Chapter 8

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."

"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."