The Measure of a Lady (15 page)

She shoved him, hard, and he wasn’t expecting it.

Before he could secure his footing on the steep slope, he dropped the reins, fell down, then sprang back up. ‘‘What did you do that for?’’

‘‘I did it out of sheer meanness. And if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll do it again.’’

‘‘What the fiery furnace were you thinking back there to hold a gun on Sumner? Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea whatsoever how dangerous he is? He’d kill you without a moment’s hesitation.’’

‘‘It wasn’t loaded.’’

‘‘What wasn’t loaded? Your gun? Your gun wasn’t loaded! Woman, do you have nothing but space in between those ears of yours? Never, ever aim an unloaded gun at somebody!’’

She had the nerve to look at him as if
he
were the stupid one.

‘‘Are you trying to tell me it’s safer to point a
loaded
gun at somebody?’’

‘‘Of course it’s safer. My sainted aunt, but you are the most troublesome apron on the face of this earth.’’

‘‘Well, who asked you? Did I ask you to be my keeper? No. No, I did not. So in case you’re wondering, you’re dismissed.’’

‘‘From what?’’

‘‘From being my keeper.’’

She spun back around, but he grabbed her by the waist of her breeches before she took so much as a step. ‘‘And that’s another thing. What the blazes do you think you are doing parading around town in trousers?’’

She swatted his hand away. ‘‘It’s a disguise. Nobody recognized me.’’

‘‘No? Then how did I find out what you were up to?’’

That shut her up for a moment. Not long enough, though. ‘‘How did you find out?’’

He leaned close. ‘‘You are a sunbonnet woman. Every man and boy in the territory knows who you are. And now they are going to think you are just like the rest of the janes that live in this town. Loose and free with their morals. Who ever heard of a sunbonnet traipsing around in pants? Even the whores wear skirts.’’

She raised her hand to slap him, but he grabbed her arms and jerked her against him. Mistake. Big mistake.

Her chin lifted. Her eyes widened.

A conscience he hadn’t heard from in a long, long time started hammering like a woodpecker against his insides, causing him to question what he was about to do.

And as he had since the day his late wife walked out on him, he slammed a lid on the scruples and moved his lips to the ones waiting for him.

Oh, but they were sweet. And pliant. And warm.

The absence of light and the remoteness of their location enveloped them in intimacy. The woodpecker made itself known again.

Rachel squirmed and shoved and stomped on his toe. He pulled back, loosening his grip.

Her flattened chest heaved. He frowned. Where was the rest of her? Had she wrapped herself, then?

Tears sprang to her eyes.

‘‘What’s the matter?’’ he asked.

‘‘Lissa’s right. I’m no better than she is. The only difference between her and me is she’s more open about what she’s doing. I only sin under the cover of darkness.’’

He scowled. ‘‘You are nothing like her. Nothing. She is choosing to live an unchaste life. You aren’t.’’

‘‘Then would you please explain to me why it is that I am in your arms and have no desire whatsoever to make you stop kissing me?’’

All traces of anger left him in a whoosh, only to be replaced with intense male satisfaction. She’d liked their kiss. Wanted, in fact, more of them. Well, that made two of them.

‘‘You don’t want me to stop kissing you any more than I want you to stop kissing me. There’s no sin in that.’’

‘‘‘Do not stir up nor awaken love until it pleases.’ ’’

Contentment sluiced through him. ‘‘Have I awakened the love in you, Rachel?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ she whispered.

He grazed her chin with his finger. ‘‘I’ve never kissed a girl in pants before, nor one that stinks to high heaven. What kind of fragrance are you wearing, woman?’’

She humphed.

He kissed her again. This time she didn’t struggle.

‘‘Go riding with me tomorrow,’’ he said.

‘‘I can’t.’’

‘‘Can’t or won’t?’’

She didn’t answer.

‘‘I want to show you something,’’ he urged.

‘‘What is it?’’

‘‘Some trees.’’

‘‘What about Lissa?’’

‘‘There’s nothing you can do, Rachel. You’re going to have to let her go.’’

She shook her head. ‘‘I can’t.’’

‘‘Then pray for her. But in the meanwhile, you can’t just quit doing normal everyday things.’’

She blew a bit of hair from her face, but the wilted tendril returned to drape across her vision. ‘‘Oh, I don’t know, Johnnie.’’

