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The Measure of a Lady

By Deeanne Gist

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Excerpt from The Measure of a Lady:

San Francisco, 1849

Johnnie Parker tensed as a low murmur raced through the crowd. Young Rattlesnake was a favorite amongst the miners, but business was business. The five came up in the deck first, and winner takes all.

He carefully tied the leather pouch closed, then allowed his gaze to roam over the other miners. But it wasn’t Rattlesnake who held their attention.

"Give him his money back," the woman snapped.

Johnnie was halfway out of his chair before he realized it had been well over a year since he’d stood up for a lady. But lady she was. Standing amongst these disreputable miners in her coat, skirt, and sunbonnet. Caked in mud and looking so blasted pretty he could scarcely catch his breath.

Every eye in the place was on her. Even Rattlesnake appeared to have forgotten he’d just lost his fortune. And the lady? The lady’s attention was fully and completely focused on Johnnie.

And she was none too pleased.

"Give it back to him," she repeated.

"I won fair and square."

"He’s nothing but a boy."

"He’s older than you, I’d wager."

Her back stiffened. "I believe there has been enough wagering for one night." She pulled off her glove, one finger at a time, having no idea, he was sure, how long it had been since these men had seen a female perform such a simple task. "Where’s the owner?"

He took a pull on his cigar. "That’d be me." He offered her a slight bow. "Johnnie Parker. At your service."

She pursed her lips. "Tell me, Mr. Parker, do you make a habit of stripping hard-earned fortunes from the hands of babes?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I’ve stripped no one of anything. I run a clean, honest house here."

"Really? Why, I didn’t know there was such a thing as an honest gambling house."

"So now you know." He swept her with his gaze. She was of average height, and though her rust-colored coat hid the contours of her shape, he would guess there wasn’t much meat on her bones. Her heart-shaped face held high cheekbones, soft-looking lips, and dark brows that arched slightly above coffee-colored eyes. Eyes that simmered with disapproval.

"Is there something I can do for you?" he asked, snuffing out his cigar.

She slapped the glove into her hand. "The sign outside says ‘City Hotel.’"

"Yes, it surely does."

"Then where is the registration desk?"

Another murmur from the men. "Well, miss, I’ve never really needed a desk just to rent out a few bunks."

Her eyes widened. "You’ve no rooms?"

Flipping his coattails back, he slipped his hands into his pockets. "No. Can’t say that I do."

"For heaven’s sake. A hotel without rooms." She pulled her glove through her palm then slapped it back again. The simple movement enthralled every man in the hotel.

"I have a room, ma’am," a voice offered. "You can hitch up with me."

Johnnie swung his attention to ol’ Harry and scowled, but the words on his lips died as the lady turned fiery red at Harry’s proposal. Take the deuce, but he’d forgotten the power of a woman’s blush.

"Well. I ... I ... oh. Thank you, but I really just wanted to rent a room."

A hundred offers poured forth. She held up her hand for silence. "A hotel room." She turned again to him. "Is there a hotel in town that has rooms for rent?"

"I’m afraid hotels in San-Fran-cisco only offer bunks, not rooms."

"Then would you be so kind as to direct me to a woman who might put me up for the night?"

He rubbed his jaw. "I’m afraid all the respectable women are up in the mining camps with their husbands."

"You cannot mean to tell me there is not one single church-going woman in this whole entire town?"

"What he says is true, miss," Harry replied. "You’re the first sunbonnet us fellers have seen in a month o’ Sundays."

She frowned. "Sunbonnet?"

"That’s what the boys call the respectable women," Johnnie said. "The, um, other women don’t worry overmuch about their skin and, therefore, do not wear sunbonnets."

She hesitated. "I see. Well, then. Where is the church?"

"We don’t have one."

"You don’t have a church?"

"I’m afraid not. Not the way you mean. Sunday services are held in the old schoolhouse."

She surveyed the bunks along the wall, a slight frown wrinkling her brow.

"What about your shack, Johnnie?" somebody hollered. The rest of the room erupted with approval, and before he knew it, his own patrons were showing her the way to his private quarters behind the hotel.

He needn’t have worried, though. She dug in her heels after the first two steps. "Absolutely not."

They all stopped and looked at her expectantly.

"I couldn’t. I just ... couldn’t."

"Sure ya could. Cain’t she, Johnnie?"

He sauntered forward. "Well, as it happens, Miss ... ?"

"Van Buren. Rachel Van Buren."

"... Van Buren, I would be honored to lend you the use of my shanty until you can find other accommodations."

She glanced toward the door, then back at him. "But what about your family?"

He smiled. "I’ve no family, miss."

"Oh. Then where would you stay?"

"I’m in the process of building a new shack. It’s not totally complete, but enough to where I can bed down in it."

She brightened. "Well, then, perhaps I could stay there instead?"

"No."

"I insist."

"And I said no. It’s not finished and would not be suitable."

She frowned.

He tried again. "I’d be hung for sure, miss, if I gave you anything but the best. And my shanty is the best place in town."

Nods of approval circulated.

"Sir, surely you understand. I cannot stay in an unmarried man’s—No. I’m sorry. If you won’t let me stay in the unfinished shack, then I’ll just have to find someplace else."

Harry stepped forward. "Where’s yer man?"

Shadows swept across her eyes. "My father died of cholera during our passage around the Horn."

"It’s right sorry I am about that, ma’am. You married?"

"Um, no, I’m afraid not."

A resounding roar broke forth. Miss Van Buren took an involuntary step back.

Harry scratched his beard. "Well, then, you’d best be stayin’ right here. Ain’t no man in town you can trust better than this here Johnnie Parker. That is, o’ courst, unless you’d be willin’ to marry me?"

She swallowed and looked back at Johnnie, for confirmation, he supposed. He offered nothing.

"There just ain’t no other place fer a sunbonnet," Harry continued. "No, miss. It’s either marry up or stay in Johnnie’s shack."

The men rumbled their agreement.

She fingered the buttons of her coat. "I see. Well, then, I suppose, for tonight only." Large brown eyes met his. "You’re sure it’s ... proper?"

Johnnie bowed. "Absolutely. Right this way."

She shook her head. "I must get my family first."

He stopped midstride. "Family?"

"Yes. My brother and sister. They’re right ..." She pointed to the door, and as the men parted for her, he discovered a scrawny boy and a lovely girl standing in his doorway looking tired and lost. "Well, they’re right there. Come, Lissa, Michael. I think I’ve found us a room."

But Michael wasn’t listening. Michael had all his attention centered on the nude statue. Fortunately, Miss Van Buren couldn’t see over the shoulders of the men to what was distracting him.

"Michael?"

He started, turned completely red, then nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get to his sister’s side.

"Michael, Lissa. This is Mr. Parker. He’s the proprietor here and has a, um, shack that will suffice for tonight until another arrangement can be worked out."

The children nodded politely. A pair of valises appeared in the clutches of Harry’s hands.

"I’ll take those, Harry." Johnnie turned to the crowd. "Carry on, everyone. Drinks are on the house tonight."

But the usually uproarious group of miners didn’t move. Didn’t howl with approval. Instead, they stood solemn and intent while Johnnie guided the sunbonnet woman and her family to his private quarters behind the kitchen.

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Excerpted from:
The Measure of a Lady by Deeanne Gist
Copyright © 2006; ISBN 0764200739
Published by Bethany House Publishers
Unauthorized duplication prohibited.

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