“I’m here to work for you, Mr. Evans,” Lark reminded Slater, somehow managing not to burst into more giggles. “How am I to earn a proper wage if you don’t feel comfortable allowing me to work for it? After all…it seems to me that I’m much younger than Mrs. Simpson was. Laundry won’t exert me nearly as much as it must’ve her.”
“We’re talkin’ about my drawers. That’s all I’m worried about,” Slater said.
“It’s cause they’re ratty,” Tom chuckled. “Mama used to say Slater’s drawers weren’t fit for rags…let alone drawers.”
Slater pointed his fork at Tom once more. “Tom, I’m gonna kick yer…yer backside all the way to town if ya don’t stop talkin’ about my unmentionables that way.”
“Unmentionables?” Tom teased, smiling.
Lark noted the way Slater’s jaw clenched. He was not as amused as his brother.
“I’ve laundered men’s underthings before, Mr. Evans,” she offered, attempting to soothe the situation. “I’m not inexperienced or averse to it in any way.”
He looked to her—still uncertain, still scowling.
“Please,” she added, “if I’m to pull my weight for wages…if I’m to take over all the responsibilities that were your dear Mrs. Simpson’s…”
“All right,” Slater grumbled, shoveling a bite of cornbread and gravy into his mouth with his fork. “I’ll let ya wash my drawers.” He paused, looked to his brother, grinned, and said, “And you better be careful, boy. You got yer own bad things about ya. Sooner or later this girl will learn them too.”
“Maybe,” Tom said, shrugging with indifference.
Slater chuckled, and Lark smiled at the sound. She’d never been privy to such delightful meal conversation. Again, the long-lost sensation of joy filled her bosom. She’d be warm when winter came—and entertained!
“I’ll take Coaly to move them logs the boys been workin’ on,” Tom said. “We gotta get them poles sunk for that fence…and I don’t want a cold spell comin’ in to find us without the woodpile ready.”
“You best take Dolly too,” Slater said. “She don’t like to be left out.” Slater looked to Lark then. “Coaly and Dolly are a team of Clydes. They were our pa’s pride and joy, and he spoiled ’em somethin’ awful and never worked ’em as anything but a team. So they’re a little temperamental…especially Dolly.”
“I don’t need ’em both, and I’d rather have Coaly along,” Tom said. “She ain’t so cantankerous as Dolly.”
“Well, just don’t blame me if Dolly kicks ya in the head for it,” Slater warned.
“She’ll be fine,” Tom mumbled.
Lark said nothing. After all, who was she to have an opinion on a team of horses she didn’t own, had never even seen? Who was she to have an opinion on the subject at all? Yet she loved horses; she always had. To Lark, horses were magnificent creatures—full of spirit and power. She thought there was nothing quite so wonderful in the world as a horse. Furthermore, she owned a deep sense of their nature—their dispositions. Therefore, Lark knew that a team of draft horses that had most likely been raised together, teamed together since they were young, no doubt would feel lost and afraid without the other. Thus, silently she agreed with Slater—that Tom should not take Coaly and leave Dolly behind. Still, she was the housekeeper—the cook—the hired girl. She said nothing.
Lunch was over nearly as quickly as it had begun. Lark felt an odd sense of abandon and loneliness when Slater and Tom left the house to resume their labors. Still, she found herself glancing out a window in one of the back rooms of the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of them—hoping a glimpse would somehow restore her sense of confidence. A large barn and two corrals were a ways off but close enough that she could easily see Slater and Tom as they worked. She’d watched Tom harness Coaly—watched Slater shaking his head as he spoke to his brother as he did so. No doubt Slater was again trying to convince his brother that taking only one member of the team might prove unwise. Dolly was indeed agitated. Lark could see the small corral from where the enormous Clydesdale watched her counterpart being harnessed—watched Coaly be led away, alone. Dolly reared and whinnied, stomping the ground in protest. Slater went to the corral and stepped up onto one fence rung. Lark could see he was speaking to her—guessed his voice was low and soothing—and the horse seemed to settle a bit. Eventually, Dolly seemed soothed, and Slater disappeared into the barn.
