With Blue tied by his reins to the back of the buggy, Kent drove. At his side, Portia savored the evening and his presence.
“You could sit a mite closer, Miss Carmichael.”
She scooted over until she was cushioned against his side.
“Better.”
Filled with peaceful contentment, she said, “I hope your father is feeling better.”
“Me too. I’m not sure he’s said anything to Rhine and Eddy, but he’s dying.”
She drew back. She now knew the reason for the shadow that crossed his face earlier. In spite of the good time he’d had today, she’d sensed something not quite right beneath the surface. “I was wondering if something was bothering you.”
“Doctors have given him a year—maybe less.”
“Kent, I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.”
They rode through the deepening darkness with the moon overhead. “I wanted him to stand up with me at our wedding.”
She stilled and studied his face. “We’re having a wedding?”
“I hope we are. What do you think?”
She snuggled closer. “I think I’d like that.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” And instead of second-guessing the decision or tensing up and waging an inner debate, her peace and contentment deepened. The choice felt right.
“Hallelujah!” he shouted.
She laughed.
“Do you want something big and fancy?” he asked.
“No, but Eddy might, and if she does, I’ll probably agree because she means the world to me after all she and Rhine have done for me and my sister. I will insist it be as soon as possible though.”
“Good.”
She was glad he didn’t want to wait either. Now that she’d aligned her mind with her heart’s lead, she was impatient to begin their life together and explore all marriage to such a special man had to offer, not the least being endless kisses. She was convinced their marriage bed would be special as well, in spite of the small worries she harbored about the pain her sister had described.
He stopped the buggy.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just need to take care of something I’ve been wanting to do all day.”
And when he leaned over, she knew what would follow because she’d had the same thoughts all day, too. He traced a slow finger over her bottom lip before pressing his lips to hers fully. A warmth spread along with a rising desire for more. Unlike previous times, he didn’t wait to move his hands over her body, sliding his hands over her breasts to awaken and tease. Still plying her mouth, their tongues dancing sinuously, he cupped her breast before dropping his head to awaken her completely. She moaned. Buttons were undone, and because she’d begun the day thinking she’d be riding Arizona to the rodeo, she was encased in the black silk that he found so arousing. He ran kisses over the tops of her breasts and without his asking, she brazenly moved the fabric aside so he could play as he wished. She was rewarded so magnificently her hips rose in rhythm. She ran her hand over the strong muscles of his neck, glorying in the texture of his skin and hair, all the while easing him closer because she wanted him to have all she could give. She arched, sighed, and moaned in response to his loving and felt the storm only he could set in her blood begin to gather. He returned to her mouth, leaving her breasts damp to the night air while his hands slowly moved down her bared sides to her hips and along the length of her thighs. She’d worn a skirt and his caress singed through the fabric to the flesh beneath. “Open for me, Duchess.”
She parted her legs and her skirt rose. His palm was hot as it journeyed. The sensations sent her hands beneath his shirt to explore the hard yet soft flesh of his chest and back. She wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to learn his shape, map his ribs, and lick at the hollow of his throat. Putting her desire into action, she dragged her tongue over the spot and heard him groan. He paid her back by moving his hands between her waiting thighs, and when he touched her, she sucked in a breath and lifted her hips on a groan for more.
“You’re very wet, Duchess. Makes me want to do this . . .”
She gasped.
“And this . . .”
She whimpered passionately.
“And now, this . . .”
He slid a finger inside and worked her with such expert wickedness, she shattered on a strangled cry and spiraled to the moon. Pulsing and moaning, she heard him whisper against her ear, “I’ll be spending the rest of our lives making you fly apart, woman . . . so get ready.”
And when he finally headed the buggy for home, the overwhelmed, soon to be Mrs. Kenton Randolph knew that, yes, their marriage bed was going to be fine indeed.
Upon their return they made the announcement. The overcome Eddy cried. Kent’s father, who looked to have regained his strength, offered his congratulations as did Sylvia and Ruth.
“Will you stand up with me?” Kent asked him.
Oliver froze and stared. “Wouldn’t you rather have Rhine take that role?”
Portia said, “He’ll be too busy giving away the bride. If that’s okay with him?”
