Dusty Britches

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

“Of course,” Lark assured him, the tiny flicker of hope within fanning to a flame.

  “Well,” the man began, glancing to the door through which Mrs. Jenkins had exited the room, “I might know of somethin’…though I doubt Mrs. Jenkins would approve. Otherwise she mighta mentioned it herself.”

  But Lark was beyond worrying about what a woman she’d only just met might think. If the cowboy knew of work that might suit her, Lark was determined to consider it.

  Lowering his voice, the young man said, “Well, ol’ Mrs. Simpson died and got planted last month…and I know them Evans brothers have been lookin’ for someone to come in and take her place. Ya know, do the warsh, the cookin’, and such.”

  Lark felt a smile spread across her face. Hope! She was very adept at keeping house and cooking—at looking after others. Why, hadn’t she been doing it for near to four years now?

  “That sounds perfect!” she exclaimed in a whisper.

  “They’re hard-workin’ ol’ fellers,” the cowboy explained. “And…and not married…neither one of ’em.” He glanced up, obviously worried Mrs. Jenkins would return and hear him suggesting that a young, unmarried woman might find employment in the company of two unmarried men.

  Lark likewise understood his concern—and the danger. “Are they good men?” she asked. “I mean…I mean, are their reputations sound?”

  “They ain’t womanizers if that’s what you mean,” he said in an even lower voice. “They run cattle on their ranch out west of town.” He shrugged and continued, “They keep maybe three or four hands out there. But the cowboys all live in the bunkhouse and do their own cookin’ and all, so Mrs. Simpson only took care of the Evans brothers. They’re hard-workin’ men, and I know they could use the help.”

  Lark smiled and bit her lip with hopeful delight. “Where do I find them?” she asked. “Can you tell me how to find their property?”

  The cowboy smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “In fact, I got the wagon in town with me today. I could take ya out there myself. It’s on my way back.” He nodded and added, “I’m Hadley, by the way…Hadley Jacobson. And I’m no rounder, miss. You can trust me.”

  He offered her a rough, callused hand, and Lark gladly accepted it.

  “Lark Lawrence,” she told him.

  “Here ya go, Hadley,” Mrs. Jenkins said, entering from the back room. “Do ya think this will do?”

  Lark watched as the older woman held up a new, pristinely white shirt. She wondered how long it would remain so pristinely white. Even if Hadley did only wear it on Sunday, Lark knew how hard cowboys were on clothes.

  “I imagine that’ll be just fine, Mrs. Jenkins,” Hadley said. “Just fine. How much do I owe ya then?”

  “Don’t ya wanna try it on and make sure it fits ya all right?” Mrs. Jenkins asked.

  “No, ma’am. Everyone says you can fit anybody by just lookin’.”

  Mrs. Jenkins smiled. “Well, then…I’ll take two of your hard-earned dollars for the shirt, Hadley.” Retrieving a length of brown paper from beneath a counter, Mrs. Jenkins began to carefully wrap the shirt in it.

  Hadley smiled. He shoved a hand into the front right pocket of his well-worn trousers and retrieved two silver dollars. He placed them on the counter as Mrs. Jenkins tied the parcel with twine and handed it to him.

  “Thank ya, Mrs. Jenkins,” Hadley said. He plopped his hat back on his head and smiled. “You have a good day now.”

  “You too, Hadley. I’ll see ya on Sunday,” the woman giggled.

  “Thank you again, Mrs. Jenkins,” Lark said as Hadley opened the shop door, causing the bell to jingle again.

  “Don’t you worry, honey,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “Somethin’ will turn up for ya.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Lark picked up the old carpetbag protecting the few things she owned. Smiling at Hadley, she passed him, exiting the store as he held the door for her.

  “Mrs. Jenkins,” Hadley said, touching the brim of his hat and nodding to the seamstress.

  As Hadley helped Lark up onto the wagon seat, she glanced into the seamstress’s shop. Sure enough, Mrs. Jenkins stood at the window—a scowl of concern on her already wrinkled brow.

  Lark knew the woman was disapproving of her riding off in a wagon with a cowboy she’d only just met. Therefore, she could just imagine what the sweet old seamstress would think if she knew Lark’s intention of seeking out the possibility of working for two unmarried men. Still, the ox was in the mire; the toe was in the trap. Lark needed work and shelter for the coming months, and every other venue she’d tried offered nothing.

