“Kent’s going to be the new foreman,” Rhine told them.
“The old man gave me the job the day before he died,” Parnell stated.
“I appreciate your pointing that out,” Rhine replied. “But I’m the new owner and Kent’s foreman now. Stay on or head out. Your choice.”
Parnell registered his displeasure by spitting a stream of tobacco juice just inches from Rhine’s boots only to find himself slammed bodily into the side of the buckboard behind him and pinned there by the force of Kent’s forearm across his throat. The suddenness caused him to half swallow his chaw, and with it stuck in his windpipe, he clawed at Kent’s arm to free himself in order to breathe. Glaring, Kent held him until his eyes looked ready to pop from distress then finally let him go. Gagging and vomiting, Parnell slid to the ground.
Kent met Rhine’s eyes and received a grim nod of thanks. Wells and Green were grinning but the blond-haired Iler stared at Kent as if he were a two-headed elephant.
Kent told Parnell quietly, “Get up and clear out your bunk.”
Parnell fumbled for his gun but Kent’s big Colt was already drawn. “Do you really want to die here?”
Everyone waited.
“Get up.”
The furious Parnell moved his hand away from his holster and slowly staggered to his feet. Because Kent didn’t trust him out of his sight, he escorted the man to the bunkhouse, watched him pack his gear, and waited while he mounted his horse. Seeing Parnell about to speak, Kent shook his head. “Whatever you’re going to say, keep it to yourself so I won’t have shoot on sight next time I see you. Now get off Fontaine land.”
And he did.
For the next hour, Kent, Rhine, and the remaining hands walked the property and talked about stock, work schedules, and feed. Having been told by Rhine that the two older men would be leaving in a few days, he wanted to get as much information from them as he could before they departed. He wasn’t sure what Iler’s plans were but decided he would ask him later.
A tour of the brick icehouse showed it in need of some repair as were the paddock fences. There were portions of the bunkhouse roof open to the sky. Buckets were set out in various places on the packed earth floor to catch the rainfall.
Rhine viewed the holes and said, “This needs to be fixed immediately.”
Kent agreed. “Can we get shingles in Tucson?”
Buck Green asked Farley, “Don’t we have shingles around here someplace?”
Farley seemed to think on that for a moment. “I remember Miss Portia ordering them and Bailey Durham delivering them. We never got around to using them though. They’re probably in one of the barns.”
Kent asked, “Why didn’t you use them?”
Farley shrugged. “We planned to but the old man was more concerned with fishing and playing poker than keeping the place up towards the end and we just plum forgot. I remember the delivery, too, but Buck and I are too old to be on the roof and Parnell was only good for bossing folks around. The kid here can’t even shoe a horse so no sense in him trying to fix a roof.”
Matt’s face turned beet red. He shot Farley an angry look to which the older man asked challengingly, “Am I lying?”
The younger man’s lips tightened.
Kent found the interplay interesting and wondered how long Matt had been working there. He figured he’d find out soon enough. “How about you and Buck see if you can find those shingles so we can get the roof repaired. I’ll have Matt show me anything else I need to see.”
Buck and Farley walked off.
“Let’s go see the house,” Rhine said.
Kent knew it was a two story but the interior looked much smaller now than it had during the wake. There was a front parlor, a dining room, and the outdoor kitchen. Remembering all the food from the wake, he opened the cold box but found it empty. He asked Matt, “Who cooks your grub?”
“Mrs. Salinas comes in every Sunday. She also cooks for Miss Portia’s dude visitors, but the rest of the time we had to make do with whatever the old man burned.”
Kent turned to Rhine. “Is she related to Gabriella over at your place?”
“Yes. Her mother.”
He wondered if she was available to cook full-time. With all the work needing to be done, the hands deserved a good meal at the end of the day, but he’d ask Rhine about that once he’d taken a full measure of the place. Exploring further, he surveyed the small bedroom off the kitchen. It came with its own washroom, but it didn’t look as if it had been used in years. The tub’s interior was coated with dirt and cobwebs and had a hole in the bottom rivaling the ones in the bunkhouse roof. He and Rhine exchanged a silent look and headed upstairs. The second floor was in better shape. The bedroom where they’d played poker was arguably the best kept room the house had to offer, but its washroom had water-warped wooden floors and no running water.
