“Cookies,” she breathed, smiling at the memory of the light that had flashed in Slater’s eyes when he’d asked her to bake for him.
She thought of his touch, of the feel of his fingers on her cheek, of her chin being held in his hand. She allowed herself a moment of daydreaming—wondering what it would be like to have Slater Evans kiss her. Yet she did not linger too long in such fanciful musings. He was a man—an older man—and no doubt used to the company of more mature women. What would an orphaned girl such as herself have to offer? How could she ever endeavor to entertain him with her youthful conversation or flirting?
Sighing, she determined to keep busy. It was ever her way. Thus, humming a favorite melody, she set about ensuring the Evans men returned home to a warm and fragrant house—to a hearty meal—and the warmest, sweetest cookies they’d ever tasted.
Lark heard a gust of wind suddenly whip around the house, and she shivered in thinking of the men out in the weather. She hoped they would return soon. The sun had already set, and still Slater and Tom had not returned. She hadn’t heard the rumble of the other cowboys’ horses in bringing them back to the bunkhouse either—and she began to worry.
A loud banging arrested her attention. It sounded as if it had come from the barn. At once, she thought of Dolly and Coaly—hoped that Dolly was not having another moment of being frustrated with being kept in the stall in the barn. Pulling her thin shawl snugly about her shoulders, Lark left the house by way of the back door.
The wind was indeed chilly and rather fierce in nature, easily penetrating her slight shawl. Immediately, her teeth began to chatter. She could clearly see the barn door standing open. She knew the door must be kept bolted at night in order to keep coyotes from wandering in and startling or harming stock.
Quickly, she made her way to the barn and struggled to close the heavy doors. She felt a hand on her shoulder suddenly, and Lark cried out—entirely startled. Spinning around, she found herself face-to-face with Slater.
“What’re ya doin’?” he demanded, looking tired and somewhat irritated.
“The barn door was open. I-I was just bolting it,” she stammered. She fancied his jovial, friendly mood of earlier in the day had been wrung from him by hard work.
“Why didn’t you put your coat on?” he asked. “Do ya wanna catch yer death?”
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered as he took her hand and began dragging her back to the house.
“Don’t apologize to me. Yer the one that’ll freeze.”
He pulled her along for a time and then stepped aside so that she might enter the house ahead of him. Instinctively—for she was far more chilled than she’d realized—she rushed to the fire in the parlor. Kneeling before it, she began rubbing her hands together to warm them.
“It’s so cold!” she exclaimed. “I-I didn’t think…well, the day wasn’t so cold…I thought…” she rambled nervously as Slater stood staring at her, an expression of suspicion owning his handsome face.
“Go get your coat,” he rather ordered. “I want ya to go out and help me slop the pigs before supper.”
“Um…of course,” she began, “though I do have a few things to finish up before I can get supper on the table. I would rather just stay in, if it’s all the same.”
“It’s not,” he grumbled. “Now go get yer coat.”
Taking a deep breath, Lark stood and turned to face him. “The truth is…I don’t really…I don’t really have one.”
His eyes narrowed, and he asked, “You don’t?”
“No. But I do just fine without…most of the time.”
Slater chuckled, and she could see disbelief in his eyes. “You don’t own a coat?”
She shook her head proudly.
“It gets way below freezin’ here, baby…and you can’t be without one.” He inhaled a long breath, and she could see the fatigue in his eyes. “I’m goin’ into town tomorrow. I can pick one up for you…unless you wanna go yourself.”
Lark swallowed hard. “Well, that would be fine, but…but…”
“But what?”
“Well, I-I don’t really have the means to purchase one.” She was humiliated! What would he think of her now? She was nearly destitute, and now he would know just how desperate she had been when she’d come to his door—how desperate she still was. “I really can do without.”
His frown deepened, and she walked past him toward the kitchen. “Anyway, I better see to your supper. I’m sure you haven’t had anything to—”
“Hold on there,” Slater growled, catching hold of her arm. “You can’t do without a coat here. And what do you mean you don’t have the means for one? Ain’t we payin’ you enough to afford a coat?”
