Breathless Page 4

  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.

  Chapter Three

  Kent had no idea what time breakfast was served or how it was handled but as was his custom, he got up before dawn and went in search of food. The hallway anchored by the girls’ bedrooms at one end and Rhine and Eddy’s at the other was quiet. If they were still sleeping, he didn’t want to disturb them so he left the hallway as quietly as he could. Retracing the route from yesterday, he walked down another short, tiled hallway that led to the family sitting area. Hearing voices, he followed the sound into the dining room. Eddy and Portia were seated at the table. There were plates in front of them and cups of coffee.

  Eddy greeted him with a smile. “Good morning, Kent. Join us please. Did you sleep well?”

  “I did. Been a while since I slept in a real bed.” For a man more accustomed to sleeping on a bedroll on the ground or the hard slats in a bunkhouse, it had been wonderful. He gave Portia a nod. “Morning.”

  She glanced away from her newspaper. “Good morning.” Her attention immediately returned to the paper but not before letting her eyes stray his way one more time.

  “Do you want eggs with your breakfast?” Eddy asked.

  “Yes, but I can cook them myself. Just show me where things are in the kitchen.” He noticed Portia’s look of mild surprise.

  Eddy shook her head. “No. I haven’t been allowed to cook in days, so humor me.”

  He was accustomed to taking care of his own needs, including his meals, but he knew a losing battle when he was in one, so he offered a compromise. “Okay, but I cook them tomorrow.”

  “That’s agreeable. Now, how do you like them?”

  “Scrambled.”

  “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She went into the kitchen and left him alone with Portia. He didn’t want to disturb her reading while he waited for Eddy to return so he walked to the windows that faced the well-manicured grounds. The sun was just coming up.

  “How long are you planning on staying with us?” she asked.

  “Rhine’s offered me a job, so it depends on what it’s going to be.” He turned to gauge her reaction. Her face showed nothing. She’d be a good poker player. “Do you and your sister help out around here?”

  “Yes. I manage the hotel, the guests, and the books.”

  He raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting her to say but it certainly hadn’t been that, but then again he remembered all she’d done last night at the party. “Lots of responsibility.”

  “Yes and responsibilities some people believe I shouldn’t have.”

  That confused him. “Why?”

  “Because I’m female.”

  “Ah.” That now made sense, so he added, “Not all women are flighty. Just as all men aren’t jackasses like Day.”

  Her mask dropped and there was interest in her eyes again. He decided he liked surprising her. He got the impression that the men who did were few and far between. “Remember, I lived in Virginia City with Eddy and Sylvie as examples of female know-how.” Sylvia “Sylvie” Stewart, married to his father, had owned quite a bit of property in town. Her business acumen was as well-known and respected as Eddy’s had been.

  “You have no idea how many men think otherwise.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  Eddy returned with a bowl of steaming eggs. He took a seat and filled his plate. There was a platter holding warm biscuits—hidden beneath a tea towel to keep in the heat—fresh butter, slabs of crisp bacon, and orange marmalade. After pouring himself a cup of coffee he started in. The eggs were wonderful, far more expertly done than he could have managed but he was determined to cook tomorrow. The spoiled boy he’d once been had died in the Mexican prison and he didn’t like being waited on—not even by friends. “Where’s Rhine this morning?” he asked Eddy.

  She smiled over her raised cup of coffee. “Still sleeping of course. He’s never shaken the habit of owning a saloon and staying awake until dawn. Personally, I don’t think he’s ever made a serious effort to change. He enjoys lazing about until midday.”

  The younger version of Kent had enjoyed that as well, but when you hire on with a ranching outfit, foremen didn’t pay you for lying in bed. There were horses to feed, fences to mend, cows to herd, and broncs to break. He looked to Portia. “Is your sister still sleeping?”

  She spoke as gracefully as she could around the biscuit she’d just bitten into. “No. She’s having breakfast with Old Man Blanchard. She eats with him a couple of mornings a week. His wife died about ten years ago and he likes Regan’s company. He has a married daughter in Tucson but she doesn’t visit him very much.”

  “Which is a shame,” Eddy opined. “Because he’s a nice man and he’s lonely. He looks on Regan as an adopted granddaughter.”

  Portia added, “And she has a big heart so she keeps an eye on him.”

  He heard the affection for her sister in her voice. When he’d known them in Nevada, the two had been very close. He was glad time hadn’t eroded their love for each other. Being an only child, he envied that sibling bond. “Eggs are real good, Eddy. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Did you enjoy the party last night?”

  “I did.”

