“Lark?” Slater called as he opened the front door, stepping into the house.
“Slater!” Lark cried.
Careless of her pain, of the fact that her shirtwaist now hung at her waist, exposing her camisole and corset, she ran to him. Taking hold of his shoulder, she sobbed, “There was a man! H-he was looking for you! I know he’s someone bad. I know he is! I lied…I lied to him and told him—”
“What in tarnation?” Slater interrupted, his brow puckering into a frown as he studied Lark’s state of undress. “Did a man do this to you?” he growled then.
Lark cried out as he reached out, taking hold of her arms. “No…no!” she cried. “He didn’t touch me, but you have to listen to me. He’s looking for you!”
“Ouch!” Slater exclaimed, pulling his hand away from her right arm. “Lark!” he breathed, taking hold of her arm and studying the cactus needles protruding from it.
“Listen to me, Slater,” she begged him. “He’s the ugliest man I’ve ever seen! I swear he is! He said he was an old friend of yours, that someone in town told him you lived out this way…but he can’t be your friend. I know he can’t.”
But Slater’s attention was on her arm. Gripping her at the elbow, he tugged at one of the needles.
“Ow!” Lark cried.
Slater sighed with worry. “We gotta get these out, baby,” he mumbled.
“But are you listening to me, Slater? About the man?” she asked.
Slater took her face between his strong hands and said, “I am. I am, baby. But that can wait a minute.”
“He didn’t tell me his name,” Lark sniffled as he led her back into the kitchen. Pulling a chair away from the table and positioning it near the window, he guided her to sit down. “I think he intentionally didn’t tell me. I lied to him. I told him this was the Thornquist place…that the Evans ranch was farther east.”
Hunkering down at her side, Slater again took her face between his hands. “Listen to me,” he said calmly, forcing her to look at him. “It’ll be all right. Whoever that man was…it’ll be fine. But we need to get these cactus needles out of your arm.” He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I promise you we’ll worry about the man you saw as soon as we get ’em all out. All right?”
“But…but…” Lark stammered.
“Sshh,” he said. His voice was low and rich—as delicious as molasses taffy. “Let me see to your arm, baby. All right?” He leaned forward, placing a soft kiss to her lips. “All right?” he repeated.
Lark nodded, for his kiss—brief as it was—had served to soothe her somewhat. She held her breath, winced, and wept as Slater pulled another needle from her arm.
He paused a moment, seeming to study her arm in choosing which needle he should extract next. “Grit yer teeth, baby,” he mumbled, “ ’cause this ain’t gonna get any better ’til they’re all out.”
Lark did as Slater suggested. Gritting her teeth, she tried not to cry when he pulled the next needle from her arm, but the tears streamed down her face no matter her efforts at bravery.
“Them walkin’ stick cactus are mean little cusses,” he mumbled. She jumped as he extracted a particularly painful needle. He cupped her face in one hand briefly and, frowning with sympathy, said, “I’m sorry. I’m tryin’ to be careful.”
“I know,” Lark breathed.
One after the other, Slater managed to extract the cactus needles from Lark’s arm. As fewer and fewer needles remained, the pain in Lark’s arm began to lessen. Pain was still there—just not quite so merciless as it had been.
She winced a little as Slater gently gripped her upper arm in both hands, smoothing out her flesh—allowing his thumbs to feel for any lingering needles.
“These two are in real deep,” he mumbled. “I can’t seem to get a hold on ’em with my fingers.” He looked up, glancing around the kitchen as if searching for something to aid him. “Hold on,” he said as his head descended to her arm.
Lark watched as Slater endeavored to grip the tiny needle head with his teeth. The warm moisture of his mouth against her wounded flesh felt soothing and somehow served to alleviate a quantity of her pain.
Slater raised his head, pulling a blood-stained cactus needle from his teeth and setting it on the windowsill with the others he’d removed. “Just one more,” he said, forcing an encouraging smile. He brushed the tears from her cheeks with the back of one hand and then placed his mouth to her arm again. Lark could feel the final cactus needle as it remained imbedded in her flesh. She could feel Slater’s tongue on her skin as he endeavored to grip the needle’s head with his teeth.