  So she simply straightened her posture as she settled next to Hadley on the seat of the wagon—simply did not glance back at the disapproving gaze of Mrs. Jenkins as Hadley slapped the lines at the back of the team of horses.

  “Is it far?” Lark asked as Hadley drove the wagon out of town.

  “Nope. About five miles is all,” he said.

  The cowboy seemed nice enough—trustworthy. After all, hadn’t he just purchased a new shirt for Sunday church meetings? Still, as ever, Lark was wary. It was a difficult thing—to always be in the company of strangers—to try to sift out the ones that could be trusted from the ones that couldn’t. Still, Hadley seemed nice, and he was a church-going man. Therefore, Lark attempted to remain calm where Hadley Jacobson was concerned—tried not to worry about the fact she was about to ask two solitary men for employment.

  The sky was beautiful in its cloudless blue. Lark inhaled, relishing the clean scent of dry air, High Plains grasses, and wildflowers. She felt a sharp pang pinch her heart—disappointment in knowing that soon the green and colorful things of summer would be gone. Autumn held its own unequaled beauty, and winter snow often glistened like stars. Yet summer was warm—warm enough to allow a traveler to sleep comfortably under a midnight sky.

  Lark smiled as she gazed out across the plains—over the endless sea of prairie grass and flaming Indian paintbrush. She could hear the meadowlark’s echo, the music of lines and traces as the team pulled the wagon, the low rumble of the wagon wheels over the dusty road, and it soothed her.

  “It’s beautiful out here,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Hadley agreed, smiling. “It lets yer soul rest a bit.”

  Lark inhaled once more. It was a beautiful day—a beautiful road to follow.

  “I hear the Evans brothers have been pretty ornery to work for since Mrs. Simpson passed,” Hadley said. He shook his head and chuckled. “At least, I hear ol’ Slater’s been ornery. Ol’ Tom, he’s a good ol’ boy…always smilin’. But I seen Eldon Pickering in town last week—he cowboys for the Evanses—and he told me that if it weren’t for the time o’ year, he’d be movin’ on…lookin’ to ride for another brand. I guess ol’ Mrs. Simpson dyin’ tossed them Evans brothers right into a twister.”

  Lark frowned. “Are…are you trying to encourage me…or discourage me?” she asked.

  Hadley chuckled and shook his head. “Just thinkin’ out loud, I suppose. Mrs. Simpson, she was like a mama to them ol’ boys. I think she’d been with them for near to ten years. May be that they just miss her. Maybe that’s what’s makin’ ’em so ornery.”

  Lark giggled. “Again…I can’t decide if you’re trying to give me hope or scare me.”

  Hadley smiled. “Oh, they need the help. I just talk my thoughts too much. My mama always said I did.” He paused a moment and then asked, “Anyway…where ya from?”

  “East,” Lark answered.

  “East?”

  Lark nodded.

  “East where?”

  Lark shrugged. “Just east.”

  She was grateful Hadley didn’t press her further—that he accepted her simple response—accepted it or understood she did not want to offer him any further details.

  Lark looked to the horizon—to the blue sky, green pastures, and approaching end of summer.

  Ornery or not—bachelors or not—she needed to find some kind of employment. What choice d
id she have? She needed shelter, even more than she needed wages. Sleeping under trees and bathing in creeks was fine in summer. Even food could be scrounged for in winter—enough to exist at least. But shelter—shelter was absolutely necessary, especially on the southeastern plains of Colorado. As the wagon rumbled along, Lark admitted it was shelter she needed most.

  “Now, when we get to the Evanses’ place, don’t you let ol’ Slater scare ya off. He’s just a moth-eaten old bear hide. It’s his brother ya wanna be speakin’ with…Tom. He’s the younger of the two and a heap more friendly.” Hadley chuckled. “I doubt he’d have the heart to say no to ya, even if they were gettin’ along on their own…which they ain’t. So you talk with Tom. Ask for him if Slater gets to ya first. Tom will do right by ya. I’m sure of it.”

