The Coming Storm (27 page)
If she could somehow entice Mr. Langford, for instance, there would probably never be any reason to worry. Silver was a valuable commodity and Colorado seemed to be brimming with the stuff.
Ned Langford laughed and held up his glass to his companion. Portia tried not to be too obvious in her observation, but she couldn’t help but wonder what the two men were toasting as the more serious man touched his glass to Ned’s.
Perhaps they’ve struck some great financial arrangement— the marriage of two great fortunes. Perhaps Ned Langford has just found a way to further his ledger balance and he’s celebrating in grand style with a good friend.
Portia’s imagination ran rampant.
Whatever the occasion,
she mused,
I want to celebrate too
.
Dianne forced her left arm to extend. She did this small bit of exercise at least a hundred times a day. She could feel the arm stiffen up on her otherwise, and the thought that she might lose even a small amount of usage was more than she could tolerate.
The arm was healing nicely. In fact, Koko figured the setting to be exact and that the bone was knitting perfectly.
“I still don’t think you need to be planning on going to the roundup,” Koko said, her tone stern. “Besides, Faith’s baby is due almost any day. You don’t want to miss that.”
Dianne was truly torn. She’d had her heart so set on going to the roundup that the birth of Faith’s child really hadn’t entered her mind. “I suppose you’re right, but I feel I should be there. It’s important. It’s the first roundup without Uncle Bram.”
Koko sobered and nodded. “Yes, I know. I thought of that as well.”
“I just want everything to go as best it can,” Dianne said, stretching her arm out again. “I want to do right by you and the children.”
“You’ve done right by us over and over. I cannot imagine anyone else being so loving or generous.”
“Bah,” Dianne said, getting to her feet. She watched Suzy toddle around the kitchen floor, occasionally plopping down on her bottom, then getting up to do it again. “How could I ever deny this little darlin’,” Dianne drawled in Gus Yegen fashion.
Koko laughed and went back to sewing the moccasins she’d been working on since morning. “That little darlin’, as you so sweetly put it, was into the flour and sugar sacks this morning. I had quite a mess to clean up while you were out there watching Levi work with Jack.”
“Well, she can make all the messes she wants,” Dianne said, wishing she could just reach down and pick up her little cousin.
It was so infuriating to be unable to do the things she’d always done before. Simple things like brushing her hair—tying her bootlaces—were now considered carefully by degree of difficulty. Most required some form of assistance, and for the independent woman that Dianne prided herself on being, it was quite maddening.
But, in all honesty, the broken arm had taken Dianne’s mind off of Cole. Well, not entirely, but since there were other things to worry over and concern herself with, Dianne found that thoughts of Cole didn’t grieve her quite as much as they used to. It was more bittersweet now. More like a tender dream that faded a little bit with each passing day.
Dianne watched the baby and felt her heart nearly break.
But I don’t want the dream to fade,
she whispered in the depths of her heart. She knelt and Susannah immediately made her way to Dianne. With her right arm, Dianne scooped Susannah close and nuzzled her neck.
I won’t let the dream fade.
I can’t let it die
.
P
ORTIA DRESSED HER HAIR IN A GENTLE UPSWEPT MASS,
then pulled on a new hat of black-dyed straw and feathers. A short veil was attached in a wispy sweep, but the material was light enough to see through clearly. That was important, Portia told herself, for today she intended to encounter the elusive Mr. Langford, and she wanted him to see her face without hindrance.
She studied her reflection in the mirror for a moment. The black gown hugged her frame in a fashionable manner, yet made clear her mourning status. She despised the color but loved the way the gown hung. Knowing that a woman in black would always solicit sympathy, Portia didn’t mind missing out on the colorful gowns she’d seen only the day before when she’d purchased the bonnet. There would be plenty of time for bringing color back into her wardrobe. Black would work to her advantage, so she would wear it a while longer.