Lark’s empathy for Dolly grew, even as she worked gathering laundry, dusting, and polishing furniture. Somehow the situation—trivial as it seemed—weighed heavy on her. She began to hope Tom would not keep Coaly away long. She found herself going to the window—peeking out toward the corral more often then was necessary. The horse was restless, shaking her head, snorting as she pressed against the corral fence with haunches.
“Be patient, girl,” Lark whispered. “It won’t be long. You’ll be fine.”
She thought about going out to the corral herself to comfort the animal. Still, it wasn’t her place, and therefore she paused—even knowing her own uncanny ability to soothe horses might assist Dolly in settling.
“Just clean the house and cook supper, Lark,” she told herself as she went about straightening. “Remember your place.”
Lark busied herself attending to a few details in the parlor. Soon, all that was left to do was to bring the rugs in and return them to their places on the floor.
She stepped out of the house, shading her eyes from the bright sunlight. The day was warm and still. Scents of pasture grasses, wildflowers, and hot soil soothed her, and she drew in a deep breath, determined to fill her lungs with the beauty of the late summer day. When winter came—when things were not so green and welcoming—she would draw upon the memory of that moment, knowing that winter would end and summer would come again.
Lark stepped down off of the front porch, turning toward the hitching post where she’d hung the rugs to air. However, she couldn’t help but glance back toward the corral. Dolly was stomping there, stomping with agitation, even kicking at the corral gate with her front hooves. Concern overwhelmed her, and Lark passed the hitching post, slowly starting toward the corral. Dolly was indeed upset. Dolly whinnied and kicked, and Lark began to panic as she saw the horse break the gate’s latch. In an instant, the large draft horse pushed its way through the gate, breaking into a lumbering gallop—headlong in the direction Tom had taken Coaly.
Instinctively, Lark shouted, “Slater! Stop her! Slater!”
As Lark hitched up her skirt and began running toward the barn, she gasped as she glanced in the direction the horse was running—for a fence strung of barbed wire was directly in her path.
“Slater!” she cried out again.
Slater stepped out of the barn, frowning in Lark’s direction.
“She’ll run right into the wire!” she called, pointing to Dolly.
Slater’s gaze followed her gesture. Without pause, he sprinted after the horse, shouting, “Dolly! Whoa! Dolly!” But the horse did not heed its master’s voice.
Lark slid to a stop, crying out and covering her mouth with her hands and as she heard Dolly whinny in pain. The beautiful horse crumpled to its front knees a moment. Lark could only watch as it struggled to stand.
“Get me a rope! There’s rope in the barn!” Slater hollered.
Without further pause, Lark raced into the barn. She was momentarily confused, for it seemed there was rope hanging or lying everywhere! Still, her gaze fell to a length of sturdy rope hanging on a hook near one stall—a lasso. Quickly she took it down from the hook and hurried out of the barn.
Dolly was still near the fence, having stopped her attempt to escape for the pain of her wounds, no doubt. The animal was obviously frightened and hurt. Dolly slightly reared as Slater approached her.
“Dolly…whoa…whoa, Dolly,” Slater said, his voice a low, calming intonation. “Just walk the rope over to me, girl,” Slater said over his shoulder. “Slow…real slow.”
&nb
sp; Lark nodded, inhaled a calming breath, and started toward Slater and the horse. Dolly whinnied and took several steps backward. Lark paused in walking toward her, nodding at the horse.
“It’s all right, Dolly,” she said aloud. “It’s all right now.”
The horse shook its head, pounding the dirt with one hoof. Lark started toward Slater again, and this time the horse did not startle. She felt tears welling in her eyes, for the lacerations on the horse’s chest and front legs were deep. Blood poured from the wound at her chest—streamed in crimson rivulets down her legs and over long white hair below her knees. The barbed wire had inflicted terrible damage. Lark knew the damage could well be extreme enough to force Slater into putting the horse down.
“Shhhh,” Lark soothed as she approached. The horse nervously nodded but did not back away. “Shhh, Dolly,” Lark said as she handed the rope to Slater.
“Stay back,” Slater whispered. “She’s fearful and hurt. She might—”
“She won’t hurt me,” Lark interrupted, however, taking several steps closer to the horse.
“Girl, you stay back!” Slater warned in a still lowered voice.
“I can help,” Lark told him, however. “I’ll soothe her while you rope her and inspect her injuries.”
“No,” Slater growled. At the sound of Slater’s warning to Lark, Dolly stomped the ground, shaking her head with agitation.