“This last one’s a little devil, ain’t he?” he asked, lifting his head and gripping her arm as he studied the place where the needled had sunk. “I don’t want it breakin’ off in there.”
Again he placed his mouth to her arm. Again the warm moisture of his touch soothed Lark, and she smiled when she felt him slowly pull the final needle from her.
Smiling, he plucked the cactus needle from between his teeth. “That’s him,” he said, holding the needle up to study it for a moment. “That’s the one that give me the most trouble.” He placed the needle on the windowsill and gently gripped Lark’s arm once more. He frowned, running his thumbs over the place on her arm where the needles had been. “Looks like we got ’em,” he said. He bent, placing a tender yet lingering kiss to the place. “Does it feel a little bit better now that they’re out?”
Lark nodded and managed, “Yes.”
“It’s gonna bruise somethin’ awful,” he mumbled.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lark said. “You made it feel so much better.” Her heart leapt as his gaze met hers—as he grinned at her.
“I can make it feel even more better if you like,” he whispered, his smile of pure naughty mischief broadening.
“You can?” she asked—breathless. Goose bumps erupted over her arms as he leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to her lips.
“Oh yes…I surely can,” he said.
Lark watched then as Slater pressed a soft kiss to the place on her arm from which he’d extracted the cactus needles. He kissed her there once more, his lips then gently caressing the smooth round of her shoulder. She couldn’t resist the need to touch him and placed a hand to his cheek, allowing her fingers to weave through the smooth darkness of his hair.
Slater’s lips found her neck then, pressing moist, lingering kisses to the sensitive flesh below her ear. He was careful of her tender wounds as he placed his strong hands under her arms, gently—yet forcefully—pulling her from the chair and into his arms as they stood. He paused to direct her arms to his shoulders, and then—then his mouth claimed hers, suddenly voracious, as if her kiss were the only thing that could satisfy some deep and ravenous craving in him.
Pain was dissolved by passion, and Lark was no more aware of the damage to her arm than she was to anything else in all the world! Her desire—her thirst for Slater’s kiss—seemed insatiable! Over and over his mouth demanded passion from hers. Over and over she met his demands, bathed in the bliss of his wondrous kiss!
She was lost in the quenching of her desire for him—lost in the delicious jubilation of loving him. He wanted her! He wanted her—at least in some way he did want her—and the knowledge breathed a stronger breath of life and hope into her bosom. Perhaps he did not love her as she did him, but he cared for her in some regard. The impassioned manner of their exchange was proof of his, in the least, desire for her—and Lark was enraptured in the understanding of it.
She gasped, stumbling forward as Slater suddenly stumbled backward, lost his footing, and promptly sat down on his backside. Lark covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a giggle.
“Dang, girl,” Slater said, reaching out and taking her hand, pulling her to sit next to him on the floor. “You undone my knees!”
Lark smiled, yet her smile was fleeting—for Slater’s mouth captured hers once more, and he maneuvered her to sitting on his lap.
/> Oh, how she loved him! How frantically—how entirely—how deliciously! He kissed her and kissed her—bathing her in fervent bliss. Lark wished he would never again break the seal of their mouths—that he would hold her forever—that she could somehow meld her very soul with his.
Suddenly, however, he did break the seal of their kiss, took her chin in one hand, and studied her face for a moment.
“Lark,” he breathed.
“Yes?” she whispered—though she glanced away—suddenly shy for the passion she’d revealed to him.
“Lark…you know I’m old,” he began.
“What?” she asked, frowning—puzzled.
“I’m over thirty years…and there’s a lot you don’t know about me…about those thirty years,” he said.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about my nineteen years,” she offered, hoping to drive the worry from his eyes.
He grinned and breathed a chuckle. “I mean it,” he said, looking back to her. “I ain’t as fresh as a daffodil no more. I ain’t young with my whole life stretched out in front of me the way yours is.”