  As he and Eddy chatted about the party and the people he’d been introduced to, Portia found herself further intrigued by him. Where most men were content to sit back and be waited upon, including her uncle whom she adored, Kent had seemed genuinely sincere about wanting to make his own eggs. Having grown up as the daughter of a prostitute, Portia learned at an early age that men could be vile, controlling, and prone to using their fists. Until she and Regan became Eddy’s wards, she never knew a man could be as tender and loving as Rhine was to their aunt. She’d been so wary of men it had taken her years to fully comprehend that Rhine and his former partner Jim Dade had no designs on her physically and would stand between her and a barreling train if necessary to keep her safe. On
ce she was able to come to grips with that, those parts of herself that were constantly on alert and fearful faded somewhat. She still tended to believe the world held more men like her mother’s customers and haberdashery owner Darian Day than the good and decent type like her uncle.

  “Portia?” Eddy’s voice cut into her thoughts.

  “I’m sorry. Wool gathering. Did I miss something?” She glanced over and saw Kent watching her with an unreadable expression. She moved her attention to her aunt.

  “I said, I doubt we’ll be entertaining the Salts in the future. If I never see them again, it will be too soon.”

  “How long have they been in Tucson?” Kent asked.

  “Just a few weeks. Rhine met the husband at the barbershop and invited them to the party because he thought it would be a nice way for them to meet some folks. Who knew that as soon as they arrived, he’d pester Rhine for a loan?”

  “A loan for what?” Portia asked.

  “A grocery store, I believe.”

  “And his collateral?” She saw Kent pause and view her as if she was the most interesting thing he’d seen in some time. Something inside her buzzed with an odd sense of pleasure.

  “Rhine asked the same question. Salt said they could discuss it later.”

  “I don’t want to be rude, Aunt Eddy, but I wouldn’t lend them rusty nails.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I thought you looked a bit put out when we walked up,” Portia said.

  “I was. When the wife asked me what kind of hoodoo I used to snare such a handsome light-skinned man like your uncle, I almost punched her.”

  “Glad I missed that,” Portia said, hiding her smile.

  Eddy looked put out over the encounter all over again. “And we won’t even discuss the way that son of theirs sneered at Kent.”

  “I ignored it,” he told her.

  “I didn’t. When you and the girls left I told him if he sneered at any of my guests again, I’d have him thrown out.”

  Kent said, “That wasn’t necessary, Eddy.”

  “In my mind it was. It is my home after all.”

  Portia saw him incline his head as if acquiescing.

  “And, on top of all the other rude behavior, he had questions about you and Regan.”

  Portia was instantly wary. “Such as?”

  “Were you two married? Did you have beaus? Were you due to inherit Rhine’s estate? I told him your affairs were none of his business.”

  Portia added, “He asked if he could call on me today so I could show him the sights. I turned him down.”

  Edward Salt with his sneers and baby-soft hands had not made a good first impression. She found herself studying Kent’s hands as he wielded his fork. They were clean and the calluses and shadows of healed cuts and abrasions on his long fingers were the result of hard work. Catching herself wondering how it might feel to touch them, she quickly turned away, but not before seeing his amusement as if he’d peeked inside her head and knew what she’d been thinking.

  Regan entered and her eyes were red and swollen.

  “What’s wrong?” Portia asked with alarm.

  “Old Man Blanchard died sometime during the night. I sent Farley for the doc and . . .” She paused to wipe the tears. “He’s gone,” she whispered.

  Portia went to her and held her close. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  Eddy got up from the table. “Let me go get Rhine.” After placing a solemn kiss on Regan’s cheek she hastily left the room.

  Kent wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do but watching Portia console her sister made him feel like an intruder. Since he was done with his breakfast, he stood and picked up his plate and carried it into the kitchen. When he came back out, the room was empty. He figured everyone would probably be gone for at least a little while. The table still held their dishes and what was left of the food, so he cleared the settings.

  When Portia reappeared thirty minutes later, he was washing up the dishes. She stopped and stared.

  “How’s Regan?” he asked.

  “Doing okay. She rode back over to Old Man Blanchard’s place with Uncle Rhine and Aunt Eddy.”

  He nodded and set a clean cup in the dish drain.

  In a voice filled with wonder, she asked, “What are you doing?”

  Guessing he’d surprised her again, he smiled inwardly. “Washing the dishes.”

  “But why?”

  “You and your family have a death to deal with. Thought I’d help out. Men around here don’t do dishes?”

  “You’ve met some of the men around here. What do you think?”

  He chuckled. “You always so blunt?”

  “It’s my Carmichael blood.”

  He faced her. “Last night after you cut Day to the quick and went into the kitchen, he said you needed a man to rid you of what he called your uppity mouth.”

