“Don’t stand up…not any more than you have to,” he instructed. “Do you hear me?”
Lark nodded, and Slater winked at her.
“It’ll be all right,” he said.
“I know,” she whispered.
Slater looked to the children then—reached out to press an encouraging palm to Lizzy’s cheek, then to Charlie’s.
“Everything will be fine,” he said. “Don’t you worry. I’ll find Johnny.”
“Why would he leave the house?” Katherine cried then. “He knows the danger!”
Slater shook his head. “He come to me last night and asked me if he could ride out with the boys this mornin’,” he explained. “I told him no, and I know it hurt his pride…but I didn’t think he’d try to go off on his own though.” Slater reached beneath the table again, slipping a hand to Katherine’s neck and moving to kiss her cheek. “But don’t you worry. I’ll bring him back to ya, Kate.”
Lark placed a hand on Slater’s arm. “Samson Kane…he’s using Johnny to draw you out.”
Slater nodded. “Yep.”
Tom drug Ralston into the kitchen and laid him out on the floor in front of Lark.
Instantly, Charlie and Lizzy began to sob. Lark’s heart ached for the children. They’d endured so much loss and hardship. She hated that they now would know a new kind of fear.
“He’s got the boy,” Ralston panted. The cowboy’s right thigh was bleeding, as well as his shoulder. “But it ain’t yer outlaw that took him. It was Chet…Chet Leigh.”
Slater and Tom exchanged glances, and Slater exhaled a heavy sigh.
“The boy didn’t come out the back door or I’da seen him. He musta slipped out the window,” Ralston panted. “I’m sorry, boss,” he said. “I…I didn’t see him for the dark, I guess. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Ralston,” Slater said. “It ain’t none of it yer fault.”
“Get to the back door, will ya, Eldon?” Tom asked.
“Yep,” Eldon said, leaving his post at the kitchen window and heading for the back door.
“It’s Chet, boss,” Ralston said. “It’s that dang Chet Leigh. I can’t hardly believe it. We was saddle pals not so…not so long ago.” Ralston’s speech was slurred, and Lark was certain he would soon lose consciousness.
“I know, boy,” Slater said. “You done good. You kept him from gettin’ in at the women and children.”
“You shoulda beat him a little worse when ya had the chance, boss,” Ralston whispered, “that no-good snake in the grass.”
Ralston was unconscious then. Slater and Tom quickly inspected his wounds.
“He’ll live,” Slater said. His brow was puckered with concern and anger.
“If he don’t bleed out,” Tom added.
“Do what ya can for him, baby,” Slater said. “I gotta go for Johnny.”
“But it’s a trap!” Lark exclaimed as a new terror gripped her then. “They’re just trying to draw you out so they can—”
“I know,” Slater interrupted, placing a hand to her cheek, caressing her lips with his thumb. “But I’m smarter than both of ’em. You know that’s true, don’t ya?”
Lark nodded, trying to summon courage.
“I’m better lookin’ too,” he teased.
Lark couldn’t help but return his loving smile.
“And anyway, he ain’t goin’ by hisself, honey,” Tom said, smiling with encouragement. Tom looked to Katherine. “We’ll bring that boy home safe, Kate. Don’t you worry neither.”
Katherine nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Now give me some sugar and let me go,” Slater said.
Placing a strong, warm hand to her cheek, Slater raked his fingers back through her hair. Pulling her to him, he captured her mouth with his in such a driven and impassioned kiss that Lizzy exclaimed, “Shame on you, Uncle Slater!” even for her frightened tears.
“I’ll be right back,” Slater whispered. “I promise.” He released Lark, stood, and strode toward the back door.
“Just sop up the blood as best ya can,” Tom said, nodding toward Ralston. “Put some pressure on them bullet holes, and we’ll take care of him when we get back with Johnny.”
Lark nodded—though she wondered if her courage would fail her. She was trembling so terribly she feared she might not be able to leave the small haven of the table.
“Tom,” Kate began. Lark wept as she saw the panic in Katherine’s eyes.