‘‘You have to come with me. Please?’’

She stayed silent so long he was sure she’d refuse him. ‘‘What kind of trees are they again?’’

He let out the breath he’d been holding. ‘‘The kind you have to see to believe.’’

She nibbled her lower lip.

‘‘We’ll leave at first light,’’ he said.

‘‘But, I have to clean the hotel in the morning.’’

‘‘One day won’t hurt, Rachel. Say yes. Just this once.’’

She stepped back, fingering the waistband of her britches. ‘‘Just this once?’’

‘‘Just this once.’’

chapter
14

O
n a typical morning, the fog would crash over the mountaintops like a tidal wave and pour down the sides of the slopes before spreading across the top of the sea and town, obliterating everything in sight. This morning, though, the fog was conspicuously absent, giving way to glistening sunshine sparkling so brightly atop the blue water that it hurt Rachel’s eyes to look at it. But then, her eyes had been hurting for a while, as she had spent the whole night long mourning over Lissa.

She shoved those thoughts aside, determined to take solace in the feel of her horse and the scenic beauty of the California territory.

Bit by bit they left behind the hilly tip of the peninsula holding boisterous, frenetic San Francisco along with its bay of deserted windjammers bobbing in the tide. Gradually the horses made their way onto a coastline with a succession of heavily-wooded ridges on one side and a shimmering sea on the other.

No visible signs of human habitation presented themselves, but the shoreline was busy with activity. Wild geese flying high in a
V,
pelicans cruising just above the water’s surface, wings flapping—one flying this way, one that, each with an urgent destination in mind. Waves slapped against the sand; wind whistled loudly past her ears.

Evidence of dying fish along with barnacles on rotted wood reached her nose. Sweet Lips jerked her chin up, and Rachel acquiesced, allowing for a little more freedom in the length of the reins.

She surveyed the seascape, but the view was illusive, making it difficult to tell the islands from the mustard-colored mountain ranges, so smoothly did they blend together. The water surrounding them changed from olive to green to blue depending upon its depth.

A loud honking quickly pulled her attention up the shoreline, but she could spot no boat. The sound swelled into a chorus of not barks exactly, but more like extraordinarily loud consecutive belches, each on top of the other.

She frowned. Johnnie pointed. Following the direction of his finger, she spotted a group of rocks up ahead that swayed like wheat. Squinting, she gently tugged on her right rein, leading Sweet Lips to the water’s edge.

In a few moments, she could see they were not rocks at all. Her eyes widened.

‘‘Sea lions,’’ Johnnie said.

She resisted the urge to trot, not wanting to frighten the huge almost black animals jumping, swimming and, well, playing amongst a group of boulders several yards into the sea. And, my, but they were noisy. Just like true Californians.

Sweet Lips whinnied.

‘‘Shhhh. It’s all right, girl.’’ She moved the horse back up onto shore, reined her in, and slid from the saddle. In a moment, Johnnie stood beside her.

She gasped and pointed. ‘‘Look. A baby one.’’

‘‘Yes. They give birth to the pups in June and July. Pretty big for a newborn, huh?’’

She handed him her reins and walked closer. He followed, pulling the horses behind him. Several mothers and pups lounged against the rocks soaking up the sweet heat of the sun’s rays.

‘‘Good heavens. Look at that one. Why, it must be upwards of eight hundred pounds,’’ she said.

‘‘That’s a male. See that bump on his head? They get those when they’re around five.’’

‘‘The smaller ones are females, then.’’

He huffed. ‘‘If you can call three hundred pounds small.’’

Smiling, she once again followed the direction of his finger to a couple of lions cavorting about the water. Clearly, it was a male and female and they were . . . kissing. Necking. Wrapping their massive bodies around each other and swirling round and round in a graceful, amorous ballet.

He chased her. She chased him. Then they twisted themselves together like rope and spun beneath the surface, disappearing as water rippled in their wake.

Goose bumps broke out across her skin. Never in all her born days had she seen anything so sensual. Not even with her insects. And certainly not while standing isolated and alone next to a man of whom she was growing more and more fond.

She peeked up at him, then lost herself within the depths of his blue gaze. For he had not been watching the lovers but had, instead, watched her watch them. And the sensations she’d been feeling before increased tenfold.

The barking receded. The breeze died. The smell of salt and horse metamorphosed into the smell of Johnnie Parker.