Lark’s heart was hammering like a locomotive. Slater cared for her—he did! In that moment, she could see the truth of it in his eyes.
“I know you oughta be with a man more youthful…less weathered than me. But…but…”
“But what?” she prodded. She felt as if her heart were in her throat! Was he—was Slater Evans about to tell her he wanted her?
Suddenly, however, his eyes narrowed. He scowled and said, “This man you saw today…the one ya said was lookin’ for me…you said he was the ugliest man you’d ever seen?”
Lark nodded. “Yes…but tell me what you were going to say.”
“Tell me what he looked like,” he said, however.
Lark felt all the joy she’d been swimming in the moment before rinse away like a dream. “He…he was tall…with long blond hair,” she told him—for what else could she do? “He had a red beard and a scar.”
“Here?” Slater asked, moving an index finger across his face to indicate just where the man’s scar had been.
“Yes,” she affirmed, trepidation suddenly filling her heart.
“And he didn’t give ya his name?”
“No.”
Slater rubbed at his chin with one trembling hand.
“What’s the matter, Slater?” Lark asked. She’d known the ugly stranger was evil; Slater’s reaction confirmed it.
Lark’s heart leapt as she heard something—the wagon, the voices of the children. Tom and Katherine had returned from town. Slater rose to his feet, taking Lark’s hand and helping her to hers. He was still frowning as he studied her for a moment.
“Button this up,” he mumbled, lifting her shirtwaist to help her slip her arms through her sleeves. “Otherwise Tom will think I lost my hold on things and had my way with you.”
As Lark reached back to button her shirtwaist, the pain in her arm made itself known once more. The ecstasy of Slater’s affections had numbed it for a time, but with the end of their passionate exchange, it returned.
“Here,” Slater said, turning her away from him and quickly fastening several of the buttons.
Tom burst through the front door, Katherine at his heels. He was pale, and Katherine was weeping.
“Someone’s been askin’ for you in town, Slater,” Tom said. “Someone with long braided hair and one big ugly scar across his face.”
“I know,” Slater mumbled.
“Oh, Slater!” Katherine cried. “It can’t be! It just can’t be!”
“Who is he?” Lark begged, suddenly terrified.
Tom was worried, wearing an expression of concern she’d never before seen on his usually smiling face. Katherine’s distress was even more obvious.
“It’s Samson Kane,” Slater said.
“No,” Tom breathed, shaking his head.
Lark watched as Slater pulled his pistol from its holster at his thigh. He checked the rounds in the cylinder and holstered it again.
“Slater,” Tom began.
“Not a word, Tom. Not one word,” Slater growled.
Tom nodded, and Katherine continued to weep.
“I’m goin’ to town,” Slater said. “Get the children inside. I’ll send Eldon and the boys to keepin’ watch. Bolt the doors, and don’t let nobody in ’til I get back.”
“Slater…he’s one man,” Tom said. “We got three cowboys and me and you. Why don’t we just wait for him to—”
“No,” Slater growled. “He ain’t that stupid. If I ain’t back by dark, have the boys come inside the house with you. Keep the children and the women away from the windows.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “You’re goin’ to send a telegram, ain’t ya?” Tom growled.
Slater didn’t answer—simply turned to Katherine and said, “Lark picked a fight with a cactus, Kate. Clean her up good and put some warm towels to it.”
Katherine nodded. Charlie ran into the room then, followed closely by Lizzy and Johnny.
“Keep ’em away from the windows, Tom,” Slater growled. Stripping his slicker from the coat rack, he stormed through the front door and over the porch.
“Bolt the door, dammit!” he shouted as he spurred Smokey to a gallop.
Tom closed the door, drawing the large bolt. Lark gazed out the window—watched Slater ride away in a cloud of dust.
“Stay away from the windows, honey,” Tom said.
Lark turned to look at him.
“Who’s Samson Kane?” she asked.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Who is Samson Kane?” Lark repeated. “Tell me, Tom…please!”
