“It’s called determination, Mr.Fontaine.”
“I stand corrected.”
Giving him another withering glare, she grabbed hold of the bed’s wooden side panel and began working herself to her knees. She made a bit of progress, but her weakened state conspired against her efforts. Refusing to surrender and breathing harshly, she slowly inched herself to a standing position, careful not to get her feet fouled by the swath of blanket, and promptly keeled face forward onto the mattress.
Chuckling softly, he picked her up from behind and placed her gently into the cradle of his strong arms. He smiled softly. “It’s called stubbornness.”
Rolling her eyes, she allowed herself to be carried from the room.
Rhine came from a long line of determined women, and the little lady presently in his washroom could have been one of them. While he stood waiting in the hallway a short distance away from the closed door to give her the privacy she needed, he had nothing but admiration for MissEddy Carmichael. He wondered again what she’d be like at full strength. Those withering looks she kept shooting him had probably brought more than one man to his knees, but he was finding them amusing.
The door opened and there she stood, upright but panting from the exertion. She appeared to be wobbly on her pins and on the verge of toppling, so he went to her and picked her up. She didn’t protest but he could tell by her tight face that she wasn’t enjoying being carried as much as he seemed to be enjoying offering the assistance.
He set her gently back in the center of his bed. “Would you like more water?”
She nodded.
He poured again from the pitcher.
When she’d had her fill she handed the glass back with a shaking hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And thank you and your friend for rescuing me.”
“You’re welcome for that, too.”
“I had a carpetbag with me. Did you find it?”
“Yes.”
“Can you bring it to me?” No matter her condition, she wasn’t going to go without underwear.
“Yes, I will. Now, lie back.”
Again a nod. He waited while she undid her cocoon. From the slow pace of her movements, she obviously had very little strength, but rather than offer to help and draw her ire, he let her handle it alone. Finally free of the blanket confines, she slowly spread it out, seemingly careful to keep her lovely legs hidden from his sight. Content, she snuggled in. If she had any lingering worries or misgivings about being in the room with him, she didn’t voice them. “Rest now,” he told her quietly. A blink of an eye later she was asleep. Shaking his head at her determination, he went back to his chair for some rest of his own.
Breathless
“This heartfelt story and its endearing characters and gratifying ending will leave readers breathing a sigh of pure contentment.”
—Publishers Weekly(starred review)
Santa Catalina Mountains,
Arizona Territory
Spring 1885
“I wonder how it feels to be that much in love.”
In response to the question, Portia Carmichael glanced up from the ledger she was working on to look over at her sister, Regan, standing at the window. “I’ve no idea,” she replied as she refocused on the column of numbers she was adding. Regan was gazing cow-eyed out at what Portia assumed were their aunt Eddy and uncle Rhine Fontaine. The sisters were in the business office of the Fontaine Hotel and although the twenty-five-year-old Regan longed for love and children, Portia, two years older, wanted neither. Being the manager of the family’s successful hotel was more than enough to make Portia’s life complete.
“To have someone look at you that way and know you are their entire world—oh my.”
“Please don’t swoon, or at least do it elsewhere,” Portia teased. She didn’t have to look up to know Regan responded with a shake of her head that held equal parts amusement and pity.
“Numbers won’t keep you warm at night, sister mine.”