“Fifteen years is a long time.”
Seated in one of the leather chairs in Rhine’s office with a tumbler of fine scotch in his hand, Kent thought about all he’d seen and done since they’d parted ways in Virginia City. “Yes it is.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
He smiled ruefully and sighed. “The long and short of it is, I bedded the wrong man’s wife and spent three years in a Mexican prison for it.”
Rhine showed his shock.
Kent explained. “He was a don. Pretty powerful, too. After he caught me in his bed, he convinced the local police I was responsible for a series of robberies in the area. Even supplied witnesses who swore they’d seen me at the scene. I was young, stupid, and full of myself. Not anymore.” He slowly swirled the liquor in his glass. Memories rose of the hell he’d lived through and he turned his mind away.
“Does Doc know?”
He thought about his father, Oliver. “He was so upset about my not finishing medical school, I didn’t have the heart to write while I was in prison, not that I had access to stationery, but once I was released, I did send him a letter detailing my sins. We’ve corresponded on and off since and in one of his letters he mentioned you and Eddy were here in Arizona Territory.”
“What have you been doing since your release?”
“Went to San Francisco first and signed on with a merchant shipping company and sailed the world. Afterwards, went to work at a ranch up near Sacramento. Learned everything I needed to know about horse wrangling. Saved my money. Would like to start my own operation someday.” And since then he’d drifted from California to Wyoming and places in between, hiring himself out as a ranch hand, riding herd on cattle drives, and taking any other work he could find.
“And now?”
“Hoping you can give me a job.”
“How long do you plan on being around?”
“As long as you’ll have me.” He met Rhine’s eyes and added truthfully. “Looking to settle down.”
“We already have a bartender but we can find something for you, I’m sure.”
“Whatever you have will be fine.”
Rhine raised his glass. “Then welcome back.”
“Thanks.”
Fifteen years ago, after the mob destroyed Rhine’s saloon and Eddy Fontaine’s newly built diner, a younger and cockier version of Kent enrolled in Howard Medical School. Being a doctor was the last thing he wanted—all he ever wanted to do was be a rancher—but he and his physician father had locked horns for years over his future, so to get Oliver off his back, Kent moved to Washington. He’d hated everything about it from the weather to the classes to the sneering condescending attitudes of the East Coast scions of the representative class. He’d enjoyed the young women though and spent an inordinate amount of time studying female anatomy, but in the end, not even that had been enough, so he’d left, much to his father’s fury.
In response to a soft knock on the closed door, Rhine called, “Come in.”
His wife, Eddy, entered. “Kenton! Portia said you were here.” She threw her arms wide and a smiling Kent hugged her tight.
“So good to see you!” she gushed. “My goodness! Where have you been all these years? Did you fall off the face of the earth?”
“In a way. Rhine can explain.”
She studied him, studied her husband’s poker face, and said, “Okay. Are you staying?”
“I am if Rhine can find me a job.”
Her joyful expression filled Kent’s heart. He’d missed having them in his world. Rhine had been the older brother he’d always wanted and Eddy, the sister.
“Good. You could use a bath.”
He chuckled. She’d always been frank.
Rhine asked her, “Should I put him in our wing?”
She nodded and said sincerely, “Yes, of course. It’s wonderful having you here, Kent. Rhine will get you settled in and I’ll see you at dinner—which is a party to celebrate our fifteenth anniversary.”
He paused. “I don’t own any fancy clothes.”
“None needed.”
He looked to Rhine for verification before asking, “Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Okay. Thanks, Eddy.”
She left them and Kent said to Rhine, “Need to get my horse settled in first.”
“Okay, stables are out back. Come on, I’ll show you.”
So Kent followed Rhine outside. On the way back to where he’d left his mount tied, they chatted about old times and old friends. “Is Jim Dade here, too?” Kent asked.
Rhine shook his head. “No. Jim’s in upstate New York now. Opened a restaurant there. Eddy and I visited him last summer. He and his place are doing well.”
James Dade had been in charge of the kitchen at Rhine’s place in Virginia City and Rhine had looked upon him as an older brother, too. He’d hoped to find Jim still with Rhine and now the prospect of maybe never seeing him again was saddening.
When they reached his mount, Rhine assessed the big stallion. “You don’t see many blue roans much anymore.”
