Weathered Too Young

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Katherine sighed, obviously relieved.

  “Sit down and eat your breakfast, darlin’,” Tom said to Lark then. He leaned over to Katherine and added, “She pulls this nonsense every once in a while, and we gotta remind her to sit down and eat with us…instead of hoverin’ over us like a mama hen.”

  “Sit down right here, baby,” Slater said, patting the seat of the chair next to him. When she paused, he took hold of her arm and pulled her into the chair.

  As she served herself some eggs and spread jam over a piece of bread, she listened to the children talking with their mother, Slater, and Tom. A tiny twinge of resentment flickered in her mind, for this was how it would be now—no more intimate conversation between just Slater, Tom, and herself at meal times. And there were more than twice as many people to cook for, to clean up after. Still, she didn’t mind so much—for Katherine and her children were wonderful. Furthermore, at least she would be warm this winter.

  She felt herself blush as she thought of the warmth her body had known while in the arms of Slater the night before. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed herself to embrace him—to be warmed by the smooth heat of his skin, by the delicious pleasure of his kiss.

  She was amazed at how unaffected Slater seemed to be. He sat next to her, casually eating his breakfast, as if nothing had ever transpired between them. Apparently her proximity to him did nothing to unsettle his mind and body the way his proximity to her unsettled hers.

  Lark glanced to Slater and smiled as he laughed, displaying the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. She loved this about him—the fact that his face was not so boyish as the faces of some men. His whiskers were thick, his jaw squared and firm. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes spoke of years of squinting in the sun—and of laughter. There was nothing weak about him, and though his skin was soft, his hands were strong and callused. Slater Evans was a man—a man of experience, weathered with living and working—and she loved him all the more for it.

  “Pumpkin pie too?” Lizzy was asking.

  “What?” Lark breathed, startled from her daydreams of Slater.

  “Will we be having pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving, Miss Lark?” Lizzy asked.

  Lark smiled, though Slater’s gaze lingering on her caused her to flush crimson once more. “Of course!” she said. “Your Uncle Tom saved the best pumpkins from the garden for our Thanksgiving pies.”

  “Oh, Mama!” Lizzy squealed, clapping her hands together with delight. “It’s gonna be wonderful!”

  Lark smiled as Slater chuckled and winked at her.

  It was going to be wonderful! Lark glanced to Slater once more before picking up her fork and starting to eat her eggs—because any day in Slater Evans’s company was wonderful! She silently scolded herself at her next thought, however—that any night spent in his arms would be even more so.

  

  Thanksgiving Day dawned snowy and frigid. Long before the sun had even begun to think about rising, Lark had risen to start the kitchen fires. She’d been so thankful that Slater had killed and cleaned the wild turkey the day before, for she’d overslept a little, and it would have put her behind if she’d had to trudge through the task.

  Soon the turkey was in the oven, and she set about in preparing other things for the special meal. She smiled as she surveyed the many pies she and Katherine had made over the past few days. She couldn’t wait to see the looks on the children’s faces when she told them she’d talked their mother into allowing her to serve pumpkin pie for breakfast! Slater even had Johnny save the cream from the milking the day before for the breakfast pies. It would be a lovely day—no matter the weather.

  “It’s too much for you, isn’t it?”

  Lark gasped, startled by the sound of Slater’s voice. Turning around, she saw him leaning against one wall, watching her. “What?” she asked, instantly uncomfortable.

  “Cookin’ and carin’ for so many,” he explained. “We’re runnin’ you ragged, aren’t we?”

  But Lark shook her head. “Oh no. No. I’m fine.”

  “You tell me the truth, Lark. You ain’t even dressed.” His eyes traveled from her head to her feet and back, and it was only then she remembered she hadn’t taken the time to dress. She’d been afraid that, in oversleeping, the turkey wouldn’t have the proper time to thoroughly cook if she didn’t get it in the oven immediately. Therefore, she’d simply grabbed her shawl and raced into the kitchen, intending to dress properly once the bird was in. Thus, there she stood—her shawl gaping open, revealing her nightdress. Her hair wasn’t even braided, and she combed her fingers from her forehead back to smooth it.

