River Queen Rose. Shirley Kennedy

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      The ramshackle River Queen Hotel is home to vagabonds, gamblers, and heathens—and now, to new widow Rose Peterson. The rundown Gold Rush establishment is the only thing her late husband, Emmet, left her. Despite its raucous saloon and ladies of the evening, Rose can see the hotel’s potential. Her late husband’s family claim that sheltered Rose isn’t capable of running the Sacramento inn herself. But she is determined to make a new life for herself and her young daughter, even if it means flying in the face of custom and propriety. She feels as if she hasn’t a friend in the world.

      Except, perhaps, one. Decatur “Deke” Fleming, a tall, lanky Australian who once served as Emmet’s farmhand. Pride prevents Deke from revealing his moneyed past; conscience keeps him from confessing his feelings for the still grieving widow. But when Rose is tempted by wealthy civic leader and hotel owner Mason Talbot, Deke may be the only person who can save her—and the one man capable of reviving her bruised and battered heart . . .

      Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Books by Shirley Kennedy

      Women of the West Series

      Wagon Train Cinderella

      Wagon Train Sisters

      Gold Rush Bride

      In Old California Series

      River Queen Rose

      River Queen Rose

      In Old California

      Shirley Kennedy

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2017 by Shirley Kennedy

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      First Electronic Edition: December 2017

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0438-3

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0438-2

      First Print Edition: MDecember 2017

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0441-3

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0441-2

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      I dedicate this book to my daughter, Lindy, who has always been “a mother’s delight” in every possible way.

      Foreword

      Although this book is a work of fiction, many of the incidents are based on fact. During the Gold Rush, there really was an area along Sacramento’s waterfront where rowdy, rip-roaring saloons never closed. Where fortunes could be made or lost over the turn of a card. Where steamboats occasionally exploded and monstrous floods covered the entire Sacramento valley.

      Chapter 1

      In the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, September, 1854

      Rose Peterson shivered in her underwear as she stood in the freezing cold creek. She flinched as she splashed cold water on herself. She’d gone days without a bath and gladly endured the shock of it just to get clean. She turned to her sister-in-law who stood in her chemise beside her. “Just one more day. Think of it! One more day and we’ll be there.”

      Drucilla returned her familiar mocking smile. “Just one more day? Thanks for telling me, Rose. I hadn’t noticed.”

      “I’ll wager you hadn’t.” Rose accompanied her words with a scoop of creek water splashed over her sister-in-law’s head.

      Drucilla splashed her back. “Are you excited about seeing Emmet again?”

      “Of course I am.” Rose hoped she sounded convincing. Strange, how she didn’t feel the least excited, even though she hadn’t seen her husband for over two years. She wasn’t the only wife who’d been deserted when word of the Gold Rush reached Illinois. Like thousands of others, Emmet rushed to California. Unlike most of the thousands, after finding a little gold, he concluded there were other ways to make money without breaking his back in a freezing cold stream. He bought a hotel in Sacramento and a small farm outside of town. Everyone rejoiced when he finally sent a letter asking his family to join him.

      “I’m clean enough,” Drucilla announced. “Let’s get out of this freezing water.”

      Rose readily agreed. She was getting goose bumps from the cold. She ran a hand over her thick, golden-bronze hair that hung halfway to her waist. What a relief to have it clean again. She laughed to herself. Before they left Illinois, she’d taken great pride in her appearance. Perhaps that pride involved a bit of vanity, but when she looked in her mirror, she couldn’t help but be pleased at her tall, slim figure, her even-featured face that everyone said was pretty, and her long, thick hair that she loved to wear hanging loose or sometimes swept in a bun atop her head. Those days were long gone. After spending five miserable months in a wagon train with her in-laws, she didn’t much care what she looked like, nor did anyone else. Her main interest now was keeping her daughter safe and staying alive.

      As they climbed from the water, Drucilla called, “Just think, the next time I take a bath, it will be in a real tub with real hot water.”

      “I can’t even imagine it.” Her teeth chattering, Rose quickly pulled her dress over her head. There were lots of things she couldn’t imagine. Like sleeping in a real bed. Like eating at a real table.

      Like being a wife to Emmet again.

      Since they were married, they’d lived with his family, so she’d never had to worry about cooking his meals or washing his clothes. Coralee, his mother, did all that. Thin and wiry, a never-stopping bundle of energy, she treated her daughter-in-law as nothing more than a willing helper. The one area that didn’t belong to Coralee was the bedroom. On the long trek west, Rose hardly gave it a thought, but now, with their destination less than a day away, she was remembering those many less-than-thrilling nights when Emmet insisted they “make love.” He misspoke. Love had little to do with his near nightly performance: a quick kiss—climb on—a few hard-breathing grunts—final big grunt—roll off, and it was over. How very tiresome. In fact, Emmet and his wooden personality were tiresome. He was a good husband in many ways, but not in the bedroom, not like…

      Anthony. Like a sinful pleasure, thoughts of that long-ago night crept uninvited into her head. She quelled them quickly, as she always did, telling herself it never happened, that she could never have behaved in such a wanton, disgraceful manner.

      The truth was, she’d enjoyed these last two years when she slept alone and