  “Thank you for your help, Mr. Jacobson. I do so appreciate it,” Lark said. She frowned and looked to the carpetbag she held in her lap. “You’ve been so kind…and to a stranger.” She smiled up at him, and he winked at her.

  “Plenty are the times I’ve been a stranger, ma’am,” he said. “You know how us cowboys are. One brand quits suitin’ us…then we’re a stranger once more lookin’ for another brand to ride for.”

  Lark smiled and nodded. It was true. In the towns Lark had known since traveling out west, it was often she would see cowboys doing exactly what she was doing—looking for work and a place to winter. Hadley smiled at her, his blue eyes bright with compassion. She fancied his eyes were the color of the sky—wished hers were such a color. Still, in that moment, her mother’s voice echoed in her mind. Your eyes are as green as the summer grass, Lark’s mother had always told her. She liked to think it was true—though she knew it had simply been her mother’s love that thought her eyes so beautiful.

  The thought of her mother caused her to wince. She glanced down at the carpetbag—protectively squeezing it tighter still.

  “Mind if’n I ask what yer doin’ out west, travelin’ all alone, ma’am? It’s a might unusual to see it—a woman by herself and all. ’Specially a young one…from the east.” He winked, unwilling to abandon his curiosity altogether.

  Lark giggled. She bit her lip, considering whether she should reveal anything to him. Still, he’d been kind to her—helped her—cared for her in a manner.

  “You don’t have to tell me nothin’,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have asked. Ain’t my place.”

  “It’s not that,” Lark began, “It’s just that I’m a very private person. Will you be satisfied with knowing I just ended up here…life just led me here…and you’ve helped me?”

  The cowboy chuckled. “I guess I will be…since you ain’t givin’ me a choice.”

  Lark smiled. He was a kind cowboy. She liked him.

  As the wagon rumbled along, Hadley ceased in trying to coax Lark into revealing the details of her life or how she’d come to be where she was. Simply he told her about the town, the people, the weather. Lark found his conversation easy and interesting, and hope continued to burn in her heart. If Hadley Jacobson was so kind and helpful, perhaps there were others nearby who were as well.

  As Hadley talked and drove the team, Lark listened. His voice was comforting—so comforting that she was almost sad when he pulled the team in before a sturdy-looking, two-story ranch house. There was a barn a short distance off and another building beyond that—perhaps the bunkhouse.

  “Here we are. That there’s the Evanses’ place,” Hadley said, nodding toward the ranch house. He turned to Lark and grinned. The sudden frown of panic that Lark felt puckering her brow caused Hadley to chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he said, hopping down from the wagon. “I know Tom Evans. He couldn’t turn away a stray three-legged dog…let alone a purty little filly like yerself.”

  Lark smoothed her worn skirt and gripped the weathered handle of the carpetbag. Hadley offered a hand and assisted her to climb down as well.

  “Now, you just run on up there to that house and ask to talk to Tom. I’ll wait here for ya,” he said, “in case ya need a ride somewheres else.” He took the carpetbag from her, adding, “I’ll keep this safe for ya ’til yer sure you’ll be stayin’.”

  Gulping down the large lump of trepidation in her throat, Lark nodded to Hadley and started toward the house. The nervous quivering in her stomach was almost unbearable! Still, she somehow managed to climb the squeaky steps leading to the porch and front door.

  Lark drew a deep breath, tucked a limp strand of hair behind her ear, smoothed her skirt once more, and puffed out a frightened sigh. Raising a trembling hand, she knocked on the door. When no one opened the door or called to her from behind it, she glanced back to Hadley.

  The handsome young cowboy stood leaning up against the wagon that had carried her to the place. He smiled and nodded to her. “Go on,” he mouthed, motioning for her to try again.

  Biting her lip, Lark knocked again. She wasn’t at first certain whether to be relieved or terrified when she then heard heavy footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. The pace of her already rapidly beating heart quickened. As the door swung open, a low, irritated grumble resonated out onto the soft late-summer breeze. Lark gulped again as she lifted her gaze to see a scowling, very angry-looking man glaring down at her. Obviously annoyed, the large man pulled up one suspender strap that had been hanging loosely from his waist, pushing it into place over a broad shoulder and bare torso. He repeated the action with his other suspender strap—all the while still glaring at Lark.