Tying the hat securely, Portia nodded in satisfaction. She picked up her handbag and then headed downstairs to enjoy breakfast in the dining room. With any luck at all, Mr. Langford would be having his own meal.
The Bradbury Hotel was a completely modern affair with over a hundred rooms and a restaurant that boasted a European chef. The walls of the dining room were dark red with gold trim, and overhead were a dozen crystal chandeliers that spoke of the city’s prosperity and love of beautiful furnishings. The tables were of the finest oak, with beautifully embroidered linen coverings that matched the walls.
Portia had eaten in many fine establishments both in America and abroad, and she had to admit, to her great surprise, that the food at the Bradbury was superb. She actually looked forward to her meal as much as to furthering her plans.
“ Good morning, Mrs. McGuire.” The hotel employee, dressed from head to tail in black and white, had served her on the previous day. “Would you care for a table by the window?”
Portia glanced across the room and noted that Ned Langford and his friend were seated near the back. She shook her head. “Mr. Reems, is it?” He nodded. “I’m in mourning and would rather be over there,” she said, glancing in the general vicinity of Ned’s table. “That way I wouldn’t be forced to endure unwelcome advances or attention.”
“Of course. Please forgive me.” Reems seemed genuinely upset that he should have suggested such a thing. He motioned her to follow as he led her to a table beyond her true destination. “Now, if anyone bothers you at all, simply signal me and I’ll come to your aid.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Reems,” Portia said, her voice as smooth as the surface of a mountain lake.
Portia’s plan played itself out in perfect order. As she came up just behind the stranger who shared Langford’s table, she put her hand to her throat and made eye contact with Ned. Reems continued moving forward, clearly having no idea of Portia’s designs.
“Oh my,” she said, taking another couple of steps so she might be well within Ned’s reach.
“Are you quite all right, ma’am?” Ned said, getting to his feet rather quickly.
Portia feigned dizziness. “I think I’m going to faint,” she said, closing her eyes. She began to collapse, not even opening her eyes to ensure that Ned would catch her.
She felt the warmth of his embrace before hitting the floor. Opening her eyes through fluttering lashes, she was appalled to find herself staring into the face of Ned’s companion.
“Oh my,” she said again, pushing away. Her shock and dismay at being held by anyone other than the wealthy silver baron worked well to her advantage. “I do apologize. I’m afraid I’ve interrupted your meal.”
Reems was at her side. “Are you quite all right, Mrs. Mc-Guire? I could have something sent up to your room if you wish to retire.”
She shook her head as she composed herself, then looked to Ned. “I’m afraid it’s just that . . . well . . .” She paused and took out a handkerchief. “It’s just that life has been very hard for me. I recently lost my husband . . . and now my mother has passed on as well.” She raised the cloth to her eyes and pretended to wipe away tears that didn’t exist.
“What a tragedy,” Ned said, reaching out to steady Portia. He looked to Mr. Reems and motioned to his table. “Bring Mrs. . . .” He turned to her and shook his head. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch your name.”
“McGuire,” Portia said softly. “Portia McGuire.”
“Bring Mrs. McGuire a glass of cold water.” Ned pulled out a chair while continuing to hold on to Portia’s arm. “Here, please sit down. I wouldn’t want you fainting again.” Reems went running to do Ned’s bidding.
Portia did as she was instructed, turning her attention to Ned and then to the stranger. “I do apologize for the interruption. I’m certain to be right as rain in a moment. I don’t wish to impose.”
“Nonsense,” Ned said in that way that assured Portia he was already being drawn to her charms. “Are you alone?”
“Yes, quite. I’ve lost everyone now.” She sniffed as though she might well break into tears again.
“Then that settles it. Please remain here and share breakfast with us. You don’t mind, do you, Trenton?” Ned asked, looking to his companion. Before the man could respond, however, Ned interjected. “Oh, where are my manners? I should introduce myself. I’m Ned Langford, and this is Trenton Chadwick.”