Kent untied the reins and gave the strong neck an affectionate pat. “No. Have had him for a while now. Descended from Indian stock. Found him in a herd up in Montana. Broke him myself. Seems content to let me ride him, but I get the feeling that one day I’m going to wake up and find he’s lit out for Montana again.” The horse eyed him with the superior stare Kent had grown accustomed to as if acknowledging the accuracy of his assessment.
“Does he have a name?”
Kent smiled, “Blue, of course.”
Rhine chuckled and they headed to the stable.
After getting Blue settled into the fenced-in paddock and stowing the saddle in the tack room, Rhine told Kent, “Our head groom is an old cowboy named Cal Grissom. He’s off visiting his sister but will be back in a few days. You’ll like him.”
Kent saw Blue eyeing a beautiful Appaloosa mare. “That’s a good-looking paint.”
“Her name’s Arizona. She belongs to Portia.”
Kent watched Blue walking around the mare.
Rhine said, “I think Blue might be interested.”
“I think you might be right.”
Leaving the horses to get further acquainted, the two old friends resumed their walk to a breezeway that led to an adobe building with a red tiled roof that was set off by itself at the back of the sprawling property.
“Did you recognize Portia all grown-up?” Rhine asked as they entered.
“Took me a second or two, but I did.” He didn’t remember seeing a ring on Portia’s finger. “Beaus coming out of her ears, I imagine.”
Rhine chuckled, “Yes, but they may as well be fence posts for all the attention she gives them. She keeps saying she isn’t interested in getting married. Her sister is just the opposite, though. Left to her own devices, Regan would have men dueling in the streets for her affections.”
Kent found the information about Portia interesting. As a young girl she’d been stiff-backed and distant, and he’d given her the name Duchess just to tease her. But why didn’t she want to marry? Did she think herself too good for the average male, or was she one of those so called modern women who thought men were as useful as a one-legged stool? Regan on the other hand had been quite the pistol at age ten—open and gregarious. In fact, both girls had been handfuls at first: sassing the teacher, fighting at school, being suspended at school. No one knew how the other children learned their mother was a whore but the girls were berated and teased mercilessly—thus the fighting. And when some of the more sanctimonious parents decided they didn’t want the girls around their children, Eddy had taken them out of school and hired a tutor to teach them at home.
And now, they were all grown-up. Although he had yet to see Regan, he assumed she was as much an ebony beauty as her sister and aunt. Kent followed Rhine past a nicely furnished sitting room. “This is the family’s quarters. The kitchen and dining room are through that alcove. Eddy does the cooking. She says the staff have enough to do without waiting on us, too.”
Rhine led him into a hallway and stopped in front of a closed door. “We’ll put you in here. The girls’ rooms are through that door down there, and Eddy and I are in the suite behind that one.” The doors he referenced were at opposite ends of the hallway. “These three rooms in between are reserved for family guests, and since you are family . . .”
Rhine turned the knob and led him into a space that was large and airy. The bed looked big enough for his six-foot-three-inch frame to sleep in comfortably. There were thin drapes fluttering in the soft breeze from the open windows and a set of French doors that opened to the outside.
“I have to be frank,” Rhine stated, his voice bringing his attention back. “Even with the prison sentence I’m assuming you’re still no monk.”
He hid his grin.
“If you think to add my girls to the notches on your bedpost, think again. I will geld you, Kent.”
The hidden grin died. “Understood.”
“Wanted to make that clear.”
And then as if he hadn’t just threatened to turn him into a eunuch, Rhine said, “Bath is through that door and there’s inside plumbing. Feel free to walk around the place to get your bearings if you have a mind to before dinner. And if you need anything, press that button on the wall. It rings in the housekeeping office.”
Kent glanced over at the small gold button and nodded. The place was even more modern than he’d first thought.
“Are you hungry?”
“As a bear.”
“Okay. I’ll have one of the staff bring you a tray.”
“Thanks, Rhine.”
Rhine moved to the door. “Welcome back, Kent. Glad to have you with us again.”
Kent’s heart swelled with deeply felt emotion. “Good being with you again, old man.”
Rhine grinned. “I’ll see you later.”
