“You want me to kiss you, don’t you?” he asked, placing a light kiss to her bruised cheek.
Lark couldn’t believe Slater was holding her—teasing her—asking her if she wanted his kiss! Of course she wanted it! She’d wanted Slater Evans to kiss her nearly from the moment she’d first seen him. Yet the moment was surreal—overwhelming—wonderful! She thought her heart might leap from her bosom—that her knees, gone so weak from his caressive attentions, might not continue to support the weight of her body.
Oh, she well knew he was taunting her. Yet as he kissed her other cheek softly and then the corner of her mouth, she knew his next intention was her lips. She tried to draw a steady breath—swallowed the excess moisture of desire gathering in her mouth.
“Slater,” she breathed as his head descended.
Lark gasped as her eyes immediately burst open. She held her breath a moment—clutched her quilt to her throat as the dream faded. It was always the same, her fancy’s dream of Slater Evans. Always she awoke a breath before knowing his kiss to her lips. Always it was a dual disappointment—the fact that it was only a dream and the fact that the dream could never endure until he’d kissed her.
The room was chilled, the fire having burned out sometime during the night. Exhaling a heavy sigh of disappointment, Lark climbed out of her bed and tiptoed across the room to close the window. She paused in doing so, however, for the early autumn breeze was fresh and the sounds of morning on the Evans ranch enchanting.
Still, she did not wish to find herself catching a sniffle, so she closed the window and went about readying for the day.
Lark blushed when Slater entered the kitchen—her romantic dream of him still all too fresh in her mind. She feared that he might somehow know she’d been dreaming of him. Therefore, she found it difficult to meet his gaze.
“How’s that cheek doin’ this mornin’?” Tom asked as he entered the kitchen, adjusting his suspenders.
“Looks to me it’s a little more yellow than purple,” Slater said. “Swellin’s down a bit too.”
“Mm-hmm,” Tom agreed, taking hold of Lark’s chin and turning her face to study the damage more closely. “Is it feeling better?”
“Much better, thank you,” Lark assured him.
Tom winked at her and took a seat at the table. As Lark set a plate of biscuits and ham before him, he looked to his brother and asked, “You still plannin’ on goin’ to town today?”
Slater nodded. “Yep. I wanna get them supplies laid in. It wouldn’t be smart to wait much longer.”
“You takin’ the boys with you?”
“Yeah,” Slater mumbled. “I figure I’ll take both wagons…and I’ll need some help loadin’ ’em. You comin’?”
“Naw,” Tom said. “I wanna get that woodpile heaped up a bit.”
“How about you?” Slater asked Lark. “Do you wanna come to town with me and the boys? I mean…if you’re not feelin’ up to it yet,” he said, gesturing to her sore cheek, “I’ll be more’n happy to pick out a coat for ya.”
Lark smiled with relief. She hadn’t wanted to go to town—not in the company of four men and with the condition of her face. She knew how town gossip was. She could well imagine how the tongues would start wagging at the sight of a lone and obviously beaten woman escorting four men—no matter what the truth was.
“I would greatly appreciate that, Slater…if you wouldn’t mind,” she answered.
He winked at her and nodded, causing her smile to broaden. “By the way, Tom,” he began as he reached into the front pocket of his trousers and withdrew a wadded-up, worn bandana, “you owe this girl wages.”
Taking Lark’s hand, Slater dumped a pile of silver dollars into her palm. Lark’s mouth gaped as he then reached into his back pocket, pulled out a roll of paper money, and counted out eight two-dollar bills.
“There ya go,” he said, folding the paper money and stuffing it into one of her apron pockets. “That’s thirty-two dollars for my half…so ante up, little brother.”
“You sayin’ I won’t?” Tom chuckled as he reached around to his back pocket.
“You haven’t so far,” Slater chuckled.
“Well, neither have you,” Tom said.
“No, no, no…this is too much,” Lark argued, offering the silver coins in her hand to Slater.
“No, it ain’t,” Slater said, shaking his head. He pointed a warning index finger at her, adding, “And don’t you let us go another week without payin’ you. Our boys get paid every week. It ain’t no different with you.”
