So that the guests wouldn’t be tossed around in the bed of a wagon on the unpaved roads to the Fontaine Hotel, Portia and Regan each drove a buggy to the train depot while Cal Grissom guided the buckboard that would transport their luggage. Kent was mounted on Blue and rode slowly beside Portia while Matt flanked Regan.
“How long are these people staying?” Kent asked her.
“Five days.”
And she was looking forward to immersing herself in her duties so her mind wouldn’t have time to dwell on the kisses from the man riding beside her. For the past two days, she’d done a good job of keeping herself focused on the last-minute preparations, but when her guard slipped the memories roared back of how shamelessly passion had made her behave. As if in agreement her nipples tightened. A glance his way showed a ghost of a smile playing at the edges of his beard-shrouded lips as if he knew where her thoughts had led.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.
“Just thinking about the arrivals.”
“Uh-huh,” he replied knowingly.
“What else would I be thinking about?”
He leaned down and said, for her ears only, “Me. You. The band of silk I hope you’re wearing beneath that schoolmarm blouse and what’s going to happen if I catch you alone to see.”
The reins went slack in her hands.
“No?” he asked innocently.
She didn’t reply but she knew by that seductive smile of his that this was not over and the parts of herself that couldn’t wait for him to catch her alone shouted with glee.
The train was just pulling into the depot when they arrived. As the four guests stepped out of the car, Portia was finally able to put faces to the names of the people she’d been corresponding with for the past few months. Dr. Phillip Pratt was tall with light skin. He greeted her with a smile.
“Welcome,” Portia said.
“Thanks. This is my sister, Elvenna Gordon.”
Elvenna nodded and Portia couldn’t help admiring her fashionable sable-brown traveling ensemble and matching confection of a hat.
The brown-skinned Dr. Winston Jakes’s startling gray eyes flashed surprise when Portia introduced herself. Standing with him was his short stocky mother, Ada, in an old-fashioned rumpled black ensemble and matching wide-brimmed hat.
Portia then introduced her sister and the men who’d accompanied them.
Elvenna immediately sidled up to Kent and said huskily, “My aren’t you a handsome cowboy, Kent Randolph. May I ride with you? You do let widows ride, don’t you?”
Her brother, Phillip, shook his head with apparent disgust. Portia hid her displeasure but knew right away the widow Gordon was going to be trouble.
Ada Jakes asked, in a voice Portia imagined a bullfrog would have, “Can you at least wait until we reach the ranch before you throw yourself at the man?”
Elvenna raised her chin. “That was very unladylike, Ada.”
“And you’re very unladylike so the shoe should fit.”
Elvenna gasped.
Portia shared a speaking look with Regan before clearing her throat. “Mr. Grissom will take care of your trunks. This way please.” She gestured them towards the waiting buggies.
“Mr. Pratt, you and Mrs. Gordon will ride with my sister, Regan.” Elvenna glanced over at Kent mounting his horse and remained where she stood as if waiting for him to look back her way. When he didn’t, her lips tightened and she let her brother hand her into Regan’s buggy.
That left Portia with Mrs. Jakes and her son, who was still eyeing her with barely masked interest. Portia didn’t encourage him. With his good looks and respectful smile, she thought he could be someone Regan might care to know better.
On the ride back to the Fontaines’, Portia was peppered with questions about the hotel.
Ada Jakes asked, “Do you get many Colored guests?”
Portia shook her head. “No. Most are European or Whites from back East.”
“Will there be any Europeans during our time here?”
“No. Mixing the races has caused problems in the past.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Jakes asked.
“Some of the Europeans mistook our Colored guests for servants. It happened on enough occasions that we stopped having both races on the property at the same time.”
The deciding incident took place two years ago when a German guest stopped the wife of a prominent New York City newspaper owner in the hallway and demanded she bring him fresh towels. She patiently explained that she, too, was a guest. He refused to believe her and grabbed her arm to force her to do his bidding. Her husband, viewing the assault, punched the German in the nose and a full-fledged fight ensued. The bloodied German wanted the husband arrested. The enraged newspaper owner demanded an apology, which was never given. The next day both parties decamped in a huff. Neither ever returned.
Ada asked, “Is it always this warm here? My goodness I feel like I’m melting.”
“It is Mrs. Jakes. Even though we’re in a more temperate part of the territory this is still the desert. It will get much warmer as the day goes on, I’m afraid.”