Standing with Eddy, Rhine responded in a voice thick with emotion, “I’d be honored, Portia.”
Kent turned back to his father. “So, what do you say, Oliver?”
Tears in his eyes, he nodded. “Yes.”
Sylvia wiped at her own tears, and laughed, “Eddy, as much as you hate it, you’re going to need a new gown.”
With love in her voice and her gaze on Portia, Eddy shook her head. “I won’t mind this time. Not at all.” She raised her coffee cup. “To the happy couple, and to love.”
“Hear! Hear!”
As Portia and Kent accepted hugs of congratulations, Portia was sad that Regan wasn’t there but knew she’d be happy, too, and say yes when Portia asked her to be her maid of honor.
It was the second day of the rodeo and Kent stood looking into the pen holding the bull he’d be riding in less than an hour. The animal was an enormous doe-brown, longhorn named Bushwhacker.
“Weighs over a thousand pounds,” said a cowboy eyeing the brute, too. His name was Cody and like Kent he’d qualified the day before to ride in the finals. “It killed a man at a rodeo up in Wyoming last year.” Upon leaving Kent with that, he walked away.
Kent didn’t know if the tale was true or not. Cowboys were known for lying, especially during a contest. Putting a scare in your competition could increase your chances of claiming the prize money, which in this case was fifty dollars, not a small sum. However, Cody’s estimation of the bull’s weight looked to be right and tip to tip the width of the horns had to be a good five feet or more. A bull of that size could very easily kill a man.
Standing beside Kent, Rhine asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Kent was admittedly having second thoughts. He’d no idea the animal would be so massive. “My name’s on the list. I back out now, people might think I’m scared.”
“As opposed to thinking you have good sense?”
Still focused on the bull, Kent shrugged. “It’s the cowboy life. This is how it works.”
“I’ll put that on your headstone.”
“Thanks.”
Once Kent got his fill of seeing what he might be in for, he and Rhine went back to the main gathering. “Do you know where our ladies are?” His father and Sylvia were with Regan. Ruth was with James.
“I always look for Eddy around the food,” Rhine said. “No idea where Portia might be though.”
“Let’s find Eddy—maybe she knows.”
The crowd was even larger than the day before and trying to move through all the people took some time. The spicy aromas of the food tempted him mightily but Kent knew better than to eat before a ride. He’d get something after the competition, if he survived.
They found both women setting out cakes on one of the long tables. Rhine went over to speak to his wife.
Portia was arranging the desserts at the other end of the table. When she looked up and saw him approaching, her welcoming smile made him momentarily forget about Bushwhacker until she asked, “Did you see the bull?”
“Yes and Rhine thinks I should take my name off the entry sheet.”
She stopped. “Why?”
“The bull’s one of the biggest I’ve ever seen.”
“Do you think you can ride it?”
“I do.” And that was the truth. He just wasn’t sure if he could for the eight seconds required.
“No one will think less of you if you back out,” Portia pointed out gently.
“But I’ll think less of myself.” Male pride was driving him, and be it brainless or not, he wanted to win. That pride also made him want to show off for the woman he loved. “Are these cakes for sale?”
“No for auction. Our Good Works Society does this every year as a fund-raiser. Do you have a sweet tooth?”
“I do.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Portia’s.”
She laughed and he nodded polite greetings to the other women adding cakes to the line. While they worked they kept taking peeks at him, making him wonder if they knew he and Portia were getting married.
“Matt won the pie eating contest a little while ago,” she told him.
“Really?” he replied with a laugh.
“Who knew that rail-thin body could hold so much. Of course he was pretty sick afterwards, but he gets bragging rights for the year.”
Kent was sorry he missed it. “Do you know where he is now?”
“He was with Doc Finney. She has a tent over on the other side of the bunkhouse.”
“He wanted to help out during the competition, but I think I’ll just let him nurse his pie hangover.”
“That might be best.”
Cal Grissom walked up. “You ready, Kent?”
Cal volunteered to help out, too. He’d done a bit of bull riding in his younger days.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Portia came out from behind the table. “I don’t have a bandana for you to wear, so this will have to do.” She gave him a slow sweet kiss more potent than a hundred bandanas. “Good luck, cowboy.”