“Here ya go, honey,” Tom said as he unrolled a wad of bills, licked his thumb, and began to count out an amount. “Thirty-two dollars…and you’ve been here a might longer than a month, so I’ll toss in another ten just to show I’m more generous than Slater here.”
“No, no, no!” Lark argued as Tom slipped the money into her opposing apron pocket. Withdrawing all the money, she laid it on the table, shook her head, and said, “I can’t possibly accept this.”
“You know what,” Tom said, “you’re right.” Reaching over, he quickly plucked a ten bill from the remaining bills in Slater’s hand. “Slater’s throwin’ in another ten for helpin’ us brand Sue.”
“That’s right,” Slater said, snatching the bill back. “And I’ll use it to buy you a right nice coat today, baby…if that’s all right.”
Tom laughed, and Slater chuckled.
“Well…well, yes…that’s fine. But it’s all too much,” Lark argued once more. “Really…why would I ever need so much money all at once?”
“That ain’t our concern,” Slater said, finishing the last bite of ham on his plate. “You earned it, and we just pay you yer wages. It ain’t our business what you use it for.”
“B-but…but I…” Lark stammered.
“Next time one of us goes to town, yer face oughta be all healed up. Then you can come with us and buy somethin’ nice for yourself at the general store,” Slater said. “I’m afraid if ya go this time, folks might think I’m as mean as my reputation tells me to be.”
Lark smiled at him. “I still can’t accept this sum. It’s too much.”
Slater sighed with exasperation. Shaking his head, he pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. “I gotta round the boys up and get into town, Tom,” he mumbled. “You can stay home and argue with the woman over money…but don’t let her near any stock that ain’t branded yet.” He smiled. It was a playful, teasing smile—very close to the smile he always wore in her dreams.
Lark arched one eyebrow as she returned his playful smile. She scooped up the money and deposited all of it into her skirt pocket. “You’re right. I did earn this.”
“Yes, you did…you little bull-brander,” Slater chuckled as he strode from the room.
Lark watched as he pulled his slicker off the coat rack by the front door.
“I’ll see you girls later,” he teased with a wink.
“Well, you best take a hat, sunshine,” Tom said. “Summer’s over.”
Slater nodded, took his hat from the hat rack, and pushed it onto his head. “That it is, girls…that it is,” he said as he closed the door behind him.
Tom chuckled as he took a bite of ham and biscuits. “Mama always had to pester Slater about wearing a hat in summer,” he mumbled. “Matilda too. I don’t know how he works out in the heat without one, and it turns his hair a whole different color entirely. But winter’s comin’ on, and we don’t want him catchin’ his death…now do we?”
“No…we don’t,” Lark giggled.
“You might need to take up pesterin’ him a might too,” Tom added. “He goes all summer without a hat…then forgets to keep his head warm in winter.”
“But he almost always leaves the house with one,” Lark noted. “Even when I first came here…and it was still summer then.”
Tom smiled. “Oh, he just does that because he was used to everyone naggin’ him. He mostly tosses it in the barn once he leaves the hou
se.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe he ain’t dropped dead of the heat yet.”
Lark sighed, lifted Slater’s empty plate from the table, and walked to the sink. Oh, how she loved the mornings at the Evans ranch! Oh, how she loved feeling needed, safe, and warm—and how she loved the two men that were taking such care of her. She thought of the first day she’d met them—of Tom’s smile and kindness, of Slater’s mask of indifference and feigned bad temper. She could never have imagined knowing such happiness in working for them—in simply knowing them. Furthermore, she could never have imagined falling in love with Slater as she had. That she would ever cross the path of such a man as Slater Evans had been beyond her thinking before she’d come to them—but to have fallen in love with him? She wondered if perhaps she’d put too heavy a price on her heart, if perhaps loving Slater would lead her to an untimely end somehow, for she had begun to think she might die if she were ever driven away from him.
“I’ll be out splittin’ wood if ya need me, honey,” Tom said, startling her as he stepped up next to her to hand her his now empty plate.
“Oh! Thank you,” she said, smiling at him.
Tom winked at her as he retrieved his hat and coat from the rack standing by the front door. He smiled and nodded at her, began to whistle a lively tune, and left the house.