Was this how it had been for Lissa? If so, Rachel could certainly understand how effortless it would be to succumb to such feelings. Feelings so tempting, so strong it was as if she fought the gravitational pull of the very earth.

Even knowing her own principles were as firm as the rocks of these native hills, knowing her faith was deep enough to rely on the strength of almighty God, she stood before this man vacillating between giving in and holding fast.

And why not? She lived in a town where virtue was regarded by the mass as only a name. Where the females numbered perhaps a hundred, yet from that number she could not have selected but one with whom she could have associated. And that one had just crossed the line of demarcation.

She took a deep breath. ‘‘I don’t think this is a good idea, Johnnie. What we’re doing. I’d like to go back now.’’

There was no question he understood her meaning. The currents between them were as real as the ones in the ocean.

His face softened. ‘‘We can’t turn back now. We’re almost to the turnoff. And the best is yet to come.’’

That’s precisely what she was afraid of. But truth be told, she didn’t want to go back. Going back meant facing all the emotions she had shoved into the little box she kept deep inside her. And this time, she’d had to shove them down, cram the lid on, and sit atop it to keep its contents muzzled.

She’d rather go see some trees. For where there were trees, there were insects.
Help me be strong, Lord
.

Johnnie must have sensed how little it would take for her to bolt, because he didn’t lift her into the saddle but chose instead to lock his fingers together and give her foot a boost.

Casting one last glance at the sea lions and another at the town well behind her, she allowed herself to be drawn into the wilds of uncharted territory.

————

They’d spoken hardly at all. The silence between them comfortable. Peaceful.

The forest of redwoods was just ahead, but Johnnie had no wish to rush Rachel and cut short her delight in the vast carpet of green they wove through nor the theatrics the fruit trees performed for her. Apricot, almond, pear, and plum all burst forth with showy leaves. And as much as Johnnie enjoyed these rolling hills, he found this time it was not nature’s display that drew his admiration but the woman beside him.

She wore a brown work dress and a serviceable bonnet whose wide brim protected her from the sun and, often, from his gaze. And in this field of flowers, with her calico bonnet and silky tendrils of hair that refused to stay caged, she looked every bit the young innocent she was. Only the puffiness around her eyes hinted at the weight she carried on those delicate shoulders.

Reaching the edge of the clearing, they left the field behind and entered the perimeter of the forest. Within moments they moved into a world like none other.

Rachel pulled her sorrel to a stop. He followed suit. Clusters of giant, perfectly straight majestic redwoods of an age that harkened back to the creation of time filled the quiet, shady glade in which they sat.

Sliding off her horse, she dropped the reins and craned her neck back. Up and up and up the huge trees rose, dwarfing them, humbling them. Mere mortals in a universe so vast, so old that troubles shrank into tiny grains of sand.

Dappled light poured through the lacy canopy, splashing across her face like dew.

‘‘I feel like we’re in a cathedral,’’ she whispered.

He smiled at her reluctance to speak in a normal voice. But he understood, for the stately columns formed a chapel of sorts with high windows rising up to the sky. And as much as he liked to pretend otherwise, anyone who stood on such hallowed ground could not question the presence of God in this place.

A stream gurgled across rocks playing leapfrog along its bank. Delicate ferns congregated about its edge in deeply shaded shallows. Leaves whispered in the cool breeze.

‘‘Are you cold?’’ he asked.

She shook her head and moved deeper into the forest, approaching a tree bigger around than the two of them put together and every bit of two hundred feet in height.

‘‘How old do you suppose these are?’’ she asked, placing her palms against the bark spiraling up the tree.

‘‘I don’t know. A thousand years? Two thousand?’’

‘‘I’ve read about them, but never did I dream . . .’’

She ran her hands up and down the trunk, learning its texture, caressing its length. Leaning in, she pressed her face against its bark.

His mouth went dry and he swung off his horse.

She pulled back and looked at him, wonder filling her eyes.

He quirked a brow. ‘‘If you’d like to kiss something, Rachel, I can think of an alternative that would be much more satisfying.’’

A giggle spilled from her lips, bouncing from tree to tree and transforming her face as her cheeks mushroomed and her eyes sparkled. ‘‘I was
smelling
it. You know, seeing if it had a fragrance, like a cedar or something.’’

