Breathless(21)

“Well, look who’s joining us this morning,” the smiling Eddy called out.

He grinned, gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek, and whispered something to her that only she could hear. She smacked him playfully on the arm, and as he moved away to grab a plate, Portia saw the passion in her aunt’s eyes. What must it be like to fully embrace such feelings, she wondered, especially knowing it was returned in equal measure? A few days ago, Regan had asked a similar question and Portia had been so dismissive she was now ashamed of her response.

Rhine took the chair beside Eddy, saying, “The only reason I’m up at this ungodly hour is to ride into Tucson to pick up a bank draft and stop in at the Landrys to hand over Blanchard’s ledgers.” He looked to Kent and asked, “Would you like to ride with me?”

“Sure. It’ll give me a chance to get a look at the town.”

“We’ll leave once we’re done eating.” Rhine then turned his attention to Portia. “Which falls did you take Kent to see?”

She drew in a deep breath and said nonchalantly, “Carmichael Falls. I told him how much the guests enjoyed the view.”

“I assume he was a gentleman?”

While living with her mother, Corinne, Portia learned at a young age how to keep her emotions masked. “Yes, he was.” She met her uncle’s gaze steadily and didn’t allow her eyes to stray to Kent.

Kent weighed in. “I’ll always be on my best behavior with her, Fontaine, so quit your worrying.” He saluted Rhine with his coffee cup.

Portia didn’t know Kent well enough to tell if Rhine’s question had offended him but everyone went back to eating and making small talk so she relaxed and shot him a covert glance. He responded with a secretive smile.

After breakfast, while Rhine and Kent went to take care of the business in Tucson, Portia, Regan, and Eddy headed to the kitchen to see about the food the hotel would be contributing to the wake.

They were greeted by the fragrant smell of chicken frying, Gabriella and Rosalie making potato salad and dumplings, and Sarah rolling out dough for the apple pies, Mr. Blanchard’s favorite. As Eddy and Regan took down aprons. Portia, not the best of cooks, asked, “Anything I can help with?”

“No!” all five said in unison, and then they laughed. Portia did as well. She could balance a ledger with her eyes closed and standing on her head, but she couldn’t boil water. Watching Regan begin peeling apples and Eddy take her rolling pin to the dough, Portia asked, “How many pies do you think you’ve made for Mr. Blanchard since we moved here?”

“Hundreds probably. He did enjoy them. I think he’ll be pleased that Rhine’s buying his place.”

Portia agreed. The two men had gotten along well. The old man had been instrumental in recruiting the army of workers and artisans the Fontaines needed to build the hotel.

Eddy fit the rolled-out dough into a pie tin. “Everything ready for our new dude ranch guests?”

“Yes.” They’d be arriving in a few days. “Mr. Blanchard’s death may complicate things but as long as Farley and Buck stay around until the visit ends, it should go well.”

“How many people are in the party?”

“Only four. Two are doctors. One’s bringing his mother and another his sister. They’re from San Francisco but are stopping here on their way home from a medical convention back East.”

Eddy looked up. “Kent’s father, Oliver, wanted him to be a doctor.”

“I know.”

She rolled out another circle of dough. “He didn’t finish medical school though. The only thing Kent ever wanted to be was a rancher, but he attended to appease Oliver. That he’s grown into such a fine man is a bit surprising.”

“Why?”

“He was quite the cat house king back in Virginia City. A lot spoiled and very full of himself where the ladies were concerned.”

“Really?” Portia didn’t know anything about his comings and goings. She’d been too busy adjusting to her new life with Eddy and Rhine.

Eddy smiled. “Yes he was. The young Kent I knew back then would never have cooked his own breakfast. Ever. Like I said this morning, he’ll make some woman very happy one day if he’s as mature as he appears to be.”

Eddy glanced up and eyed Portia speculatively.

“Yes?” Portia hoped her aunt had no prying questions about what took place at the falls. Eddy had always been perceptive.

“Nothing. Let me get back to these pies. Regan, hand me that jar of cinnamon.”

Grabbing an unpeeled apple from a bowl, Portia left the kitchen and headed outside to say good morning to Arizona. Her mare along with Eddy’s mare, Denver, and Regan’s Catalina were out in the paddock enjoying the sunshine. Cal Grissom, the old gray-haired cowboy who’d ridden the Chisolm Trail was the hotel’s head groom. He was seated on the top rung of the fence, keeping an eye on his charges.

“Morning, Miss Portia.”

“Good morning, Mr. Grissom. Did you enjoy the visit with your sister?” He’d returned last night from visiting his recently widowed sister in Phoenix.

He nodded. “I did and she’s doing well considering.”

“I’m sure she was pleased to see you.”

“Yes, she was.”

“Have you met Uncle Rhine’s friend Kent Randolph yet?”