Breathless(45)

“I’m sure this isn’t a first-time experience.” Ada more than likely insulted people on a regular basis but couched it as being plainspoken.

He looked embarrassed. “It isn’t, but our acquaintances tend to indulge her—let’s say.”

“Let’s say, here, we don’t indulge rudeness.”

“Ouch.”

“I admire your mother’s views but not her manners.”

“And me? What of me?”

“I really don’t know you. Do you see her forwardness as something to emulate?”

“She’s my mother. I have to be respectful, Portia.”

“I understand that, but would she be so keen on my being her perfect daughter-in-law if she knew my mother was a whore?”

His eyes went wide as plates and he scanned her features as if searching for a visible sign of her parentage.

Temper climbing, Portia let him take a good long look.

“You’re lying of course.”

“No. In fact, Regan and I have no idea who our fathers are. We’re not sure our mother does either.”

He drew back as if she were a rattler poised to strike.

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve failed the test, Winston. I’ll see you in the morning for the ride to the train depot. Have a pleasant night.”

Not protesting his dismissal, he left without so much as a backward glance.

A few minutes later, Kent walked up. When he peered down at her face, she didn’t bother to wipe away the sheen of angry tears.

Voice filled with concern, he asked softly, “What’s wrong?”

“I told the perfect son my mother was a whore.”

He studied her for a moment. “And he ran off like his shoes were on fire, I’ll bet.” He took a seat and continued to view her with a gentle regard that touched her heart. “Want me to find him and put a few bullets in his hide?”

“No, I’d prefer to plug him myself, but Eddy would probably frown on me shooting a guest.”

“I don’t know, especially if you shoot his mother first.”

Portia laughed. His ability to make her do so was a gift that burned away the lingering anger and resentment. She wiped her eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Making me feel better and proving that not all men are asses. You, my uncle, and Jim Dade are rare.”

“I’ll take the compliment. I know what will also make you feel better.”

She viewed him skeptically. Surely he wasn’t proposing his kisses as a cure-all.

“I’m talking about a ride to Carmichael Falls. What did you think I was going to say?”

She didn’t respond.

“You thought I meant kisses, didn’t you?”

“No.

“Fibber. Get your horse. Who knows, if you’re a good girl, you might get kisses, too.”

She punched him in the arm, hard. “Ow!”

“Your arm is like iron. Stop pretending to be a greenhorn.”

“I may have to take your drawers for that.”

Her mouth dropped open and she searched his face with wide eyes.

He howled with laughter. “Oh, Duchess. The look on your face. Go get your horse.”

Portia wasn’t sure what to do.

“Go. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“That’s what scares me.” She rose, gave him another look that made him firm his lips to keep from smiling. He failed miserably.

Certain she had no business going anywhere with him, she left to change clothes and saddle Arizona.





Chapter Eleven




With Kent’s threat to take her drawers still fresh in her mind, Portia traded her skirt and blouse for a pair of denims and a shirt. She still didn’t know if he’d been teasing, but she figured whatever his plan entailed, her undergarments would be harder to confiscate while inside the denims. A soft knock sounded on the door connecting her room to Regan’s. “Come on in.”

Regan took in her attire. “Where are you going?”

“For a ride.”

“Please, not with Winston Jakes.”

“No.”

“He barreled by me a short while ago looking like he’d seen a ghost.”

Portia brushed out her hair and repinned it. “I told him I was the daughter of a whore.”

“Didn’t take it well?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Maybe now he and the bullfrog will leave you be.”

Portia knew she shouldn’t be encouraging her sister, but the description of Ada Jakes was just so apt she chuckled.

Regan added, “You know she looks like one and with that gravelly voice, she even sounds like one.”

Portia agreed again. “I didn’t like what she said to Kent. Why do people do that to him?”

“Because he’s the strongest, finest stallion in the herd and they’re jealous.”

Portia tied a bandana around her throat.

“I can ride with you if you want company.”

“You’re certainly welcome. Kent and I are going over to the falls.”

Regan stopped. “You’re riding with Kent?”

“Yes.”