Breathless(15)

Dressed in a shirt and denims, Regan, standing in front of the open French doors, shrugged. “I’ll be better eventually, I suppose.”

“We’ll all miss him.”

“He’s the first person to die that I truly loved.”

“I know.” Portia couldn’t imagine a world without the crusty old horse wrangler who’d been such an important part of their life. Fifteen years ago when they moved to the Territory, he’d given them their first mares. Because of his lessons, she and Regan could ride hell-bent for leather and clear fences without fear. She could still hear his voice in her mind. Horses don’t care if you’re girls. They just want to know you can ride! “No one will fault you if you want to spend the day in your room.”

“No, I have a few deliveries to make. He wouldn’t want me in here moping.”

Portia agreed. Because of the strength he’d instilled in them, coupled with the fearlessness they’d learned from Eddy and Rhine, she and her sister felt capable of weathering any storm, and they’d weather this one, too. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

Regan nodded and Portia closed the door softly.

Seated in her office with the doors that led outdoors open to the warmth and breeze of the afternoon, Portia pored over Mr. Blanchard’s books, looking for anything that might prove problematic to Rhine’s purchase of his ranch. She knew there wasn’t, but according to her uncle, Blanchard’s son-in-law, Charlie Landry, had hired someone to review the books, and Portia didn’t want anything found that required an explanation. With that in mind, she double-checked payroll records, bank deposits, supply orders, and everything else, and when done, she was satisfied that the ledgers would pass muster. She stood and stretched to get the kink out of her spine. Hearing the ringing of an axe, she assumed Bailey Durham the wood chopper had finally shown up to do his job. He wasn’t the most reliable worker and where he’d been for the past week was anyone’s guess. Unlocking the small strongbox she kept in the bottom drawer of her desk, she counted out what he was owed for his services and left her office to pay him.

But it wasn’t Durham. It was Kent attired in denims and the shirt portion of a gray union suit. The sleeves were pushed up past his elbows and he was swinging the axe with accurate authority. Over by the breezeway she spotted Gabriella Salinas and Rosalie Cork, two of the young women from the kitchen, spying on him with girlish adoration. Portia couldn’t fault them. He was gloriously made, an attribute Portia rarely commented on even inwardly. The girls met her eyes, grinned, and quickly ducked back inside.

He worked the axe free and was preparing to swing again when he finally noticed her. Pausing, he took a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “Duchess.”

She also didn’t want to admit the way her senses fluttered when he addressed her thus, a completely different reaction from when she was twelve. “I heard the axe. I thought it was Bailey Durham.”

“He the guy who usually does this?”

She nodded. “I came to pay him.”

“Ah.” He raised the axe and lowered it again. Tossed the split wood onto the pile and began again. “How’s your sister?”

“She’s doing okay. Mr. Blanchard wouldn’t want her holed up in her room being sad so she’s going to take care of some deliveries.”

“Only met him last night, but I liked him because of the way he stood up for you when Day complained about your uppity mouth.”

His eyes were on her mouth and she swallowed with a suddenly dry throat.

He went back to chopping. “Blanchard told him you’d marry a man who appreciated your mouth and if Day didn’t, he should take himself out of the running. And I agree.”

Her senses leapt like flames. Did that mean he was considering a run for her, too? For a woman determined to remain unmarried, her reactions to him were slowly tearing down the walls she’d encased herself in and she wasn’t sure what to do with that.

His next words threw her further off balance. “Rhine asked me to be foreman once he buys Blanchard’s place. You and I will need to get together so I can learn how you run the dude ranch.”

“Of course. Whenever you’re ready we can discuss it.” She could hardly keep her walls intact if circumstances kept plotting to throw them together.

He brought the axe down again and she fed her eyes on the way his strong hands gripped the handle and the play of the muscles in his arms.

Gabriella walked up carrying a jug of water. “Mr. Randolph, Mrs. Fontaine thought you might need this,” she said. “Rather warm today.”

“Thanks.” He took the offering and the smile he turned on young woman seemed to melt her where she stood.

“You’re welcome.”

Seeing Portia watching her, she said, “I should get back to work.”

“Wait,” he called to her. “What’s your name?”

“Gabriella Salinas.”

“Thanks again, Gabriella. Tell Mrs. Fontaine thanks, too.”

“I will,” she tittered as she hurried away.

He raised the jug and took a long drink. A trickle of the water slid down the corner of his mouth and Portia, struck by the urge to lap it up, unconsciously ran her tongue over her lips.

“Do you want some, Duchess?”