Breathless(18)

“Yes. Do you know any stories about outlaws, ghosts, or lost gold? It’s something the guests look forward to around the campfire during supper.”

“I do.”

The look on her face said she didn’t believe him.

“Do you know the ‘Legend of La Llorana’?”

“No.”

He deepened his voice and slowed the cadence. “A woman in white drags helpless children to a screaming watery death.”

She looked so startled he almost smiled. “Or, I could tell the story of the hell dogs of Eldorado where large ferocious ghost dogs haunt the abandoned mines in Nevada. You can hear them dragging their chains, but you never see them.”

He continued. “El Muerte, the headless horseman. He rides the plains of Texas with his severed head hanging from his saddle.” He grabbed her arm and she jumped.

“Stop that,” she demanded with a laugh. She studied him for a long moment. “How many stories like that do you know?”

He enjoyed surprising her again. “A fair amount. I worked on a spread in Montana and there was an old cook who had more tales than a porcupine has spines. He kept us entertained on the long winter nights. Impressed?”

“Yes. That’s just the type of story the guests will want. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I like impressing you. Only because it seems most men don’t. Impress you I mean.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

Caught off guard, he froze. “I’m sorry. I must’ve misheard you. Say that again.”

She looked irritated. “I want you to kiss me.”

“May I ask why?”

“I need to cure myself of whatever these feelings are I’m starting to have for you, and don’t ask me what feelings. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said as he studied her gorgeous ebony face. She looked so put out he wanted to smile but kept his features bland. “Have you ever been kissed before?”

“No.”

“Then I should warn you that this probably won’t cure you, Duchess. In fact, it might make matters worse.”

“I don’t think it will.”

He sat back and folded his arms. “And you think this because . . .”

“Once I know what it feels like I should be able to manage it from now on.”

“Like you manage a ledger or the hotel?”

“Maybe not quite the same thing, but in a way, yes.”

“Woman, you are going to be in so much trouble.”

She refused to meet his eyes and he couldn’t help the soft chuckle that slipped out. “So much trouble.” As the silence lengthened he asked, “Are you sure about this?”

“I am.”

Kent pondered the proposal for a second or two, weighed the pros and cons and, because he couldn’t come up with any of the latter, said, “Okay. Get your horse. Let’s go for a ride. If Rhine sees us kissing, he’ll geld me.” Maybe one con. “And, Duchess, this isn’t going to be a Sunday school peck on the cheek. Do you still want to do this?”

“Yes.”

Portia left him and went inside and found Rhine and Eddy in the sitting room. “I’m going to show Kent the waterfall. We’ll be back shortly.”

Interest filled their eyes, but before they could react further, she went to her room to change into a riding skirt. With that accomplished, she quickly headed to the stables to saddle her mare, Arizona. This is going to be a real kiss from a real man. Second thoughts about her plan began to rise. What if he was right about a kiss only making matters worse? A part of her wanted to turn tail and run but she had never run from anything and was not about to start now. She could handle this.

When she rode up he was on his stallion waiting beneath the big wooden arch that held the sign with the hotel’s name.

As she neared, his roan reared in challenge, but Kent kept his seat easily. “Stop showing off,” he said to the stallion, but it reared again, eyes on the mare, and Arizona backed away.

Kent told Portia. “He’s just letting your mare know he’s interested. How old is she?”

“Four.”

“She ever been mounted?”

The question had Portia’s second thoughts flooding her mind, but she managed to answer, “No. Can we go now?”

He touched his hat. “After you.”

She turned Arizona and they rode at a slow pace away from the hotel. Her mare had never been mounted and neither had she. As the daughter of a prostitute, Portia had witnessed her mother coupling with men on more than a few occasions. Because their one-bedroom shack had been so small, it was nearly impossible to avoid. She remembered her mother’s dispassionate face as the grunting men rutted over her with their pants pulled down and their behinds bared. It was an activity she’d vowed to avoid because it hadn’t looked pleasurable or pleasant. In fact, her mother didn’t seem to feel anything at all, leaving the then young Portia with the impression that it was an emotionless exercise. But being around Eddy and Rhine showed her how wrong her impressions had been. Her aunt and uncle loved and cared for each other in a way she would probably never know. Their connection was so passionate it was almost embarrassing to be around them sometimes. But Portia didn’t want passion from Kent, just a kiss so she’d know what it felt like, and once that was accomplished, her inner curiosity would be satisfied and she’d be fine.