“Shhh,” Lark said to Slater. “I can help, I promise.”
“You don’t want to fool with an injured draft horse, girl,” Slater told her. “You’ll get us both killed.”
“No, I won’t,” she told him, stepping toward the horse.
She paused when she felt Slater take hold of her arm. She looked over her shoulder to him as he said, “I’ll rope you up and carry you back to the house if you don’t stop right now.”
He was angry with her—she knew he was. Yet she was certain he was only angry for the sake of worry—worry that she might be injured.
“Trust me,” she whispered.
“No,” he growled, glaring at her.
Lark smiled as she saw Slater’s eyes widen. As he’d stood arguing with her, Lark had offered her hand to Dolly—and Dolly had accepted. Lark allowed Dolly to smell her a moment longer before gently placing her palm on the horse’s velvet nose. She looked away from Slater then—away from Slater and to Dolly. For a moment, she was indeed frightened. The horse was so enormous! Its shoulder stood as tall as Lark, its neck and head giving it the appearance of a giant. Still, as Dolly pressed her nose against Lark’s palm, Lark smiled.
“Dolly,” Lark said, her voice tranquil—soft. “You’re very hurt, Dolly,” she cooed. “Slater has to tend to you. You won’t fight him, will you? You’ll trust him to help you. You’ll trust me.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Slater mumbled, frowning.
“I certainly hope not, Mr. Evans,” she said, smiling as she glanced to him.
She could see the astonishment still vivid on his face. He was awed that she’d been able to so easily calm the horse.
He grinned and chuckled just a little. “I hope not too.”
Lark’s own smile broadened, for she was somehow delighted that she’d managed to amuse him.
Slater looked to Dolly then, slowly stroked her neck as he said, “I’m gonna lead ya back toward the barn, Dolly. We gotta tend to these wounds. And once I’ve seen to you…I’m gonna ride out and find yer friend Tom…and see to him.”
Dolly whinnied, stomping several times as Slater pulled the rope over her head and around her neck.
“Dolly,” Lark whispered, “you can’t hear my voice if you fuss that way.”
Instantly, the horse settled, pressing its nose against Lark’s shoulder.
Gently, Lark stroked the horse’s head and whispered soothing words to it as Slater led it back toward the barn. “Will she be all right?” Lark asked as the horse nuzzled her shoulder.
“I don’t know,” Slater mumbled. “Depends on whether or not she’ll let me tend to the damage. She’ll need some stitchin’ up…and then there’s infection to worry about.”
“She’ll let you tend to her…won’t you, Dolly?” Lark whispered. “I’ll stay with you while Slater patches you up. You’ll let him work on you, Dolly. You will.”
Once they were closer to the barn, Slater tied the rope haltering Dolly to a post. He frowned as he looked to Lark, the intensity of his gaze causing her to feel uncomfortable. Lark could’ve sworn he could see right through her skin—right through to her very bones.
“I’ve gotta see to her wounds,” he began, “and I ain’t too proud to say it’ll take both of us. She might fight me a little, and if she does…you need to move fast. She’ll break ya in two before ya know it if you’re not careful.”
Lark nodded and said, “I understand.”
Slater reached up and patted Dolly on one shoulder. He removed his hat, tossing it onto a fencepost, and ran his fingers through his hair.
Lark smiled. She liked the way the gesture exposed the true color of his hair—the dark beneath the sun-bleached gold. He was a dangerously handsome man. And though it was an odd moment to wonder such a thing, she did wonder why he had never married. Tom too, for that matter. Surely there were women who would have the likes of Slater Evans for his appearance alone. Why then had he never settled in?
“I’ll fetch a couple buckets of water. We’ll have to clean her up good first,” Slater said. He frowned, shaking his head. “I told Tom to take ’em both,” he mumbled. He sighed and stroked Dolly’s mane. “There now, Dolly,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing like a summer’s night. “You’ll be fine. I’ll see to that.”
Lark wondered how it felt—to be held in Slater Evans’s capable hands. She fancied Dolly was soothed by his touch—hopeful at his words.
“I will not put her down…not Dolly…not without tryin’ everything else first,” he muttered to himself. He glanced to Lark. “Let’s get rid of the blood and see how bad she’s hurt.”
“Yes,” Lark whispered.
