Breathless(9)
After her departure, Kent asked, “Are the Salts family friends?”
Portia smiled at an acquaintance and shook her head. “Never seen them before.”
“You think he rides or drives?”
She stopped. Unable to mask her amusement, she said, “You’re not supposed to be able to read my mind, Kent Randolph.”
“Sorry, Duchess. I’ll try and remember that for the future.”
The eyes were so potent she swore he had some kind of mystical power. Finally shaking herself free, she smiled. “You do that.”
With her aunt and uncle still occupied with the Salts, she knew it would be rude to leave Kent alone in a gathering of strangers, so she’d have to play hostess. “Do you want to get something to eat?”
“That would be fine.”
On the way to the buffet table she stopped and introduced him to a group of ranchers and then to two of the mine owners. No one sneered when he described himself as a ranch hand. In fact, rancher Howard Lane said if Kent needed work to stop by.
“Nice man,” Kent said as they continued on their way.
“Most people here aren’t like the Salts. I saw the way their son sneered.”
“I did, too. But a man like that doesn’t matter to me, unless he has a gun in his hand.”
“How are you, Miss Portia?”
Startled, she turned to the smiling face of the spectacles-wearing James Cordell. He was the son of the local reverend and a bookkeeper for one of the mines in the area. “I’m doing well, James. You?”
“Just fine.” He was tall and so thin he always looked as if he was wearing his father’s suits.
She saw him assessing Kent so she did the introductions. “I’d like you to meet a friend of the family. Kent Randolph. James Cordell.”
Kent stuck out a hand and they shared a shake.
“How long have you known the Fontaines?” James asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I worked for Rhine fifteen years ago in Virginia City.”
“I see. Miss Portia, I came to ask if you’d like to go riding with me tomorrow.”
She pasted on a smile. “I’m sorry, James. I’m going to be busy.” He was really a nice fellow and she felt bad about turning down his offer, but he was hell-bent on courting her even after being gently told a few years ago that they didn’t suit. He’d make some young woman a very nice husband, so she dearly wished he’d set his sights on someone else. “And next week I’ll have guests to tend to, so . . .”
“I—I understand.”
“Thank you, James.”
He didn’t move, seemingly content to stare at her.
“Um, I have to introduce Kent around. Thanks for coming to the party.”
“You’re welcome.”
They moved off and Kent said, “He’s sweet on you, I take it.”
She sighed. “Yes. He’s very nice and I have gone riding with him on a few occasions, hoping that would be enough.”
“But it wasn’t.”
She shook her head. “He’s painfully shy and never says more than a few words the entire time.” She couldn’t understand why he and a few others who kept coming around refused to take her refusals seriously. She supposed they assumed because she was female she didn’t know her own mind.
“From some of the looks I’ve been getting, there are a number of men unhappy to see me with you.”
“They can all shear sheep.”
He laughed.
A smile teased her lips.
They finally made it to the buffet table. Among the many people there was Old Man Blanchard speaking with haberdashery owner, Darian Day, another of Portia’s frustrated suitors. But unlike James, she took great pleasure in refusing his company because he was such a condescending ass.
Before she could introduce Kent to Mr. Blanchard, Day said, “You’re looking lovely, Portia.”
“Thank you, Mr. Day.” As always, he was overdressed for the occasion, this time in a black long-tailed coat, white bow tie, and white wing-tipped shirt. Instead of the boots men like Mr. Blanchard and Kent were wearing, Day had on narrow-toed black shoes.
“And who’s this?” he asked, staring Kent up and down.
“Darian Day. Kent Randolph. Kent was an employee of my uncle’s when we lived in Virginia City.”
“Welcome to Arizona Territory. I own a haberdashery in Tucson. When you get the extra funds, stop by and we can see about finding you something to wear that’s a bit more suitable for a gathering like this.”
Kent gave him a wintry smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Day added, “And as the menfolk here will probably tell you, I’ve had my eye on this little filly for some time, but she’s being real prickly about accepting my saddle.”
Portia tossed back, “Probably because I abhor being referred to as a ‘little filly.’”
Old Man Blanchard barked a laugh. “You tell him, Portia.”
She loved the old man. “I need to check on things in the kitchen, Mr. Blanchard. May I leave Kent in your capable hands? My aunt and uncle are occupied.” They were still across the room with the Salts.
He smiled. “Sure can. Grab a plate, Randolph, and let’s get acquainted.”