Sitting on the top rung of the corral waiting for his turn, Kent watched Bushwhacker shed the first two riders as if they weighed no more than roosters. None of them lasted three seconds, let alone the required eight. A raucous crowd filled the risers fanned out around the oval. He spotted Portia seated with her family and his. Her kiss had been a pleasant surprise. He had no idea why she’d suddenly dropped her no kissing in public rule but he was glad she had. He’d be needing all the luck he could find.
Cody, the cowboy who’d spoken to him earlier, was up next. The previous contestant had been bucked off in less than a second, leaving the crowd so disappointed they couldn’t decide whether to laugh or rain down cat calls, so they did both.
Kent hadn’t seen Cody’s qualifying rides but now, watching him, Kent noted confidence and expertise in the way he sat the bull and wrapped the braided rope around his gloved hand.
“He’s ridden a bull or two,” Kent said to Cal.
“Or five or ten.”
Kent grinned.
And that experience showed when the bull shot out of the chute and went to work. Cody rode him well. The rules prohibited the rider from touching the bull with anything other than the hand cinched to the animal’s back, so the free hand was kept high in the air. As the bull did its best to unseat the cowboy, Kent focused on both man and bull, committing to memory how low the animal dropped its thick neck and head when it bucked and how high the hind legs rose when it kicked and spun. For such a big animal Bushwhacker was nimble and agile. The crowd chanted a countdown of the seconds. When it reached eight, Cody was still in control. Grudgingly impressed, Kent wondered how much longer he’d stay on. The bull must have been asking itself the same question because it executed a move that seemed to throw its body in every direction at once. The crowd roared. Cody lost his grip and hit the ground. Scrambling, he ran like hell to the fence and cleared it two steps ahead of the charging bull.
Kent was next.
Seated on the broad back of the restless bull, Kent carefully cinched his gloved hand to the connecting rope and concentrated on pulling in deep calming breaths.
“Let’s hope he’s tired,” Cal cracked.
The bull’s owner, an old rancher from Texas, grinned. “This bull can do eight—nine runs a day. He’s probably more mad than anything else.”
That wasn’t what Kent wanted to hear.
“Are you ready?” Cal asked.
Kent nodded.
The owner crowed, “Then get ready for the ride of your life! Good luck!”
The bull cleared the fence and Kent was thrown up and down. He felt the jolt in his ribs, spine, and the bones in his legs. Keeping his free hand high and hoping his head didn’t fly off, he let the bull do its best to put him on the ground. He had a vague sense of the screaming crowd but didn’t dare let his concentration slip. The bull was tricky and strong. At past events, he’d always been able to count off the number of seconds in his head. Not this time. Between trying to stay upright and make it look effortless for the style points the judges added to the scores, he had no idea how long he’d been riding. Kent felt the animal gathering its strength and knew he was in for the move that had unseated Cody. Sure enough the powerful contortion made him lose his grip. He hit the ground, hastily found his feet, and ran for the fence. With the bull right behind him, he scrambled over the top rung, then leaned forward to catch his breath. Every bone in his body ached. Dropping to his knees, he decided, win or lose, his bull riding career was over. Next he knew, he was surrounded by his giddy family and friends.
“Fifteen seconds!” Cal yelled, joyously slapping him repeatedly on his throbbing spine. “You won!”
All Kent wanted to do was go home and lie in his big soft bed but Portia was kissing his cheek, Regan was hugging him and squealing, and his father was grinning from ear to ear, which made all the pain worth it.
That evening, Kent was still sore, but getting gussied up to escort Portia to the dance had overridden the aches and pains. They’d just come off the dance floor after a lively reel, and the happiness on her face filled his heart.
Suddenly, Rhine and Eddy were in the center of floor. Kent and Portia along with everyone else stared curiously.
Rhine’s voice rang out. “May I have your attention please?”
The musicians stopped playing.
“My wife, Eddy, and I would like to announce that our niece Portia Carmichael has agreed to become the wife of our long-time friend and champion bull rider Kenton Randolph.”