“How do you stand it?”
“You get accustomed to it after a while. There’s a water jug in the crate by your feet.”
“Thank you.”
She drank a bit, then passed the jug to her son. It was a warm morning. Even with the buggy’s canopy sheltering them, the sun’s heat was stifling. She wondered how Regan’s passengers were faring, but didn’t worry overly much because their buggy had water, too, and Kent and Matt had canteens.
“I have to admit, the countryside does have its own beauty,” Dr. Jakes said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bluer sky.”
That he appreciated the slate gray mountains and the clear blue sky where some other guests saw only starkness added another feather in his cap.
He added, “I also admire a woman who can drive well. Many men don’t believe your gender should drive at all.”
“Or vote,” his mother added tartly.
Portia smiled. “Do you believe women should have the vote, Mr. Jakes?”
“Call me Winston, and of course they should. Some of the most astute minds I’ve ever encountered are female.”
“As you can hear, I raised him well,” his mother said, chuckling.
To which Portia replied. “It’s a pity the men in Congress weren’t raised that way, too.”
“True.”
For the rest of the ride, she and Ada discussed the suffrage movement and the vote. Ada took issue with the way the great Sojourner Truth was being held up as ignorant and illiterate. “The manner in which her words are portrayed in some of the pamphlets irks me to no end. She speaks English and Dutch, which is one more language than any of those other women speak.”
Fascinated, Portia admitted, “I didn’t know that.”
“She began life as a Dutch slave. English is not her first language, but to hear the movement’s leaders tell it, she speaks like an unschooled Deep South slave. And why they refuse to allow Colored women in their ranks says a lot about who they are. Especially Elizabeth Cady Stanton. This phrase they’re beginning to use—intelligent suffrage—is designed to leave women of our race on the side of the road. As if they’re the only ones with enough smarts to read a ballot.”
Portia had seen the phrase bandied about in the newspapers. Stanton and some of the other leaders were advancing the notion that a test of some sort be applied to ensure that only women of sound mind be given the vote, which of course everyone knew would be applied specifically to women of color. Stanton was still smarting from Colored men having been given the access to the voting booth ahead of them with the passage of the Fifteenth Amendment. In Portia’s mind, if they were all so keen on an immediate solution they should be advocating a movement to Wyoming Territory where women were given the vote in 1869. All in all, she enjoyed her conversation with the fiery Ada Jakes and looked forward to further talks during their stay.
Arriving at the hotel, Regan escorted her charges inside and Portia was about to do the same when Winston Jakes said, “What will we be doing in the morning and at what time?”
Before Portia could reply, his mother said, “Winston, let me know what she says. I need to go inside and get out of this heat.”
She hurried in behind Regan’s group.
“We can go in, too,” Portia said.
“No. If I might be so forward, I’d like to enjoy your company alone for just a bit longer.”
Seeing no harm in granting him the small boon, she smiled. “Breakfast is at six, and we’ll head to the stables around seven-thirty.”
“So early?”
“Yes, it’s best to get started before the heat of the day.”
“I see.”
They were interrupted by Kent riding up. “Excuse me, Miss Carmichael. Sorry for the interruption. I just wanted to let you know that the guests’ trunks have been taken inside and the staff is placing them in their suites.”
“Thank you, Mr. Randolph.”
Jakes was eyeing Kent’s horse. “Randolph, what breed of horse is that? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one quite that color before.”
“He’s a blue roan.”
“Where did you buy it?”
“I didn’t. I found him in a wild herd in Montana. Broke him to the saddle myself.”
He looked startled. “My. That’s impressive.”
“All part of a cowboy’s life.” Kent then turned his eyes to Portia. “Do you need me for anything else today? If not, Matt and I are going back to the ranch.”
“You aren’t joining us for dinner?”
“No. I know we had some things to discuss this evening, but I’ll let you get settled in with your guests. The other thing can wait.”
Only they knew what he was really referencing. That he was able to relay it so blandly was impressive. “No, I won’t need your help with anything else.” The scandalous parts of herself that had looked forward to being caught alone were disappointed.
“Then I’ll see you in the morning. Sorry again for the interruption.” He touched his hat, turned his stallion, and rode off.
“So that’s a real cowboy,” Jakes said, eyes focused on the departing rider.
