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."