Belle of Bellville Ch. 11-12

Chapter Eleven

It was still very early in the morning when Isabella steered her freshly washed Rover away from the full-service car wash. There weren't very many people making use of the place so they spent extra care on her vehicle—and it needed it. Then again, there weren't many people up and about this early Monday morning, either, and the workers were probably happy to have something to do.

She drove to a parking spot along Bellville's main boulevard. Then, with a sigh and a dreamy look in her big eyes, she curled her fingers around the steering wheel and stared out the windshield, not knowing that her cheeks were still warm and rosy from a passionate night with Jacob.

She'd already prepared breakfast and had immediately left, this time without any problem. This time, though, she had no intention of leaving. In fact, she believed she could make a nice home here in Bellville. The Rover needed a good cleaning, and she also felt she needed to clear her head. She also needed to get away from the ranch for a moment, and from Jacob, in order to do it.

The man was simply...intoxicating.

Good thing he was an early riser, too. He would've otherwise made it difficult, if not impossible, for her to leave. By the time she awakened, he'd already gone. She couldn't suppress a sense of...loss. She actually missed his warm, strong body beside her. It had already become so familiar, so...wonderful to have a warm body beside her in bed—and what a body!

Then she shook her head. "What are you doing, you silly woman," she whispered, softly. "You've only known him for four days and you're already acting like a love-sick fool. Ugh!"

For all her attempts to leave, she hadn't been very successful. Now she realized why.

It wasn't because someone was there to stop her, or circumstances didn't allow it. No. It was because she never really wanted to go. Sure, she was confused and off-kilter for a while, and Jacob really didn't make it easier on her, but now she realized that all her attempts to leave Barrington Ranch were failures because deep down inside she never really wanted to succeed. And this was becoming a problem.

"Face it...you like him more than you're willing to admit," she said with another exasperated sigh. Then she frowned and dropped her eyes. "Maybe even a little more than just 'like'. Maybe it was—" She abruptly stopped when she realized where she was going with that train of thought. She quickly shook her head, making her shining black curls bounce. "No. Impossible. And that's enough thinking for now, Isabella! You need to focus. You can't stay or you'll become just another notch on Jacob Barrington's bedpost!"

With renewed energy, she grabbed her macramé bag from the passenger's seat and exited the Rover. She needed to check if any mail had come in for her at the Postal Plus as well as check if anyone had informed about the position that she knew she had to vacate a.s.a.p. She also wanted to buy some extra time for her TracFone since the special was still valid and she might need the phone for on the road.

Yes, she was still planning on leaving. Now more than ever. Now it was no longer a choice. Now it's was a necessity of epic proportions—if only to spare her sanity!

Dressed in a pretty boat-neck summer print dress in soft blues, greens, and pinks, she knew she still looked completely out of place in Bellville. But she just wasn't the kind of girl to wear jeans. Never was.

She swung her beaded macramé bag over her shoulder before she turned and pointed the keychain remote, pressing the button and locking her Rover. Then on soft-blue, high-heel strap-sandals, she walked briskly to the shops and stepped up onto the walk before she made her way to the Postal Plus, bowing her head in greeting at friendly townsfolk who passed and greeted her.

She loved the way the men in Bellville touched their hat to her. It was so gentlemanly and yet so masculine. It's what Jacob did, too, but the way he did it made her heart skip and her body tingle all over—

"Enough!" she reprimanded herself. "Have some dignity, woman."

She'd been at the Barrington Ranch for only four days, but she'd come during the busiest time of the year for them. The cattle were being rounded up and branded for market and for the slaughterhouse. This would ensure that the Barringtons were going to be plenty busy which means they wouldn't be at the house as much. At least, that's what Jerr told her the other day.

She wouldn't see Jacob as much. On the plus side, it would make it easier on the new woman who'd, eventually, take her place. She was certain there had to be a ton of inquiries although she's received no calls as of yet. Strange, but one would think working for the Barringtons who paid so well would make anyone enthusiastic to find a position with them!

Though it was tougher to run the Barrington home than she let them know, she was proud of herself for handling it all with skill. She was a little rusty, but she was getting better at it. At least she was able to keep the house in tip-top shape! She even set vases with fresh cut flowers here and there to spruce up the rather barren interior of the western-style home.