“As real as they come. Aren’t there Colored ranch owners in California?”
“I’m sure there are but none are in my circle of friends or acquaintances.”
“I see.” From his tone, she couldn’t tell if he was like Darian Day and Edward Salt and thought himself superior to men who worked cattle and busted broncs. “Let’s go in and join the others.”
That evening as the guests gathered in the dining room for dinner, Rhine, with Eddy by his side, welcomed them to the hotel. “Although my wife, Eddy, and I own the Fontaine, our niece Portia is responsible for putting together the activities you’ll be enjoying so if you have any questions or concerns please let her know. Let’s move to the table.”
In keeping with the hotel’s stellar reputation for quality and elegance, the white-clothed table was splendidly set with Eddy’s imported Minton china, silverware polished to a high shine, and delicate crystal stemware.
As they took their seats, Ada seemed particularly taken by the blue, gilded Minton plates. “These are stunning.”
“Only the best for our guests,” Eddy replied.
Elvenna said, “I have a question.” Her low-cut gray gown showed off the rise of her breasts. “Where is Mr. Randolph? Isn’t he part of the activities?”
Portia took in the dress and saw Eddy eyeing it critically as well. “Mr. Randolph will join us tomorrow. Any other questions?”
There were none so the meal commenced. They made small talk at first and Portia learned that the two doctors shared a practice in San Francisco and were indeed on their way home from a medical convention in Atlanta.
“Rhine’s brother lives in San Francisco,” Eddy said. “We visit him quite often. In fact, Portia apprenticed at his bank for a time after she and Regan finished their schooling at Oberlin.”
“I attended Oberlin as well,” Mrs. Jakes said, sounding pleased. “What did you train for at the bank?”
“Bookkeeping.”
Elvenna tossed back skeptically, “I’ve never seen any Colored women at any of the banks. Which one was this?”
“The Bank of California.”
“Why that’s one of the state’s biggest and most influential,” Winston said, eyeing Portia with even greater interest.
“My brother’s on the board of directors,” Rhine explained.
“Is he married?”
“Elvenna!” her brother gasped.
Wineglass in hand, she waved him off, “I’m just making conversation, Phillip.”
Portia shared a look with Eddy.
Rhine replied to her question, “He is, and very happily, I might add.”
“Pity,” she said. “My Saul’s been dead three years. I’m very lonely without him. Have you ever been married, Portia?”
“No.”
“Then you’re probably lonely as well.”
Portia responded politely. “Honestly, I’m not. My life is very full.”
Elvenna chuckled knowing, “Unmarried women always say that, but everyone knows the truth. Deep down inside every woman wants to be married. Society holds her in higher esteem if she is. It pities her if she’s not.”
Ada snapped, “That is narrow-minded rubbish.”
“Maybe, but you have to admit it’s true.”
“Views change,” Portia told her coolly. “Thirty years ago, society doubted the race would ever rise like it has. Now we have colleges, doctors both male and female, and our men have been in Congress. In ’81, Colored washerwomen took on the city of Atlanta and forever changed how they are viewed. In the end what society thinks is never set in stone.”
Winston raised his glass. “Well said, Miss Carmichael.”
Portia met her aunt’s and uncle’s approving smiles and caught Regan’s wink. Having put the now sour-looking widow Gordon in her place, Portia returned to her meal.
“That was a perfect set down,” Ada said to Portia later as she walked the Jakeses to their rooms after dinner.
“It needed to be said.” She disliked being underestimated.
Winston walked beside his mother and although he hadn’t had much to say after toasting Portia with his glass, he’d spent the rest of the meal watching her with unmasked admiration. “Any man able to engage you in conversation on a daily basis would be lucky indeed, Portia.”
“That’s very kind of you to say.”
“I plan to add you to that list of astute women I mentioned on the ride from the depot.”
Portia was warmed by the praise. “I’m honored.”
Ada seemed pleased as well. “Winston bemoans the fact that the women he meets leave a lot to be desired intellectually. But you give him hope.”
“Mother!”
“I’m simply stating fact. She’d make an excellent daughter-in-law. You have the length of our five-day stay to make your case.”
He shook his head with amusement. “As you probably sense, my mother’s impossible to manage.”
His usage of the word manage brought Kent to mind. She thought it probably ill-mannered to think of one man while conversing with another, so she put the cowboy out of her mind. “Even though I have no plans to marry, I appreciate a woman who speaks her mind. My aunt Eddy is that way.”