After his departure, Kent glanced around. He hadn’t had a room to himself since leaving Virginia City. It felt odd, but good, too. There were no dirt floors littered with sleeping bodies to maneuver around in order to find a spot to lie down for the night as in the prison, and no bunkhouse filled with belching snoring men like on the ranches he’d worked. He set his saddlebag at his feet and stepped into the washroom. He eyed the big claw-foot tub and smiled his delight. All this luxury was going to take some time getting used to again but he was up to the challenge.
After his bath he dressed in the only clean clothes he had, a simple shirt and a pair of trousers, and walked outside to sit on the bench he’d seen there earlier. It was still desert hot but he hoped the temperature would drop and cool the air a bit now that it was past midday. Yesterday at this time he and Blue had been slowly making their way west from their last job on a spread in Colorado. The ride held no tub filled with hot water to soak away the weariness, no big bed to look forward to sleeping in. Just a bedroll on the ground beneath the stars. There’d certainly been no pretty girl to get reacquainted with. Which brought his thoughts to Portia. When she initially approached him outside, once he got a good look at her, he knew who she was right away, and her stunning beauty hit him like the kick of a mule. He thought he might have been struck dumb for a few moments because all he could do was stare at her gorgeous ebony face, the alluring, black feline eyes and the full sultry mouth. She was definitely all grown-up. With her hair pulled back and wearing a high necked blouse, she’d looked very prim and proper, even if the sway of her skirt belied that. However, the way she’d jumped when he accidentally brushed her arm gave him pause and brought back memories of how wary and fearful she’d been of men when she and her sister first came to live with Rhine and Eddy in Virginia City. He’d had no idea what she’d seen or experienced with her mother that made her so leery but she would visibly tense whenever a man came near, wouldn’t hold lengthy conversations with him, Rhine, or Jim, and if any of them were in a room with her, she’d either abruptly leave or stand with a chair or sofa in front of her as if having a barrier made her feel more secure. Granted he hadn’t given her problem more than a cursory thought back then, after all she’d been a youngster in his eyes and he was more intent on serving drinks and finding a willing woman to bed. He did notice that as time went by, she seemed to become more comfortable. So, could remnants of that fear be why she’d been so skittish when he brushed her arm and why she didn’t want to marry? The realization that that might be the answer made him ashamed of his earlier judgmental conclusions. If Rhine was able to find him a job at the hotel, he’d be spending more time with Portia, so he needed to be the perfect gentleman and not give her a reason to feel threatened in any way.
Portia searched through her armoire for a suitable gown to wear to the evening’s anniversary celebration. There’d be a large buffet, music, and drinks, and she’d be expected to wear something more stylish than her usual serviceable skirt and blouse. She took down the emerald green dress she’d gotten in San Francisco last year but thought the neckline might be too bold. Growing up in Denver her clothing had been hand-me-downs from churches and local benevolent societies and they’d always been threadbare, too large, or too small. That she would one day own more dresses than her arms could hold and shoes to match hadn’t even been a dream in those days because it would have been too far-fetched. She paused, remembering the summer they’d received no donations and she and Regan were forced to wear the stitched together flour sacks their mother, Corinne, had somehow managed to obtain. They’d been barefoot that entire summer as well. Wondering if she’d ever rid herself of those tragic years, she pushed aside the haunting memories and refocused her attention on the emerald gown.
“You should wear that,” Regan said behind her.
“No, I don’t think so.” She hung it back up in the armoire.
“Why not?” she asked, coming in and closing the door that connected their rooms. “You’d look beautiful.”
“It’s more suitable for the opera, not a dinner.”
“How about that rose-colored one?”
Portia took it down and considered it. It was a lovely gown. The neckline was modest, the bodice fitted, and there were small satin roses of a darker hue along the hem of the flowing skirt. The short wispy cap sleeves would leave most of her arms bare but that wouldn’t be bothersome.
“Have you heard that Kent Randolph is here?” Regan asked, pausing to check her lip paint and hair in the mirror of Portia’s vanity table. “One of the maids brought him a tray earlier and said he’s incredibly handsome.”
“I was with him earlier,” she replied, doing her best not to remember her reaction to his warm voice. “He was in need of a shave.”
“Did he say what he’d been doing all this time?”
“No.” And she told herself she wasn’t interested, even though a small part of her was curious.
