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 i
n 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.
Chapter Nine
While Matt and Portia flanked the slow-moving riders, Kent brought up the rear. Although he was keeping a keen eye on the guests, he was also paying close attention to the lovely lady in charge and musing on what it might be like for the two of them to share a slow easy morning ride like this one alone. In his fantasy, they’d find a meadow and have breakfast; they’d eat, talk. He’d make her laugh and she’d make him wonder how soon she and her bear-trap mind planned to take over the world. As it stood though, they were escorting a bunch of greenhorns at a pace so slow even a caterpillar would’ve been mad about it. The widow had managed to fall back far enough to be riding beside him. Although she was minding her reins, he sensed her waiting for him to strike up a conversation. Before the visit was over he was going to have to deal with her but not in the manner she’d be expecting. He had no interest in sampling what she was so brazenly offering. The younger version of himself would have gladly accommodated her anytime and anyplace, but he was far more selective in his old age. His jail sentence played a small part in his current stance, but maturity played a larger one. He no longer wanted to pu
rsue women other men had ridden hard and put up wet.
“Were you born out west, Mr. Randolph?”
“Yes. Virginia City, Nevada.” Even though Portia was his prime focus he had no problem making small talk.
“Have you ever married?”
“No.”
“Do you plan to?”
“No idea.”
“Suppose you do. What kind of woman will she be?”
“When I find her, I’ll know.”
“Would it be possible for us to have, say, dinner and you can explore what kind of woman I am?”
“I don’t socialize with the guests.”
“Not even on your own time?”
“No.”
She blew out a breath. “You’re no fun.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I could fix that given the chance.”
“Not in need of fixing, Mrs. Gordon.”
Riding ahead of them, her brother snarled, “Good Lord, Venna. The man isn’t interested. Does he have to paint you a sign?”
Kent hid his amusement.
“Mind your own business, Phillip!”
Portia looked over. Kent didn’t know if she’d overheard his conversation with the widow or not, but Phillip’s voice had been loud enough for everyone’s ears. When she rolled her eyes, he laughed softly. If he was forced to choose between the duchess and the widow, Elvenna Gordon didn’t stand a chance. Kent saw Winston Jakes looking back at him with cool eyes. After a long moment, the man faced forward again, leaving Kent to wonder what he’d missed.
With the granite gray mountains looming off in the distance and the sky overhead a brilliant cloudless blue, the riders rode single file up the narrow rocky pass. When they began the descent to the valley below, Portia, who was leading the column, turned in her saddle and screamed, “Kent! The ranch house is on fire!”
He quickly worked his horse around the others to get to her side and what he saw stole his breath. Both the ranch house and bunkhouse were fully engulfed. “Stay here. Cal, keep them safe! Matt, you’re with me!”
As they barreled down the ridge. Kent couldn’t imagine how both buildings came to be ablaze but arson came instantly to mind. “Keep your eyes open, Matt!”
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