“Want to walk a ways, Katie?” Slater asked.
A sense of near panic filled Lark—but what could she do? Katherine nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Lark watched as Slater helped Katherine with her coat and took her hand as they left the house.
“What’s the story about, Lark?” Lizzy asked, startling Lark from her miserable jealousy.
Forcing a smile, she began, “Once upon a time…”
“Oh! I love this one!” Lizzy exclaimed.
“You don’t even know which one it is,” Johnny grumbled. He was sitting next to Tom on the sofa, and Tom chuckled—as ever, amused.
“Be quiet, Johnny!” Lizzy scolded. “Don’t you know all good stories start that way? Go on, Lark. Go on and start again.”
Lark smiled as Lizzy cuddled up under her arm. Charlie snuggled under the other.
“Very well. Once upon a time…” Lark began again.
Mere moments later, both Lizzy and Charlie were sound asleep.
“They’re plum tuckered out,” Tom chuckled softly.
“That’s ’cause they don’t hardly draw breath all day,” Johnny said. “Did you ever hear such chatterin’ on? They’re like two squirrels fightin’ over an acorn.”
“Should we…should we just put them to bed?” Lark asked.
Johnny nodded. “Lizzy won’t stir at all now,” he said. “Charlie might…but I’ll see to him.” Johnny stood, crossed the room, and scooped his little brother into his arms. “Thank you, Miss Lark,” he said. He turned and added, “You too, Uncle Tom.”
“You’re welcome, Johnny,” Lark whispered.
Tom strode toward the big chair where Lark still sat with Lizzy. “I’ll get her into the bed…and you can tuck her in,” Tom whispered.
Lark nodded and smiled as she watched Tom carefully lift the little girl into his arms. Lark was glad that Katherine had made the younger children change into their nightdresses before they’d settled in the parlor. She wouldn’t have been able to rest easy if she’d had to put Lizzy to bed in her day clothes.
Once she’d snuggly tucked Lizzy into bed, she quietly closed the door behind her and returned to the parlor. Slater and Katherine still hadn’t returned, but Lark tried not to think on it. After all, chances were they were talking about Katherine’s husband passing on. What could possibly happen between them with such sad conversation?
“I’m not going to any dance, Uncle Tom,” Johnny was saying. “Ain’t no way! Not me!”
“Ah, now. Come on, boy! We always go to the Christmas social in town,” Tom said. Lark recognized Tom’s teasing expression, and she felt a little sorrow for Johnny. “We got us some mighty pretty little fillies ’bout your age round here,” Tom chuckled.
“I don’t know how to dance. I don’t have the knack for it, that’s all,” Johnny grumbled.
Lark had heard about the Christmas social. Mrs. Gunderson had spoken of it while she’d been choosing fabric in town earlier in the day. It had been a long time since Lark had attended such an event. Mrs. Gunderson had told her that the Evans brothers always attended the Christmas social in town, and Lark had found that a growing excitement had begun in her. Naturally, once Katherine and the children had arrived, she’d simply forgotten about it—until now.
“I ain’t much of a dancer myself,” Tom told Johnny. “I look about like an ol’ bull would look if he were tryin’ to waltz…but it’s mighty fun. Nobody out here is much good at dancin’, so you’ll fit right in.”
“I don’t go dancing, Uncle Tom.”
Tom chuckled and looked up to Lark. The all too familiar Evans mischief was apparent in his expression. She immediately recognized Tom’s intention and shook her head. Tom ignored her, however.
“Why…I bet our Miss Lark would teach ya all the dancin’ ya need to know. You’d sure enough show Johnny waltzin’ and such before the Christmas social,” he said, “now wouldn’t ya?”
Lark couldn’t help but smile as Johnny gazed to her hopefully—almost pleadingly. “Of course!” she exclaimed, feigning delight. “It would be my pleasure. It’s not as difficult as you might think, Johnny.”
Johnny smiled. “Really? You wouldn’t mind teaching me?”
“Of course not,” she told him sincerely. “In fact, let’s start just now.”
Johnny’s smile widened. He stood and straightened his shirt collar. He was a tall boy for his age—several inches taller than Lark.