“Did he mention how long he’d be staying?”
“No, but you can quiz him as much as you care to when you see him.” It never occurred to her that he might be staying. If he did, she hoped it would only be for a short time. She didn’t want to have to spend her days battling her reactions to those male eyes of his, but then again, maybe she’d build up an immunity to them, the way children built up an immunity to the pox.
“He’s in one of the guest rooms down the hall.”
Portia almost dropped the gown. That close! Recovering, she replied as disinterestedly as she could manage, “I had no idea.”
Regan shrugged and took one last primping look in the mirror. “I suppose because he’s family of sorts. Are you choosing that gown or not?”
“No.” She put it back and took down one that was dove gray and had a high neck trimmed in lace. Something inside her deemed the gown safer.
“That one’s lovely, too, but not as nice as the other.”
“One of Uncle Rhine’s associates may have a business question and I want their eyes on my face, not my neckline.”
“You really aren’t any fun, sister,” Regan replied, smiling.
“You have enough fun for the both of us.”
“I wish that were true.”
Portia chuckled. “We need to find you a husband. Maybe you should answer one of those mail-order-bride advertisements in the newspapers.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
Portia was appalled that her sister appeared to be mulling it over. “I was just pulling your leg, Regan. I wasn’t serious.”
“But just think, somewhere there might be a man who needs a wife to help him work his homestead and have his children. He’d be strapping, strong, and handsome. We’d fall madly in love. It would be an adventure and you know how much I crave adventure.”
Portia walked over and placed her palm against Regan’s forehead. “I think you’re coming down with something. You may need to see Doc Finney.”
Regan laughed and moved the hand away. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?”
“What, your coming down with a brain fever?”
“No, silly. My becoming a mail-order bride.”
“As I said, it was a joke. Don’t even consider doing something so harebrained.”
“Women become mail-order brides all the time and besides, everyone thought my wanting to deliver the mail was harebrained, too.”
“Some of us still do.” Portia sat on the vanity’s purple tufted bench and pulled on her stockings then anchored them with the frilly green garters Regan had talked her into buying last fall.
“Delivering the mail is another form of adventure. I enjoy getting to see new places and people.”
The sisters were very different in that respect. Portia was content to sit at her desk, poring over ledgers and contracts while Regan always wanted to see what was over the next hill. “I don’t like the idea of your being robbed or losing a wheel or being attacked by a puma or a bear, or Apaches. You’re a pest sometimes but you’re my pest and I love you.”
“I appreciate your concern and I love you, too, but I can shoot just as well as you, and besides, everyone knows I only deliver letters and packages. Uncle Rhine won’t let me carry gold or payrolls and neither will the mine owners.”
“And that’s a good thing.”
“I know. I may be unconventional but I’m not irrational. Carrying gold dust can be extremely dangerous.”
A few months ago, there’d been a gang preying on mail carriers. They were finally apprehended and jailed but not before they’d shot a man to death for the mine payroll he’d had on his wagon. Portia brushed out her hair and pinned it low on her neck. After removing her lightweight wrapper, she stepped into her gown and pulled it up over her flowered corset and shift. Once Regan helped fasten the line of small buttons on the back, Portia slipped silver hoops in her ear lobes and assessed herself in the mirror. “I’ll do, I suppose.”
“You’ll more than do, sister mine. We Carmichael women are beauties, and when I find my mail-order husband, I’ll ask if he has a brother.”
Laughing, Portia playfully pushed her towards the door. “Let’s go you silly goose.”
They were still laughing when they stepped into the hallway, but then fell silent when Kent Randolph stepped out of his door at the same time.
“Ladies,” he said.
Regan, never shy, walked up and said, “Hello. I’m Regan Carmichael. Are you Kent?”
“I am. Pleased to see you again, Regan. It’s been a long time.”
“It has indeed.”
Portia’s eyes gave a tiny roll and when they were horizontal again, they were caught by his.
“Duchess.”
“Kent.”
He was wearing a blue, long sleeved, double-breasted shirt that showed his muscular lines with a pair of dark trousers. Both had seen better days but were clean and pressed. His string tie was anchored by a lovely green agate. There was a thin silver bracelet around his wrist and his black leather boots were shined. He’d shaved but enough of a shadow remained to give him the look of a handsome and probably dangerous outlaw.