Whoever Samson Kane was to Slater, he was not a friendly acquaintance. Furthermore, Lark was certain Slater had been about to say something important—something she desperately wanted to hear—but Samson Kane had distracted him from doing so. Lark hated the man in that moment. Samson Kane—whoever he was, she hated him.
Katherine looked to Tom, shaking her head.
Tom inhaled a deep breath. Lark could see his jaw clenching with frustration.
“Tom,” Katherine began, her expression that of warning and fear.
“It ain’t right, Katie,” Tom growled. “She has a right to be told.”
“Mama, I’m hungry,” Charlie said, tugging on his mother’s skirt then.
“Dang it, Charlie!” Johnny scolded. “Can’t you see somethin’ ain’t right with Uncle Slater? Can ya hold on until—”
“But I’m hungry,” Charlie whined.
“Me too,” Lizzy sniffled.
“It’s all right, Johnny,” Katherine said, putting a comforting arm around her eldest son’s shoulders.
“I-I haven’t had a chance to start supper yet,” Lark said to Charlie. “But…but there’s bread, and there’s still some strawberry jam in the jar in the cupboard.”
Charlie smiled at Lark.
“Mama?” he asked, looking up to his mother.
Katherine forced a smile and tousled his hair. “Lizzy, would you get some bread and jam for Charlie and you?”
Lizzy nodded.
“Help them slice the bread please, Johnny,” Katherine added.
Johnny sighed with frustration. He was old enough to understand that something was wrong.
“Please, Tom,” Lark pleaded in a whisper as the children headed into the kitchen. “Please.”
“Slater will have your head, Tom Evans,” Katherine said.
“He’s had it before, Kate,” Tom sighed. He removed his hat—ran his fingers through his hair.
Katherine looked to Lark then. “You have every right to know about Samson Kane, Lark…but Slater should be the one to tell you.” She glanced out the window, as if she feared Slater might be able to hear her from off in the distance.
“I met him,” Lark said then.
“What?” Tom and Katherine exclaimed in unison.
“What do you mean you met him?” Tom asked.
“I met him…out beyond the ea
st pasture,” Lark explained. “He…he told me he was looking for an old friend of his…Slater Evans.”
“Lark!” Katherine exclaimed as tears filled her eyes. It was only in that moment that Lark realized how fortunate she was that the cactus had been the only thing to hurt her.
“He wore his hair in a long braid. He was blond, with a red beard and terrible scar across his face,” Lark continued. “He asked me if I knew where he could find the Evans place, and I lied. I told him it was farther east.” She paused, and Tom shook his head in astonishment. “I couldn’t believe Slater would call such a man his friend. So I lied. I ran back to the house as fast as I could.” Lark rubbed at her sore arm. “I bumped into a cactus. Slater removed the needles. I-I knew something wasn’t right with that man.”
Suddenly, tears sprung to her eyes—tears of fear—fear for Slater’s safety.
“Tom, he’ll find out soon enough that I lied to him,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “He’ll figure out that this is the Evans place, and he’ll…he’ll come for Slater…won’t he?”
“It’s all right, honey,” Tom said, pulling her into the security of his arms. “It’s all right. We’re here, and he’s just one man. Slater won’t linger in town…just long enough to—”
“Who is Samson Kane, Tom?” Lark pleaded in a tearful whisper. “Why shouldn’t we know? If he’s dangerous…well, then…well, then…I’m the one who lied to him! He knows where to find me, and that’ll lead him straight to Slater…and all of you…to the children!”
“Samson Kane is a shadow of Slater’s past,” Tom offered at last.
“Tom! Slater doesn’t want her to know. He doesn’t want her frightened,” Katherine began.
“She’s plenty frightened already, Katie,” Tom growled.
Taking Lark’s face between his hands, he smoothed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs as he gazed at her, frowning.
“Samson Kane…he’s bad through and through, Lark—vicious, mighty dangerous,” Tom explained. “We was all hopin’ he was dead.” Tom shook his head. “I can’t hardly believe he’s alive…can’t hardly figure why he ain’t still in the penitentiary. It’s like a bad dream…him comin’ back like this. I can’t believe it.”
Weathered Too Young Page 23