  “I-I just needed to get the bird in so it will be done on time,” she sputtered as she took several steps toward her room.

  Slater stepped in front of her, however, barring her way. She swallowed the lump of titillation in her throat as she looked from his chest to his hair. His underwear (unbuttoned as ever it was) gaped open, revealing the smooth contours of his torso—his smooth, warm torso. Lark knew it was smooth and warm, for she’d felt it once before. His hair was tousled, looking not so unlike Charlie’s did when first the little boy awoke each morning. She was grateful Slater had taken the time to pull on his trousers, at least.

  Quickly, she looked up into his face. He was frowning down at her.

  “It’s too much for ya, ain’t it? You’re too young to have to be—” he began.

  Yet Lark’s fear of the cold, of winter itself, crept to her thoughts. Likewise, her darkest and deepest fear purely gripped her, for if she did not continue to perform her duties well, then winter and cold seemed nothing to the pain and misery having to leave Slater would heap upon her.

  “I’m fine,” she told him. “I’ve been taking care of myself, as well as others, for quite some time now. I’m perfectly capable of caring for Katherine and the children as well as you and Tom. And I…I rather resent your implication that I’m not up to the task.”

  Slater’s eyebrows arched in astonishment at the strength of her conviction. “Are ya now?”

  “Yes,” she said, trying to push past him.

  But he caught her arm. “Whoa there,” he said. “I’m just concerned about yer well-bein’. You’re doin’ too much, and you know it. It’s wearin’ ya out. I ain’t sayin’ you’re not capable of doin’ it. I’m just tellin’ you to slow down a might. The world ain’t gonna end if the turkey’s a little late gettin’ done.”

  “This is my job, isn’t it? That’s why you hired me,” she told him.

  Oh, he was so alluring! She couldn’t look at him without her mouth watering for want of his kiss! She only wanted him to reach out, gather her into his powerful arms, and assure her he wanted her there—that he would keep her.

  “I didn’t hire you,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Tom did.”

  A sharp pain like a sliver of glass had been plunged into her chest tore through her heart! What was he saying? What did he mean? Did he mean to tell her that he didn’t want her there? That to him she was only a burden, a foundling with a need to earn her room and board? Yet she thought of his kindnesses toward her—of his teasing—of his kiss. He meant something else by reminding her that it was Tom who hired her and not him. The smoldering desire in his eyes told her that.

  He took a deep breath and continued, “And he didn’t hire you to work yourself to death. So wipe that hurt puppy dog look off yer face…’cause you know what I mean.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I mean, I’m plum whipped…so I know how tired you have to be. I ain’t had a good night’s sleep since Katherine and the children arrived, and I ain’t cookin’ and cleanin’ up after them.”

  Lark understood then, and her heart warmed. He was genuinely concerned for her. She still didn’t recognize why he was so adamant she understand that it was Tom who hired her and not him, but she did understand why he was so concerned. Slater was tired—worn through with caring for little Charlie through the night.

  “You have to make
Charlie sleep in his own bed, Slater,” she told him.

  Slater shook his head. “I can’t do it. He’s awful fearful at night,” he said. “Probably has somethin’ to do with his daddy bein’ gone. I just can’t tell him no.”

  “Then send him in to me,” she suggested. “I’m sure I can settle him down.”

  He grinned, and she knew mischief was in his mind. “How about he sleeps in my bed, and I run on down to yours?” he teased.

  Lark couldn’t help but smile, delighted by his flirting—inappropriate though it was. “I’m serious,” she said.

  “So am I,” he chuckled.

  “You’ve got to make him stay with Johnny,” Lark said. “You work too hard to miss your sleep. Wake me up if he does it again. Wake me up, and I’ll help you put him back to bed.” She lowered her eyes a moment. “I know you don’t want to worry Katie.”

  “I don’t want to worry Kate,” he admitted. “But I don’t want you havin’ one more thing to do neither.”

  Lark sighed. “Is he in your bed now?” she asked.

  “Yep. Sprawled out like a hound on a hot summer day,” he yawned, covering his mouth with one hand.

  Lark glanced to the clock on the wall.

  “Will he wake up if you move him?”

  “Oh yeah,” he assured her.