She always tried to look through her mother's eyes and see what she would have seen. She believed her mother would be proud of her. Well, except for the part about having sex with one of the Barrington sons, that is.

She rolled her eyes up to the heavens. "Don't judge me, Mother. You've seen the man yourself," she whispered before she headed for the door to the Postal Plus.

The beauty of the Postal Plus franchise was, she had opened a mailbox in the other States that she'd traveled through, and they had an excellent mail-forwarding system. Every one of them forwarded all her mail from one mailbox to the other until it eventually ended up in Bellville. She was pretty proud of herself for setting this up. This would ensure her privacy to the nth degree. Or so she told herself but what, she'd later discover, was not the case...

"Howdy, Miss Isabella!" Mr. Brody greeted jovially.

"Hello Mr. Brody, Mrs. Brody," she said with a charming smile.

"What can we do for our Belle of Bellville, today?" Mrs. Brody asked.

She smiled with a brief frown when she heard the nickname they'd elected to give her, but then, "I came to check if there's any mail for me?" She stepped to the counter and slipped off her bag to pull out some envelopes that John Barrington had asked her to mail.

"I don't believe so, Miss Isabella," Mrs. Brody said.

She popped eyebrows. "Not even junk mail?"

" 'Fraid not," Mr. Brody said. "Didn't git any mail yesterday on account it was Sunday, and there was none on Saturday. It's still early, though, so maybe we'll git somethin' this afternoon. Afternoons are when we usually git the mail."

"Oh. Okay."

"I'd say, give it a couple of days. Mail takes it's time around here. I'm sure you'll soon enough regret not gettin' anythin' today once all that junk mail comes rollin' in," Mr. Brody said with a chuckle.

She smiled. "Well, I was also wondering if you've heard anyone inquire about the advertisement I had put up two days ago?"

"Advertisement?" Mrs. Brody asked, confused.

"Yes, advertisement. The one I pinned to the community board?" she said, thumbing over her shoulder before she glanced at the cork board—but then paused. She blinked big eyes when she couldn't see her advertisement. She dropped her hand, turned, and then walked over to the board and began scanning the board, hoping to see her roller index card.

"What were you advertisin', Miss Isabella?" Mr. Brody asked.

"Um...a position."

"Position?" Mrs. Brody asked with a confused frown.

"Yes," she said as she smiled at the elderly couple behind the counter. "I put up an advertisement for an assistant housekeeper and cook."

"Oh..." Mr. Brody said with dawning. "Yea, we knew you'd be needin' an assistant sooner rather than later. It ain't no easy job bein' the cook and housekeeper at the Barrington spread. That house is so big and it's so dusty out there that it'd take two, maybe even three, housekeepers just to keep it decent. And everyone knows Elena ain't a hard-workin' gal ever since she'd been tryin' to lasso John Junior."

"Do ya think he'll marry the girl, Stan?"

"Don't rightly know, Mabel," her husband said with a shrug. "But she ain't the type to give up 'til she gets that weddin' band on her little finger."

"They'd make a cute couple, wouldn't they? He's so handsome and she's so pretty. And were they a little quicker and it didn't go out of business a couple o' years back, they could've stayed at the Abri de Nellie Bed and Breakfast. But I've heard someone's rented the place. Don't know why since it's rundown and all."

Isabella was barely following the conversation between the elderly couple behind the counter. She was tapping her slender fingertip to her lip in thought, wondering where her ad had gone off to.

"Can't find your ad, Miss Isabella?" Mr. Brody asked.

She shook her head. "I don't see it."

"You know what?" Mrs. Brody said. "I think I saw Jake by the board after Miss Isabella left the shop two days past."

Isabella's finger stopped tapping. Then she turned on heel and looked at the elderly woman who was now looking at her. "Jacob Barrington was in here?"

"Yea, he was, Miss Isabella," Mrs. Brody said with a nod. "And he was standin' where you are, lookin' at the board. Now I'm not accusin' him of anythin', but it's a rule at the Postal Plus that nobody takes down ads but the one who put it up there, so I'm thinkin' that he might've been the bold one to have done the deed."

She frowned. "Why would he do that?"

"It's Jake Barrington," Mr. Brody said as he placed stamps on her envelopes. "He's none too fond of strangers at the ranch. Maybe he don't approve of you puttin' up the advertisement?" Then he looked up. "Did you ask permission before doin' it?"