“Then you’re accustomed to unmanageable behavior,” he said.
“I am.” Memories of the unmanageable Kent rose to bedevil her again, making her wonder if she’d have to contend with them for the rest of her life.
Upon reaching the suite, Winston opened the door and Ada asked, “How long have your aunt and uncle been married?”
“They recently celebrated their fifteen-year anniversary.”
“They look to be very happy.”
“They are.” Not wanting to say anything else that might encourage Ada’s attempt at matchmaking, Portia said, “I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Winston Jakes replied.
Ada eyed them both. “Five days, Winston. Good night, Portia.”
Amused, Portia said, “Good night.”
Ada went inside. Winston lingered for a second longer. “Good night, Portia.”
“Good night to you as well, Winston.”
She turned and struck out for her return to the main house.
Later, Regan and Portia sat talking in Portia’s room.
“The widow is going to be a bother,” Regan said from her spot on Portia’s bed.
Standing by her open doors and looking out at the night, Portia turned. “I agree.”
“I enjoyed the look on her face when you were done with her, though.”
“I don’t like being challenged.”
“I think she knows that now. She seems pretty anxious to make a run at Kent.”
“Hopefully, he’ll simply ignore her the way he did at the depot.” She knew it wasn’t her place to tell him not to fraternize with the guests but it was obvious that Elvenna wanted to make herself available and she did wonder how he would respond.
Regan interrupted her thoughts. “Wondering whether Kent’s going to help himself to the widow’s buffet?”
“No.”
“Liar. He likes you, Portia. I doubt he’d be so disrespectful as to pursue another woman right under your nose.”
“It doesn’t matter to me who he pursues.” That, too, was a lie.
“It does, so stop being a ninny.”
Portia blew out a breath and changed the subject. “Winston Jakes is a doctor, unmarried, well-spoken, and very forward thinking where women are concerned. You might consider getting to know him better.”
“The man spent the entire dinner looking at you. I could have been wearing my nightgown and he wouldn’t have cared.”
“His mother thinks I’d make a great daughter-in-law. She’s given him the duration of their stay to win me over. I suppose were I in the market for a husband, he might fit the bill.” And if she knew how long it would take for the memories of Kent’s kisses to fade.
“He doesn’t fit mine. I’m going to be a mail-order bride, remember?”
Portia laughed softly. “You’re just not letting that go, are you?”
“No, and I’m still scouring the newspapers.”
Portia didn’t believe her for a second. “Go to bed, Miss Mail Order. Dawn comes early.”
Regan gave her a kiss on the cheek, “Good night.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
Alone, Portia changed into her night things and wondered how Kent might react to Winston Jakes’s interest in her. Not that the cowboy had staked his claim on her. Or had he? She certainly felt as if she’d staked her claim on him, watching the widow Gordon throw herself at him like feed to a stallion. Turning her mind away from the startling realization that her reaction could be seen as jealousy, she thought back on her conversation with the Jakeses instead and wondered where Kent stood on issues like women and the vote. Western-raised men weren’t the most progressive thinkers. Finding one who was was akin to hitting the mother lode, but Kent was different. The man cooked his own eggs for heaven’s sake and as she’d noted before, didn’t think her odd for running the hotel. She assumed he was a progressive thinker, too, but the only way to know for sure would be to question him.
At precisely seven-thirty the next morning, Portia escorted the small group of guests out to the stables. Cal Grissom would be pairing them up with mounts. Afterwards, they’d be led on a short trek to the nearby canyon. She had no idea if they were experienced riders but would find out. Ada was dressed in a black divided skirt. It and the matching jacket, like her traveling costume, had seen better days. On her gray head sat the brown felt western-style hat the hotel presented as gifts to all its guests. Portia thought she looked very dashing. Elvenna’s blue silk riding togs appeared more fashionable than practical and Portia hoped she was prepared for how dusty her clothing might be by the end of the day. Her footgear looked brand-new, which gave Portia some concern. Breaking in new boots before arriving had been emphasized in the mailed instructions but the widow’s looked like they’d gone straight from the store to her feet.
“Mrs. Gordon, did you follow the suggestion to wear your boots a bit before your arrival?” Portia asked as they approached the stable.
“No. I was too busy.”
