Dusty Britches (79 page)

The sky was beautiful in its cloudless blue
.
Lark inhaled, relishing the clean scent of dry air,
H
igh
P
lains grasses
,
and wildflowers.
She felt a sharp pang pinch her heart—disappointment in knowing that soon the green and colorful things of summer would be gone.
Autumn held its own unequaled beauty, and winter snow often glistened like stars
. Y
et summer was warm—warm enough to allow a traveler to sleep comfortably under a midnight sky.

Lark smiled as she gazed out across the plains—over the endless sea of prairie grass and flaming Indian
p
aintbrush.
She could hear the meadowlark’s echo, the music of lines and traces as the team pulled the wagon
,
the low rumble of the wagon wheels over the dusty road
,
and it soothed her.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she said.

“Yeah,” Hadley agreed, smiling.
“It lets yer soul rest a bit.”

Lark inhaled once more.
It was a beautiful day—a beautiful road to follow.

“I hear the Evans brothers have been pretty ornery to work for since Mrs. Simpson passed,” Hadley said.
He shook his head and chuckled.
“At least, I hear ol’ Slater’s been ornery.
Ol’ Tom
,
he’s a good ol’ boy…always smilin’.
But I seen Eldon Pickering in town last week
—
he cowboys for the Evans
es—
and he told me that if it weren’t for the time o’ year
,
he’d be movin’ on…lookin’ to ride for another brand.
I guess ol’ Mrs. Simpson dyin’ tossed them Evans brothers right into a twister.”

Lark frowned.
“Are…are you trying to encourage me…or discourage me?” she asked.

Hadley chuckled and shook his head.
“Just thinkin’ out loud, I suppose.
Mrs. Simpson
,
she was like a mama to them ol’ boys.
I think she’d been with them for near to ten years.
May be that they just miss her
. M
aybe that’s what’s makin’
’
em so ornery.”

Lark giggled.
“Again…I can’t decide if you’re trying to give me hope or scare me.”

Hadley smiled.
“Oh, they need the help.
I just talk my thoughts too much.
My mama always said I did.”
He paused a moment
and
then asked, “Anyway…where ya from?”

“East,” Lark answered.

“East?”

Lark nodded.

“East where?”

Lark shrugged.
“Just east.”

She was grateful Hadley didn’t press her further—that he accepted her simple response—accepted it or understood she did not want to offer him any further details.

Lark looked to the horizon—to the blue sky, green pastures
,
and approaching end of summer.

Ornery or not—bachelors or not—she needed to find some kind of employment.
What choice did she have? She needed shelter
,
even more than she needed wages.
Sleeping under trees and bathing in creeks was fine in summer.
Even food could be scrounged for in winter—enough to exist at least.
But shelter—shelter was absolutely necessary
,
especially on the southeastern plains of
Colorado
.
As the wagon rumbled along, Lark admitted it was shelter she needed most.

“Now, when we get to the Evans
es
’ place
,
don’t you let ol’ Slater scare ya off. He’s just a moth-eaten old bear hide. It’s his brother ya wanna be speakin’ with…Tom.
He’s the younger of the two and a heap more friendly.”
Hadley chuckled.
“I doubt he’d have the heart to say no to ya
,
even if they were gettin’ along on their own…which they ain’t.
So you talk with Tom.
Ask for him if Slater gets to ya first.
Tom will do right by ya.
I’m sure of it.”

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Jacobson. I do so appreciate it,” Lark said.
She frowned and looked to the carpetbag she held in her lap.
“You’ve been so kind…and to a stranger.”
She smiled up at him
,
and he winked at her.

“Plenty are the times I’ve been a stranger, ma’am,” he said.
“You know how us cowboys are
. O
ne brand quits suitin’ us…then we’re a stranger once more lookin’ for another brand to ride for.”

Lark smiled and nodded.
It was true.
In the towns Lark had known since traveling out west, it was often she would see cowboys doing exactly what she was doing—looking for work and a place to winter.
Hadley smiled at her, his blue eyes bright with compassion.
She fancied his eyes were the color of the sky—wished hers were such a color.
Still, in that moment, her mother’s voice echoed in her mind.
Your eyes are as green as the summer grass
, Lark’s mother had always told her.
She liked to think it was true—though she knew it had simply been her mother’s love that thought her eyes so beautiful.

The thought of her mother caused her to wince.
She glanced down at the carpetbag—protectively squeezing it tighter still.

“Mind if’n I ask what yer doin’ out west, travelin’ all alone, ma’am? It’s a might unusual to see it—a woman by herself and all.
’
Specially a young one…from the east.”
He winked, unwilling to abandon his curiosity altogether.

Lark giggled.
She bit her lip, considering whether she should reveal anything to him.
Still, he’d been kind to her—helped her—cared for her in a manner.

“You don’t have to tell me nothin’,” he sighed.
“I shouldn’t have asked. Ain’t my place.”

“It’s not that,” Lark began, “It’s just that I’m a very private person. Will you be satisfied with knowing I just ended up here…life just led me here…and you’ve helped me?”

The cowboy chuckled.
“I guess I will be…since you ain’t givin’ me a choice.”

Lark smiled.
He was a kind cowboy.
She liked him.