She looked sheepishly. "No. I didn't think I had to."

"Oh, but sweet child!" Mrs. Brody said. "You have to be careful about invitin' people to the ranch. The Barringtons are very private people. They don't take too kindly havin' people they don't know showin' up at the ranch without them knowin'. 'Less it's their Pa doin' the invitin'. He does as he pleases."

Well, that explained Jacob Barrington's rude attitude the first time she showed up! He probably didn't even know that his father had put up an ad for a housekeeper and cook. In fact, she was almost certain he didn't, judging by his reaction that first day.

"May I put up another advertisement?" she asked them.

"You can put up anythin' you want, Miss Isabella," Mrs. Brody said, "but if I was you, I'd ask Mr. Barrington for permission first or it'll git took down just like the first one. Jake comes in here regularly to check the ads. Maybe to check if someone's put one up for them without their permission or to check any that's been put there by one of their own."

She frowned. "He comes in here regularly?"

"Like clockwork," Mrs. Brody said with a nod.

"Did he know about the one I had inquired about five days ago?"

"Of course!" Mr. Brody said. "That one's been up for weeks."

"Oh." Well, there went her explanation why Jacob was so rude toward her that first day. Since he already knew about the ad, he shouldn't have approached her with such a hostile disposition! Then she sighed as she came to the counter. "I guess you're right. I'll ask permission first."

She'd just have to find another way to advertise for her replacement.

Mrs. Brody patted her hand encouragingly. "But I know John Barrington won't say no. Not if you set those pretty blue eyes on him, Miss Isabella. Just let him know that you need a helper on account you're the only one doin' all the work there."

"Well, not all the work. Elena helps," she said, not to disparage the woman.

"Pff! Yea," Mrs. Brody said with twinkling eyes and laughter.

"So, got these all fixed with stamps. Was there anythin' else you need, Miss Isabella?" Mr. Brody asked.

She nodded as she handed him her TracFone. "I'd like to take advantage of the special for TracFones and add minutes?"

"Comin' right up!"

* * * *

She returned to her Rover and disengaged the alarm before she got in behind the wheel. She was just about to stick her key into the ignition when she paused as she suddenly remembered something.

Why on god's green Earth would Jacob remove her ad? How could he know she hadn't asked his father prior to coming upon them in his father's study after they'd danced? For all he knew, she'd already asked, so unless he called his father and asked if he'd granted her permission for the ad and find out he hadn't, why would he remove it?

Then she looked upset. "Maybe because he didn't want me leaving before he had a go at me? Ugh!" Now she was livid. There simply wasn't any other reason for Jacob to take down the ad, especially not knowing whether or not she'd already asked and received permission from his father prior to putting it up! The only other plausible explanation she could think of was the one that made her angry now. He wasn't planning on letting her leave until he got her into bed!

Gone were all the tender romantic feelings she was beginning to feel for him. BACK was the anger and distrust of men—men like Jacob Barrington and Charles DeVille and their sneaky ways to use women for their own selfish needs.

Then she paused again, her angry eyes staring through the windshield in thought. What kept her from leaving now? It's clear as day that as long as Jacob didn't have his fill of her, he was going to make it impossible for her to leave. But she was in her car now, with a full tank of gas, and she could always buy more clothing along the way—money! That's what she needed. Money.

She grabbed her shoulder bag and rummaged through it, looking for the long leather wallet where she stashed all her cash. She pulled it out so that she could count how much she had—which should be considerably more than what she came with!—and as she did, something slipped out with the wallet and dropped on her lap. She glanced down and saw that it was a small photograph...and all her anger rushed out of her in a nanosecond.

It was an old photograph of her father and mother. They were posing for a professional photographer, standing in front of a soft blue background. It was a small version of a much larger one that an artist had used in order to make an oil portrait of them for the dining room...long, long ago. It seemed like an eternity ago.

Seeing her mother's beautiful face again brought tears to her eyes. She hadn't looked at that little picture for days now. Now she had, she felt all those emotions of loss and sorrow return and well up inside her. They were so powerful that she felt they'd strangle her.

