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Portia didn’t believe her for a second. “Go to bed, MissMail Order. Dawn comes early.”
Regan gave her a kiss on the cheek, “Good night.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
Alone, Portia changed into her night things and wondered how Kent might react to Winston Jakes’s interest in her. Not that the cowboy had staked his claim on her. Or had he? She certainly felt as if she’d staked her claim on him, watching the widow Gordon throw herself at him like feed to a stallion. Turning her mind away from the startling realization that her reaction could be seen as jealousy, she thought back on her conversation with the Jakeses instead and wondered where Kent stood on issues like women and the vote. Western-raised men weren’t the most progressive thinkers. Finding one who was was akin to hitting the mother lode, but Kent was different. The man cooked his own eggs for heaven’s sake and as she’d noted before, didn’t think her odd for running the hotel. She assumed he was a progressive thinker, too, but the only way to know for sure would be to question him.
At precisely seven-thirty the next morning, Portia escorted the small group of guests out to the stables. Cal Grissom would be pairing them up with mounts. Afterwards, they’d be led on a short trek to the nearby canyon. She had no idea if they were experienced riders but would find out. Ada was dressed in a black divided skirt. It and the matching jacket, like her traveling costume, had seen better days. On her gray head sat the brown felt western-style hat the hotel presented as gifts to all its guests. Portia thought she looked very dashing. Elvenna’s blue silk riding togs appeared more fashionable than practical and Portia hoped she was prepared for how dusty her clothing might be by the end of the day. Her footgear looked brand-new, which gave Portia some concern. Breaking in new boots before arriving had been emphasized in the mailed instructions but the widow’s looked like they’d gone straight from the store to her feet.
“Mrs.Gordon, did you follow the suggestion to wear your boots a bit before your arrival?” Portia asked as they approached the stable.
“No. I was too busy.”
“I see.” Portia hoped she was prepared for the blisters she was sure to have.
It turned out that none of the guests had ever ridden a horse before. This wasn’t a surprise. Most of the people from back East and in large western cities like San Francisco used carriages and streetcars for transportation so Cal gave them mounts he was sure they could manage. Gentle mares for the ladies and two well-trained, docile geldings for the men.
Ada needed a stool to aid her mounting, but once seated, she smiled. “My goodness, I had no idea I’d be so far off the ground.”
Both Winston and Phillip wore nervous smiles atop their geldings.
Cal walked over to help Elvenna mount the chestnut-colored Cassandra, but was met with “I prefer to ride in a carriage. I don’t care for the animal’s odor and I certainly don’t want that stink in my clothing.”
Astride Arizona, Portia shared a silent look with Cal and noted the irritation radiating from the widow’s brother. His sister wasn’t the first prickly female guest Portia had encountered and so offered a solution. “You’re more than welcome to spend the day in your suite. We only provide carriage rides to guests who are aged or physically impaired in some way.”
Her brother voiced less patience. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Venna. Get on the horse. You knew we’d be riding.”
Cal offered encouragement. “Come on, ma’am. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
She appeared doubtful, but the disapproving glare of the others in her party must’ve carried some weight because she finally relented and huffed, “All right. Fine.”
Cal linked his hands together and held them out for her to step into. “Put one foot in my hands and I’ll lift you up.”
Portia would have been more sympathetic had Elvenna admitted to a fear of riding, but not wanting to because of how the mare’s scent would affect her clothing? Portia kept her features bland.
Up on Cassandra’s back a disgruntled Elvenna held the reins.
Cal offered a false smile. “That isn’t so bad, is it?”
“I suppose.”
Ada snapped. “Oh my word, Venna. Are you going to play the put-out belle all day?”
Elvenna flashed around to respond, which made Cassandra take a step back and Elvenna’s eyes widen in fear. “Be quiet, Ada, before you make me fall off and hurt myself.”
“We should be so lucky.”
Portia was enjoying the plainspoken Ada more and more. “Let’s begin by learning how to use the reins.”
For the next hour, she and Cal taught them proper reins management, drilled them gently on maneuvering and turns, and followed with instructions on the basics of using their boot heels to communicate commands. Elvenna had the most trouble of course. Horses are intelligent animals and her mare balked more than a few times because of what she sensed coming through Elvenna’s reins. At one point, while they were riding slowly around the outside of the paddock, Cassandra simply stopped and refused to take another step. Cal urged Elvenna to relax but she was determined to lay the problem on the animal. “Get me another horse.”
“She’s the gentlest we have.”
“I want a different one.”
Cal looked to Portia who sighed inwardly. At that moment, Kent and Matt rode up. Portia’s heart leapt and she couldn’t help but admire everything about him, from the way he sat the big blue stallion to his all-black attire and gray hat to the way his eyes scanned her face and held there, making her body warm and her mind remember.
His arrival moved the widow, too. “Finally, you’re here. Will you tell this man to get me a better horse and then show me how to ride properly, because those two”—she glared at Portia and Cal—“don’t seem to know what they’re doing.”
