Portia awakened at dawn. Later, she’d be ushering the Jakes party to the train depot but for the moment she had some thinking to do. Her previously planned-out life was transforming into one that was no longer staid and stern but filled with laughter, passion, and the excitement of new possibilities because of Kent. Did she want to cling to the old Portia who lived for work and little else or throw caution to the wind and open herself and head down a different path? Yesterday, he’d asked why she hadn’t moved forward on her idea of starting her own bookkeeping business and for the first time she admitted how afraid she was of failing. She’d never voiced that before, not even to herself but she felt safe sharing her dreams and fears with him. Did that mean she was falling in love? Having never been in love, she didn’t know. Eddy had mentioned grabbing a teaspoon of happiness and this new Portia wanted that and the only way to have it was to reach out and claim it. Her decision made, she left the bed to begin her day.
When Kent rode up with Matt to act as armed escort for the ride to Tucson, the sight of Portia standing outside with her charges filled his heart. She looked his way and smiled, but there was a glint of fire in her eyes he knew to be a sign of her temper. Wondering what was wrong, he dismounted and walked over just in time to hear Ada Jakes demand to know, “Did you put water inside so we won’t die of thirst in this heat?”
“Yes,” Portia responded with what sounded like forced politeness. The old bat shot her a dismissive glare and let herself be handed into the buggy by her son. Seeing Kent, Winston paused and raised his chin challengingly. Kent replied with a ghost of a cold smile. The man looked away and entered the buggy without a word or even acknowledging Portia’s presence. Kent assumed the attitude stemmed from what Portia had revealed about her past and he guessed the Jakeses had added her name to his on their list of those they felt themselves superior to.
“Morning. How are you?”
“I’ll be better once these greenhorns are on the train and I’m on my way back here.”
He was about to reply when he heard the widow Gordon declare in a voice loud enough to be heard in Tucson, “I can’t wait to leave this awful place.” Clad again in her fancy brown traveling costume, she stormed over to Regan’s buggy, adding, “And when I get home, I’ll be sure to tell everyone I know what a terrible time I had.”
“Please do,” Regan tossed back, which seemed to throw the widow off her stride.
He saw Portia drop her head to hide her smile. Kent wanted to cheer.
After handing in his simmering sister, Phillip Pratt turned to Eddy and Rhine standing together watching the departure. “I want to thank you for a memorable experience. I will be returning.”
Eddy said, “And you will be welcome.”
He was the only one Kent heard offer any kind of thanks. Yes, they’d witnessed a murder but the service and the accommodations the hotel offered had been outstanding. Therefore, they had no reason to act as if they’d been raised by skunks. Seeing the Jakeses sitting in the buggy glaring straight ahead and holding themselves stiff as store mannequins, he asked Portia, “Are you ready to go?”
“Extremely.”
“Then let’s get moving.”
As Rhine and Eddy stood watching, Portia gave them a wave and the small caravan set out for Tucson, escorted by the mounted and well-armed Kent and Matt. Cal and the trunks brought up the rear. Everyone in the area was on the alert for the escaped Geronimo and his band. According to the newspapers, Mexico had given the United States Army and its large contingent of Apache scouts permission to cross the border to hunt him down. There had been dozens of false sightings, horses stolen, cattle butchered for the meat, and yes, deaths.
Very aware of this Kent kept a sharp eye on the surroundings and was pleased when they arrived in Tucson without incident.
As he stood with Portia at the depot, waiting for the train to arrive, she was approached by Ada Jakes and informed in a cool voice, “Due to your unfortunate bloodline, Miss Carmichael, I won’t be offering you an invitation to my soiree for Mrs. Harper. I do hope you understand.”
Portia didn’t bat an eye. “And I hope you understand that I’d rather not have an invitation from someone with your appalling lack of manners. Have a safe trip home, Mrs. Jakes.”
Wanting to cheer again, Kent watched Winston lead his sputtering mother away.