“Pipe busted a year or so ago,” Matt said by way of explanation. “We’ve been washing down at the pond.”
Kent took one last look around, blew out a breath and said to Rhine, “Lots to do around here, old man.”
“I agree. The value is in the land though. Houses and washrooms can be repaired. Make a list of what you want to work on first, besides the roof, and we’ll discuss it and the costs later.”
“Okay.”
“I need to get back to the hotel,” Rhine said.
Kent nodded. “I’ll ride over later to pick up my gear. I’ll sleep here tonight. I don’t want Parnell coming back and taking out his hurt feelings on the place.”
He saw Matt watching him and wondered what he might be thinking.
Rhine said, “Good plan but bring the men over for dinner. I’m owner now. They shouldn’t have to scrounge like hens for a meal.”
Kent nodded.
That evening, with Regan off on her overnight mail run, Portia and Eddy were the only women at the dinner table. Portia had known Buck and Farley most of her life so their presence was a pleasure. She didn’t mind that Parnell wasn’t with them because she’d never liked him. There was always an ugly intent in his eyes that made her never want to be alone with him. Young Matt Iler usually had very little to say and that evening was no exception. She assumed there was a story tied to Parnell’s absence and planned to ask her uncle about it later. Kent seemed more subdued than usual as well. He’d given her a nod of greeting when he and the men entered the house, but there’d been no hint of flirtation or amusement in his manner.
“Portia, were you aware of the sad state of Blanchard’s bunkhouse?” her uncle asked.
“If you mean the holes in the roof, yes. I ordered new shingles and he kept promising to get to it but never did. I think he was more concerned with beating Buck and Farley at poker and checkers.”
The two men smiled in reply.
Kent said to her, “We found the shingles in one of the barns. Matt and I will start work first thing tomorrow morning.”
Rhine said, “I’d offer to help but I’m heading to San Francisco in the morning for business.”
“Do you want my help?” Portia asked, and she saw Kent pause. Confusion etched his face.
Farley said, “She and Miss Regan helped us roof the bunkhouse and the main house the last time we did them. They were just little ladies back then.”
Buck saluted her with his glass of sangria. “But they put in a full day’s work just like we did. Didn’t you, missy?”
The praise made her smile. “We had fun. We weren’t old enough to know girls weren’t supposed to do that sort of thing.”
Kent was eyeing her the way he had when she told him she handled the books and ran the hotel. She supposed he wasn’t sure what to make of her or her offer, and she found she enjoyed throwing him off balance. She added, “I can help most of the day. If Regan were here, we could get it done faster, but she’s not.”
Kent finally said okay and shook his head with what appeared to be wonder. “Join us as early as you can.”
“I will.” She saw Eddy and Rh
ine share a speaking look. Her aunt then met Portia’s eyes and smiled.
Instead of the usual high-collared blouse and flowing skirt, Portia showed up at the ranch the next morning striding to the bunkhouse in a pair of snug-fitting denims. Kent almost fell off the roof. Taking in the bewitching sight, he whispered appreciatively, “Damn.” So mesmerized was he watching her walk, he only belatedly noted her black flat-crowned hat, red flannel man’s shirt, and the red bandana tied around her throat.
Matt, working beside him on the roof, glanced up to see what had grabbed his attention. He eyed Portia, took a look up at Kent, shook his head, and went back to nailing shingles.
Kent ignored him.
“Good morning,” he called down to her.
The unconventional picture she presented made him want to drag her behind the barn, but she’d come to help, so he had to put thoughts of slowly unbuttoning her shirt and placing kisses against the vee of her throat out of mind. At least for the time being. “Come on up,” he invited.
She climbed the ladder and joined them. “Morning, Matt.”
He nodded. “Morning, ma’am.”
