Their departure left Portia and Kent alone. “He’s a nice young man,” Portia noted.
“Yes, he is. Had a hard life growing up.”
“So, what are your plans for the day?” she asked.
“Probably ride out to the Blanchard place after the sun drops a bit and take a look around. Howard Lane said he’d keep an eye out for the cows Parnell ran off. I’m hoping he’s found them and brought them back. What about you?”
“Putting together the papers the banks will need to wire the Jakes party their refunds. After that I’m going to compose letters to send out to some of the area’s businesses and mine owners to let them know I’m opening my business.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I had two people turn me down while we were in town today. It was disappointing but I’m riding the bronc and holding on just as you suggested.”
“Good for you. I’m not sure how I can help but if I can let me know.”
His support was endearing. “I will.”
As they eyed each other, time seemed to lengthen, and her need rose to the surface, whispering his name. Since her morning talk with herself, she no longer wondered how or why she’d gone from being a no-nonsense woman devoted only to her work, to one who wished they were alone so they could pick up where they’d left off last evening. Staking her claim on that teaspoon of happiness, she wanted to feel his lips on her throat, savor his hands moving up and down her spine, and relish the searing sensations of his touch. She also wanted him to know that she and her sponges were ready for that first time. Who would’ve ever thought she’d look forward to being intimate with a man? The old Portia wanted to accuse her of being no better than her mother but she refused to take the bait. “I have a question for you.”
“And it is?”
“Do you wish to put the sponge in for me, or should I do it myself beforehand?”
He looked confused. “Sponge?”
Enjoying his reaction, she started walking away and said over her shoulder, “Think about it and let me know. I’ll see you later.”
She took two more steps and heard him call out, “Stop. Right there.”
Guessing he’d figured it out, she smiled and swung back around.
He beckoned with a finger. “Come here for a minute, please.”
She complied and upon reaching him, looked up. “Yes?”
Arms folded, he scanned her face. “Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?”
“I’m pretty sure we are. Is that a problem?”
He chuckled softly, “Who are you and what have you done with the real Portia Carmichael?”
“I believe she’s been transformed by a passion wielding cowboy.”
He steepled his fingers against his lips and peered at her for a long moment. “Are you sure?”
“Do I impress you as being an indecisive woman?”
The heat now glittering in his eyes touched her like a hand. “You are going to be in so much trouble, Miss Bookkeeper.”
He’d related the same mock warning the evening he’d kissed her for the first time, but now she had a clearer understanding of just what that meant. As a result, the pulse between her thighs sprang to life.
He added, “I want you to wear a skirt the next time I get you alone. No denims.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be taking your drawers as punishment for how hard I’m going to be for the rest of the day thinking about you and your sponge. You really are trying to kill me.”
Thrilled by his words, she didn’t agree to the order but gave him a serene smile instead. As she walked away, she was trailed by his laughter.
Kent hadn’t been kidding about his arousal. Watching her exit, he was as hard as he’d ever been for a woman and it had occurred instantly. He didn’t know where she’d gotten the sponges, but he had to smile because he’d just purchased rubbers while in Tucson earlier. He couldn’t wait to get her alone. Once she was out of sight, it took him a few moments to will his body back into a calm state and for his mind to remember what he’d planned to do before being nearly knocked to his knees by her and her talk of sponges, but once he had everything back in order, he went inside to find Rhine.
His knock on the frame of the opened door made Rhine glance up from his seat behind his desk. “Come on in. Regan said the trip to Tucson went well.”
Kent settled into one of the brown leather chairs. “It did. No Apaches or outlaws.”
“Good. Glad we got that group out of our hair.”
Kent was, too. “I’d like to talk to you about something if I can.”
Rhine sat back. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
“You mentioned the possibility of maybe leasing the Blanchard property.”
“I did.”
“Would you consider letting me lease it with an option to buy it outright at some point in the future? I have some money saved up.”
The famous Fontaine poker face descended over Rhine’s features. After a few long minutes of silence, he asked, “What about future income? Where would it come from?”
“Horses. If I make one trip a year and bring back a reasonable amount to sell, I think I could make a business and be able to pay you and any hands I’d need to hire.”
“Thought you were too old for horse wrangling.”
“Was when I thought I’d be working for you. Working for myself is a different matter.” And if he could convince Portia to be his wife, he needed a way to provide for her and any children they might have.
Rhine asked, “Can you give me some time to think about it?”
“Sure.” He hadn’t expected Rhine to agree to the proposal without giving it some thought.
“I also may have to deal with Landry and his bogus claim.”
“Understood.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know soon.”
“Thanks. In the meantime, I’m going to grab something to eat. I want to ride over there after dinner and make sure nothing else has happened. I take it you haven’t heard anything from the sheriff about the posse?”
“No and it angers me.”
“Same here.”
“The Ranchers Association meets tomorrow. I’ll ask if anyone has any ideas. You should probably attend, too.”
“Sure.”
