He finally lifted his head and the flame in his eyes increased her need. “You should button yourself up and get out of here before I tug those denims down and kiss you in places you never imagined. Or maybe you have.”
Portia had no idea what he was referencing. All she knew was that he’d left her mindless and befuddled and that parts of her would rather walk through the desert naked than leave now. But she knew he was right. Where another man might have taken advantage of her in ways she would most certainly regret, he was attempting to do the honorable thing and she had to admire him for it, so while a part of her wailed in regret, she righted her shift and did up her buttons. He stood there with those burning eyes and watched and waited.
“You might want to try again.”
She looked down and saw that the shirt was sideways because the buttons weren’t lined up properly. Her fingers fumbling, she did them up again—this time successfully.
“Portia?”
She looked up.
“Thanks for your help on the roof and for the kisses.”
She drew in a calming breath. The memories of being in his arms poured back clear and true and her now covered nipples berried in response. Uncertain what to do with herself let alone her traitorous body, she nodded and hastened away.
Aching and hard from their play, Kent pulled himself together then walked out to the porch just in time to see her riding off. Her sister’s words rang softly in his head. Be gentle with her. He planned to do just that.
Matt appeared beside him. “Um, we found the pipe. Buck and Farley are hauling out the busted section now.”
“Okay. Good to know.” Kent studied him for a moment. “Thanks for your help with the roof.”
“You’re welcome. Sorry I wasn’t good at it.”
“No apologies needed. Takes a time or two to get the hang of it. You did fine. How long have you worked here?”
“About a year. Met the old man in Tucson.”
“You from there?”
He shook his head. “No. Little one-shack town near Page called Quint.”
“Family there?”
He looked out at the mountains. Seeing the hardness that settled over his features made Kent offer an apology of his own. “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to pry.”
The boy shrugged. “No. It’s okay. Got a sister, but she left soon as she was old enough. I did, too. Got tired of the beatings.”
Kent stilled.
“Both my ma and pa were drunks and when things didn’t go right, they took it out on us.” He quieted again as if thinking back. “Cissy’s two years older. She must’ve been fourteen or so when she lit out. One morning I woke up and she was gone. Told my pa I didn’t know where she went, but . . .”
“He didn’t believe you.”
“Nope. Blacked both my eyes. Knocked out my two front teeth, which is why I don’t smile much.”
“Are your parents still living?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t much care.”
Kent thought back on his own somewhat privileged childhood under a parent who’d only wanted the best for him and how he’d rebelled in response. They’d argued fiercely. He knew being a doctor was not what he wanted to do with his life, but looking back he could’ve been more respectful.
Matt asked Kent about his raising and upon hearing that his mother died in childbirth and that his father was a doctor, a surprised Matt looked him up and down. “A doctor? Why are you a ranch hand?”
“It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”
“Your pa still living?”
“Yes.”
Kent thought the short time spent talking with Matt had been worth it. He now knew more about him and that he’d spent his childhood dodging fists, which was why he didn’t know much about ranching. “How’d you meet Blanchard?”
“Saw him coming out of a store in Tucson one day and asked him if he had any spare change. He told me I should’ve asked for a meal. Said he’d seen dying cattle with more meat on their bones.” Matt smiled for the first time, showing his missing teeth. “Brought me here, fed me, and offered me a job. I had a real bed for the first time since leaving Quint.”
Kent wondered how he’d managed to live on his own during the years in between, but felt he’d pried enough. “If you plan on staying, I’m going to make you assistant foreman.”
His eyes widened. “Why?”
“Farley and Buck are leaving, so you’re it. Plan to teach you all I know. That okay?”
He nodded hastily.
“Good. Let’s go see about that pipe.”
After dinner at the hotel, Farley, Buck, and Matt rode back to the ranch, leaving Kent, Eddy, and Luz Salinas to talk about the housekeeping job. Portia hadn’t joined them for the meal. Kent’s initial disappointment was overridden by concern when Eddy explained that Portia had a slight headache from being in the sun all day. Eddy assured him that after a good night’s sleep, her niece would be right as rain, but he knew he’d continue to worry until he saw her for himself.
“What will my duties be, specifically?” Luz asked breaking into his thoughts.
“Meals three time a day and the upkeep on the house. Your Saturdays and Sundays can be your own if you want.”
She assessed him silently. To Kent she appeared to be about Eddy’s age and was just as beautiful. There was a bit of gray in the long jet-black hair.
“We’re going to fix up the bedroom off the kitchen for you, but until it and the washroom are ready, you can use Blanchard’s room.”
“Salary?” she asked Eddy.
Because the Fontaines would be paying her, Kent let Eddy ride point and simply listened. When the discussion ended, Luz said, “The salary sounds fine, but these are my conditions. My bedroom door has a lock. I will take Sundays off. If I need a Saturday instead I will give you plenty of notice.”
He nodded.
“You will have no women in the house overnight and there’ll be no walking around in your drawers.”
He suppressed his smile.
“I want to plant a garden and get some hens for that old coop on the property. I will do your wash—”
“I’m accustomed to doing my own, so not necessary.”
She looked surprised.
“He cooks, too, Luz, so you can decide whether you want him in your kitchen or not,” Eddy cracked.
“He any good?” she asked, showing a small smile for the first time.
“He is.”
“Good or not, they’re paying me to cook, Mr. Randolph, so I expect you to let me do my job. If I ever need your help, I’ll let you know.”
“Understood.”
“Also I don’t like drunks.”
He thought about Matt. “Neither do I.”
She seemed satisfied by his answers. “When do you want me to start?”
“Tomorrow, or as soon as possible.”
“How’s tomorrow at noon sound? That will give me a chance to make arrangements with the landlord where I’m living now.”
“That sounds good.”
Riding back to the ranch under the light of the moon, Kent was glad to have settled things with Mrs. Salinas but his thoughts were still on Portia. He felt guilty about having her out in the sun to the point where she’d had to pass on coming for dinner. He thought maybe he should apologize next time they crossed paths, but he wouldn’t apologize for their passionate interlude. He’d enjoyed it and she had, too.
Chapter Eight
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.”
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