She missed her old life. She missed her childhood home. She missed her beautiful canopy bed and private adjoining bathroom with the soft pink and white tiles. She missed the French doors in her bedroom that opened to a private and generous balcony which, that time of year, would be filled with the delicate scent of flowers that were growing and blossoming in planters hung around the railing. She missed her horses, her designer clothing, her life as Isabella Beaumont-Boucher...but above all else, she missed her mother.

"God damn you, Charles DeVille. God damn you to hell," she whispered through her tears before she regained her composure as best she could. She sat up straight, sniffed and fingered away her tears before she moved forward to stick the key into the ignition.

There was a knock on the window and she started. She shot up big eyes still glistening with tears and still mirroring the heart-rending emotions she was suffering. To her surprise, and through the glass of her rolled up window, she found herself looking straight into Jacob Barrington's face!

If he'd noticed her distress, he didn't show it.

She quickly pressed the button and the window lowered letting in the dry breeze that helped dry her tears some. She sniffed and wiped the remaining tears from her face while she fought to present a calm demeanor.

"Hello, Mister Jacob," she greeted as she scanned the periphery, but he was alone.

He arched an eyebrow but he didn't make mention about the way she addressed him. "What're you doin' here, Bella?"

"I was just checking if I'd gotten any mail."

"It's Monday and it's mornin'. No mail gits delivered on Sundays and it don't git delivered 'til the afternoon."

"Yes." She nodded. "Mr. and Mrs. Brody informed me of that." Then she smiled politely. "Are you in town for some special reason?"

"Yea," he said. "You."

"As you can see, I'm fine. I'm on my way back to the ranch."

He studied her eyes for a moment. "Are you, Bella?"

"Yes, I am. I was only in town to have the Rover washed and to check for mail, and I planned on returning to the ranch right after."

"I mean, are you fine?"

"Oh yes, yes." She nodded and sniffed again. "I'm fine." She motioned with her hand briefly to her face. "I believe I've developed allergies in this dry, dusty climate, but I'm otherwise fine. Honest."

"Hm." He nodded once. "I gotta hankerin' for Arbuckle. How about you?"

She immediately shook her head. "No, I'm fine. I really need to get back to the house—" She abruptly stopped when she saw his big arm reach through the window and she watched, in shock, how he took the keys from her fingers and unlocked the door before he pulled it open. "Mister Jacob!"

"Comin'?" he said.

She damn well knew that wasn't a request! She looked cross up at his unreadable unemotional face beneath his ever-present hat. "I told you, I'm not in the mood for coffee—"

"—Then you'll have somethin' else, but you're comin' with me either way."

She stiffened and bristled by his commanding tone. Charles was like that with her, too, and she was getting really tired of men thinking they had any right to bully her around. Then she saw that he was strapped with a gun belt and holster—and a holster with a large firearm in it!

"Bellville's an open-carry city," he explained.

What he didn't explain was, why was he "open-carrying" that morning? She'd never seen him wear a gun belt and holstered gun before!

"Now you listen to me, Mister Jacob," she gritted beneath her breath as she glared up at him, "I'm not one of your floozies that you can push around, and I'm not cattle. I refuse to be bullied by you—"

"—Do you wanna scene?" he quietly asked, belying the hard look in his blue eyes that watched as she stiffened. "Because I ain't got no problem makin' one if you don't get out of your car now."

"What? You intend to shoot me if I don't?"

Her chest was heaving with inner, pent-up rage. Despite that, she knew that, between the two of them, she was at a disadvantage. She was under no illusion that he wouldn't grab her, throw her over his shoulder, and carry her off like a sack of flour in front of Bellville's townsfolk just for their entertainment.

"Do you want me countin' down, Bella?" he asked with eyebrows up.

With delicate nostrils flaring, she swept angry blue eyes around them and, as she did, she saw there were too many people out to test the validity of his threat. She also noticed that there were quite a few men strapped with gun belts and holstered guns. Then she swept those upset eyes up at him before she snatched her bag as he stepped back, holding the door open as she hopped out.

"Can I at least close the window? Or would that offend your supersized-sense of masculine authority?" she honed.

He said nothing, but leaned into the SUV pushed the button for the window, and had it close. She was glaring at him all that time, but he wasn't impressed. In fact, he ignored her altogether! He closed the door and set the alarm before he motioned with his hooded head. "Come on," he said as he, to her utmost chagrin, slipped HER keys into HIS jeans pocket.