As the wagon rumbled along, Hadley ceased in trying to coax Lark into revealing the details of her life or how she’d come to be where she was.
Simply he told her about the town
,
the people
,
the weather.
Lark found his conversation easy and interesting
,
and hope continued to burn in her heart.
If Hadley Jacobson was so kind and helpful
,
perhaps there were others nearby who were as well.

As Hadley talked and drove the team, Lark listened.
His voice was comforting—so comforting that she was almost sad when he pulled the team in before a sturdy-looking, two-story ranch house.
There was a barn a short distance off
and another building beyond that—perhaps the bunkhouse.

“Here we are. That there’s the Evans
es
’ place,” Hadley said, nodding toward the ranch house.
He turned to Lark and grinned.
The sudden frown of panic that Lark felt puckering her brow caused Hadley to chuckle.
“Don’t worry,” he said, hopping down from the wagon.
“I know Tom Evans
. H
e couldn’t turn away a stray three-legged dog…let alone a purty little filly like yerself.”

Lark smoothed her worn skirt and gripped the weathered handle of the carpetbag.
Hadley offered a hand and assisted her to climb down as well.

“Now, you just run on up there to that house and ask to talk to Tom. I’ll wait here for ya,” he said, “in case ya need a ride somewheres else.”
He took the carpetbag from her
,
adding, “I’ll keep this safe for ya
’
til yer sure you’ll be stayin’.”

Gulping down the large lump of trepidation in her throat, Lark nodded to Hadley and started toward the house.
The nervous quivering in her stomach was almost unbearable!
Still, she somehow managed to climb the squeaky steps leading to the porch and front door.

Lark drew a deep breath, tucked a limp strand of hair behind her ear, smoothed her skirt once more
,
and puffed out a frightened sigh.
Raising a trembling hand, she knocked on the door. When no one opened the door or called to her from behind it, she glanced back to Hadley.

The handsome young cowboy stood leaning up against the wagon that had carried her to the place.
He smiled and nodded to her.
“Go on,” he mouthed, motioning for her to try again.

Biting her lip, Lark knocked again.
She wasn’t at first certain whether to be relieved or terrified when she then heard heavy footsteps approaching from the other side of the door.
The pace of her already rapidly beating heart quickened.
As the door swung open, a low, irritated grumble resonated out onto the soft late
-
summer breeze.
Lark gulped again as she lifted her gaze to see a scowling
,
very angry-looking man glaring down at her.
Obviously annoyed, the large man pulled up one suspender strap that had been hanging loosely from his waist, pushing it into place over a broad shoulder and bare torso.
He repeated the action with his other suspender strap—all the while still glaring at Lark.

Lark was so stunned by his appearance, any words or utterance was momentarily lost to her.
The man was several days unshaven yet clean.
He was tall with hair that appeared fair at first glance.
Yet Lark quickly realized his hair only appeared fair
,
for his whisker growth was dark.
In addition, as he tipped his head to further consider her
,
his hair moved, revealing that it was indeed brown beneath the top sun-bleached layer. His eyes were a deep, dark, rather dusky shade of brown that pierced with clear disapproval. He clenched a firm, square jaw tightly
,
and there was a rather weathered look about him—as if the sun had parched his spirit or sleep had thoroughly abandoned him.
Still, even with the deep frown puckering his brow
,
Lark was stuck by his being so handsome.
He was older than she—much older—and this only served to further intimidate her.

She swallowed, still unable to speak.

“Who in the hell are you?” he growled, clearly having lost patience with waiting for her to explain herself.

“I-I’m sorry to disturb you, sir
.
I was hoping to speak with Tom Evans. Is
…
is he at home?” she choked at last, trying to portray some sort of confidence.

The man’s frown intensified
,
and he rolled his eyes in a gesture of annoyance. “Tom. Tom! Get your lily-white…get in here! There’s a…someone askin’ after ya.”

The man turned, leaving Lark standing in the open doorway, trembling with intimidation.

Lark exhaled a breath of relief.
Glancing over her shoulder to Hadley, she saw him smile.

“Slater Evans?” she mouthed to him.

Hadley chuckled and nodded emphatically.

Lark shook her head with near disbelief.
No wonder Hadley had directed her to ask to speak to Tom.
Slater Evans seemed as mean as the day was long.

Straightening her posture once more—for Slater Evans had managed to whip her courage down like a stray dog—she quickly pinched her cheeks to rosy them up and forced a smile.

A second man, looking quite similar to the first, only with a welcoming grin and overall pleasant countenance, came to the door. The man’s smile broadened as he came to stand in the doorway
,
and Lark felt a wave of relief wash through her.

“Well, howdy there, miss,” the man greeted.

Lark sighed, delighted by his friendly, easy manner.

“And what is it has me so lucky as to find you on my porch?” he asked.

“Are you…are you Mr. Tom Evans?” Lark ventured.

“Yes, ma’am.
Handsome feller…ain’t I?” he teased.

“Yes…well…um…”

Tom Evans chuckled, his radiant smile outshining the sun.
“What can I do for ya, honey?” he asked then.

Lark was grateful he’d chosen not to tease her any further.
She thought she might not be able to endure any more—not with being so tired and hungry—so desperate to find some position that would see her through until spring.