“Here now,” she said, directing him to holding her hand in his—in placing his other hand at her waist. “It’s fairly simple…if you start by counting it out.” She began counting out the steps. “One, two, three…one, two, three,” she counted. “You see? It’s not so hard. It just takes some practice.”
“One, two, three…one, two…oops! I’m sorry, Miss Lark,” Johnny apologized as he stepped on her foot.
Lark giggled. “It’s fine…it’s fine. You just need practice.” She stopped him, smiled, and began again. “One, two, three…one, two, three. You see there…you’re getting it!”
Johnny only nodded, still too intent on counting out his steps.
“You see this, Katie. I leave Tom alone for one dang minute, and he’s got them dancin’ around like there ain’t nothin’ to do in the world.”
Lark stopped short at the sound of Slater’s voice. Slater and Katherine must’ve entered through the back door, for she hadn’t heard them approach. Lark blushed, somehow embarrassed at Slater’s having caught her waltzing.
“Lark’s teachin’ Johnny how to dance so he’ll be ready for the town Christmas social,” Tom explained.
“Oh! Do they still have the social?” Katherine exclaimed. She looked to Slater, her eyes sparkling with enchantment. “Oh, I did so love the town socials! Remember, Slater? We used to have so much fun. And dance! Oh, how we’d dance! Remember?”
Slater leaned forward, kissing Katherine’s forehead. “Course I remember. You were always the prettiest girl there.”
Lark watched as then, quite to her utter amazement, Slater began waltzing with Katherine—and humming. She fancied he looked much younger when paired with Katherine—not so much physically but rather as if his soul felt youthful once more. Certainly, he did not look old in the least anyway. Yet whenever his heart was somehow lightened—whenever mischief and mirth were about him—the weathered appearance that normally accompanied him faded.
Lark’s thoughts were interrupted when Slater said, “Wipe that look off yer face, baby. Ain’t you ever seen nobody waltzin’ before?”
“Not you,” Lark answered plainly.
Slater immediately stopped dancing. He frowned, nearly glaring at her. “Well, I suppose that’s true,” he said. Still looking at Lark, he said, “Here, Johnny, you practice with your mama a minute. Looks like I got somethin’ to prove.”
“Oh no, no, no!” Lark breathed, stepping backward as Slater advanced upon her. His eyes were flashing with naughty indignation.
“You think just ’cause I’m an old, leathery cowhand that I can’t dance?” he asked her.
Lark shook her head and forced a pleasant smile. “Oh no! I just mean…well, you and Tom don’t spend much time dancing around the house. That’s all. When would I have ever had the chance to see?”
Slater chuckled. Taking Lark’s hand in his, he put his other at her waist. Then, flashing his brilliant smile, he said, “Is that a fact? Well, that shows how much you don’t know…’cause the fact of the matter is, late at night, when you’re all cozy sound asleep…me and old Tom get up and dance around on the table in our drawers…trapdoors a-flappin’ in the breeze.”
Lark blushed and gasped as Slater began leading her in a waltz. Instantly, she began to perspire—to tremble for the excitement rushing through her at being held in his arms.
“I can do reels and everythin’ else too. Astonishin’, ain’t it?” he asked as Lark began to struggle slightly. He was unnerving her greatly. She felt that if she didn’t escape him, then Katherine and Johnny might re
ad her feelings—as Tom had so easily done before.
She gasped and was rendered near breathless as he pulled her body flush with his own.
“Now, you don’t want to be dancin’ this close to a girl at the social, Johnny,” Slater said. “If you do…you might find her daddy chasin’ ya home with his Peacemaker.”
“Slater Evans!” Katherine scolded. “Slap him, Lark! He deserves it.”
“I-I’m really not up to dancing well this evening, Slater,” Lark stammered. “I’m ever so tired. I’m sure everyone is.”
Slater winked to Katherine and said, “Let me translate that for ya, Katie. She means she’s embarrassed to be dancin’ with me and wants to escape to her room.”
“That is not what I said,” Lark defended herself, planting her feet firmly and stopping their waltz.
Slater didn’t loosen his hold on her, nor did he remove his hand from her waist, although he did release her hand he’d been holding. “But that’s what you meant…ain’t it?”