“Don’t you worry, Kate,” Tom said then. “You got one of the greatest United States marshals to ever sit a horse ridin’ out after yer boy. Johnny will be fine.” Tom paused, chuckling and adding, “Well, he’ll be fine once Slater’s through chewin’ on him for gettin’ hisself caught.” Tom looked to Lark then—smiled with reassurance. “Don’t you worry neither,” he said. “Slater will be fine. He’ll be back before you’ve had time to miss him.”
Lark nodded, brushing tears from her cheeks. “Be careful, Tom.”
“I always am, honey.” He stood, striding after his brother.
Katherine still held tight to her children, endeavoring to offer them some fragment of reassurance. Lark knew she’d have to tend to Ralston alone. The children needed to be tucked in their mother’s embrace.
Trembling, she crawled from beneath the table to Ralston. The cowboy’s shirt was soaked with blood at his right shoulder. She glanced down to see that the bright red bloodstain on his right trouser leg was expanding—spreading as the sturdy fabric soaked up the blood escaping the bullet wound inflicted there.
“Ralston?” she said, placing her hand on his chest. She sighed with relief when she felt the sturdy beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
Wiping at her tears, Lark tried to concentrate on what must be done to help the wounded cowboy. Her thoughts were, of course, with Slater and Tom and Johnny—for the recklessness of youth had further endangered them. Still, she knew that no one on earth understood Johnny’s hasty actions better than Slater—understood the boy’s desire and determination to leap into manhood too soon.
“Slater,” she breathed as she tore open Ralston’s shirt to inspect the severity of the wound at his shoulder. “Please, Slater…please,” she mumbled as she worked—as she brushed tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “When you find Johnny…when Samson Kane and Chet Leigh come for you…oh, please, please, please come back to me. Slater…please come back to me.”
“He knows you can track ’em,” Tom said, checking his saddle cinch.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s countin’ on it,” Slater mumbled. He shoved a foot in the stirrup and mounted Smokey. Slater rode out of the barn, reined Smokey in, and studied the tracks in the dirt on the ground.
“That fool boy,” Tom said as he rode from the barn, reining in beside Slater.
“All boys are fools…in one way or the other. Men too,” Slater growled. He shook his head as he recognized the horseshoe prints belonging to Chet Leigh’s horse. “But I’m still gonna wring his neck when I get my hands on him.”
Slater spurred Smokey to a slow walk, carefully studying the footprints and hoofprints on the ground.
“Yep. Looks like Johnny crawled out the window here,” he said, pointing to the ground beneath the window of the room where Johnny and Charlie slept. “Then he run off over this way…to the side of the house, here,” he continued, following the tracks, “and here’s where Chet got him.” Slater followed the hoofprints as they led east, away from the house. He studied the manner in which the hoofprints then made a deeper impression in the soil. “Johnny’s on Chet’s horse…and Chet took him by hisself,” he told Tom. “Samson Kane wasn’t with him.”
“Maybe Kane don’t have nothin’ to do with this,” Tom offered hopefully.
“And maybe you didn’t know Lark would end up twistin’ me around her finger when ya hired her,” Slater said.
Tom chuckled, and Slater spurred Smokey into a trot.
; They had to find Johnny. They had to find him alive, and he had to stay that way. Slater silently cussed the boy up one side and down the other for being so headstrong. He’d told Johnny just the night before that he couldn’t ride out with Eldon and the others, and he’d told him why. Oh, he remembered well enough how it felt to be twelve years old and feeling your oats, so he’d told him that his mama and little sister and brother would fret too hard if Slater let him ride out—instead of telling him that a boy of twelve wasn’t ready to face outlaws. He’d reminded Johnny that his mama had just lost her lover and husband and that the little ones still weren’t feeling safe without their daddy nearby. He’d told the boy that his family needed him—that Tom and the cowboys could help protect the outside of the house but that his mother, brother, sister, and even Lark needed a man to protect them inside it. Slater had assumed the boy had settled his determination to ride off in search of heroism. He sighed, shaking his head at his own ignorant assumptions. He should’ve tied the boy to the bedpost—because he knew how Johnny thought. Slater had thought the same way when he’d been Johnny’s age. He should’ve known the boy would disobey him and ride out in search of adventure—for in his heart, Slater knew he would’ve done the same.
