A short while later, Jim entered with Sylvie and both came to the bedside. Concern filled Sylvie’s face. “Sorry I wasn’t home. I was out at the orphanage. Jim said you found her in the desert?” The middle-aged boardinghouse owner was a trusted friend.
Rhine stopped his ministrations for a moment. “Yes. And her skin’s iron hot.”
Sylvie placed her palm on her forehead. “She is very warm. Poor thing. I’d suggest a tub, but until she’s fully awake I’m scared she’ll slip beneath the water.”
“I can hold her up if you think that will help.”
She studied Rhine as if thinking that over. “It might. Do you know who she is?”
“No.”
“Okay. Do you have a shirt or something for her to wear?”
“Yes.” He walked to his wardrobe and took down a shirt. “Jim, were you able to find Doc?”
“He’s in Reno. He’ll be back in a day or two.”
Rhine saw the exasperation on Sylvie’s face. She had been a nurse for the Colored troops during the war and served in that capacity now for the city’s Colored community. According to the rumors, she and Doc Randolph had been at odds for decades, but Rhine had no idea why.
Sylvie took the shirt from his hand. “Let me get her undressed and I’ll call you in to carry her to the tub. In the meantime start filling it with water.”
Eddy thought she was dreaming about being carried down a dark tunnel. She knew a man was carrying her but she had yet to see his face. He eased her into a pool of water and she leaned back against his strong shoulder. The water lapped over her like a balm, magically erasing all her hurts and soothing her everywhere: throat, arms, breasts. It felt so glorious, she sighed with pleasure. Languidly opening her eyes, she stared into the deep green gaze of a White man. For some reason, she wasn’t alarmed. His jet black hair and handsome, ivory-skinned features seemed familiar somehow. She gently cupped his unshaven cheek—something she’d never done to any man before—and he smiled softly. She smiled in return, and that was the last thing she remembered.
“I trust you’ll be gentlemen if I leave her in your care for the night?”
Jim nodded.
“Of course,” Rhine added, eyeing the woman sleeping peacefully in yet another one of his clean shirts beneath a light blanket.
“My cook, Felix,” Sylvie said, “left to go back East yesterday, so I’ll have to listen to my boarders complaining about my serving them burnt breakfast before I can come back here to check on her in the morning.”
Rhine smiled. Everyone in town knew Sylvie had no cooking skills at all. He pitied her boarders. “Do you have a replacement for Felix in mind?”
“Not yet. Nor do I have a place for this young woman to stay, at the moment. One of the men will be leaving in a few days and she can finish her recovery with me. Will you mind looking after her until then?”
Rhine glanced over at Jim, who shrugged, so Rhine replied, “No.” His fiancée Natalie probably wouldn’t approve if she knew, but he’d cross that bridge if and when the time came.
“Okay good. I’ll bring some aloe for her sunburn tomorrow. When she wakes up, encourage her to drink, but not a lot all at once. Jim, cook her light food. Eggs, maybe some toast, and we’ll see how things go. Let’s hope she’ll be in better shape after she rests up.”
Rhine agreed.
Jim asked, “Do you want me to drive you back?”
Sylvie nodded. After glancing down at the young woman a final time, she said, “Keep an eye on her.”
After their departure, Rhine surveyed his sleeping guest. He ran his eyes over the clear-as-glass ebony skin, the long sweep of her lashes, and her perfect mouth. While in the tub, she’d taken him by surprise when she opened her eyes, looked deeply into his own, and cupped his cheek as if they’d been lovers. The urge to turn her hand and place his lips against her damp palm had also taken him by surprise. He had a fiancée and was due to be married before year’s end. He had no business thinking about kissing another woman. Deciding what he’d felt was nothing more than concern, he set the incident aside and took a seat to watch over her as promised and await Jim’s return.
Eddy awakened in a four-poster in a large room barely lit by a turned down lamp. Having no idea where she was or how she came to be there, she shook the cobwebs dulling her thinking and noticed she was wearing a man’s shirt! Perplexed, her eyes moved around the room to a well-appointed sitting area and then to the face of a White man watching her from one of the chairs. Panic flared. She snatched the blanket to her neck and she drew back fearfully.