“No…of course not,” Lark stammered. “I simply meant that I’ve had a very long day, and I’m tired.” Though she adored it, his teasing was so entirely unsettling. Silently, she admitted that he’d been right—she did want to escape. Rather, she needed to escape.
“Oh, leave her be, Slater,” Katherine giggled, coming to Lark’s rescue. “She’s worked so hard today, and besides…I’m tired too. We should all turn in.”
Slater chuckled and released Lark.
“Good night, Johnny…Katherine. I hope you both sleep well,” Lark said, forcing a friendly smile. She turned to Tom. “Good night, Tom.” She paused, blushing as Slater smiled, staring at her expectantly. “Good night, Slater,” she managed. His gaze—the way his eyes seemed to study her almost wantonly—caused a delicious quiver to travel through body.
“Now, you remember,” he began, “don’t be comin’ out in the middle of the night and surprising me and Tom. You might catch us dancin’ around in our drawers.”
Lark was delighted by his teasing her. Certainly, it made her uncomfortable. Yet it was nearly what she lived for—his teasing, his attention. Smiling, she felt her eyes narrow as she leaned toward him. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before…your drawers, I mean,” she teased. She caught sight of Johnny and Katherine out of the corner of her eye. Thus, she added, “After all, I am the one who does the mendin’ around here.”
Slater’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he gazed at her. “Yes, you are,” he mumbled.
Tom playfully slapped Slater on the back. “You need some sleep, boy,” he chuckled. “Once you start into waltzin’ and pickin’ on Lark…it’s time for you to hit the hay.”
Slater’s smile broadened, and he nodded. He ran a hand through his hair and said, “Yep. I’m worn through today. I best get myself to bed.”
“Thank you for puttin’ the children to bed for me, Lark,” Katherine said.
“It was a pleasure,” Lark told her—and it was the truth.
“Good night,” Katherine said. Johnny nodded and headed to the back of the house.
“You keep that fire goin’ if it gets cold, Kate,” Slater said. “I’ll see you all in the mornin’.”
He was gone then, taking the stairs two at a time.
Lark closed the door behind her as she entered her room. She was tired—it was true. Yet her mind was alive with thoughts, feelings—her heart still beating erratically, the result of Slater’s flirting. She closed her eyes and placed a hand to her forehead as her tired mind whirled.
She knew her face was still fiery with blushing. She wondered if her heart would even resume an even tempo. She was thrilled by Slater’s attentions—devastated by the fact that he cared so deeply for Katherine. Unexpectedly, even to herself, she burst into tears. Yet this was not sobbing—merely the quiet tears of fear, fatigue, and even strange delight.
Lark knew she’d grown too comfortable—too pleased with the life she’d come to know at the Evans ranch. She’d fallen too deeply in love with Slater. Furthermore, she sensed the life that she had enjoyed was all too abruptly coming to an end—or, at very least, about to change, dramatically.
Oh, certainly she’d always known a man like Slater Evans would have had many women in his past. Yet she’d somehow convinced herself that he was so single-minded to his work—to his cattle and horses—that no woman would ever breach his attention. Still, a mature, beautiful woman, recently touched by tragedy and looking as alluring as anything on earth, had now returned from Slater’s past—returned to be part of his future. Yes, Slater had flirted with Lark, but it could well have been he meant only to entertain Katherine.
Lark felt weary and discouraged. She knew better than to ponder such matters when she was in such a state of exhaustion. Her arms felt heavy as she reached around to work the buttons of her shirtwaist collar.
“Oh!” she gasped, suddenly remembering she’d left the small poetry book she’d purchased in the parlor. She knew reading a few pages before going to sleep would ease her mind into a more restful slumber.
Quietly, she opened the door and peered into the darkness. Across the way she could see the embers of the dying fire yet smoldered, for an inviting orange glow beckoned her. She paused, unable to remember if she’d heard Slater’s boots drop overhead. Every night she waited—waited to hear him settle, hear his boots thud to the floor. It was how she knew he was in bed—how she found her own peace in knowing he slept just above her. Had she heard them a moment ago? She thought she had.
Again she peered across the entry toward the parlor. She unlaced her boots and removed them, not wanting to disturb Katherine or the children.