Lark was alone once more, alone with her thoughts—her thoughts of happiness, of contentment—her thoughts of Slater and how handsome he’d looked as he’d left the house. She smiled—sighed as she thought of him—lingered in remembrances of her dreams of him.
“Little Lucy Sparrow, perching on a limb so narrow,” she sang as she washed the breakfast plates and utensils, “oh, won’t you trill a love song for me? A handsome caballero that wears a wide sombrero…is only what I wish for, you see.”
“Well, we’re pretty well-stocked,” Slater said as he hung his slicker on the coat rack. “So I guess the weather can turn now.” He smiled and shivered as if a sudden chill had overtaken him. “Brrr! It’s pretty chilly right now as it is. What’s for supper?”
“Fried chicken,” Tom said, patting his stomach from where he sat in the large chair by the parlor fire. “And it is good!” He frowned a moment and asked, “But what about Eldon and the boys? They didn’t have time to cook nothin’ up.”
“They had supper in town while I was findin’ a coat for our little bull-brander here,” Slater said. “Look here. I got ya two.” He reached into a large burlap bag he’d brought into the house with him, drawing out two brown paper-wrapped packages.
“There’s one for ridin’ and workin’. But then I thought you might be needin’ one for Sunday meetin’s and such…if you can ever drag our sorry rear ends to ’em.”
He held one package out to Lark, and she accepted with a polite, “Thank you, Slater.” She was uncomfortable, however, for as he stood watching her unwrap the brown paper—as Tom rose from his chair and sauntered nearer for a better view—she realized she didn’t quite know what to expect at having a man purchase clothing for her.
Lark gasped with surprise and delight as she drew away the brown paper to find a beautiful lavender wool coat. She’d never owned anything so lovely—never even known anyone who had! Well, perhaps a seamstress she’d worked for once. The coat was beautiful—and warm.
Lark held it to her face, marveling at its softness. “It’s perfect!” she breathed. “It’s beautiful!”
Slater smiled and nodded to Tom. “You see…I can know what a woman wants if I have a mind to.”
Tom nodded. “Let me see that, honey.”
Rather unwillingly, Lark handed the beautiful coat to Tom. He looked at it and inspected one of the inside seams. “Did Mrs. Jenkins wonder what you were needin’ with a coat like this?”
“She didn’t ask,” Slater said, shrugging broad shoulders. “She’s scared of me, so she didn’t say much to me.”
Tom chuckled. “Oh, this oughta set her mind to wanderin’,” he said. “It’s a fine coat, Slater. I’ll give you that.”
Slater nodded and handed Lark the second package he’d pulled from the burlap bag. “Here now…what do you think of this one then, baby?”
Lark giggled and bit her lip with delight when she drew away the brown paper to see a buckskin slicker had been wrapped in it—a slicker very similar to Slater’s, only buckskin-colored and much smaller.
She couldn’t stop the delighted squeal that trilled in her throat at the sight of the Slater-like coat. “It’s perfect too!” she giggled. “Just perfect.” She looked up to see him smiling at her—proudly smiling at her. It was obvious he was quite pleased with his purchase.
“Try it on now,” he demanded. “Let’s make sure it fits. Mrs. Jenkins assured me on the other one…but I had to guess on this one by myself in the general store,” he asked.
Tom smiled as he watched Slater help Lark put on the slicker. Oh, his big brother had it bad! He shook his head, wondering why Slater didn’t just lift the girl in his arms and haul her off to his bed. Well now, he knew Slater would never do such a thing—not without marrying her first. Still, he knew his brother—stood in awe at how he was managing to appear so calm and unruffled all the time. Two coats! Two! And one he knew cost a pretty penny. Tom had purchased a coat from Mrs. Jenkins the winter before; he knew how much old Mrs. Jenkins asked for such a thing. Yep, old Slater Evans was in love. Tom chuckled as he thought, And he don’t even know it.
“Now let me see,” Slater said, taking Lark by the shoulders and studying her from head to toe. He nodded with approval. “Yep…yep. That’ll do just fine.” He frowned a moment, cocking his head to one side thoughtfully. “Hmmm. Still, we don’t want yer head to be cold.”
