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“In her defense, I think she senses he’s competition. Is he?”
Portia studied him. “I’ve known Kent for a very long time. I met you and your mother yesterday.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I haven’t known you long enough for an answer to be warranted, frankly.”
He chuckled. “You are upset with her, aren’t you?”
“I’m sure this isn’t a first-time experience.” Ada more than likely insulted people on a regular basis but couched it as being plainspoken.
He looked embarrassed. “It isn’t, but our acquaintances tend to indulge her—let’s say.”
“Let’s say, here, we don’t indulge rudeness.”
“Ouch.”
“I admire your mother’s views but not her manners.”
“And me? What of me?”
“I really don’t know you. Do you see her forwardness as something to emulate?”
“She’s my mother. I have to be respectful, Portia.”
“I understand that, but would she be so keen on my being her perfect daughter-in-law if she knew my mother was a whore?”
His eyes went wide as plates and he scanned her features as if searching for a visible sign of her parentage.
Temper climbing, Portia let him take a good long look.
“You’re lying of course.”
“No. In fact, Regan and I have no idea who our fathers are. We’re not sure our mother does either.”
He drew back as if she were a rattler poised to strike.
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve failed the test, Winston. I’ll see you in the morning for the ride to the train depot. Have a pleasant night.”
Not protesting his dismissal, he left without so much as a backward glance.
A few minutes later, Kent walked up. When he peered down at her face, she didn’t bother to wipe away the sheen of angry tears.
Voice filled with concern, he asked softly, “What’s wrong?”
“I told the perfect son my mother was a whore.”
He studied her for a moment. “And he ran off like his shoes were on fire, I’ll bet.” He took a seat and continued to view her with a gentle regard that touched her heart. “Want me to find him and put a few bullets in his hide?”
“No, I’d prefer to plug him myself, but Eddy would probably frown on me shooting a guest.”
“I don’t know, especially if you shoot his mother first.”
Portia laughed. His ability to make her do so was a gift that burned away the lingering anger and resentment. She wiped her eyes. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Making me feel better and proving that not all men are asses. You, my uncle, and Jim Dade are rare.”