After a moment of shocked silence, the barn exploded with cheers and applause. Rhine beckoned Kent and Portia to join him, and Portia said under her breath, “If I didn’t need him to give me away, I would shoot him for this.” Kent knew she didn’t like being the center of attention, but she was smiling. An amused Kent took her hand and they walked out to stand with Eddy and Rhine. They were welcomed with another avalanche of applause.
Rhine said, “The wedding will be in ten days and you’re all invited. How about something special from the musicians?”
Portia looked like she really wanted to shoot Rhine then, but when the musicians began to play a slow Mexican waltz and Kent led her slowly and expertly around the floor, the love shining in her eyes was for him alone.
After the dance, the crowd lined up to offer personal congratulations. Some even teased Portia for being so sure she’d never marry, but she took the gentle ribbing with the good spirit in which it was given.
But when Darian Day, overdressed in the same black long-tailed evening coat he’d worn to Rhine and Eddy’s anniversary dinner, stepped in front of them, she had trouble hiding her dislike.
“So,” he said. “I suppose I won’t be getting that spot on your dance card you promised me.”
“I don’t recall promising you anything.”
His eyes swung to Kent. “You’re a lucky man.”
“I know.”
“Too bad she married so far down.” He sniffed.
Portia replied, “Not as far down as I am speaking with you now.”
His face twisted with anger.
“Move along,” Kent said. “You’re holding up the line.”
He stalked away and Portia said, “I really should be allowed to shoot him, you know.”
“I know, darlin’. Maybe next time.”
On the ride home, she was cuddled into his side. “Tell me something about yourself I don’t know.”
He paused and thought. “I was in a Mexican prison for three years.”
She stiffened and looked up. “What? Why?”
“I was caught in bed with a don’s wife.”
“Really?” There was such a marked inflection in the word, he began to worry if maybe he should’ve offered up something simpler like how strawberries gave him hives.
“You knew she was married?”
“I did.” Anxious to know what she was thinking, he waited for her to say more, all the while hoping she wouldn’t demand he stop the buggy and tell him the wedding was off. Granted, he probably should have said something about it earlier, but it never came up.
“Are you going to be unfaithful to me at some point, Kent?”
There was such seriousness in her tone it broke his heart. He felt like he’d failed her in a deep and profound way even though he hadn’t known he’d be in love with her someday. “No, Duchess. Never. I was young and stupid back then. Did all my thinking below the waist instead of above my shoulders. I love you too much to hurt you that way.”
As if attempting to discern the truth she studied him for a bit longer. When she finally resettled herself against him he let out an unconsciously held breath.
“I guess I should be thankful you were truthful and that her husband didn’t shoot you dead.”
“I certainly am.”
“What happened to the wife?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” Rumor had it that the don purchased her a new carriage and enough jewelry to outfit a queen as a way of atoning for neglecting her while he spent his nights with his various mistresses, but Kent didn’t know if it was true or not. “Now, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“Had I a gun yesterday, I would’ve shot Edward Salt dead.”
Concern flared and he pulled back on the reins to stop the horses. “Explain.”
So she did, and when she was done, parts of him smiled at her humorous description of Salt rolling on the ground in misery, but others, the parts that loved her and needed to protect her wanted to find the bastard and kick his ass into next month. “If he even looks at you again, he’ll have me to answer to.”
“And if I ever catch you in bed with another woman you’ll have me to answer to.”
Keeping his smile hidden he replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
Kent, Rhine, and Matt set out at dawn to meet up with David Neal and the other members of the newly formed posse at the Blanchard place. As they rode, Rhine told Kent his lawyers had successful squashed Charlie Landry’s bogus claim of ownership. “So if you still want the land, it’s yours.”
“I do. Oliver tells me I have an inheritance coming so hopefully it will be enough to meet your price.”
“There won’t be a price.”
“What do you mean?”
“Eddy and I have decided to give the land to you and Portia as our wedding gift.”
Kent stopped his horse. “Why?”
“Because we can.”
Kent met Rhine’s eyes and tried to make sense of the startling offer. “But what about your wanting to own that land?”
“I’d rather give it to you and Portia.”
“But—”
“Do you want the damn land or not, Kent?”
“I do.”
“Then say, ‘Thank you, Fontaine.’”