“Don’t be afraid. You’re safe. I’m Rhine Fontaine. My friend Jim and I found you in the desert.”
Confused, she tried to force herself to calm down so she could make some sense of this, but she couldn’t. Watching him warily, she asked, “Where am I?” Her throat was dry as sand. She wanted water badly, but needed to solve the mystery of this first.
“Virginia City.”
“And this place is?”
“My bedroom.”
Her eyes went wide. “I need to go, I can’t stay here.”
“Maybe in a few days, but right now—”
Alarmed, she didn’t let him finish. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her mind was so foggy she wasn’t sure what was happening, but she knew she had to get away.
He stood and said urgently, “No! You’ll fall!”
He was right. The moment she stood, she was hit by a wave of weakness so strong, her legs folded as if they were made out of cards. She cried out involuntarily as she hit the floor.
He walked over to her. “As I said, maybe in a few days. Are you okay?”
Drawing away again, she looked up and recognized the face of the man from her dream. She stilled. Had it been a dream? “I’ll scream!”
He sighed. “If you feel that’s necessary, go right ahead, but I’m not going to hurt you—in any way. When you’re done, I can help you back into bed, or carry you to the facilities, whichever you’d prefer.”
Heated embarrassment burned her cheeks. Her needs were not something she talked about to a stranger, and especially not a White man stranger. “I can walk.”
“No, you can’t, but if you want to try, I’ll wait.”
At that moment she saw her bare legs sticking out from beneath the long-tailed shirt, and also realized she had on no underthings! No drawers. No shift. As quickly as her weakened state allowed, she reached up and pulled the blanket down. Ignoring him as best she could, she covered her bare legs. This was getting worse and worse.
“As I said, my name’s Rhine. And yours?”
“Eddy. Eddy Carmichael.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Carmichael. You gave my partner Jim and I quite a scare out there in the desert, but I’m pleased to see you are recovering.”
Then her muddled brain remembered Nash’s perfidy and her walk across the desert, but nothing else. “How long have I been here?”
“Four or five hours.”
Lord, she was thirsty. “May I have some water please?” she croaked. She felt so weak. It was not a state she was accustomed to.
He poured her a glass from a pitcher on the nightstand and handed it to her. “Slowly,” he advised softly. “Just a little for now.”
She nodded and took a few short swallows. The water tasted so good and she was so thirsty she wanted to down the entire offering, but heeding his advice, she took only a few more slow pulls. Done, she handed the glass back and her parched throat savored the relief. “Why am I so weak?”
“Walking the Forty Mile Desert under a full sun takes its toll. So, Miss Eddy—facilities or back to bed?”
She hated to admit it but she really needed choice number one. Thoroughly scandalized, she confessed softly, “The facilities, but I can walk. Just point me in the right direction.” Looking around, she didn’t see a screen of any kind.
“It’s at the end of the hallway.”
“Oh,” she said disappointedly. Still bent on
getting there under her own power, though, she wrestled with the blanket in an attempt to fashion it around her waist. Trying to get it out from under her hips and secured without treating him to another show of her legs was a struggle, however. He’d seen more of them than any man ever before.
“Do you want to go today?” he asked in a tone of muted amusement.
She shot him a glare. Reasonably certain the blanket was secured, she said, “Yes.” Now she just had to get up. No small task. The fullness of the blanket made it difficult to get her feet planted so she could stand. She decided she’d use the side of the bed to give her the leverage she needed. She scooted closer.
“You always this stubborn, Miss Carmichael?”
“It’s called determination, Mr. Fontaine.”
“I stand corrected.”
Giving him another withering glare, she grabbed hold of the bed’s wooden side panel and began working herself to her knees. She made a bit of progress, but her weakened state conspired against her efforts. Refusing to surrender and breathing harshly, she slowly inched herself to a standing position, careful not to get her feet fouled by the swath of blanket, and promptly keeled face forward onto the mattress.