Up close she looked even more delicious and Kent wondered how in the hell he was supposed to keep the distance Rhine wanted when she looked good enough to eat. “Are you ready to get to work?”
“I am.”
For the next hour, she worked beside him and proved she not only knew what she was doing but knew far more about laying shingles than Matt, who Kent had to show more than a few times how to line them up and the best spot to place the nails. Portia worked quietly and efficiently. Kent found himself savoring the curve of her gorgeous behind in the denims and the vee of her throat bared by the two undone buttons of her shirt. She even graced him with a few of her rare smiles, which resulted in his hammering his thumb instead of a nail. He cursed, stuck the thumb into his mouth and cursed some more.
“Are you okay?” she asked, stopping to eye him.
“No.” He’d sent Matt after more nails, so the two of them were on the roof alone. “I’m being distracted by a duchess in denims.”
“I can’t very well work up here in a skirt.” She drove in a couple more nails and moved to the next shingle. “Do you need a bandage?”
The thumb throbbed. “No. It’ll be bruised for a few days but I’ll live.”
“You should pay attention to what you’re doing.”
“There isn’t a man alive who can pay attention with your lovely little behind waving before his eyes like that.”
“It’s not waving.”
“Maybe not but it is lovely and very distracting. Makes me want to set your garters on fire.”
“Is that all men think about?” She positioned another shingle and expertly placed the nails.
“I can only speak for myself, but when it’s you—yes.”
She looked his way. “This roof will never get done if you can’t concentrate. Shall I leave?”
“And deprive me of the fantasies playing in my head? Not on your life.”
She chuckled softly. “I’m not going to ask.”
“That’s probably for the best but hopefully sometime soon I’ll get to show you.”
Her eyes met his and he wondered if she knew he could see the heat they held. “Interested, I see.”
“No. I’m not.”
“You’re fibbing again, Duchess.”
“And you’re supposed to be nailing shingles.”
He wanted to nail something all right—real slow and real thorough like, but decided to keep that to himself. “Yes, ma’am.”
As the first hour melted into the second, Portia became more and more aware of his nearby presence and her growing inner heat. She wanted to blame it on the sun but knew it stemmed from the outrageous bearded cowboy working a few feet away. They made a good team, even if Matt was more of hindrance than a help, and they’d gotten a good portion of the roof done. Society frowned on women doing such work but she enjoyed the physical exercise and how strong she felt both inside and out. Kent however made her feel female by the way he looked at her, the way he smiled, and it added to the simmer in her blood. She wondered what kind of fantasies he had on his mind and, yes, she was fibbing saying she didn’t want to know. Setting another shingle in place, she decided she really needed to put his distracting presence out of her mind, but so far hadn’t found a way to do so. Because you don’t want to. She shushed the inner voice and continued working.
The sun was climbing to its zenith and the temperature soaring when Eddy drove up in a wagon. She’d brought lunch, and a tired starving Portia was glad to climb down from the roof. After using the water in the kitchen to rinse away the sheen of perspiration on her face and neck and to wash her hands, she joined Kent, Matt, Farley, and Buck on the porch to eat the sandwiches along with the salted and fried thinly sliced potatoes Rhine’s partner Jim Dade had made so popular at the saloon in Virginia City. There was also cake and jugs of lemonade to wash it all down.
Kent popped one of the salted potato slices in his mouth and sighed with pleasure. “These are so good. Haven’t had any since Virginia City. Thanks, Eddy.”
“You’re welcome. And I may have found you a cook. Luz Salinas has helped out here in the past and her daughter, Gabriella, says she’s willing to hire on full-time as housekeeper, too, but she wants to live in so she doesn’t have to travel back and forth. Rhine will pay her salary of course.”
Kent liked the idea. “We could fix up that bedroom off the kitchen for her, but the plumbing isn’t working.”
Farley said, “Buck and I can get on that right away. Place will need a new tub and sink though, Mrs. Fontaine.”