On the short walk back to where Regan and the others stood waiting with the buggies, he said to the obviously furious Portia, “You handled that very well.”
“I wanted to set her hair on fire.”
Laughing at her warrior spirit, he walked her back to where her sister stood waiting with Matt and Cal.
“You look fit to be tied,” Regan said. “Did the bullfrog offer a parting insult?”
“Yes.” And Portia repeated the exchange.
Regan rolled her eyes. “As if someone wanted an invitation. She’ll probably serve her esteemed guests flies.”
Portia laughed. “I love you so much.”
Kent thought that pretty much summed up how he felt about Portia. She moved him like no other woman had before and he was convinced his future would be bereft without her at his side.
“Before we head back, I’d like to check and see if there’s any mail for us,” Regan said.
“I have some errands to take care of as well,” Kent said. Matt and Cal said the same.
“How about we meet back here in an hour?” Portia asked.
Everyone agreed.
Portia hadn’t said anything about this, but with the start of her new business in mind, she set out to approach her first potential customer, Sadie Welch, owner of one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, an exclusiveness that banned members of Sadie’s race. It wasn’t an uncommon practice. Due to Jim Crow and the legions of Whites who refused to support enterprises that catered to a Colored clientele, many Colored business owners were forced to choose between profit and race. Some like Sadie Welch bridged the gap by offering a specific time or day of the week when their neighbors and family members were welcomed. For Sadie it was Sunday evenings.
The place was usually closed at the time of the day when Portia arrived, so she went around the back to the kitchen.
Julia Lane, her aunt Eddy’s friend and wife of rancher Howard Lane, was one of the cooks. Seeing Portia, she called out, “Morning, Portia. How are you?” Julia was seated on a chair and plucking a chicken with such speed the feathers were flying.
“I’m well. Is Miss Sadie around?”
“Inside.”
“Do you think she has time to speak with me for a few minutes?”
“Let me go and see. Be right back.”
When Julia returned a few minutes later, she was accompanied by the tall, golden-skinned Sadie. In spite of her segregated business practices, Sadie was a member of the Tucson Good Works Society, an organization composed of local women of the race who did volunteer work to uplift and support people of color in the surrounding community. Portia and Regan were members as was her aunt and her friends.
“Hello, Portia. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to speak with you about a business proposal.”
Sadie paused, her blue eyes taking her in for a silent moment. “Come in.”
Portia was led to the book-lined office and offered a seat. From her chair behind the large mahogany desk, Sophie said, “So tell me about this proposal.”
Portia did and when she finished, she said, “So, I stopped in to see if I can be of any service to you and the restaurant.”
She graced Portia with a kind smile. “I’m sorry, honey, but I already have someone doing my books. His father is also one of my investors. I can’t change horses in the middle of the stream without suffering some serious repercussions.”
Portia hid her disappointment. “I understand.”
“However, I know how skilled you are, so I will ask around on your behalf.”
The support brightened her mood. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Good luck. I’ll see you at the next meeting.”
Portia left. Keeping an eye on the time, she stopped in at the barbershop owned by Ephraim Forth. He, too, was kind enough to hear her out, but in the end he told her his nephew James Cordell handled his books. “And I don’t have to pay him,” he crowed.
Portia gave him a false smile and her thanks and left his small shop to the tinkle of the bell over the door. Refusing to be discouraged, she headed up the walk to speak to the owner of another barbershop and saw Darian Day, overdressed as always leaning against the wall of his haberdashery. In spite of the climbing temperature, he was attired in a brown and black checkerboard suit, a buttoned-up shirt with a bow tie, and a black bowler sat on his head. Just looking at him made her perspire. She knew he wouldn’t let her pass without speaking, so she tamped down her temper in advance.
“Well, well,” he said, looking her up and down as if she were some type of dessert. “How are you, Miss Portia?”
“Hello, Mr. Day.”