Portia held up her gloved hand, but Trenton ignored it. Instead, he gave her a look that might have intimidated a lesser woman. “Mrs. McGuire.”
Ned, however, took hold of her hand and held it for a moment longer than necessary. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. Why don’t you tell us what brought you to Denver?”
Portia nodded and accepted the goblet of water Mr. Reems placed in front of her.
“Are you quite all right, Mrs. McGuire? Are you certain I can’t have something sent up to your room? Are these gentlemen bothering you?” He sounded very protective of Portia, and she rather liked the way he made such a fuss.
She smiled reassuringly. “No. I’m feeling much better now. Mr. Langford has graciously seen to that.” Reems looked notably relieved.
“I’ll just be over at the door should you need anything. Anything at all.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind, Mr. Reems. I shall have to mention such graciousness to your supervisor.” The man’s face reddened before he hurried away.
Portia took up the glass of water and sipped it slowly. Mr. Reems and his seemingly undying devotion might well come in handy at a later date. Putting that thought aside, she cast a quick glance at Trenton from beneath partially lowered lashes. She would have to be careful of this man. He wore the look of one well familiar with the ways of the world, while Ned seemed completely oblivious. This Trenton Chadwick could put an end to her plans before they’d even begun.
She rested the goblet on the table. “As I mentioned, my mother recently passed away,” she said with a sigh. “She was here at the Clarkston Sanitarium—a hospital for women. She had only been in town a couple of months. You see, my father is in the army at Fort Ellis in Montana Territory.” The Chadwick fellow seemed to perk up at the mention of Montana. Portia made a mental note to keep this in mind as she continued.
“My mother had moved here to set up housekeeping prior to his retirement from the army, but alas, God needed her more.” Portia let her voice become quite soft. “She was ill for only a few weeks, but it was a cancer and it . . . it . . .” By now both men were leaning toward her, just as she had anticipated. “It stole her away from me.” She cried softly into her handkerchief while Ned patted her arm in a consoling manner.
“There now,” he said, “you mustn’t overgrieve yourself. I’m sure she’s at peace. But what of your father? Have you sent him word?”
Portia lowered the cloth. “No. He was away and couldn’t be reached. Fighting Indians, don’t you know? I’m so afraid he might very well lie dead—butchered by heathen savages,” she lied. “My mother was so looking forward to his retirement. She had great plans for their life here in Denver. Then it was all stolen from her.” Portia sniffed into her handkerchief. “She made me promise to take word to Father, but I fear that may well be impossible.”
“But why?” Ned asked.
“Well, I’m alone, as you can see. I can hardly travel all the way to the Montana Territory alone.Why, the thought positively gives me the vapors.”
The waiter came and served Ned and Trenton’s breakfast. Portia started to get up, but Ned reached to keep her from leaving. “Please stay.” He turned to the waiter. “Bring her the same thing and be quick about it.” The man nodded and hurried back to the kitchen while Portia repositioned herself.
She noticed that the Chadwick man dug into his food as though she’d already vacated the table.
Such rudeness,
she thought.
I’ve given him my best performance and still he acts as though I have the plague
.
She turned back to Ned and smiled weakly. “Some people have no notion of how difficult it is to be a woman on your own. Why, I nearly died of fright on the train. I had to come all the way across America, and it’s such a huge expanse of country. I simply had no idea.”
The waiter returned in record time to place a plate containing an arrangement of fruit, toast, and eggs before Portia. The eggs were covered in hollandaise sauce—her favorite. She smiled her gratitude at Ned. “You must at least let me pay for breakfast. I’m quite well off and assure you I can manage it.”
There,
she thought,
let him think you know nothing about his financial means. That should help your cause considerably
.
“My dear woman, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a man of means myself. I will happily pay this bill. It isn’t often I am allowed the privilege of a beautiful woman’s company. I realize you are in mourning, Mrs. McGuire, so I hope I haven’t offended you with my boldness.”
