Chapter Five
Portia and Regan entered the dining room for breakfast just as Kent was bringing a steaming bowl of scrambled eggs out of the kitchen. Seeing him brought back memories of their smoldering encounter at the canyon and Portia was torn between looking at him and not. He seemed to have no such problem.
“Morning, ladies. Help yourself to the eggs if you like.”
Regan picked up a plate. “There’s something special about a man who knows his way around a skillet. Don’t you think so, Portia?”
“I suppose” was all she allowed herself to say. A quick glance showed him watching her. She returned his gaze steadily, her way of showing she was again in control, but as if he knew his kiss had been her first conscious thought upon awakening, his eyes sparkled with teasing amusement.
Eddy followed him out with a platter of biscuits and set it down by the eggs. “Thanks for your help with breakfast, Kent. You’re going to make some woman very happy one day.”
Mentally shaking her head, Portia picked up a plate and helped herself to the offerings. When she was done she took a seat across from Regan, whose knowing grin she promptly ignored. Kent set his plate down beside Regan and everyone started in on their meal.
“What time are we leaving for Mr.Blanchard’s wake this evening?” Portia asked her aunt.
“Around six or so. Kent, would you care to go with us? I know you didn’t know him.”
“I talked with Rhine about it and I’d like to pay my respects.”
“Then you’re welcome. Buggy only sits four so you’ll have to ride.”
“I prefer horseback so that’s not a problem.”
Portia wondered when he’d take over as foreman of the Blanchard ranch. Once he stepped into the role, he’d be living over there, which would give her the distance from him that she needed. Granted, because of the dude ranch partnership, she wouldn’t be able to avoid him totally, but with him not living at the hotel maybe she could focus on something beside the way she’d felt in his arms, the sensual play of his tongue on hers, and the way he whispered, Make your lips soft, baby. Shaking herself free from the torrid memory, she looked up as Rhine entered the room.
“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.”