Rhine said, “I don’t have anything pressing later on. How about we ride over to the Blanchard place together?”
“Fine with me. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Rhine nodded. Kent rose to his feet and left him to his work.
With his mind on the many ways he planned to pay Portia back for his constant state of arousal, Kent sat on the bench outside his bedroom and took out the letter he’d received from his father, Oliver. In a way he was pleased the old man had taken the time to write, and as he read further, Kent found himself equally pleased that not only were his father and stepmother, Sylvia, doing well, but they were planning to visit him and the Fontaines. What gave him pause however was the part in the letter referencing Sylvia’s great-niece, Ruth, who was traveling with them and who would, his always meddling father wrote, make you an ideal wife.
Kent tossed the letter aside and put his head in his hands. “Dammit!”
Chapter Thirteen
Three days before the rodeo, Portia was working in her office when her uncle Rhine stopped by. “How are the letters coming along?” he asked. “Do you need my help?”
“No. I’m almost done.” She was sending out letters to all the guests scheduled for the rest of the spring and summer to let them know that due to circumstances beyond the hotel’s control, the dude ranch was closed and their deposits would be refunded. “I received a few cancellations even before I sent out the letters from people who’d read about Geronimo’s escape in the newspapers. Many of the wedding parties from back East have already cancelled as well.”
“Not something I like hearing but it’s understandable.”
“On a happier note, I’m also sending ou
t letters on my own behalf.”
He looked confused. “Concerning what?”
“I’ve decided to open my bookkeeping business, so I’m alerting some of the other businesses to the services I plan to offer.”
A smile spread over his features. “That’s wonderful, Portia. You and I talked about this a few years back but I thought you’d given up on the idea.”
“No. I was just afraid I’d fail,” she admitted.
He stilled and studied her for a moment. “Takes a strong person to admit something like that.”
She nodded and thought about Kent’s support. “I plan to keep doing the books here though, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course, but you may become so successful I’ll have to increase your salary to keep you on.”
“You don’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere and what you pay me now is just fine.” He’d given her her start. She’d always be grateful for his faith in her abilities, no matter what the future held. “Any advice for me?”
He thought for a moment. “Yes. Don’t listen to naysayers about what you can’t do, and get up every day and do your absolute best.”
“Thank you, Uncle Rhine.”
“You’re welcome. Proud of you, Portia.”
She was proud of herself. That she might fail still loomed inside but it wasn’t consuming her anymore. “So what’s happening with the search for Parnell? Are you going to be discussing a posse at the Ranchers Association meeting this evening?”
He looked frustrated. “No. The meeting’s been cancelled because none of the White members wanted to leave their homes because of Geronimo.”
She was frustrated by that news as well. Were Farley and Buck ever going to get the justice they deserved?
Rhine did have a bit of comforting news. “The sheriff dropped off one of the Wanted flyers earlier today.” He removed the folded bulletin from the inner pocket of his suit coat and passed it to her.
“This is a very good likeness,” Portia said, looking at Parnell’s unshaven thin face.
“The sheriff’s daughter drew it. He said she’ll be going back East to one of the art schools in the fall. He had enough of them printed to put up in town and to pass out around the territory to other lawmen.”
“Let’s hope it helps,” she said.
“I agree.”
Portia passed the paper back to him.
“I’m going to let you get back to work, but again, I’m real proud of you, Portia. If I can be of any assistance let me know.”
“I will, Uncle Rhine. Promise.”
He nodded and left her alone.
Smiling, she went back to work only to have Regan stick her head in the door a few minutes later. “Are you coming to the meeting? Everyone’s here. We’re waiting on you.”
For a moment, Portia had no idea what her sister was talking about, but then she remembered the Tucson Good Works Society was meeting that afternoon. She jumped to feet. “Oh shoot. I’m sorry. Let me get my report. I’ll be right there.”
“You really need a keeper,” her sister said with a shake of her head as she left.
Portia stuck out her tongue at the empty space and searched out the papers she needed.
The tradition of women of the race forming groups to assist and uplift their communities could be traced back as far as 1793 when the lady parishioners of Philadelphia’s Episcopal Church of St. Thomas, the first Black Episcopal church in the nation, formed the Female Benevolent Society of St. Thomas. In the years since, women of color nationwide built on that tradition by coming together to support everything from abolition to literacy to the caring of the sick, elderly, and the destitute in their neighborhoods, and since the passage of the Fifteenth Amendment, female suffrage.
The Tucson Good Works Society was founded ten years ago. It was a small group but, like others, dedicated to caring for their community. Portia was the secretary. Her aunt Eddy served as the current president and opened the meeting. The first order of business was to formally approve the plan to attend the convention in San Francisco. In spite of the ill-mannered Ada Jakes, Portia continued to look forward to the event. Regan headed up the group’s volunteering efforts and reported on the campaign to help provide supplies for the small school run by Mamie Cordell out of her home. “There was enough money left over from our last fund-raiser to purchase more readers and enough paper and pencils to last the rest of the school year.” Although there were only five children enrolled, every educated child was an asset to the race.