“When are you going to address me by my given name?”
When horses learn to knit. “It’s a sign of respect.”
“I see. What brings you to town? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Portia considered lying but there was always a ghost of a chance he might have information on a potential client, so she told him her plans.
“Women don’t need to be in business” came his irritating reply. “You should just marry me. As your husband, I’d take care of all your—needs.”
She wanted to sock him hard enough to send him flying into the street—fancy duds and all. “No thank you.” As she continued on her way, he called out, “I’ll be expecting a spot on your dance card next week.” She didn’t reply. He was referencing Howard and Julia Lane’s annual two-day rodeo. The well-attended activities concluded with a big barn dance. She’d never danced with Darian Day before and she didn’t see that changing.
Kent, Matt, and Cal were standing by the buggies when Portia walked up. Kent looked at her face and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I had the misfortune of speaking with Darian Day. He’s enough to curdle anyone’s day.”
“Which is why Matt and I spent our money with Mr. Krause. Day will starve if he’s depending on my patronage to put food on his table.”
Cal agreed. “Not one of my favorite people either. He thinks the sun rises and sets because he tells it to.”
Regan joined them on the heels of that and handed Kent a letter. “This came for you on today’s train. I have a few for Eddy and Rhine, too.”
He looked at the envelope. “It’s from my father.” He stuck it in his pocket.
Portia thought she saw a shadow cross his features but it was gone so quickly she assumed she’d imagined it. He and his father had been at odds when they all lived in Virginia City and she didn’t know if they’d reconciled in the years since. As if sensing her regard, he raised his eyes to hers, but there was nothing in them that offered a hint at his thinking. “Are we ready to head back?” he asked.
Everyone agreed, so they started the journey home.
Upon returning, Cal drove the wagon to the stables, Regan and Portia did the same with the buggies while Kent and Matt unsaddled their stallions and turned them loose in the paddock. Leaving Cal with a wave, they were walking back to the hotel when Matt asked, “Do you think Mrs. Fontaine might have something I can do to help me earn my keep?”
Regan hooked her arm in his. “Let’s go find out.”
Their departure left Portia and Kent alone. “He’s a nice young man,” Portia noted.
“Yes, he is. Had a hard life growing up.”
“So, what are your plans for the day?” she asked.
“Probably ride out to the Blanchard place after the sun drops a bit and take a look around. Howard Lane said he’d keep an eye out for the cows Parnell ran off. I’m hoping he’s found them and brought them back. What about you?”
“Putting together the papers the banks will need to wire the Jakes party their refunds. After that I’m going to compose letters to send out to some of the area’s businesses and mine owners to let them know I’m opening my business.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I had two people turn me down while we were in town today. It was disappointing but I’m riding the bronc and holding on just as you suggested.”
“Good for you. I’m not sure how I can help but if I can let me know.”
His support was endearing. “I will.”
As they eyed each other, time seemed to lengthen, and her need rose to the surface, whispering his name. Since her morning talk with herself, she no longer wondered how or why she’d gone from being a no-nonsense woman devoted only to her work, to one who wished they were alone so they could pick up where they’d left off last evening. Staking her claim on that teaspoon of happiness, she wanted to feel his lips on her throat, savor his hands moving up and down her spine, and relish the searing sensations of his touch. She also wanted him to know that she and her sponges were ready for that first time. Who would’ve ever thought she’d look forward to being intimate with a man? The old Portia wanted to accuse her of being no better than her mother but she refused to take the bait. “I have a question for you.”
“And it is?”
“Do you wish to put the sponge in for me, or should I do it myself beforehand?”
He looked confused. “Sponge?”
Enjoying his reaction, she started walking away and said over her shoulder, “Think about it and let me know. I’ll see you later.”
She took two more steps and heard him call out, “Stop. Right there.”
Guessing he’d figured it out, she smiled and swung back around.
He beckoned with a finger. “Come here for a minute, please.”