Kent dropped his head. When he raised it again, he complied. “Thank you, Fontaine.”
“Good, now let’s get moving before Neal thinks we’re not coming.”
When they reached the Blanchard place, the blackened stone foundations of the ranch house and the bunkhouse were all that remained. Waiting with David Neal were six riders. Kent knew Howard Lane, but not the others. Neal made the introductions. A few had been at the rodeo’s barn dance and congratulated Kent on his upcoming marriage, but because the posse was there for a grim purpose, not much time was spent on small talk. It was agreed that since they were sure Parnell wasn’t holed up in town, they’d spend the day searching some of the abandoned shacks close by. If that proved fruitless they’d discuss other options. It wasn’t much of a plan, Kent decided, but it beat doing nothing.
So they set out, and the search gave Kent a broader look at the place he’d chosen to be his home. Once again he marveled at the magnificence of the countryside with its mountains, washes, and waterfalls. The landscape varied, too. One moment they were riding through desert and saguaro and the next through stands of thick pines and carpets of wildflowers. At one point they were so high in the mountain range he had a remarkable view of Tucson and the valley spread out below. By the time they stopped to rest themselves and their mounts beside a fast-running stream, they’d searched many of the abandoned homesteads but were no closer to finding signs of Parnell and his cohorts then they were at dawn.
Rhine asked Neal, “Isn’t the old Silverfish Mine nearby?”
“Yes. About five or six miles east. Do you want to ride over and take a look around before we head back?”
The men agreed and so they remounted and rode east.
They found a body just inside the mine’s shaft. The corpse had been preyed upon by carnivores, most likely big cats or bears, but what remained bore the signs of badly burned flesh and remnants of a scorched black leather vest with silver buckles.
“That’s Parnell’s vest,” Matt said with authority. “Or what’s left of it.”
The stench of the corpse forced them back outside into the sunlight where they drew in breaths of fresh air.
Kent told the others, “When Matt and I first got to the fire that day there was a strong smell of kerosene in the air.”
Neal shook his head. “Dumb bastard must’ve accidentally splashed some on his clothing as he was pouring it around the buildings. When he lit the fire, he went up in flames, too.”
Kent thought that was probably a pretty good guess. There was no way of knowing if Parnell had been badly burned and still clinging to life or already dead when his companions left him at the mine, but it no longer mattered. Justice, in a warped and twisted way, had been served. Buck and Farley could rest in peace.
“I’ll let Sheriff O’Hara know what we found,” David Neal added. “He can decide if he wants to continue the search for the men who were with Parnell or not, but I don’t see how he can.”
Kent didn’t either. Buck had only identified Parnell.
Leaving what was left of the body to the mountain, the posse set out for home.
Portia spent the day discussing the initial details of her wedding with Regan, Eddy, Sylvie, and Ruth and wondering how Kent and her uncle were faring in the search for Parnell. She hoped they’d find some evidence the sheriff could use to bring justice to the two men whose lives had been taken so ruthlessly.
“I will be making the cake,” Eddy stated firmly. “None of this, ‘sit back and enjoy the day’ business.”
Portia chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.” Although Portia had managed to wrest control from Eddy for the anniversary celebration, she knew she’d never win this battle so she didn’t even try.
Regan asked, “Do you want to get married at the church or here at home?”
“Here, please, I don’t want to spend the day traveling back and forth. The guests probably won’t either.”
From there they talked about her gown which Luz Salinas one of the best seamstresses in the territory would be making. They’d be calling upon friends to help supply all the food that would be needed to feed the multitude of people expected to attend.
Eddy said, “And Portia, since you’re the bride, your sister, the ladies, and I will take over the planning.”
Portia opened her mouth to protest only to have Eddy wag a finger. “Now, now. If I survived that anniversary party, you can survive this.”
“But this is my wedding. I should have some say.”
“You’ll have plenty of say, honey, but you won’t be doing any of the work, so just sit back and enjoy your day.”
Amused, Portia asked, “Why does that sound familiar?”
Eddy replied, “I think I may have heard that phrase before, too, somewhere.”
Portia sighed and smiled, “Okay. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, I suppose.”
“Exactly.”