  Lark was so stunned by his appearance, any words or utterance was momentarily lost to her. The man was several days unshaven yet clean. He was tall with hair that appeared fair at first glance. Yet Lark quickly realized his hair only appeared fair, for his whisker growth was dark. In addition, as he tipped his head to further consider her, his hair moved, revealing that it was indeed brown beneath the top sun-bleached layer. His eyes were a deep, dark, rather dusky shade of brown that pierced with clear disapproval. He clenched a firm, square jaw tightly, and there was a rather weathered look about him—as if the sun had parched his spirit or sleep had thoroughly abandoned him. Still, even with the deep frown puckering his brow, Lark was stuck by his being so handsome. He was older than she—much older—and this only served to further intimidate her.

  She swallowed, still unable to speak.

  “Who in the hell are you?” he growled, clearly having lost patience with waiting for her to explain herself.

  “I-I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. I was hoping to speak with Tom Evans. Is…is he at home?” she choked at last, trying to portray some sort of confidence.

  The man’s frown intensified, and he rolled his eyes in a gesture of annoyance. “Tom. Tom! Get your lily-white…get in here! There’s a…someone askin’ after ya.”

  The man turned, leaving Lark standing in the open doorway, trembling with intimidation.

  Lark exhaled a breath of relief. Glancing over her shoulder to Hadley, she saw him smile.

  “Slater Evans?” she mouthed to him.

  Hadley chuckled and nodded emphatically.

  Lark shook her head with near disbelief. No wonder Hadley had directed her to ask to speak to Tom. Slater Evans seemed as mean as the day was long.

  Straightening her posture once more—for Slater Evans had managed to whip her courage down like a stray dog—she quickly pinched her cheeks to rosy them up and forced a smile.

  A second man, looking quite similar to the first, only with a welcoming grin and overall pleasant countenance, came to the door. The man’s smile broadened as he came to stand in the doorway, and Lark felt a wave of relief wash through her.

  “Well, howdy there, miss,” the man greeted.

  Lark sighed, delighted by his friendly, easy manner.

  “And what is it has me so lucky as to find you on my porch?” he asked.

  “Are you…are you Mr. Tom Evans?” Lark ventured.

  “Yes, ma’am. Handsome feller…ain’t I?” he teased.

  “Yes…well…um…” />
  Tom Evans chuckled, his radiant smile outshining the sun. “What can I do for ya, honey?” he asked then.

  Lark was grateful he’d chosen not to tease her any further. She thought she might not be able to endure any more—not with being so tired and hungry—so desperate to find some position that would see her through until spring.

  “I’m Lark,” she began, “Lark Lawrence.” She cleared her throat. It suddenly felt very dry. “I’ve heard that you’ve recently lost your housekeeper…and I am so sorry to hear that, by the way.”

  “Thank ya. We loved dear ol’ Mrs. Simpson. She was near like our own mama.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry for your loss,” Lark managed. “Well, someone in town thought you may be in need of an individual to keep house and cook for you…and suggested that I inquire as to whether or not you did.”

  Tom Evans’s already wide smile broadened. “Why, we do indeed! We’ve been havin’ us a downright awful mess of a time ’round here,” he explained. “Me and ol’ Slater—he’s my charmin’ brother—we’ve got too darn much to do with keepin’ the cattle and crops in line. Don’t leave much time for cookin’…even if we did know how. And between you and me, darlin’, I’m plain sick and tired of eatin’ jerky and hard biscuits every meal.”

  Lark smiled as hope bloomed within her bosom. She bit her lip a moment, attempting to rein in her sudden exuberance. “So you are in need of someone then?” she asked.

  “You bet your sweet…ah course we are!” Tom exclaimed. “But you ain’t quite what I was thinkin’ our next mama would look like.” He winked at her, and she couldn’t stop the blush from rising to her cheeks.

  “I’m more than capable, Mr. Evans. I assure you my youth does not denote incompetence,” she assured him.

  Tom paused a moment. His smiled faded a little. Yet even as he studied her from head to toe, the expression of casual amusement never left his face—even for the slight puzzling frown that puckered his brow.

  “Honey, you talk like a schoolteacher. You can’t be from ’round these parts. Where ya from?” he asked.

  “East,” Lark plainly answered.