“Stay here…but be careful,” he ordered, wagging an index finger at her.
Lark nodded and smiled as Dolly nudged her arm. She watched Slater reach into the barn and pick up two buckets waiting just inside the door, and then he turned and sauntered away. She thought for a moment of how much she liked the way his shoulders swayed as he walked—liked the way his sun-bleached, brown hair feathered a moment as the breeze caught it.
“He’ll take good care of you, Dolly,” she whispered, tenderly stroking the horse’s jaw. “I’m not sure there are many people or things he values…but I can see that he cares for you. You’re a lucky girl.”
Dolly puffed a heavy breath, nodding in seeming agreement.
Lark smiled and whispered, “Oh, I see. You are a woman, after all…and Mr. Slater Evans is handsome, isn’t he?” Lark gently stroked Dolly’s neck. “Handsome…and I think perhaps far more tenderhearted than he’d like us to know.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“She healed up real good,” Tom said as he currycombed Dolly, “no thanks to me.”
“She sure has,” Slater agreed as he hung the enormous harness on the barn wall. “And she don’t seem to be holdin’ a grudge neither.” He smiled at Tom, a reassuring smile that he didn’t hold a grudge either. Slater knew Tom would never have taken Coaly out alone if he’d known it would have distressed Dolly the way it did. Furthermore, he knew that, even though Dolly’s wounds had healed nicely, Tom would never forgive himself.
Slater hunkered down, gently running a hand over the deep scar on Dolly’s left leg. The wound at her chest had also healed, even better than he’d hoped. It pained him to see the scars on the beautiful animal, but she was alive and well, and that’s what mattered. His mind lingered a moment on the day over a month before—the day Dolly had run headlong into the barbed wire fence north of the barn. In all his life he’d never seen a woman who had such a way with horses as Lark did. Fact was, Dolly
should’ve been mad with fear and pain—could’ve nearly stomped either he or Lark to a paste of bones and blood—but she didn’t. It hadn’t been just luck that had found Lark able to calm the animal either. The young woman Tom had hired on as housekeeper and cook had since proven her gift with horses was a constant one. Not only had Lark calmed Dolly (and Dolly had grown quite attached to Lark because of it), but Slater’s teeth had nearly dropped clean out of his head when his own horse, Smokey, had taken to her like a kitten to milk.
“She’s lookin’ good, boss,” Eldon Pickering said as he approached. Eldon hunkered down to inspect Dolly’s healed wounds. “You done some mighty nice stitchin’ there.”
Slater grinned with satisfaction. “Yep. She’s healed real well.”
Eldon nodded, patted the horse on the neck, and then asked, “Me and the boys was wonderin’ if it’s all right if we spend the evenin’ in town.” Slater looked to him as he continued, “We got the rest of the brandin’ done…except for that new bull you come draggin’ home from Pete Walker’s place.”
“I swear, Slater,” Tom chuckled, shaking his head, “you already got that little bull from Clifford Herschel awhile back…and ol’ Outlaw ain’t none too happy about it. Why in tarnation did ya need this new one? An Angus at that?”
Slater shrugged. “I don’t need him,” he mumbled. “But you didn’t need them new boots ya bought last week neither.”
Tom chuckled, “Ya got me there, brother.”
Truth was, Slater had an eye for cattle—especially bulls. He’d made a pretty penny by purchasing young bulls for a low price and then selling them as they matured, proving to be fine breeding stock. Tom was right—the Evans ranch’s infamous sire bull Outlaw, a massive Hereford—more ornery than a cactus in summer—hadn’t taken too kindly to the young bull, Little Joe, Slater had acquired from Clifford Herschel. Slater knew Outlaw was feeling his age, wary of any other young bull that might step too close to his territory. Still, Little Joe was already showing promise. Whether or not Slater chose to keep him, he knew Little Joe was worth three times what he’d laid down in purchase. He figured the same was true of Pete Walker’s young Black Angus bull. Some ranchers were still wary of Scotland’s Black Angus, yet Slater saw potential in the breed. His gut told him there would be wisdom in breeding them. Thus, he’d purchased the black bull from Pete Walker. His hopes were he’d manage to talk Pete into selling him a couple of Angus heifers. Then he could have a try at breeding Black Angus as well as Herefords.
Weathered Too Young Page 5
