let her head lower back onto the pillow and looked up into his eyes as he stared into hers that were full of lust and passion for him. And then he began to thrust, slowly, bringing up the pace when she could handle him until the bed began to groan beneath him. He thrust short, deeply, almost aggressive, but then he paused and pulled back a little before repeating his moves until he began thrusting faster, harder, and deeper, and led her to the edge of the world and beyond. And when she called his name, he came. Hard.

Both felt as if they were struck by lightning when they climaxed together. He gritted his growl of release and she caught her breath before she cried his name, and he channel constricted so tightly around his plunging shaft that he was almost brought to a standstill inside her just when he felt his testes shoot up tightly against his body. His body briefly tensed to its limits before his buried shaft swelled and shot his cum in strong explosions of semen splashing against the mouth of her womb until he had no more left to give.

Out of breath, he slowly relaxed as he lowered his head and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder and neck. He could hear his heartbeats loud and thunderous inside his head, and felt her rapid heartbeats synchronizing with his against his chest.

Spent and glistening from head to toe, he finally moved and laid himself beside her on the bed. He pulled the covers over their bodies and gathered her against him, enthralled by the sensation of holding such a soft body, so delicate, and so sweet against him.

He was never one for sleeping in a bed with a woman after sex. Now, however, he discovered he wanted nothing more in the world. He told himself that he was doing this purely to prevent her from leaving, and for his father who would be devastated if she left without a word. He told himself that he didn't want her trying to run off in the night again. But his heart whispered a different, more selfish reason why he changed his long-held habit: he wanted to be with her a while longer.

And as he laid an arm around her warm, soft body, and he laid his head on her pillow, he stared at the curly mane beside him for the longest time. Even as she turned in her sleep and faced him, with her black curls tumbling around her heart-shaped face, her long black eyelashes dark on her softly tanned complexion, and even as he remembered how he disliked sleeping in the same bed with another, he couldn't bring himself to leave her.

Instead, he lay there, staring at her. Finally, after the longest time and a lot of meditative thought, he accepted that this wasn't just his need to bed Bella. This wasn't just his need to wipe the fear she had of him because of someone else in her past. This wasn't just to boost his male ego or feed his lust for her.

He finally accepted that he'd fallen in love...