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.

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.