Sylvie weighed in. “Oliver and I want to pay for your honeymoon. Do you and Kent have a place in mind?”
“We haven’t talked about it, but the women’s convention is in San Francisco during the week after the wedding, so I’m hoping he’ll agree to have it there. If he prefers not to, we’ll pick someplace else after the convention and let you know.” Although, in Portia’s mind, the choice made good sense. The convention encompassed only one day, and they could stay over a bit longer and take in the sights.
Eddy added, “Oh, and, Portia, Rhine and I want to give you and Kent the Blanchard property as a wedding gift.”
Portia’s eyes went wide.
“So until you get a house built, we’re offering you the bridal cottage out back.”
Portia’s brain was still stuck on the first offer. “I thought Uncle Rhine had other uses in mind for that property.”
“He did, but now the use will be up to you and Kent to decide.”
Still stunned, Portia glanced at Regan who smiled.
Portia was silent for so long, Eddy prodded her, “Well, do you want the use of the cottage after the wedding or not?”
“Yes.” Newly married guests sometimes used the hotel as a honeymoon destination and were given the well-furnished one-bedroom cottage on the outer edge of the property. Not only was it furnished but it offered beautiful mountain views and complete privacy. She couldn’t see Kent turning down the offer. For sure, neither of them wanted to use their assigned bedrooms in the family wing as their chief domicile, not even temporarily. Deciding she’d sort it all out later, she said, “Thank you so much, Aunt Eddy, and thank you especially for the land.”
“You’re welcome. Rhine and I will do whatever is needed to get you and Kent into your new place as soon as possible.”
Portia hugged her tightly. Ideally, the role Eddy was playing belonged to her mother, Corinne, but since she’d abandoned her claim, Eddy was all she needed. “Thank you.” She’d told Eddy at least a thousand times how grateful she was for the way she saved her life, and she felt as if, even if she said it a thousand times a day for as long as she lived, it would never be enough.
“You’re welcome.”
When Kent and Rhine returned, they shared what they’d found.
Eddy said, “How ironic that he may have died from the same fire.”
Portia agreed. She didn’t have it in her heart to mourn Parnell’s passing, but she was glad he wouldn’t be around to hurt anyone else.
Once the conversation was over, Kent wanted to get cleaned up, so Portia walked with him. He asked her, “Did you know Rhine was going to give us the Blanchard land?”
She hooked her arm in his. “No, Eddy surprised me with the news earlier. I think it’s wonderful. We’ll have our own place.”
“Have to have a house built first.”
“I know, but in the meantime, she says we can live in the honeymoon cottage out back.”
“There’s a honeymoon cottage?”
“Yes. We can see it after you’re done. Also, Sylvia and your father want to pay for our honeymoon.”
“That’s nice of them. Do you know where you’d like to go?”
“San Francisco.” And she explained about the convention.
“If that’s what you want to do on the honeymoon, it’s fine with me, as long as you don’t get so worked up at the convention you decide you don’t want to be married anymore.”
They were now standing in the shadowy hallway of the family wing.
She laughed, “You’re stuck with me now, cowboy.”
“Good.”
As Portia had been hoping, he eased her close and kissed her so thoroughly she was left spinning.
“Been looking forward to that since we rode out at sunup,” he said afterwards. “Once we’re married it’ll be nice to be able to kiss you every morning to start the day.”
She agreed.
“Be nice to do other things every morning, too,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.
“I’m looking forward to that, too.”
He gave her another short kiss. “I’ll see you soon as I’m done.”
She returned to the living area where Rhine was still talking with Eddy and the others, so she asked him, “Can I speak with you in your office for just a moment?”
“Sure.”
He kissed Eddy on her forehead, which Portia found endearing, and they left.
Inside he said, “Take a seat. What can I do for you?”
She sat and, thinking about his generosity, emotion welled up inside her with such potency she felt the sting of tears. “I just want to say thank you, for the land, for raising me and Regan—for all you’ve done for us these past fifteen years—for everything.”
He looked at her with wonder. “Portia, are you crying?”
She dashed away her tears and chuckled. “No.”