As he tracked Chet Leigh’s horse, Slater struggled to keep his thoughts on being wary of an ambush. Visions of Lark kept sweeping through his mind—visions of her smile, her alluring form, and her tempting lips. His mouth watered at the thought of her kiss, his arms longed to hold her, and his body ached to know the sense of hers pressed against his once more. He hadn’t wanted to leave her. In truth, he’d secretly paused a moment before going after Johnny. For just a moment, he’d considered sending the others out after his reckless nephew.
Still, it was Slater that Samson Kane wanted. He was the reason everyone else was in danger—including young Johnny. Slater wouldn’t let the people he loved suffer any longer because of the past that still haunted him. He wanted nothing more than Lark—nothing. Yet he couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to Johnny. Experience and a weathering past had proven to Slater that if he wanted to own Lark—wholly own her heart, mind, body, and soul—then he had to be the man he was born to be, the man who fought against evil no matter what. He couldn’t live with himself otherwise, and he was sure Lark couldn’t either.
He’d have her—he would! He’d beat down Samson Kane and Chet Leigh—hang them if he had to—but he’d have Lark. In that moment, Slater was tired of pussyfooting around. He loved Lark. Oh, he’d tried to fight it, sure enough—but he couldn’t, and he loved her. He loved her, and he was suddenly tired of holding back. His past was his past. Nothing could change it. In fact, his past might just be what made he and Lark so well suited for one another.
Enough! Slater growled low in his throat. He’d take care of Samson Kane and Chet Leigh, and then—then he’d marry Lark. He’d tie her up and drag her to the preacher’s house if he had to. Time was too precious to be wasted—and he’d wasted plenty.
“He’s ridin’ fast,” Slater said to Tom. “He ain’t far ahead though. I think he’s headed for the canyon ridge. I don’t want him gettin’ that far. Come on, Tom. Let’s get that boy and bring him home.”
“We’re most likely ridin’ straight for a shootout,” Tom said.
“Yep,” Slater mumbled.
Tom smiled. “I ain’t never had the pleasure yet, big brother,” he chuckled. “Oughta be mighty interestin’.”
Slater smiled. “Oh, by the way…I’m deputizin’ you, little brother. It’s only temporary, of course.”
“Of course,” Tom said, smiling.
“Get on, Smoke!” Slater shouted then.
As Smokey broke into a gallop, Slater leaned forward in the saddle, keeping low in case Chet Leigh had already set up to fire on him and Tom. He felt his eyes narrow—felt his attention finally begin to focus on bringing Johnny home.
As Slater rode toward certain danger—rode with his reins in one hand, his rifle in the other, and his brother at his side—he knew he’d do whatever he had to do to get back to the house—to get back to the woman he loved—to get back to Lark.
Lark wadded up her apron, pressing it to the wound at Ralston’s leg. The wound was bleeding more profusely than the wound at his shoulder. She pressed harder, wincing as Ralston moaned.
“Do you think it would be safe to fetch some water for him?” Lark asked, looking over her shoulder to Katherine.
Katherine shook her head, however. “I don’t know. Just…just keep your head low maybe,” she answered.
“I think the bullet went through his shoulder…but I’m not sure about his leg,” Lark said. “I think it’s still in there.”
“Well, we certainly can’t dig it out now,” Katherine said. “Not until—”
Lark cried out, and the children screamed as the front door burst open. Samson Kane stepped into the house, wielding a large bloodstained knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. He smiled—the same heinous, malevolent smile Lark had seen in her waking nightmare beyond the east pasture.
A low chuckle resonated in his throat as he studied Lark, Katherine, and the children.
“Well, lookie here,” he said, slowly striding toward them, wiping the blood from his knife on his pant leg. “Is this where Marshal Evans keeps his women, under the table in the kitchen? I knew that self-righteous lawman wasn’t the lily-white angel he makes hisself out to be.” The outlaw hunkered down and pushed his hat back on his head, glaring at them. “So he’s got hisself a couple a babies too, is it?” He chuckled again. “Well, ain’t he been the busy bee?”