Lark tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear. “Well…well,” she stammered, “in truth, Tom and I have never actually discussed…wages.” She was beginning to feel frantic. What would Slater think of a young woman who was willing to work as hard as Lark did for no compensation? Still, to Lark, shelter, food, comfort, and companionship were far more important than money.
“You never discussed wages?” he asked. All at once, Slater seemed to fly into a temper. “How old are you really, baby?” he growled at her. “I want to know…the truth…here and now…’cause I know you lied to me when you first came here, and obviously you ain’t even old enough to know how to dress right for the weather! I don’t wanna be goin’ to jail, accused of kidnappin’ or somethin’! Now, you tell me, on the level, Lark Lawrence. How old are you, and where did you come from?”
Devastated by his sudden apparent disapproval, Lark sat down on a nearby chair. All the delight she’d known in daydreaming—in her imaginings that Slater Evans approved of her, even liked her—melted. He would loathe her now, just like everyone else who hated orphans—especially runaway orphans.
Turning from him, she spoke calmly, masking her emotion—for, after all, she had grown accustomed to doing so. “I’ll be nineteen in two months,” she confessed. She heard Slater sigh, but she dared not look at him in trying to interpret whether he sighed with relief that she was not young or with disgust that she was not older.
“My father died when I was a child…and my mother when I was fifteen,” Lark began. “I was sent to an orphanage in New York City, and I couldn’t breathe there. It was always so dirty…and so cold in the winter. I imagine it was worse than prison. So almost two years ago…I ran away. I’ve been running ever since, working for seamstresses mostly. But the one here in town, Mrs. Jenkins, she doesn’t need any help. I needed somewhere to sit out the winter.” She shrugged. “That’s no different than the cowboys who work for you and Tom, is it?” She didn’t look up at him, only continued her confession. “Hadley Jacobson told me about your Mrs. Simpson having passed…and I came here…spoke with Tom…and he hired me.”
She nearly sprang from her seat then, standing to face him as all her fears and frustrations erupted. “I’ve done a fine job here! You can’t tell me any different! I’ve cooked and mended and cleaned, and I don’t expect anything but shelter, food…a place to winter,” she cried. “I’m no different than those cowboys out in the bunkhouse. I’ve worked hard for you…and…and with the exception of what happened last night with that horrible Chet Leigh…I’ve done nothing wrong!” She paused, and he said nothing, only continued to study her with narrowed eyes.
“You patronize me because you see yourself as better than me…older, more mature…a man. You think I’m just a child, but I’m not. I work hard. And now, just because I don’t own a coat…you’re ready to turn me out? Well, that’s fine, Slater Evans!” she cried, though anger had joined fear and heartache in her bosom. “If you can’t see past the nose on your face to the fact that I’m as much of a woman as you are a man, that I’ve worked hard for you, that I can take care of myself…well, then…fine! I’m sure I can find someone else who’ll be willing to…to…!” Lark turned from him and stormed off toward her room. She would pack her shabby little carpetba
g and be on her way. Tom would drive her into town; she was sure he would. She had enough money tucked away for a train ticket to—to somewhere.
Lark tried to break free when Slater caught up with her, taking hold of her arm. “Settle yourself down, Lark,” he growled.
Lark sobbed once—knowing Slater Evans would never call her baby again.
“Settle down.”
Unwillingly, Lark turned to face him, awash with humiliation—and anger.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked quietly.
Lark was awestruck by concern she saw in his expression. He was no longer angry—she was certain of it—only concerned. She swallowed the lump of fear and disappointment that had gathered in her throat—tried to choke back any more tears demanding escape. “People think badly of orphans…in case you weren’t aware of it,” she told him. “And besides, you and Tom needed a housekeeper and cook. I needed employment. What does it matter how old I am or if I ran away from an orphanage?”
Slater’s eyes narrowed again. He said nothing for a moment—seemed to be pondering all she had revealed to him. Lark held her breath and tried not to think of the approach of winter, tried not to think of how her heart was aching at having disappointed him.