Chuckling softly, he picked her up from behind and placed her gently into the cradle of his strong arms. He smiled softly. “It’s called stubbornness.”
Rolling her eyes, she allowed herself to be carried from the room.
Rhine came from a long line of determined women, and the little lady presently in his washroom could have been one of them. While he stood waiting in the hallway a short distance away from the closed door to give her the privacy she needed, he had nothing but admiration for Miss Eddy Carmichael. He wondered again what she’d be like at full strength. Those withering looks she kept shooting him had probably brought more than one man to his knees, but he was finding them amusing.
The door opened and there she stood, upright but panting from the exertion. She appeared to be wobbly on her pins and on the verge of toppling, so he went to her and picked her up. She didn’t protest but he could tell by her tight face that she wasn’t enjoying being carried as much as he seemed to be enjoying offering the assistance.
He set her gently back in the center of his bed. “Would you like more water?”
She nodded.
He poured again from the pitcher.
When she’d had her fill she handed the glass back with a shaking hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And thank you and your friend for rescuing me.”
“You’re welcome for that, too.”
“I had a carpetbag with me. Did you find it?”
“Yes.”
“Can you bring it to me?” No matter her condition, she wasn’t going to go without underwear.
“Yes, I will. Now, lie back.”
Again a nod. He waited while she undid her cocoon. From the slow pace of her movements, she obviously had very little strength, but rather than offer to help and draw her ire, he let her handle it alone. Finally free of the blanket confines, she slowly spread it out, seemingly careful to keep her lovely legs hidden from his sight. Content, she snuggled in. If she had any lingering worries or misgivings about being in the room with him, she didn’t voice them. “Rest now,” he told her quietly. A blink of an eye later she was asleep. Shaking his head at her determination, he went back to his chair for some rest of his own.
Breathless
“This heartfelt story and its endearing characters and gratifying ending will leave readers breathing a sigh of pure contentment.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
Santa Catalina Mountains,
Arizona Territory
Spring 1885
“I wonder how it feels to be that much in love.”
In response to the question, Portia Carmichael glanced up from the ledger she was working on to look over at her sister, Regan, standing at the window. “I’ve no idea,” she replied as she refocused on the column of numbers she was adding. Regan was gazing cow-eyed out at what Portia assumed were their aunt Eddy and uncle Rhine Fontaine. The sisters were in the business office of the Fontaine Hotel and although the twenty-five-year-old Regan longed for love and children, Portia, two years older, wanted neither. Being the manager of the family’s successful hotel was more than enough to make Portia’s life complete.
“To have someone look at you that way and know you are their entire world—oh my.”
“Please don’t swoon, or at least do it elsewhere,” Portia teased. She didn’t have to look up to know Regan responded with a shake of her head that held equal parts amusement and pity.
“Numbers won’t keep you warm at night, sister mine.”
“That’s what quilts are for.”
“One of these days, Cupid’s going to hit you with an arrow right between the eyes. I just hope I’m around to see it.”
Smiling, Portia ignored the prediction only to hear Regan gush, “Oh my, they’re sharing a kiss.”
Portia sighed audibly. “Why don’t you step away from the window and let them have their privacy.”
“They’re having a picnic by the gazebo. If they wanted privacy they’d be in their suite behind closed doors.”
She supposed Regan was right. The couple’s love was legendary and they didn’t keep their mutual affection a secret. At any moment of the day one could round a corner and find them stealing a kiss, holding hands as if still courting, or drowning in each other’s eyes. Not that Portia found their affection unseemly; she was glad they were in love and that it extended to their nieces.
Regan vowed, “When I find someone to marry I want that type of love.”
Their mother, Corinne, had been in love, and when her intended demanded she cast her daughters aside because they weren’t his progeny, Corinne put the then twelve-year-old Portia and ten-year-old Regan on a train to their aunt Eddy in Virginia City and never looked back. In the fifteen years since, they’d not heard a word. Portia wanted no part of something that could cause such irreparable harm. She planned to remain unmarried and immerse herself in work. Work didn’t break hearts.