  “Well, you’ve got two hours before you and Tom need to be out breaking the ice in the water troughs, right?”

  “We ain’t doin’ it this mornin’,” he told her. “The boys are gonna do it before they head into town for their Thanksgiving invitations.”

  “Well, then…you can take my bed,” she said.

  Slater grinned. “You gonna be in it too?” he teased.

  “Of course not,” she scolded with a giggle. “I have so many things to get started. Just let me get changed into my dress, and you can sleep in my bed for a few hours.” He grinned at her, but she moved past him and toward her room. “You’ll be an old bear all day if you don’t get some sleep…and I won’t have you ruining Thanksgiving for the children.”

  “What kind of a man goes to bed and leaves a woman to doin’ all the work?” he asked as he followed her.

  Lark stepped into her room and began to close the door.

  “A man who’s going to let the woman take a nice long nap once the meal is over,” she told him. “Now you wait here. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Closing the door behind her, Lark giggled, delighted by Slater’s playful attention. Suddenly, the day promised to be even more magical than before.

  Dressing quickly, she opened her door to find Slater standing outside it, propped up against one wall. He did look weary—and she loved him all the more for his patience with Charlie.

  “Now, you sleep as long as you can,” she told him, taking his hand and leading him to her bed. “Remember…I don’t want you being ornery and spoiling the day for the children.”

  He grinned and began unfastening his trousers. “You sure you don’t want to stay a while?” he teased.

  “You sure you don’t want me to slap you?” she giggled. “Now go to sleep. I want this to be a wonderful day…for everyone.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled.

  “Rest well, Slater,” she told him, hurrying out of the room. As she closed the door behind her, she heard him moan as he lay down in her bed. She smiled as she entered the kitchen to begin the rest of the preparations for the day—for how delicious would it be to sleep in her bed once Slater had been there? She wondered if her pillow might smell of leather and wind. She hoped it would.

  

  Everything about the day was blissful—the meal, the company, the conversation, the delight in knowing Slater and Tom had abandoned any chore that could go with abandoning and that Katherine and her children were not alone. The turkey was moist, the stuffing delicious. There were crisp vegetables and warm bread. In the evening, Lark served more pumpkin pie and fresh whipped cream, and all through the day there was warmth—wonderful, comforting warmth! Lark had never known a Thanksgiving so marvelous. Not only had the food been delicious—with everyone commenting how they’d never had such a good meal—it seemed every soul in the Evanses’ ranch house was merry.

  Soon the sun was setting, and everyone sat in the parlor in happy conversation and company. Lark was completely fatigued, having not wanted to rest after the meal, for there was too much delight to enjoy. Now she lingered with the others, listening as Slater, Tom, and Katherine reminisced of Thanksgivings past.

  The wind blew outside their cozy haven, blowing the flurrying snow into soft drifts. Still, the fire and parlor conversation were comforting, and Lark soon found difficulty in keeping her eyes open. The thick measure of contentment washing over her lulled her like a rocking cradle, and she began to drift in and out of sleep. Katherine was giggling, telling the children about a Thanksgiving past when the turkey had caught flame in the oven. Slater and Tom chuckled at the memory as well, and the sound soothed Lark. She owned very few fond memories of Thanksgiving. Thus, she enjoyed hearing the tales of family and mischief told by Slater, Tom, and Katherine. Naturally, it was Slater’s voice she enjoyed most. The deep, rich flavor of it caused her mouth to water—and visions of being in his arms began to dance in her weary mind.

  

  “She wore herself out,” Slater said. It seemed as though he were somewhere in the distance, however. “I told you she would. And she never did lie down for a little rest. Makes me feel like a lazy ol’ hound.”

  Lark felt numb—nearly intoxicated—though she had the slight sensation of being lifted and carried.

  “You boys let her work too hard,” Katherine said from somewhere. “And at least take her boots off, Slater. For pity’s sake!”

  “Sleep?” Lark breathed as she forced her eyes to open a moment. It was Slater’s face she saw, and she gasped, realizing she was in his arms—that he was setting her gently onto her bed.

  “Don’t worry,” he mumbled, grinning at her as she sat up, suddenly alert. “I ain’t stayin’…at least not this time.”