The meeting continued with a discussion of ways they might help alleviate the suffering caused by the appalling conditions at the San Carlos reservation. Although a hundred women and their children escaped with Geronimo, many more stayed behind.
“We’ve contributed clothing in the past—maybe we can increase our donations,” restaurant owner Sadie Welch suggested.
Portia added another idea. “What if we send letters to some of the large churches back East like Mother Bethel and St. Thomas in Philadelphia to ask for their help? I know the Apache aren’t our race but if people knew about the deplorable conditions, maybe they’d be moved enough to lend them aid.”
The women thought that to be a wonderful idea and after a lengthy discussion decided to implement both suggestions.
When the meeting ended, Eddy thanked everyone for coming. She, Portia, and Regan walked outside to see the ladies off. After their departure, Eddy left for the kitchen to supervise the food that would be going to the upcoming Lane rodeo, and because she didn’t need their help, Portia and Regan sat outside at one of the tables beneath the oaks.
“I always feel good after one of our meetings,” Portia said.
“I do, too. Helping people should make you feel good, don’t you think?”
Portia agreed.
“Speaking of feeling good, I’m being nosey but have you had the chance to use your sponges yet?”
“You are being nosey. But the answer is no. We haven’t had any time alone. He’s been over at the ranch house digging up all the charred wood from the fire and hauling it away. By the time he gets back here, he’s so exhausted from working in the heat, he’s been going straight to bed after dinner.”
“You should sneak him into your room some night soon or sneak into his.”
“With Rhine and Eddy just up the hall, I think not.”
“I forgot about that.”
“Good thing one of us is still thinking clearly.” Portia shook her head with amusement. She loved her sister and hoped life never parted them. She wouldn’t know what to do if it did. “Now, my turn to be nosey. What was it like—that first time and why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Regan hesitated. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d approve.”
Portia looked into her sister’s serious eyes. “Sadly, you’re probably right.” Portia didn’t know if other sisters shared such secrets but thought maybe not due to how personal it was.
Regan added, “And the first time was terrible. Neither one of us had any experience so we didn’t know what we were doing. It was kind of painful, too, but—”
Portia went still. “But?”
“The next time. Oh my word. I wanted to shout, ‘Hallelujah.’”
Portia laughed. “You know society says women shouldn’t be having conversations like this.”
“Society also thinks we’re not smart enough to vote, you shouldn’t love numbers, and I shouldn’t deliver the mail. Society can kiss my mare’s behind.”
Portia agreed, but Regan’s description of her first time was troubling. “Was it really painful?”
“It was, but you’re at an advantage.”
“Why?”
“Kent was a cat house king. He’ll know what he’s doing, which means you’ll be just fine.”
The next day, Kent rode with Rhine and Eddy to Tucson to meet his father, who was coming in on the evening train from Chicago. Kent wasn’t sure how the visit would go or how long his father wou
ld be staying, but he promised himself he’d keep an open mind with the hope everything would go well.
When the train arrived, Oliver Randolph, leaning on a cane, stepped off the train with his wife, Sylvia, and her great-niece, Ruth. Eddy and Sylvia, upon seeing each other, let loose squeals of joy and immediately embraced like the long-time friends they were. Kent, followed by Rhine, embraced Oliver as well, and Kent had to admit it was great to see him.
“You look good, son,” Oliver said, assessing him.
“You do, too,” Kent replied. Truthfully his father looked frail and seemed to be moving much slower than the last time they’d seen each other a few years ago. The cane was new, too, but he chalked that up to Oliver getting up in years. “How was the trip?”
“Long,” Sylvia said, giving Kent a hug and a peck on his cheek. “You’re as handsome as ever.”
He smiled around his embarrassment.
She then said, “Everyone, this is my great-niece, Ruth Adams.”
The young woman accepted their greetings shyly. She appeared to be in her early twenties, had a pretty heart-shaped face and warm brown skin, and her frame was tall and thin. She shot hesitant glances Kent’s way, making him wonder just what his father had told her and what her expectations of him might be. He figured he’d find out soon enough. Once their trunks were gathered and placed in the boot of the Fontaines’ buggy, Oliver’s party piled in. Kent mounted Blue and they struck out for home.
Portia and Regan, along with a small army of female volunteers spent the day over at the Lane ranch helping Julia with the setup for the rodeo. There were tables to wash down, lanterns to hang from the trees, chickens to pluck, and decorations to put in the barn for the dance. By the time they rode for home that evening, they were exhausted and ready for dinner. Portia knew that Kent and her aunt and uncle had ridden to Tucson to meet the train, so when she and Regan returned, seeing Oliver, and his wife, Sylvia, wasn’t a surprise.
However, the visitors were surprised. Sylvia said, “Oh my goodness. Look at how you two have grown up!”
Portia and Regan had been in their teens the last time the Randolphs visited the Fontaines.
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