The Measure of a Lady by Deeanne Gist Page A

to do the floor and four ticks.’’ She paused. ‘‘Three ticks.’’
    He swung. ‘‘Nine to noon, Rachel.’’
    ‘‘Eight to noon. And I haven’t given you leave to call me by my Christian name.’’
    Wwwwhump . ‘‘The men stay up almost all night long. They aren’t going to rise at eight in the morning. And, please, call me Johnnie.’’
    ‘‘You are making a mess. You need to let that mud dry, then beat it.’’
    He glanced at her and swung.
    Her lips pursed as if she’d taken a chunk out of a lemon.
    Lissa entered the yard and set her bucket down by a dozen others.
    Where had they found all those buckets?
    ‘‘Well, Rachel,’’ she said. ‘‘How nice to have a man do your chores for you.’’
    Johnnie glanced between the two women.
    ‘‘He is our employer, Lissa. If he wishes to beat his ticks, there is nothing I can do about it.’’
    Wwwwhump .
    Lissa raised a brow. ‘‘How very convenient for you.’’
    Rachel pulled down the corners of her lips. Lissa strode to the shanty.
    Wwwwhump .
    ‘‘You shrouded my Lorenzo Bartolini with a burlap bag,’’ Johnnie said.
    She reluctantly moved her focus back to him. ‘‘If you are referring to that vulgar . . . thing in there, then you will receive no apology from me.’’
    ‘‘It’s not a thing, Rachel. It’s a piece of art. Sculpted by one of the masters. It came all the way from Italy, and it cost a fortune.’’ He wiped his face against his shoulder. ‘‘And you dressed it in a gunny sack. A gunny sack .’’ Wwwwhump . ‘‘Do not ever do that again.’’
    She crossed her arms.
    He swung a few more times. ‘‘Michael says you are a tree expert.’’
    Her face softened, just barely. ‘‘Hardly an expert. More like a tree lover.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘They are one of my passions, though.’’
    He smiled as he recalled Michael’s jest about her passion for bugs but refrained from saying anything. He moved to the other side of the tick and swung.
    ‘‘Well, there is something wrong with the trees on my property. Will you look at them for me?’’
    She lifted her brows. ‘‘I’ve seen no trees since arriving. Where is your property?’’
    ‘‘Southwest of town.’’
    Wwwwwwwhump .
    She glanced to the southwest, interest evident in her expression.
    He straightened. ‘‘Do you ride, Miss Van Buren?’’
    She blinked. ‘‘Horses?’’
    He nodded.
    ‘‘Well, yes.’’ Her eyes widened. ‘‘Have you a horse, Mr. Parker?’’
    Setting the shovel down, he made a formal bow. ‘‘Would you kindly accompany me out to my place tomorrow afternoon? I’m afraid I’ve no carriage to offer, but I’ve two horses and a hothouse full of trees that desperately need some help.’’
    Her entire countenance lit up. ‘‘Oh, tell me you are not jesting.’’
    ‘‘Not in the least.’’ He frowned. ‘‘Though it may take some doing to find a sidesaddle, but not completely impossible.’’
    She clasped her hands behind her back. ‘‘It would be my pleasure to examine your trees.’’
    ‘‘Tomorrow’s Sunday. Your day off. Are you sure you don’t mind?’’
    ‘‘Not at all.’’
    He moved to her. ‘‘Show me your hands.’’
    She frowned. ‘‘Your pardon?’’
    He held his hands palm up. ‘‘Your hands, Rachel.’’
    She moved her hands in front of her and turned them over so he could see. Red, angry blisters dotted them.
    It was all he could do not to cradle them within his. But he didn’t dare. ‘‘No more beating of ticks until I purchase a baton. Now come inside and let’s see if we can find something to put on those.’’
    He indicated that she precede him, then followed her into the kitchen.

chapter 5
    J ohnnie sighed. ‘‘Will you please sit down? There is not enough room in here for both of us to be at the stove.’’
    ‘‘This really isn’t necessary,’’ Rachel said. ‘‘I can do it.’’
    He narrowed his eyes. ‘‘Sit.’’
    She sat, finally. Whiffs of fried