For a moment, Lark couldn’t speak. Terror had numbed her tongue. She could only stare at Samson Kane—unable to believe he was in the house with them. She wondered where Slater was. Had Samson Kane killed him? Was he lying dead somewhere? Was it Slater’s blood staining Samson Kane’s knife? No! No! She wouldn’t believe it. Slater and Tom hadn’t been gone long enough for Samson Kane to have murdered them, whether or not Chet Leigh was helping him. No. Slater and Tom had ridden out after Johnny—and Lark understood then. Samson Kane hadn’t lured Slater out of the house to ambush him in the open. He’d lured him out of the house in order to ambush him when he returned! It made perfect sense, from an outlaw’s point of view—especially one who was outnumbered. With Slater and Tom gone, and Ralston wounded and unconscious, Samson Kane had only two men to take down before he could gain entrance to the house—instead of five.
Lark’s eyes filled with tears as she wondered what the fates of Eldon and Grady had been. Were they dead? Her gaze lingered on the blade of Samson Kane’s large knife as she remembered what Johnny had told her—that his father had told him Samson Kane often gutted his victims like fish. Horrible images flashed through her mind as she thought of Grady and Eldon—as she thought that Ralston was no doubt the luckiest of the three.
The true danger Katherine and the children were in began to sink into Lark’s consciousness. Then, as Samson Kane’s attention began to linger on her—as a smile of both anger and triumph spread across his ugly face—Lark realized the danger she was in as well.
She was panicked, yes. Yet even as panic and ultimate fear washed over her, hope gave her courage—hope that Slater was still alive, that he was unharmed, that he would still vanquish Samson Kane and survive.
“Marshal Evans isn’t here,” Lark said as her senses began to return.
Samson Kane nodded. His eyes narrowed as he growled, “Ain’t you learned yet that lyin’ is a sin, woman?” He studied her for a moment. “You lied to me the other day…even though you knew I’d find out, didn’t ya? That was brave—ignorant, but brave. I’ll give ya that. Are you still tryin’ to protect that filthy Slater Evans?”
“He’s gone,” she told the outlaw. “He’s gone to hunt you.”
Samson Kane chuckled, laughed, and shook his head.
“He’s gone after that fool boy, woman,” he said. “I knew he would. I can’t tell ya
how happy I was to see that boy climb out that winda this mornin’. Why, me and Chet…we just been waitin’ for somebody in this house to do somethin’ stupid. I was hopin’ it’d be Marshal Evans that let his guard down…though I shoulda know’d better than to hope for it. But then that boy crawled out the winda. It couldn’ta worked out better if I’d planned it that way.”
“He’ll be back soon enough,” Lark told him. She wanted to scream—to scream and burst into tears. Still, she knew that’s what Samson Kane wanted her to do. Therefore, she wouldn’t.
“Oh, I’m countin’ on it,” Samson Kane said. “I’m just hopin’ Chet Leigh’s as good a shot as he claims to be. If he can take care of Slater Evans’s brother, then that leaves the marshal for me to deal with…just me and Marshal Evans. I been waitin’ for that for a long, long time.”
Tears filled Lark’s eyes, even for her efforts to appear brave. She could see Samson Kane’s plan all too clearly in that moment. He’d been methodical—planned to eliminate all the men at the ranch so that Slater wouldn’t have any assistance in fighting him. Once the other men were neutralized—or dead—Samson Kane and Chet Leigh could face Slater alone. Slater would be outnumbered.
“You’re a coward,” Lark growled.
Lark gasped as the back of Samson Kane’s hand met with her cheek. The children cried out—whimpered with fear.
“I ain’t no coward, woman,” Samson Kane growled. “I just ain’t stupid enough to let Marshal Evans get the better of me again.” Kane’s eyes narrowed. He studied Lark, his gaze lingering on her in a lecherous manner. “Yer the one, ain’t ya?” he asked. “Yer the woman that’s got ol’ Marshal Evans so wound up that he beat the tar outta Chet.”
“He would’ve beat him for treating any woman the way he treated me,” Lark countered.
Samson Kane smiled his wicked smile—nodded. “You’re what’s gonna get me that arrogant lawman right to where I want him,” he said. “Oh yes, indeed. You are what’s gonna finally get Marshal William S. Evans killed, woman.”
Lark winced and couldn’t keep the tears from spilling from her eyes. Was it true? Would she be the means to Slater’s murder?
Weathered Too Young Page 28