She complied and upon reaching him, looked up. “Yes?”
Arms folded, he scanned her face. “Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?”
“I’m pretty sure we are. Is that a problem?”
He chuckled softly, “Who are you and what have you done with the real Portia Carmichael?”
“I believe she’s been transformed by a passion wielding cowboy.”
He steepled his fingers against his lips and peered at her for a long moment. “Are you sure?”
“Do I impress you as being an indecisive woman?”
The heat now glittering in his eyes touched her like a hand. “You are going to be in so much trouble, Miss Bookkeeper.”
He’d related the same mock warning the evening he’d kissed her for the first time, but now she had a clearer understanding of just what that meant. As a result, the pulse between her thighs sprang to life.
He added, “I want you to wear a skirt the next time I get you alone. No denims.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be taking your drawers as punishment for how hard I’m going to be for the rest of the day thinking about you and your sponge. You really are trying to kill me.”
Thrilled by his words, she didn’t agree to the order but gave him a serene smile instead. As she walked away, she was trailed by his laughter.
Kent hadn’t been kidding about his arousal. Watching her exit, he was as hard as he’d ever been for a woman and it had occurred instantly. He didn’t know where she’d gotten the sponges, but he had to smile because he’d just purchased rubbers while in Tucson earlier. He couldn’t wait to get her alone. Once she was out of sight, it took him a few moments to will his body back into a calm state and for his mind to remember what he’d planned to do before being nearly knocked to his knees by her and her talk of sponges, but once he had everything back in order, he went inside to find Rhine.
His knock on the frame of the opened door made Rhine glance up from his seat behind his desk. “Come on in. Regan said the trip to Tucson went well.”
Kent settled into one of the brown leather chairs. “It did. No Apaches or outlaws.”
“Good. Glad we got that group out of our hair.”
Kent was, too. “I’d like to talk to you about something if I can.”
Rhine sat back. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
“You mentioned the possibility of maybe leasing the Blanchard property.”
“I did.”
“Would you consider letting me lease it with an option to buy it outright at some point in the future? I have some money saved up.”
The famous Fontaine poker face descended over Rhine’s features. After a few long minutes of silence, he asked, “What about future income? Where would it come from?”
“Horses. If I make one trip a year and bring back a reasonable amount to sell, I think I could make a business and be able to pay you and any hands I’d need to hire.”
“Thought you were too old for horse wrangling.”
“Was when I thought I’d be working for you. Working for myself is a different matter.” And if he could convince Portia to be his wife, he needed a way to provide for her and any children they might have.
Rhine asked, “Can you give me some time to think about it?”
“Sure.” He hadn’t expected Rhine to agree to the proposal without giving it some thought.
“I also may have to deal with Landry and his bogus claim.”
“Understood.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know soon.”
“Thanks. In the meantime, I’m going to grab something to eat. I want to ride over there after dinner and make sure nothing else has happened. I take it you haven’t heard anything from the sheriff about the posse?”
“No and it angers me.”
“Same here.”
“The Ranchers Association meets tomorrow. I’ll ask if anyone has any ideas. You should probably attend, too.”
“Sure.”
Rhine said, “I don’t have anything pressing later on. How about we ride over to the Blanchard place together?”
“Fine with me. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Rhine nodded. Kent rose to his feet and left him to his work.
With his mind on the many ways he planned to pay Portia back for his constant state of arousal, Kent sat on the bench outside his bedroom and took out the letter he’d received from his father, Oliver. In a way he was pleased the old man had taken the time to write, and as he read further, Kent found himself equally pleased that not only were his father and stepmother, Sylvia, doing well, but they were planning to visit him and the Fontaines. What gave him pause however was the part in the letter referencing Sylvia’s great-niece, Ruth, who was traveling with them and who would, his always meddling father wrote, make you an ideal wife.
Kent tossed the letter aside and put his head in his hands. “Dammit!”