Slipping out of her room, she made her way to the parlor. Lark marveled at how silent the house was, how the absence of voices and light caused the room to seem lonesome—a room that had been filled with life such a short time before. The book of favorite poems was resting on the edge of a small table, just where she’d left it.
As she reached for it, however, Slater’s voice from behind startled her. “What’re you doin’?” he asked.
Breathless with residual distress, for she had nearly jumped out of her stockings when he’d spoken, she placed a hand to her bosom to settle her madly beating heart. “You frightened me near out of my skin, Slater Evans!” she scolded in a whisper.
“Sorry,” he said, striding toward her. He wore only his long underwear, the front of which were unbuttoned and gaping open to his waist. “But what’re you doin’?”
“Retrieving my book,” she told him. “What’re you doing?”
“My shoulder’s botherin’ me,” he said, reaching across his chest to massage the back of his left shoulder.
Lark remembered the scar she’d seen there. It seemed the cooler the weather, the more she caught moments of Slater rubbing his shoulder or rotating his arm as if working out some stiffness. “I came down to fetch the liniment.”
“It’s in the kitchen,” she whispered, starting to move past him. “I’ll get it for you.”
Lark gasped as Slater took hold of her arm, growling, “No.”
“I-I don’t mind,” she breathed.
She watched as his dark eyes narrowed—as a deep frowning scowl furrowed his handsome brow.
“I need to quit dancin’ around this, baby,” he said. His voice was deep—somehow rich and alluring like molasses confection.
“Quit d-dancing around what?” Lark stammered.
“You,” he mumbled, taking hold of both her arms and maneuvering her body, pressing her back against the parlor wall. Slater leaned toward her, and panic mingled with elation bathed her in a euphoric sort of anticipation.
Frightened by her own rising desires, Lark put out one hand up and pressed firmly against Slater’s chest in an effort to keep from melting to him. “Me?” she choked in a whisper.
“I need to quit dancin’ around this,” he mumbled. She felt him cover her hand pressing against his chest with his own, squeezing it a moment before releasing it.
Lark held her breath as he took her face between his powerful hands and moved closer to her. Instinctively, her other hand went to his chest as well, and she gently pushed at him.
“You’re shakin’ like a leaf,” he said, grinning at her—though the narrowing of his eyes told her his intentions were far beyond mere mischief.
“I-I’m cold,” she whispered, though she was far from it.
“I’m not,” he told her. “Go on. Slip your arms around me…and I’ll show you how warm I am.”
Lark could hardly draw breath! Every inch of her flesh was alive with goose bumps; her stomach felt as if a swarm of birds had just taken flight inside her.
“Let’s quit dancin’ around it…just do it…and get it over with,” he said. “Then I’m sure we’ll both settle down…and get right back in the saddle of everyday livin’.”
“D-do what?” Lark squeaked. She was breathless—weak—entirely at his mercy.
Slater’s grin broadened to a smile. “Kiss,” he breathed.
“Oh n-no,” Lark whispered, shaking her head. She pushed at his chest more firmly, terrified of what might happen to her heart if she were to succumb to him.
“Oh yes,” he breathed. He brushed the tip of her nose with his own, lightly kissing her upper lip. “Let’s just quit dancin’ around it. Let’s just get it over with…quit distractin’ each other with wantin’ it so badly.”
“Maybe I don’t,” she lied.
“Maybe you’re a liar,” he mumbled against her mouth. “Now slip your arms around me…and let me warm you up a minute. I promise you ain’t never been warmer.”
“Slater—” she began to argue.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “I gotta get this outta me, baby…else you’re gonna drive me to…” He kissed her then—directly on the mouth. His lips were warm and soft, and he buried his hands in her hair. “Quit dancin’ around it, Lark,” he whispered against her lips. “It’s one kiss. Take hold and run.”
She gasped as his mouth found hers once more—lips parted—warm and moist. Why would he kiss her? she wondered for a brief moment. The question was fleeting, however—for what did it matter why? Slater was kissing her! All her resistance was beaten, and she allowed her arms and hands to slide over his chest, to slip beneath the fabric of his gaping underwear and around to his back. Oh, he was warm! Warmer than anything she’d ever experienced! His skin was smooth and heated; she could feel the strength of the muscles in his back.
Weathered Too Young Page 16