The silence grew as they assessed each other. Regan raised an eyebrow but Portia ignored it.
Still focused on Portia, he said, “I was hoping somebody would come along and show me the way to dinner.”
“And here we are, right on time,” Regan quipped.
“Much appreciated.” He extended his arm. “Shall we?”
A smiling Regan obliged.
Portia knew instinctively that touching him, no matter how innocently, would not be a good idea. Even though he stood a slight distance away his heady presence was already playing havoc with her self-control. For some reason all she wanted to do was stare at him. Maybe I need to see Doc Finney, too. “We should go. We don’t want to keep the others waiting.”
As if aware he’d rattled her, a slight smile played at the corners of his lips. She ignored that, too, and led the way.
When they entered the ballroom it was filled with the sounds of the musicians and a large number of guests conversing and milling about holding drinks and small china plates piled with food from the large sumptuous buffet. Tonight’s invitation had been extended to just about everyone the Fontaines knew. Portia spotted her aunt and uncle across the room speaking with three people she didn’t know. Most of the other faces were familiar, however: neighbors like Old Man Blanchard and his ranch hands Farley and Buck, some of the local businessmen and their wives. She and Regan nodded greetings to those they knew and made their way with Kent over to Eddy and Rhine.
Upon reaching them and before Portia could apologize for their tardy arrival, Kent said, “Sorry we’re late. The ladies were waiting on me.”
When he flashed Portia a quick conspiratorial wink, she hid her grin. And he’s charming.
Their uncle waved off the apology. “You’re fine.” The strangers were introduced as Albert and Hattie Salt, and their adult son, Edward.
Hattie, a tall skinny woman with thinning, dyed-red hair said, “My, aren’t you girls lovely.”
“Thank you,” they murmured, passing a look between them and waiting to make a graceful exit. Aunt Eddy, dressed in a lovely cream-colored gown, was viewing the Salts with a plastered-on smile. Portia got the impression the Salts had done or said something she’d found displeasing.
Over the musicians and noisy crowd, Rhine added, “Kent Randolph used to work for me when we lived in Virginia City.”
Albert, whose large girth seemed ready to burst the buttons on the black vest beneath his suit coat, asked, “And what do you do now, Randolph?”
“This and that. Ranch work mostly.”
Portia saw the son, Edward, sneer. Ranches couldn’t survive without workers and there was nothing wrong with a man making his livelihood that way. Although she’d just been introduced to Edward Salt, she didn’t care for him. The cold look in her aunt’s eyes seemed to mirror her assessment.
“And what do you do, Edward?” Regan asked pointedly. Apparently she’d seen the sneer, too.
“I’m a teacher,” he replied, his attention moving between the sisters. “Howard educated. I’m thinking of starting a school here.”
If invoking Howard was meant to impress her, it didn’t. Neither did his heavily pomaded hair and soft-looking hands, which appeared to have never done a hard day’s work. She wondered if he rode or preferred travel by carriage. She’d put her money on the latter. “It was nice meeting you,” she lied, and then she and Regan and Kent drifted away. Regan waved at a friend across the ballroom and said to Portia, “I’m going over to speak to Damaris. I’ll see you two later.”
After her departure, Kent asked, “Are the Salts family friends?”
Portia smiled at an acquaintance and shook her head. “Never seen them before.”
“You think he rides or drives?”
She stopped. Unable to mask her amusement, she said, “You’re not supposed to be able to read my mind, Kent Randolph.”
“Sorry, Duchess. I’ll try and remember that for the future.”
The eyes were so potent she swore he had some kind of mystical power. Finally shaking herself free, she smiled. “You do that.”
With her aunt and uncle still occupied with the Salts, she knew it would be rude to leave Kent alone in a gathering of strangers, so she’d have to play hostess. “Do you want to get something to eat?”
“That would be fine.”
On the way to the buffet table she stopped and introduced him to a group of ranchers and then to two of the mine owners. No one sneered when he described himself as a ranch hand. In fact, rancher Howard Lane said if Kent needed work to stop by.
“Nice man,” Kent said as they continued on their way.
“Most people here aren’t like the Salts. I saw the way their son sneered.”
“I did, too. But a man like that doesn’t matter to me, unless he has a gun in his hand.”