He felt a smile of his own answer hers. ‘‘Well, it doesn’t.’’
I do, though
. But he kept the thought to himself.

Dragonflies, gnats, and butterflies zipped around the water. A spider’s web stretching between two trees shimmered in the light.

‘‘Have you noticed they all seem to be bunched together in groups?’’ She stood with her head cocked, fists resting against her waist as she studied a cluster of redwoods.

‘‘I have.’’

‘‘Must have something to do with the way they pollinate.’’

O Lord. I will not be able to survive another discussion on mating rituals—of trees or anything else. If you want me to behave, then you’d better knock some sense into that girl
.

‘‘Oh, look at that one. It has a cavelike alcove carved out of its base.’’ She ran over to it and stepped within. ‘‘Look. It’s huge. I can stand up in it. So could you. Come over, Johnnie, and let’s see.’’

She proceeded to explore the scar in the tree, picking at its edges and debating with herself on what might cause such a phenomenon.

He stepped inside. She whirled around, crashing into his chest. He grasped her arms, then lightly slid his hands down their length before releasing her.

Her eyes grew wide and wary.

Better, Lord. That’s better
.

Still, he did not withdraw. But she did, then skirted around him and back out onto a winding path.

Johnnie followed her past huckleberry bushes, through shady corridors, and across glistening pools. He’d grabbed their lunch but tied the horses back a ways, as this particular section of the redwood thicket was like a forest of poles, one after another, after another.

‘‘This is what I imagined the forests in all those fairy tales to look like,’’ she said, weaving through the trunks as if practicing the choreographed steps of some fancy ballroom dance.

She picked up her skirts and flitted to one of the giants that had fallen and lay sprawled across the earth from which it had sprung. It was clear she wanted to climb atop it, but its circumference was huge and there was no ladylike way in which to manage the feat.

Finally, she squatted and carefully began to pick at the dead tree. He moved up behind her, casting a shadow across both her and the trunk. She peeled back a large section of bark, unearthing countless bugs of every sort.

‘‘Ohhhhh,’’ she sighed. ‘‘Would you look at all those?’’

He swiped a hand across his mouth.

‘‘Look in the lunch basket, would you, Johnnie? And see if there is something I can put these in.’’

He didn’t move and she twisted around to look up at him.

‘‘I didn’t bring any empty jars,’’ he said. ‘‘Just food.’’

Puckering her lips, she stood and brushed her hands against her skirt. ‘‘Let’s eat then, and clean some of those jars out.’’

He lifted a corner of his mouth. ‘‘You misunderstand. I don’t have any jars at all, only food. But I am hungry. Would you like to go ahead and eat anyway?’’

‘‘Of course.’’

He’d forgotten to grab the blanket when he tied the horses, but she didn’t seem to mind and plopped right onto the dirt, hands folded primly in her lap.

He smiled. A child waiting to eat her meal so she could move on to dessert. Or in this case, bugs.

He unpacked biscuits, bacon, and boiled eggs, as well as some elderberries he’d picked while she was exploring.

Peeling the shell off an egg, she glanced at the bugs she’d uncovered. ‘‘Mayflies can’t eat during their adult life.’’

He paused. ‘‘Not at all?’’

‘‘Not at all.’’

He looked at the tree. ‘‘Are there any in there?’’

‘‘Oh no. But just one little section like this can turn up beetles, millipedes, and all kinds of worms.’’

Breaking open his biscuit, he sandwiched slices of bacon inside. ‘‘How did you get so interested in bugs?’’

‘‘Insects.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘Mother let me have a flower bed when I was little, but my favorite part was seeing what lived in the soil and on the leaves of the flowers. So Mother took my shovel away.’’

‘‘That, apparently, didn’t stop you, though.’’

‘‘Heavens, no. I simply dug a secret garden behind the shed then cultivated poison ivy around it so everyone would leave it alone.’’

He hesitated before taking a bite of biscuit. ‘‘Didn’t it get in your way?’’

‘‘What? The poison ivy?’’ She shook her head. ‘‘No, I’m immune to it. Doesn’t bother me in the least.’’

He lifted his brows.

‘‘After that, I spent hours outside, checking on bird’s nests, collecting insects, studying leaves. One time when Mother had a tea party, she grabbed a china pitcher I’d been using and poured water filled with tadpoles right into the cups. She was soooo angry.’’