“I can see about purchasing those, Eddy,” Portia said. “Shouldn’t be a problem. There’s bedroom furniture in storage at our place that we can use for her room, too.”
“When can I meet her?” Kent asked Eddy.
“I’ll see if she can drop by this evening.”
“That’s fine. When do the dudes arrive, Portia?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Kent said. “If Mrs. Salinas agrees to hire on, she can use Blanchard’s bedroom for now. I’ll sleep in the bunkhouse.”
Eddy said, “And feel free to take your meals with us until she gets settled in.” With that settled, she stood. “I need to get back. I’ll see you all at dinner. Portia, are you coming back with me or later on?”
“Later. I want to take a look at Mrs. Salinas’s room and figure out what else needs purchasing. We’ll need paint for sure.”
“Okay. Sun’s too high to be up on that roof.”
Feeling like a reprimanded twelve-year-old she replied, “I know, Auntie. I’ll finish lunch, make my list, and head home when I’m done.”
Eddy nodded and departed.
After lunch, because the back of the house was relatively shaded, Farley Buck, and Matt began digging to unearth the broken water pipe while Portia and Kent took stock of the run-down interior of the bedroom off the kitchen that would eventually be used by Mrs. Salinas.
Portia asked, “I’m not much of a carpenter but how long do you think it might take to make the room usable again?”
Kent shrugged. “I’m not sure. Floor needs replacing. Walls need patching and paint. The biggest job will be repairing the washroom.”
She glanced down at the warped wooden floor. “I haven’t been in here in years. Had no idea he’d let the place go this way.” When she looked over he was watching her. Time stretched. Her eyes strayed to his mouth and lingered. When she raised them to his again, the air seemed to thicken.
He said, “When you look at me that way it makes me want to do all manner of things, Duchess, and keeping my hands to myself is not one of them.”
His voice was barely above a whisper but it echoed within her like distant rolling thunder. She knew she should probably leave the room to avoid the inevitable, but when he put actions to words and ran a slow possessive finger over her lips, passion rooted her
where she stood and she couldn’t move, nor did she wish to. Instead, her untutored senses drank in his touch like the desert did rain. The kiss that followed, so sweetly powerful made her hungry for more. He drew her closer, fitting her against him until they melted into one and she didn’t care that they might be discovered as long as he continued to feed the longing he’d aroused. His mouth was experienced, masterful, dizzying. Her lips parted. Their tongues mated, danced, and she groaned with the rising pleasure.
“I want to strip you bare and kiss you here . . .” he rasped as his hand moved to her breast beneath the thin fabric of her shirt and toyed with the nipple until it bloomed and hardened. As the words shook her, he lowered his head and bit her gently through her shirt before taking the nipple into his mouth. She responded with a hushed harsh cry.
“Like that, do you?” he asked with wicked amusement.
And Lord help her, she did. She also liked the way he slowly treated the other breast to the same bold claiming. Breathing was difficult as was maintaining her footing. Her entire being roiled like a pot of simmering water, and it boiled over when he undid her shirt’s buttons to reveal the gray silk shift she had on beneath. Hot eyes holding hers, he traced a finger down her trembling throat and over the rise of her breasts before placing his lips against the bared vee of her throat. He flicked the tip of his tongue against her flesh. When he tugged the front of her shift down, she drew in a shuddering breath and thrilled to the feel of his hands sliding over the length of black silk she’d bound herself with in lieu of wearing a corset.
“You could kill a man wearing this.”
And before she could react, he moved the silk aside and feasted. A strangled cry slid from her lips. No man had ever touched her let alone used his mouth to do so, and the glorious sensations overrode how scandalous she knew she must be to allow such liberties. Yet she allowed him to suck and tongue and tug with his teeth until her eyes slid shut and the moans stacked up in her throat. Small shards of lightning settled between her thighs. Her hips began to move in a subtle rhythm only her body could hear and he answered with the hard thick part of himself that made him male. It was shameless, illicit, and so decadent she felt like someone else entirely, and that woman was breathless and greedy for more.
Breathless Page 9