“How are you, Miss Portia?”
Startled, she turned to the smiling face of the spectacles-wearing James Cordell. He was the son of the local reverend and a bookkeeper for one of the mines in the area. “I’m doing well, James. You?”
“Just fine.” He was tall and so thin he always looked as if he was wearing his father’s suits.
She saw him assessing Kent so she did the introductions. “I’d like you to meet a friend of the family. Kent Randolph. James Cordell.”
Kent stuck out a hand and they shared a shake.
“How long have you known the Fontaines?” James asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I worked for Rhine fifteen years ago in Virginia City.”
“I see. Miss Portia, I came to ask if you’d like to go riding with me tomorrow.”
She pasted on a smile. “I’m sorry, James. I’m going to be busy.” He was really a nice fellow and she felt bad about turning down his offer, but he was hell-bent on courting her even after being gently told a few years ago that they didn’t suit. He’d make some young woman a very nice husband, so she dearly wished he’d set his sights on someone else. “And next week I’ll have guests to tend to, so . . .”
“I—I understand.”
“Thank you, James.”
He didn’t move, seemingly content to stare at her.
“Um, I have to introduce Kent around. Thanks for coming to the party.”
“You’re welcome.”
They moved off and Kent said, “He’s sweet on you, I take it.”
She sighed. “Yes. He’s very nice and I have gone riding with him on a few occasions, hoping that would be enough.”
“But it wasn’t.”
She shook her head. “He’s painfully shy and never says more than a few words the entire time.” She couldn’t understand why he and a few others who kept coming around refused to take her refusals seriously. She supposed they assumed because she was female she didn’t know her own mind.
“From some of the looks I’ve been getting, there are a number of men unhappy to see me with you.”
“They can all shear sheep.”
He laughed.
A smile teased her lips.
They finally made it to the buffet table. Among the many people there was Old Man Blanchard speaking with haberdashery owner, Darian Day, another of Portia’s frustrated suitors. But unlike James, she took great pleasure in refusing his company because he was such a condescending ass.
Before she could introduce Kent to Mr. Blanchard, Day said, “You’re looking lovely, Portia.”
“Thank you, Mr. Day.” As always, he was overdressed for the occasion, this time in a black long-tailed coat, white bow tie, and white wing-tipped shirt. Instead of the boots men like Mr. Blanchard and Kent were wearing, Day had on narrow-toed black shoes.
“And who’s this?” he asked, staring Kent up and down.
“Darian Day. Kent Randolph. Kent was an employee of my uncle’s when we lived in Virginia City.”
“Welcome to Arizona Territory. I own a haberdashery in Tucson. When you get the extra funds, stop by and we can see about finding you something to wear that’s a bit more suitable for a gathering like this.”
Kent gave him a wintry smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Day added, “And as the menfolk here will probably tell you, I’ve had my eye on this little filly for some time, but she’s being real prickly about accepting my saddle.”
Portia tossed back, “Probably because I abhor being referred to as a ‘little filly.’”
Old Man Blanchard barked a laugh. “You tell him, Portia.”
She loved the old man. “I need to check on things in the kitchen, Mr. Blanchard. May I leave Kent in your capable hands? My aunt and uncle are occupied.” They were still across the room with the Salts.
He smiled. “Sure can. Grab a plate, Randolph, and let’s get acquainted.”
She gave Kent a departing nod, shot Day a glare, and walked away.
The kitchen was a beehive of activity. The head cook, a young Englishwoman named Sarah, was adding more sliced beef to a depleted tray while the other kitchen workers carried in empty platters needing to be refilled. Setting aside her irritation with Day, she asked, “How’re things in here, Sarah?”
“Hectic but under control. We had to shoo your aunt out earlier, though.”
“Why? What did she want?”
“To make sure the pie slices were evenly cut. I told her she taught me everything I know and I would sic you on her if she didn’t go back out and enjoy herself. She pouted and left.”
Portia shook her head in amazement and amusement. “Whatever are we going to do with her?”
“You tell me, miss. She’s your aunt.”