  “Really?” she replied in a tone that let him know she wasn’t pleased.

  “Mr. Blanchard came to your defense, though.” He set another plate in the drain. “How long has Day been trying to court you?”

  “About a year and a half.”

  He looked her way. “Personally, I like your uppity mouth.”

  She swayed for a split second. He liked that, too.

  She stammered, “I—I was coming back to clean up, but you seem to have everything in hand.”

  “For the most part, but I’ve no idea where some of these things go.”

  “You can just leave them in the drain. I’ll—put them away later.”

  It didn’t make a whole lot of sense for her to come back later when all she had to do was direct him now, but he didn’t push. She seemed slightly rattled and he was enjoying that as well. “Okay. So since you hold the reins here, do you know what my job will be?”

  “No. Uncle Rhine will handle that.”

  “Anything you need done in the interim?”

  She hastily shook her head.

  “Fine. I’ll go say good morning to Blue, maybe go for a ride, and wait for Rhine to return.”

  “Blue?”

  “My horse.”

  “Oh yes. Of course.”

  He watched her watch him. In truth he wouldn’t mind looking at her all day and she seemed torn between staying and fleeing. She finally muttered “I have to go” before beating a hasty retreat. Chuckling to himself, he went back to the dishes. He was enjoying Miss Portia Carmichael, probably more than Rhine would like so he needed to pull back on the reins a bit. If he could.

  Kent saddled Blue a short while later, and rode off to do some exploring. Mountains both far and near were everywhere he looked, as were valleys, clear running streams, and stands of thick forest. One of the reasons he’d hated being at Howard was that there’d been no peace or silence. All the noise and commotion from the streetcars and crowds was so overwhelming it didn’t allow a man to think. The wide open spaces that made up the West were far better. He waded Blue into a standing pool so the stallion could drink. Savoring the surrounding beauty, Kent thought he would enjoy living here. For some reason he felt more settled and content than he had in a long time. Even though he’d only been back with Rhine and Eddy a day, it was as if all the years of drifting like a windblown tumbleweed had finally led him back to them in a way that felt as if he’d come home. He sensed he could put down roots here, build a home of his own and maybe find a wife and raise some children, which surprised him because he’d always been too restless to contemplate the possibility of marriage and a family. But in truth, he was tired of drifting, tired of being alone with no set place to come home to at the end of the day and having nothing to call his own but his horse, saddle, and the clothes on his back. He looked up at the cloudless blue sky, felt the gentle breeze on his face, and wondered what it was about this place that seemed to ease his loner’s soul. He had no answer but was willing to stick around long enough to find out. With that in mind, he reined Blue around and headed back to the hotel.

  Entering the hotel, he wondered ho
w the family was faring with the death of their friend Blanchard, and if Rhine had returned. Thoughts of Portia’s whereabouts arose as well, but he set them aside for the moment. When he reached Rhine’s office the door was open and Kent saw him inside at his desk.

  “Come on in,” Rhine said to him.

  Kent took a seat. “Wanted to convey my condolences.”

  “Thanks. Blanchard was good man and we cared about him very much. Especially the girls. When they were growing up he taught them everything from how to ride bareback to building a smokeless fire. We’ll miss him.” He paused and asked, “Are you settling in?”

  “I am. That bed is going to spoil me for the rest of my life, though.”

  Rhine smiled knowingly. “Only the best at the Fontaine Hotel. You told me you’d been a foreman?”

  “On a couple of outfits.”

  “Are you up to doing it again?”

  “Sure. Where?”

  “The Blanchard place. His daughter’s decided she doesn’t want the property so I made her an offer that I’m hoping she’ll accept. Portia has been keeping his books and his son-in-law wants them reviewed before going forward.”

  “Did he have a foreman?”

  “Yes, but he wants to move on. Says the place won’t be the same without the old man.”

  Kent understood. When a long-time owner sells, or as in this case dies, a new regime often brings change to the old employees along with a level of uncertainty as to how the place will be run. “Is it cattle or horses?”

  “Horses mostly but he has a small herd of longhorns.”

  “What about the other hands? How many are there?”

  “Small outfit so only five counting the foreman. Blanchard used to break wild horses to supply the army but demand’s faded. He now buys from an outfit up near Prescott and sells to individuals. He also maintains the mounts our guests ride.”

  “So no riding up to Montana or Wyoming for wild mustangs.”

  “No. Is that a problem?”

  “Not really. Spent almost a decade chasing and breaking stallions and mares. After busting my collarbone twice, my wrists too many times to count, and my leg in two places a few years back, being a gentleman foreman may be just what I need at my age.” The leg break had been so severe that, though healed, it still pained him in damp weather.