Jake (Downton Cowboys #2) - Miley Maine Page 0,48

I chuckle as if I forgot.

“It must be nice to have someone help around the house. Especially one as big as yours.”

Belle shoots her a glare and she instantly dismisses it.

“And how much would someone like that make in a month?” she continues.

“Mom!” She tilts her head at her.

“Wha—honey? I need to know. Your father and I are no longer young, and soon, we might need some help ourselves.”

“It’s alright,” I whisper, my fingers grazing her to calm her down. “Well, I think it depends on the size of the house and the tasks she’ll be assigned. Katie takes care of the whole place for me. Two floors and a basement. She does all the cleaning and cooking, as well as organizing everything.”

“Sheesh!” The woman raises her eyebrows. “She must be making a fortune!” She chuckles before taking a bite.

I see Belle’s veins about to pop before she turns to me with an apologetic look. Smiling, I bat my lashes once with a calm expression on my face, letting her know that I’m used to people talking to me like that.

“This is amazing,” I praise the meal my love has prepared, and her face instantly relaxes into a genuine satisfied smile.

“You like it?”

“Are you kidding? I love it!” I take another bite.

Her smile quietly grows like a child who was just told that they’re getting an A.

“I hope they let you cook at the soup kitchen!” I remark.

“No.” She shrugs. “When I joined, they already had a couple of dedicated cooks. When they’re off, however, they let me help.”

“Well,” her mother sits back, “I’m sure with Katie around, you won’t need to do it much. That’s a perk of marrying a man who can afford help!” She widens her eyes, another exaggerated look of fascination.

“Mom, will you stop?” Belle has clearly had enough.

“What? I’m only stating a fact!”

“And you’re being tactless.”

“Jake,” the woman turns to me with a forged frown, “have I offended you?”

“Ah, it’s okay Mrs. Frances, really.” With my eyes, I beg Belle to let it go. “I’m… glad that you show your blessings the way you do.”

I am mostly glad because she’s simple enough to show her true colors so openly.

After lunch, Mrs. Frances insists on making us her ‘famous’ iced tea. She disappears inside and leaves us alone in the backyard. The shade is pleasant, and the breeze is refreshing.

“I’m sorry.” Belle wrings her hands in her lap, and I catch a glimpse of it. “I’ve never seen Mom act like this.”

“Babe,” I take her hand in mine, resting it over my knee, “when we get married, you’ll get to see how people treat me or talk to me, all because of what I have and not who I am.” I pause, gazing into her eyes. “I’m just happy she seems like an honest woman.”

“An honest woman with no filters!” She chuckles, rolling her eyes.

“You’d be surprised at how bad filters can be for a man in my position. Most people have ulterior motives. And because of diplomacy and common rules of speech, they never reveal their agendas.”

She tilts her head, her eyes looking deep into mine.

“At least I know your mom’s impressed, eh?” I chortle, shaking her hand in mine, urging her to loosen up and smile.

Her face carries a tender expression, one that I don’t remember seeing from anyone else. She comes closer, without breaking out eye contact.

“You know I love you, right?” she solemnly whispers.

“Yes.” I inch closer, feeling her hair dance against my face as the breeze moves it.

“And you know I don’t care about your money…” Her eyes beg me to believe her.

“I do.” My gaze descends to her lips and stays there. The heat has turned them a bright shade of coral.

She parts her lips to say something and I catch them with mine, a deep kiss that carries all of my gratefulness, happiness, and appreciation. Belle is an honest woman, just like her mother. But she’s not a greedy one, unlike Mrs. Frances.

And I adore her for it. All of it.

“Ahem.”

The sound of her mom clearing her throat at the door pulls us apart, prompting us to swiftly sit back in our chairs and look in her direction.

“Now,” she shoots Belle a glare then me a smile, “taste this and tell me if your housekeeper can pull it off.”

She sets down the tray with three cold, misty glasses of tea with ice cubes and lemon slices. I must admit, it looks revitalizing.

“Nice!” I furrow my eyebrows and nod appreciatively