The Measure of a Lady by Deeanne Gist

alley. He shook his head, barely suppressing his anger. What could that woman possibly have been thinking?
    At the end of the alley, he paused and watched as Rachel swung at a tick with all her might.
    Uumph . Up the shovel came. Whack .
    Uumph . . . whack .
    Uumph . . . whack .
    Straightening, she leaned the shovel against the post, then braced one hand against it and the other hand on her back.
    After a moment, she left the shovel, returned to the tick, and struggled to lift it off the line. All instincts urged him forward, but he checked them. Surely she didn’t mean to move that thing all by herself?
    Yet that’s exactly what she set out to do.
    She tugged, inching it off the line bit by bit. Anyone could see she was too weak to handle the mattress alone.
    She crouched underneath it, allowing half of it to fall down her back like a cape, then propped her head along the crease in its middle. Lifting her hands up to steady it, she stood, balancing it on her head, and started moving backward.
    The other half of the tick slowly followed, and when it finally came free of the line, it fell with a thud against her face and torso, folding over her like an upside-down book trying to slam closed. She staggered.
    He jogged toward her. But not soon enough. Like a top that had lost its momentum, she tottered to the ground and hit with a resounding splat. The mattress still sandwiched her inside of it, and mud now caked both it and her.
    He smiled at the epithets coming from inside the folded over tick. They were the cleaned up versions of the real ones and were spewing from her mouth with feeling.
    Ankles, pantalets, and petticoats peeked out the edges like lettuce and leg o’ lamb. She flayed about. He reached down and flipped back the top of the mattress.
    She now lay completely flat on the tick. An open-faced sandwich.
    She squealed.
    He bowed and extended a hand. ‘‘May I be of service?’’
    She scrambled off the mattress and turned a gorgeous shade of red.
    Any neatness that her serviceable brown dress had held this morning had long since disappeared. One of his aprons drooped down her front, its ties wrapped multiple times around her waist. The hair twist at the back of her head sagged, with one section of silky hair tumbling free across her shoulder.
    She lifted her chin. ‘‘Good afternoon, Mr. Parker. I didn’t realize you were home.’’
    He allowed his smile to widen. ‘‘I know.’’
    The blush moved down her neck, but she held firm his gaze. The girl had pluck. He’d give her that.
    ‘‘Next time you need to move a tick,’’ he said, ‘‘just let Soda or me know. We’ll be glad to assist you.’’
    She tightened her lips. ‘‘I can do it. I just slipped is all. It’s my fourth one today and I guess I’m a little tired.’’ She took a deep breath. ‘‘Are you hungry? You’re a bit low on supplies, so supper will be a simple affair. But it is on the stove when you are ready.’’
    Moving to the nearest post, he undid the rope, stretched it taut, and re-secured it. ‘‘You closed down my hotel.’’
    ‘‘I forgot to have you do it before you left.’’
    Lifting the tick, he flung it back over the rope and began to roll up his sleeves. ‘‘Had you discussed your intentions with me, I would not have let you close it. Do you have any idea how much money you cost me today?’’
    ‘‘I can’t very well scrub it down while the men are in there.’’
    Picking up the shovel, he swung it into the tick. Mud flew everywhere.
    She gasped and jumped back, but not before the stuff peppered them both.
    He swung again. ‘‘That may be, but I rent out tables to certain men at certain times of the day. They depend on the money those bring in, as do I.’’ Wwwwhump .
    ‘‘If you will just let that be, I will do it later.’’
    He continued to beat the mud out of the mattress. ‘‘You can have the hotel from nine to noon. That should be sufficient.’’
    ‘‘But it took me all day just