| |
* * *
Sidney’s mouth dropped open. He blinked, praying he’d misheard Belle or that this was all some horrible nightmare he might wake from at any moment. If this was really happening—if Belle had really lost her mind and thought she could get away with such crazed antics as declaring herself to be his mail order bride—he would feed her to the rats. She had no right to interfere with his life like this, even if he was just a lowly barber.
He could still not understand what she meant by showing up unannounced on his doorstep in this fashion and could only assume that she’d had another run of bad luck at home and nowhere else to go. He knew of her problems in Little Creek from the last time she’d been here—before she’d made him feel like a mouse instead of a man—and he also knew she did not wish to burden her sisters with the expense of housing and caring for her.
Though he certainly wished Belle no harm—except, of course, for the rats he might feed her to if she didn’t stop this nonsense at once—he had no intention of being her escape from a life she no longer wished to live, simply because her marriage to him would be convenient to her now and not before.
Beautiful Irene stared wide-eyed at Belle. Slowly, it turned to him, and he saw a question form on her lips.
“Belle!” he snapped, and she jumped in her seat. He looked desperately at her, moving a few inches in her direction and saying in a whisper so that only she could hear, “Please.” If their friendship had ever meant anything to her, she would cease this game of hers at once.
Belle’s eyes softened, and her lips paled. “Just joking,” she said suddenly, laughing, but still refusing to leave the comfort of her chair. Her face had grown paler and paler since Irene had come in, and he did not understand why she did not simply leave. Why did she continue to sit as though she owned this barbershop instead of him?
Irene looked uncertainly at Belle for a moment and then smiled. “Oh,” she said, nervous laughter escaping her lips. “How funny you are.” Her tone indicated the exact opposite of her words, and Sidney decided he’d had enough.
He moved to Belle’s chair and gently took her up by the elbow. He felt her body shake and instinctively looked at her with concern. Whatever emotions she was struggling with, however, sorted themselves out and she managed to control herself.
Belle stood without taking back her seat, and to his relief, she started for the door. It was Irene who stopped her. “I don’t believe I caught your name,” Irene said.
“I don’t believe I gave it,” replied Belle cryptically.
Inside, Sidney groaned. Why did Belle have to be so difficult? Clearly, this had more to do with her bruised pride than any love she had for him. A lowly barber.
The words she’d said to him months before continued to sting, and suddenly, he lost any compassion he might have been feeling for her.
“She’s no one,” he said to Irene and saw the sting in Belle’s eyes.
Good. She’d stung him well enough and deserved to feel a bit of it in return. But then her blue eyes brightened a little too much, as if tears were forming behind them, and he regretted his words. For all the grief she’d given him and was giving him now, he could not purposely hurt her if it was in his power to avoid it.
He sighed. “Irene, this is—”
“A customer,” Belle said. “I’m just a customer of Sidney’s. I mean, Mr. Poole’s.” She began to twirl her hair nervously, but her smile brightened, and her eyes seemed to regain their composure. Sidney wasn’t sure for a moment if she was helping him or setting him up for a fresh wound. Another joke.
Irene eyed her suspiciously. “Why would you come to a men’s barbershop to get your hair cut?”
Belle shrugged. “One place is as good as another. Besides, I hadn’t money enough for a proper women’s establishment. Sid—Mr. Poole offered to cut my hair for the same rate he charges his male customers. There’s no beating that.”
“Your hair is up,” Irene said.
Belle blanched. “I’d only just sat down when you came in. Mr. Poole hadn’t cut it yet.”
Irene looked at Sidney for confirmation. He hardly knew what to do. His mind raced, but his heart raced faster. He just wanted this situation to be over with already and would have done anything to speed Belle’s departure.
“Yes, that’s right,” Sidney said, ushering Belle toward the door again.
“Oh,” said Irene. “A customer.” It was almost as if she were trying the word out. “I thought perhaps you were a mischievous cousin. I have one or two of those myself.”
“No, no. This is her first time in the shop,” said Sidney quickly, putting as much distance between Belle and Irene as he could. Belle was almost to the door now.
Irene said, “I thought you called her Belle.”
Both he and Belle paused and looked at Irene. “What’s that?” he asked her.
“You called her Belle,” Irene said and looked pointedly at him. “If this is her first time in your shop, how do you know her name... and how do you use it with such familiarity?” She drew her perfectly arched eyebrows together.
Sidney’s stomach spun. He looked at Belle and his mouth ran dry. “I... uh...”
Belle took pity on him and interceded on his behalf. “Mr. Poole is good friends with my brothers-in-law. That’s why I came to him for the haircut. I knew he could not say no unless he wished to upset his dearest friends.”
This seemed to please Irene well enough that her face relaxed. “You should have said as much to begin with. Both of you.”
“I apologize,” Sidney said quickly. “It’s been a long day and I was preoccupied with your arrival. I wish you’d have let me get you from the station. I was worried you wouldn’t find your way.”
Irene’s face, already so soft and pretty, softened that much more. A beam of sunlight fell across her and it was like she was being lit from heaven. “I appreciate that, but I prefer to find my own way around new places so that I can learn the terrain.”
He nodded and said nothing more on it, just happy she had stopped scowling at him. Belle cleared her throat, and he turned back to her.
“I’ll come back for the haircut some other time,” she said. “It seems you’re busy enough tonight.”
“Don’t leave on my account,” said Irene, and Sidney was sure he heard a hard edge amidst her soft voice.
“I’m afraid I must,” said Belle. “I must find my sisters.” She hesitated then looked at Sidney. “Good evening, Mr. Poole.”
“Good evening,” he said with a simple acknowledgment.
When she was gone, he turned to Irene, relief washing through him. She was a beautiful woman, the kind who could have graced the covers of books or periodicals. Yet her features were almost too soft. Belle’s features were a bit harder. Her eyes, at times, had a wild streak in them that captivated him as much as worried him.
“Is everything all right?” Irene asked, and he nodded.
“Yes, fine,” he said and began to show her around the barbershop. When her head was turned, he looked back toward the door Belle had gone through and wondered what she looked like crossing the evening light right now. Was her face taking on the colors of the sunset as he knew it sometimes did, or was she white as a ghost, enraged at his pushing her away?
“Sidney,” Irene said, and he realized she’d been talking to him.
“Sorry,” he said. “What was that?”
“You promised me supper when I arrived.”
“Yes,” he said, “of course,” and offered her his arm.
Deep inside him, hidden behind many doors he refused to break open, he thought that Irene’s arm could not compare in softness to Belle’s and wished it was her with him just now instead of this stranger, no matter how beautiful she may be.
* * *