He stood and came around to where she was sitting and opened his arms. She stepped into the embrace and as they hugged each other tightly, she savored how much he meant to her, too. Just like she’d done with Eddy, she whispered, “Thank you, Uncle Rhine. Thank you so much.”
He finally leaned back and held her eyes. “Eddy and I were never blessed with children so I always considered you and your sister as mine. Whatever I can do to make you happy makes me happy as well.”
When she first arrived in Virginia City, their initial relationship had been rocky but once she learned to trust him, she’d given him her heart.
“And I’ll be letting Kent know that if he puts even one minute of sadness in your life, I’ll be taking a bullwhip to him.”
He handed her his handkerchief and she blew her nose through her smile. “I love him very much.”
“Good to know. He’s the younger brother I never had, and he’s grown into quite a man.”
“He told me about the Mexican prison.”
“He was filled with hubris back then.”
“He called it stupidity.”
“That too.” Rhine pulled her close again and kissed her brow. “I’m so glad you found someone worthy enough to give your heart to.”
“I am, too.”
They spent a few more minutes talking about Rhine getting together with her and Kent to draw up plans for their new house and where they might find a carpentry crew to get it built. “We can talk about it all after the wedding,” he said.
“I’d like that. I’ll let you get back to Aunt Eddy. Thank you again, Uncle.”
“You’re welcome.”
At dinner that evening, Ruth announced that she would be taking the train home in the morning. Everyone voiced their disappointment. “I’m due back at school soon even though my students would probably love for me to stay away longer.”
“Someone here can take you to the station,” Eddy pointed out. “Just let us know when you’d like to leave.”
“Thanks, but I’ve already made arrangements. James has offered to take me.”
“Well, now,” Regan teased in a knowing voice, and Ruth dropped her eyes and smiled.
“Portia, I want to thank you for introducing us. We’re going to be writing. His father is coming to Chicago later in the year for a church convention and James will be accompanying him. He’s a very nice man.”
“I was hoping you’d like each other.”
“We do. Quite a bit.”
Portia was pleased.
“I’m sorry I’ll miss the wedding though.”
Sylvia said, “Who knows, maybe there’s a wedding in your future.”
Ruth didn’t respond but she did smile.
Eddy asked Sylvia, “What about you and Oliver? You two aren’t leaving right after the wedding are you?”
“We’ll see how Oliver feels,” she said.
Portia wondered if the Randolphs had shared Oliver’s prognosis. It wasn’t her place to ask, so she didn’t.
Oliver said, “I definitely want to stand up with my son.”
Kent looked pleased and raised his wineglass in his father’s direction.
“Portia’s going to be good for you, Kenton.”
Kent glanced over at Portia and the love in his eyes was reflected in his reply. “I know.”
After the dinner cleanup, Portia and Kent slipped away to see the cottage. When they walked in Kent took a look around. “It’s much larger than I imagined.”
The front parlor was lavishly furnished with a sofa and a few comfortable-looking upholstered chairs. There was artwork on the walls and a fireplace served as the focal point. There were fine rugs scattered about that pulled on the colors in the drapes on the two French doors that led outside. There was a small kitchen off the parlor. The lone bedroom with its adjoining washroom was at the back of the house. The four-poster brass bed was large and covered with fine linens.
“Now this is a bed,” Kent said, pressing his hand into the mattress to test its give. There was a large armoire, a chest of drawers, and a vanity table with an attached mirror. She waited while he stepped into the washroom. “I think this tub will fit two.”
She laughed, “I believe that is why my aunt and uncle purchased it.”
He walked back out and looked around again and said suggestively, “The things I’m going to do to you in here. Good thing we’re not near the hotel. I don’t want Rhine running in with his gun drawn when he hears you screaming.”
The heat in his eyes seared her, setting off a familiar tightening that made her want to move into the space and share the big bed with him as soon as possible. She also wanted to ask him to teach her how to please him, but she wasn’t sure she had the courage to broach the subject, at least not yet.
He walked to her and gently lifted her chin so their eyes would meet. “Penny for your thoughts.”
“I want to learn to make you scream, too.” There, she’d said it.
He traced her lips in the silence. “Do you?”
She nodded.
He kissed her gently. “Then we’ll put that on the list.”
“Thank you.”