  “Slater Evans!” Katherine scolded. Tom chuckled, however, winking at Lark. “Now, you just get some rest,” Katherine said. “It’s been a long day…and you’ve worked far too hard since we’ve been here.”

  “Oh no! I’m fine! Really!” Lark argued. She was weary—near the edge of collapse—but she could not fail in her responsibilities.

  Slater reached out, taking hold of her face with one powerful hand. “Good night,” he said. “And don’t get out of this bed…’cause I’ll just put you right back in it.” He released her face, stood, and sighed. “I’m havin’ me some more punkin pie,” he mumbled, turning to leave the room. Tom chuckled and followed his brother.

  Katherine sat down on the side of the bed, however, smiling at Lark. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone work as hard to please everybody as you do, Lark,” she said quietly.

  “It’s my job,” Lark answered.

  “Oh, now…I know it’s a whole lot more than that. You’re a very extraordinary person…and I thank you for all you’ve done for me and the children. Now, I want you to get some rest. You’ve been working much too hard since we arrived…and probably even before.” She smiled and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You get some sleep. I’ll tuck everyone in tonight.”

  Lark nodded, for she was so very tired. She needed to rest—to surrender to sleep. If she didn’t, she feared she might collapse.

  Katherine stood and walked across the room, closing the door gently behind her.

  Lark stripped off her day dress, corset, and stockings. She pulled her nightdress over her head and sank into the soft comfort of her bed. As she turned to her side, however, she smiled. Her pillow did indeed hold a faint aroma of leather and wind—of Slater. Warm beneath sheets and a quilt that had enveloped Slater for a time, Lark drifted off to sleep, her last thought being regret—regret that she’d been carried in Slater’s arms and hadn’t even been awake to revel in the heaven of it.<
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  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Preparing for Christmas took nearly every moment of Lark’s spare time. There were so many gifts to make—for she’d made individual gifts not only for Slater, Tom, Katherine, and the children but also for Eldon, Grady, and Ralston. The tips of her fingers were sore from sewing stitches, yet she was glad she had a skill that allowed her the opportunity to make so many gifts. Furthermore, working on her Christmas offerings in such secrecy filled Lark with a wild anticipation and joy. The excitement, constant and plain on Johnny’s, Lizzy’s, and Charlie’s faces, was thoroughly contagious as well. Thus, Lark found herself near constantly giddy—near constantly overcome with an unfamiliar, rather feverish condition of joy. Even the fact that the ground was blanketed by snow—that it seemed it would linger until spring—even this couldn’t dampen her spirits.

  Two weeks after Thanksgiving, Slater and Tom took Johnny and Charlie out to cut down a pine tree—a Christmas tree. Eldon, Grady, and Ralston joined them, chopping down a smaller tree for use in the bunkhouse. The men were playful, tossing snowballs with the boys and sliding down hills. Lizzy had set herself to pouting, perturbed about not being invited to go with the men and boys to fetch the tree. Lark had comforted her, however, by allowing Lizzy to assist in mixing a batch of gingerbread and then helping her cut them into different shapes before baking. Lizzy was delighted, especially when the men returned to slather her with compliments on how pretty the cookies were—and how delicious.

  That evening, everyone set to work decorating the tree. Slater popped corn in a long-handled pan held over the fire in the parlor. When he’d finished, Lark and Katherine strung the white, fluffy corn on thread to use as an embellishment for the tree. Slater had to pop five pans full of popcorn in all, for the children certainly ate it faster than Lark and Katherine could string it. Tom chuckled, commenting that they should plant two rows of the popping corn come spring instead of just one.

  Once the popcorn strings were draped around the tree, Slater went to the attic, returning with a small trunk. Lark had joined the children in giggling with delight as Slater opened the trunk to reveal a lovely collection of items meant to adorn the tree. There were small, velvet pouches festooned with tiny white feathers, twenty or thirty pretty prisms hung on dainty green ribbon. There were several glass ornaments and small cornucopias crafted from colorful papers. Slater explained that he and Tom would fill the cornucopias and velvet pouches with sweets and trinkets before the children placed them on the tree. Then, each evening after dinner, the children could each choose one to pluck from the tree to open and enjoy, until they were all empty.