Smiling, Portia scanned the organized chaos. Satisfied her help wasn’t needed, she said, “If Aunt Eddy comes back, send someone for me. She’s a guest of honor. Not the caterer.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
By the time the cake, ablaze with fifteen sparklers, was wheeled out, Portia was glad the evening was about to come to an end. Her feet were tired of being encased in the fancy heeled shoes, the corset beneath her dress pained her as it always did when propriety dictated she wear one, and she could feel a headache coming on from all the noise and the press of so many bodies. To escape the heat, some of the guests were enjoying their cake and ice cream outside at the trestle table. As she walked the area to make sure everyone was having a good time, she spied Regan seated with her beau du jour, a young army sergeant she’d met a week ago. Beside them sat Old Man Blanchard, apparently playing duenna, and Portia smiled at the unhappy look on her sister’s face. There’d be no sneaking off for stolen kisses with Mr. Blanchard around. A laughing Eddy was seated on Rhine’s lap, however, and he was feeding her cake from a fork. The amused Portia hoped she wouldn’t have to send them to their suite to keep their ardor from getting out of hand.
“Brought you some cake, Duchess.”
Surprised, she turned and the closeness of Kent’s presence wafted dizzily over her again.
“You do eat cake, don’t you?”
She extricated herself from his silent spell and sputtered, “I do. Yes. Thank you.” Admittedly moved by his thoughtfulness, she took the plate from his hand.
“Shall we find a seat?” he asked. “Or are you still on duty?”
“I am but I would like to sit for a moment.” Usually her needs were secondary because of all that needed doing like making innumerable visits to the kitchen, saying “Thank you for coming” to the departing guests, and keeping an eye on the remaining amounts of food and drink.
“Good cake,” he said.
“Glad you like it.”
“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself very much.”
She paused and wondered how he knew. She shrugged. “Managing a party of this size doesn’t leave much time for enjoyment.”
“I suppose you’re right. Do you ever get to have fun?”
She thought about the conversation she’d had with Regan yesterday. “I have a lot to do.”
“Not judging, Duchess. Just asking.”
The sincerity in his manner and tone made his words believable. She wondered what kind of man he was. Their interactions in Virginia City had been minimal due to the difference in their ages and the fact that he worked in the saloon, a place she and her sister weren’t allowed to enter when it was open to clients. What would she learn about him now that their ages and his employment weren’t a factor?
Edward Salt walked up. “Ah, Miss Carmichael. I finally find you seated. May I speak with you?”
“Of course.”
“Privately,” he added.
Kent rose to leave them alone, but Portia said, “No, Kent. Please stay. I’m sure whatever Mr. Salt has to say will be all right for you to overhear. Finish your cake.” She had no intentions of being spoken to privately by him.
Salt didn’t appear happy.
She didn’t care.
He cleared his throat. “I’d like to call on you tomorrow if I might. Being new to the area, I’d be honored to have you show me around.”
“Unfortunately I’m going to be busy. The hotel has guests arriving in a few days and there are a hundred things I have to oversee to get ready. I’m sure someone else can show you the sights better than I.”
He didn’t like that either.
She didn’t care.
“Some other time then.”
She didn’t commit.
He walked away.
She blew out a breath.
Kent quipped, “Snappy dresser though.”
“If you like that sort of thing.”
Salt’s black suit and gold-trimmed vest looked quite expensive, as did his shoes. She eyed Kent’s plainer and more honest attire and must have scrutinized him longer than was polite because he said, “Fanciest set of duds I own, Duchess. Sorry.”
“No. I was—just thinking how much more I liked your attire than his.” Embarrassed by her admission and doing her best to ignore the heat searing her cheeks, she dragged her eyes to his and found a quietness waiting there that spoke to her wordlessly. “Please, I wasn’t judging you.”
“Are you always this sincere?”
Portia felt as if they were alone in an empty room. “When I need to be, yes.”
“Good to know,” he said softly.
The three words left her heart pounding.
Regan walked up. She looked to Portia first and then Kent. Waving her hand in the space that separated them she said, “Hey, you two. Aunt Eddy and Uncle Rhine are saying their good-byes. Everyone is going home.”
Portia stood. Whatever was unfolding inside herself wasn’t something she’d ever experienced before, so she had no name for it nor any idea how to go about handling it. But she did know that this cowboy and his compelling gaze was the source. “I—I have to go.”
He nodded, and as she and her sister walked away, she didn’t see his smile as he finished his cake.