Breathless(2)

Regan vowed, “When I find someone to marry I want that type of love.”

Their mother, Corinne, had been in love, and when her intended demanded she cast her daughters aside because they weren’t his progeny, Corinne put the then twelve-year-old Portia and ten-year-old Regan on a train to their aunt Eddy in Virginia City and never looked back. In the fifteen years since, they’d not heard a word. Portia wanted no part of something that could cause such irreparable harm. She planned to remain unmarried and immerse herself in work. Work didn’t break hearts.

“Don’t you want to marry, Portia?”

“Not particularly, but if I do, he’ll have to be an exceptional fellow who loves me for my intelligence and business acumen, not for how I perform on my knees. I’m not Mama.”

Regan turned from the window, her voice thoughtful. “Do you ever wonder where she is?”

“Sometimes.” Portia would never admit how much her heart still ached from being abandoned so callously or how often she thought about her.

“Do you think she wonders about us?”

“I don’t know.”

Corinne had been a whore, and the hardship of their life with her still held a pain they rarely discussed. Thanks to Aunt Eddy and Uncle Rhine they’d survived though and were still together.

Regan’s attention returned to the scene outside the window. “I would love to be as happy as they are.”

“I added this column wrong,” Portia muttered, and began searching for her mistake. She blamed the error on being distracted by her sister’s chatter.

“Thoughts of being in love can do that.”

“No, your going on and on about love can do that,” she replied, humor in her voice.

“Don’t you want a man you can sneak off into a corner with and who will kiss you so passionately you don’t care if the whole territory is watching?”

Portia shook her head with amusement. Regan changed beaus as frequently as some women changed their gloves but never stayed with any of them very long. “You’re so shameless.”

“I know, but somewhere there’s a man who’ll appreciate that part of me. I have no intentions of relying on quilts to keep me warm at night and neither should you, sister.”

“Don’t you have mail to deliver or something?” In addition to his vast business holdings, their uncle Rhine owned the government mail contract, and the unconventional Regan had talked him into letting her take charge of delivery. Twice a week she and her mule, Josephine, drove the five miles to Tucson to see to its distribution. As far as Portia knew there’d been no complaints about Regan’s race or gender; folks just wanted their mail.

“Not until the day after tomorrow, which you’d remember if you weren’t so focused on your duties.”

“I take my position very seriously.”

“I know.”

The tone made Portia look up.

Regan said sincerely, “I don’t claim to know a lot about life but there has to be more to it than work. When was the last time you spent the day sitting in the meadow listening to bird songs or riding out to the canyon to take in the waterfalls?”

“I don’t have time for that, Regan. A lot goes into keeping this hotel running. There’s staff to manage and menus to approve, guests to oversee . . .”

“Which is why you have a staff. This place won’t fall to pieces if you left your desk every now and again.”

“You sound like Aunt Eddy.”

“Good. She loves you, too, and we worry about you.”

“No need. I’m fine.”

Regan showed her exasperation and moved away from the window. “Am I to assume you don’t need my help for the anniversary dinner this evening?”

“You’re correct. Everything is in order.” They’d be celebrating their aunt and uncle’s fifteen years of marriage in the hotel’s main ballroom.

“Okay. Then I’m going over to Old Man Blanchard’s. He has a package for me to take to his daughter in Tucson.”

“Okay.” Mr. Blanchard lived on a ranch a short distance west of the hotel. “Make sure he’s coming tonight. Aunt Eddy will be disappointed if he chooses to stay home and play checkers with Farley and Buck.” Farley and Buck were his ranch hands.

“Will do,” Regan promised, and she left the office.

Sitting alone, Portia knew her sister’s gentle chastisement about the long hours she put in at her desk came from her heart, but there were those who thought the Fontaines mad for placing their niece in charge of their hotel—thoughts that never would have risen had Portia been a nephew. She wanted to prove she was as capable of the job as any man and so kept her nose to the grindstone. They were now living in the Arizona Territory in a beautiful, temperate area at the base of the Catalina Mountains a few miles north and east of the town of Tucson. Rhine and Eddy built the hotel from the ground up in ’73 upon a large open swath of land originally owned by a mine president. When the mine went dry, his funds did, too, and her uncle Rhine and aunt Eddy were able to buy it and the hundreds of acres of open range surrounding it from the bank for a pittance. Over the years, the Fontaine Hotel became famous for its fine food and luxurious accommodations. Lately it also served as magnet for well-to-do Europeans and Easterners wanting a taste of the Wild West; a new phenomenon Uncle Rhine called Dude Ranch Fever. Ranchers from the Rockies to the Mexican border were opening their doors to wealthy guests who wanted to hunt, fish, and ride the open ranges to take in the meadows, lakes, and canyon waterfalls. Some came strictly to view the myriad species of birds while others wanted to tour old silver mines or pretend to pan for gold. The Fontaine Hotel, in partnership with Mr. Blanchard’s ranch, also offered guests the opportunity to watch cattle being branded, take roping lessons, and in the evening gather around a roaring campfire to eat and listen to Buck and Farley tell exaggerated stories of ghost towns, deadly outlaws, and dangerous Indians. The guests could then ride back to the hotel for the night or remain at the Blanchard place to sleep in tents or on bedrolls under the stars. It was a lucrative trade for both establishments, so much so that it was necessary for guests to make reservations a year in advance if they wanted to be accommodated. Coordinating all the details took a clear head and a steady hand, and with so much to do, there was no time for Portia to take leisurely trips to view waterfalls.