“You still need a coat,” he said at last.
Lark frowned, bewildered by what he’d said. She’d confessed, told him everything—well, nearly everything. And yet his only response was that she still needed a coat?
“Like I said,” he began, “I’m goin’ into town tomorrow. I can pick one up for ya…or you can come with me and get one yourself.” He raised a scolding index finger and added, “And I’ll see to it you’re paid up beforehand.”
“You’re letting me stay?” she asked in a whisper.
He frowned. “Of course,” he growled as if she’d offended him somehow in asking. He seemed to force a smile, however, and added, “As long as you made them cookies I asked for earlier.”
Lark nodded, still bewildered, still uncertain. “I-I did.”
Slater grinned and unexpectedly slapped her on the back a little too soundly. “Good,” he said. “I’ll help Tom with the horses, and we’ll be in for supper.”
“Yes, sir,” Lark mumbled.
Slater raised an eyebrow, however. “Oh, we’re back to that, are we?” he asked. He feigned a thoughtful expression for a moment. “Hmm. Keep that up, baby…and I might have to think of somethin’ that’ll make us more…intimate acquaintances.”
As Lark’s eyes widened, Slater chuckled.
“A good game of poker might be just the thing,” he said. “Always helps new cowboys to gettin’ along better with the old ones.”
“Oh! Oh…I’m certain of that,” Lark stammered.
Slater nodded. “We’ll be in shortly then.”
“All right,” Lark managed as he turned to go.
She watched him stride across the room and exit the house through the back door. He hadn’t sent her away! He hadn’t! The truth of it was, he seemed little affected by her story—other than the fact she hadn’t told him the truth before.
Lark glanced to the warm fire in the hearth in the parlor. She’d be warm for winter—all winter. Her body would be warm—as well as her heart.
“I told you she was hidin’ somethin’. Didn’t I?” Slater quietly mumbled to Tom as they sat in the parlor some time after supper.
Tom chuckled, amused by his brother’s ability to determine a person’s secrets. “Yes…you did,” Tom said. “Still, it ain’t no big deal. She didn’t run away from a lunatic asylum or nothin’ the like…and there ain’t nobody lookin’ for her. She’s just an orphan. I guess me and you are orphans in a manner if ya think about it…and it don’t matter with her bein’ as old as she is anyway. ”
“Still…I was right, all the same.”
“Yes, you were right,” Tom mumbled, rolling his eyes with exasperation. “You been readin’ folks ever since I can remember. I’m a bit surprised about her age though. She looks a might older.”
“Mm-hmm,” Slater agreed. “I thought she was tellin’ the truth ’bout her age at least.” Slater shook his head, still disbelieving, and added, “Imagine…not even ownin’ a coat. I wonder what she was plannin’ on doin’ to keep warm all winter.”
Tom smiled as mischief entered his mind—and he couldn’t help himself. “Maybe she was plannin’ on wearing you,” he chuckled.
Slater frowned and glared at Tom with his usual scolding expression, wagging a likewise scolding index finger at him. “That ain’t funny, and you know it,” Slater growled.
“But you wouldn’t mind…now would ya, Slater?” Tom teased. “You wouldn’t mind keepin’ Lark warm all winter…now would ya?”
Tom chuckled as an impish smile spread over Slater’s face.
“I wouldn’t mind it in the least, brother,” Slater chuckled. “But if you point me out a man who wouldn’t want to warm that little wounded sparrow up a bit…I’ll eat my hat.”
“If it’s all right, I think I’ll retire for the evening,” Lark said, stepping into the parlor unexpectedly.
Tom smiled, for Slater looked like he’d gotten caught stealing sugar from the sugar tin.
“That’s fine,” Slater said, nodding to Lark. “And that was a mighty fine supper. Mighty fine! I thank you for it.”
Lark smiled at Slater, and Tom felt warmed and contented inside. He’d grown to understand how Lark treasured reassurance—reassurance that she was earning her keep.