“I see.” Portia hoped she was prepared for the blisters she was sure to have.
It turned out that none of the guests had ever ridden a horse before. This wasn’t a surprise. Most of the people from back East and in large western cities like San Francisco used carriages and streetcars for transportation so Cal gave them mounts he was sure they could manage. Gentle mares for the ladies and two well-trained, docile geldings for the men.
Ada needed a stool to aid her mounting, but once seated, she smiled. “My goodness, I had no idea I’d be so far off the ground.”
Both Winston and Phillip wore nervous smiles atop their geldings.
Cal walked over to help Elvenna mount the chestnut-colored Cassandra, but was met with “I prefer to ride in a carriage. I don’t care for the animal’s odor and I certainly don’t want that stink in my clothing.”
Astride Arizona, Portia shared a silent look with Cal and noted the irritation radiating from the widow’s brother. His sister wasn’t the first prickly female guest Portia had encountered and so offered a solution. “You’re more than welcome to spend the day in your suite. We only provide carriage rides to guests who are aged or physically impaired in some way.”
Her brother voiced less patience. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Venna. Get on the horse. You knew we’d be riding.”
Cal offered encouragement. “Come on, ma’am. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
She appeared doubtful, but the disapproving glare of the others in her party must’ve carried some weight because she finally relented and huffed, “All right. Fine.”
Cal linked his hands together and held them out for her to step into. “Put one foot in my hands and I’ll lift you up.”
Portia would have been more sympathetic had Elvenna admitted to a fear of riding, but not wanting to because of how the mare’s scent would affect her clothing? Portia kept her features bland.
Up on Cassandra’s back a disgruntled Elvenna held the reins.
Cal offered a false smile. “That isn’t so bad, is it?”
“I suppose.”
Ada snapped. “Oh my word, Venna. Are you going to play the put-out belle all day?”
Elvenna flashed around to respond, which made Cassandra take a step back and Elvenna’s eyes widen in fear. “Be quiet, Ada, before you make me fall off and hurt myself.”
“We should be so lucky.”
Portia was enjoying the plainspoken Ada more and more. “Let’s begin by learning how to use the reins.”
For the next hour, she and Cal taught them proper reins management, drilled them gently on maneuvering and turns, and followed with instructions on the basics of using their boot heels to communicate commands. Elvenna had the most trouble of course. Horses are intelligent animals and her mare balked more than a few times because of what she sensed coming through Elvenna’s reins. At one point, while they were riding slowly around the outside of the paddock, Cassandra simply stopped and refused to take another step. Cal urged Elvenna to relax but she was determined to lay the problem on the animal. “Get me another horse.”
“She’s the gentlest we have.”
“I want a different one.”
Cal looked to Portia who sighed inwardly. At that moment, Kent and Matt rode up. Portia’s heart leapt and she couldn’t help but admire everything about him, from the way he sat the big blue stallion to his all-black attire and gray hat to the way his eyes scanned her face and held there, making her body warm and her mind remember.
His arrival moved the widow, too. “Finally, you’re here. Will you tell this man to get me a better horse and then show me how to ride properly, because those two”—she glared at Portia and Cal—“don’t seem to know what they’re doing.”
Ada called out, “She doesn’t like her mare’s scent, so you’ll need to make the new one smell like fine perfume, too.”
The corners of Kent’s mouth lifted and Portia dropped her head to hide her smile.
“Mrs. Gordon,” he said. “I’m sure Cal has given you the best mount he has to offer and I know Miss Carmichael bends over backwards to accommodate her guests. Now if you’d like to stay behind and let Cal give you more lessons, that’s fine with me. Once you’re more comfortable, he can ride with you to the ranch so you can join us.”
From the way she stiffened, it was obvious she’d been expecting him to take her side, which Portia found illogical considering he’d spent so little time in her company, but she supposed Elvenna was accustomed to having men fall at her feet.
Kent asked, “Are we ready to ride, Miss Carmichael?”
“I believe we are.” Pleased that he hadn’t succumbed, she glanced over at Phillip and the Jakeses. Upon receiving their affirmative nods, she’d turned to the tight-faced widow. “Your decision, Mrs. Gordon? Are you staying behind for further lessons?”
“No.” And showing a skill she’d not displayed an hour ago, she brought her mare into line and set out with their small party for the ride to the Blanchard place.