Lark smiled as he promptly took the hat from his head, plopping it onto hers. She giggled as it slipped down over her eyebrows. Pushing at the brim, she tipped her head back and looked at Slater from under it. “Do you think this will make a better cowboy out of me?” she asked. “Will I do a better job at branding next time?”
Slater laughed and reached out to position his hat so that it sat tipped and farther back on Lark’s head. “I’m sure of it,” he said.
Lark allowed herself to gaze a moment into his eyes—his eyes that were fairly twinkling with some sort of unspoken joy. For an instant, she considered that maybe she was the cause of the glistening in them—that perhaps his delight in outfitting her had caused him some sort of unique glee. Still, she swallowed such ridiculous notions, especially when her attention was drawn to his hair.
“You…you cut your hair,” Lark noted aloud.
Slater nodded and ran one hand through his shortened hair. “Yes, ma’am, I did,” he admitted. “I was startin’ to look mighty scroungy.”
Lark couldn’t decide whether she was delighted by the change in his hair or disappointed. The fact that most of the sun-bleached portions of it had been cut away, combined with the shorter cropping of it, gave him a more dominating, almost intimidating appearance. His hair was now mostly its true dark brown—no longer fell over his forehead the way a mischievous boy’s may have. In that moment, though it would have seemed impossible an hour before, Slater Evans was even more striking—more handsome—more hypnotically attractive.
“Had me a proper shave too,” he added, gripping his chin in one hand and rubbing his cheek. “Have a feel of that, baby,” he said, unexpectedly taking hold of both Lark’s hands and placing her palms to his cheeks. “What do you think of that? Ain’t it nice?” he asked, brushing his face with her hands over and over again.
“Mm-hmmm,” was all Lark could manage. Her entire body was covered in goose bumps—her heart pounding like a hammer driving a fence post.
“Ain’t prickly at all,” Slater said. “Smooth enough to hold baby skin to. Right?”
“Mm-hmmm.”
“Even smooth enough to…”
Lark held her breath as Slater released her hands and bent forward, softly caressing her left cheek with his right
one.
“That soft enough for ya?” he whispered against her neck.
“Mm-hmmm,” Lark squeaked.
Again he caressed her cheek with his own, this time slowly brushing her lips with first his cheek and then his chin. His touch was exhilarating beyond anything Lark had ever experienced—the windswept scent of his skin intoxicating!
Lark felt her hands curl into fists at her sides, for she wanted to touch him in return—bury her hands in the dark silk of his hair—throw herself into his arms. Yet she held her breath, determined not to faint, not to reveal any hint of her delight—or desire.
“Yep…soft enough to hold baby skin to,” he mumbled. “Or even…”
Lark’s eyes widened at what she felt next—at the sense of Slater’s lips only just brushing hers—as she felt him place the tenderest kiss possible to her low lip.
“Oops,” he said, suddenly rising to his full stature. He winked at Lark and said, “See there…it’s so smooth I slipped.”
“Mm-hmmm,” Lark breathed, her entire body trembling with rapturous bliss.
He winked again, patting her head and causing his hat to fall down over her eyebrows once more.
Tom chuckled and clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Why, Slater Evans…you devil, you. Now, what’s findin’ you with such a good disposition tonight?”
Slater shrugged and shook his head. “I guess a good shave and a hair trim can do wonders for a man. Besides, we’re stocked up for winter, there’s fried chicken waitin’…oh! And I dang near forgot!”
Lark watched as Slater turned back to the coat rack, rummaged around in the inner pocket of his slicker, and produced a letter.
“We got us a letter from Katie!” he exclaimed.
“Katie?” Tom chuckled, a broad smile spreading across his face—broad enough nearly to match the one on Slater’s.
A nervous sort of unsettling anxiety flickered in Lark’s bosom. Katie? A girl? Or a woman? Judging from the delight on the faces of both men, a woman. But who? Lark silently told herself that perhaps this Katie was simply Tom and Slater’s sister. Perhaps she’d married long ago and moved away.
Weathered Too Young Page 11