“Yep,” Tom said. “You’re even better at fixin’ vittles than ya are at brandin’ bulls.”
Lark sighed with exasperation as Slater chuckled. The Evans brothers had been merciless at supper, endlessly teasing her about the branding incident. Tom claimed Eldon Pickering had been forced to his knees with laughing so hard when he’d seen Black-Eyed Sue’s new brand—Grady and Ralston too.
“You’ll thank me one day,” Lark sparred. “One day when Slater has the best Black Angus herd around…you’ll both thank me.”
“I don’t doubt it a minute,” Tom said, winking at her.
“You gonna be warm enough in your room, baby?” Slater asked.
Lark nodded. “I’m sure I will be.”
“’Cause we can stoke yer fire for ya a bit before ya turn in.”
“Yes,” Tom said. “We want to be sure yer comfortable.” Tom’s smile broadened as he added, “And ol’ Slater here…he worries about ya bein’ warm enough. Why, just a minute ago he offered to—”
“I’ll come stoke that fire for ya,” Slater interrupted, fairly pouncing from his chair.
Tom chuckled—but Tom always chuckled—so Lark shrugged and said, “Good night, Tom.”
“Good night, honey,” he said, still chuckling.
Slater had stoked the fire in Lark’s room. He opened her window just a hair too, telling her the evening breeze would complement the warmth of the room and keep her comfortable through the night.
As Lark lay in her warm, cozy bed, she breathed the aromatic scent of burning cedar and early autumn air. She sighed as she closed her eyes—as Slater’s image moved through her mind—his tall, muscular frame, his tawny and dark hair, his handsome face. The crackle of the fire mingled with the soothing noises of cattle lowing in the distance, and Lark fancied she’d never known a more tranquilly serene moment.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Even though she was very tired, even though the warmth of the room and the comfort of her bed were nearly intoxicating, Lark had neglected to change her day dress for her night one. With a heavy sigh, she tossed the blankets aside and stood. She’d never sleep well if she kept her day clothes on. They were dusted with flour from cooking—not to mention that her body was begging her to relieve it of her corset.
Standing before the fire, Lark began to fumble with the small buttons at the back of her shirtwaist collar, but her fingers were tired and would not cooperate.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,�
�� she whined, frustrated, pulling her hair aside in an endeavor to make the small buttons more manageable. Still, it was as if her fingers had forgotten how to accomplish the task, and she stomped her foot with annoyance.
“Here, baby…let me help ya,” came a low whisper from behind her.
Startled, Lark spun around to see Slater was standing just inside her bedroom. He was bare from the waist up, wearing only his underwear. His hair was tousled in the manner Lark had come to prefer—for it fell over his forehead, lightly brushing his dark brows. His eyes were warm, a smoldering sort of brown, and the smile on his face was likewise the one she preferred—the one that hinted at mischief.
“Did you want something?” she asked in a whisper as he slowly strode toward her.
“Just turn around,” he gently commanded.
Lark smiled as he reached out, taking her by the shoulders and turning her away from him. She felt his fingers at the back of her neck as he fumbled with her collar buttons. His touch sent a fiery excitement racing through her—sent her arms and legs to sprinkling with goose bumps. She felt her collar loosen, yet her eyes widened as she felt his hands at the middle of her back. She realized then that he hadn’t unfastened simply the buttons at her collar but several more down her back!
Lark was unable to move—unable to speak. It was highly inappropriate that he should be taking such a liberty, yet the river of delight racing through her found her unable to react. She gasped then—held breathless as the warmth of his mouth softly pressed the flesh on her neck.
“S-Slater?” she stammered, knowing she should move away from him. Yet as she turned to face him, he caught her in his arms, drawing her body against his.
Slater Evans smiled, winked at Lark as his head descended—and she gasped once more as his mouth found her throat.
“Please…please don’t tease me!” she cried in a whisper.
“I’m not,” he said. He took hold of her hand, sliding it over the chiseled contours of his chest to rest just over his heart. His skin was smooth and hot, and Lark did not attempt to remove her hand from where he placed it.
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