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."