Weathered Too Young (13 page)

The fury that rose within him every time he thought of Chet Leigh laying a hand on Lark was almost irrepressible.
Several times during the night, he’d thought about heading outside, finding where the boys had tossed Chet for the night, and getting in a couple more good punches.
He stretched his right hand and then made a fist.
It was sore—indeed it was—but he’d like to have let go a few more on Chet
,
even though his bloody knuckles had stained up the sheets of his bed pretty good already.

Slater ground his teeth, stiffened his posture
,
and inhaled a deep breath in trying to calm himself.
Chet Leigh had touched her—the dirty drunk had dared to touch Lark!
What if he hadn’t ridden back in time after finding out Chet had left the drama house?
What if he’d paused one more moment in doing so?
Still, Slater’s daddy had always told him and Tom not to dwell on what might have been—good or bad.
Thus, Slater decided to just be glad he’d ridden out when he had.

Still, he’d never forget the sight of it—of breaking the window with his elbow and opening the door to see Chet Leigh about to have his way with Lark.
Slater Evans had seen some mighty terrible things in his thirty years
,
but in that moment he silently admitted to himself that nothing—nothing
—
had ever scared him more or provoked him to such rage as the sight of Chet Leigh abusing Lark.

He reached
up and lifted
his
hat
,
wiping
the sweat from his forehead.
He looked up to the
sun
,
which
lingered behind a cloud.
It wasn’t even warm out.
Fact was, he was wearing his slicker and still felt the cold on his face.
Why then was he perspiring?

It was Lark
. S
he had a way of warming up his blood.
Anytime he was near to her, he near
ly
thought he might fire up to such a boil that he’d need to run off and dip himself in the creek.
At first, he’d thought it was just the scorching heat of summer
,
for it had still been summer when she’d come to him—when she’d come to him and Tom.
Yet it hadn’t taken Slater long to realize it wasn’t the heat of the day causing him to feel restless and warm
:
it was Lark.

Oh, certainly he could never say a word to Tom—or anybody else, for that matter.
He was Slater Evans—hardhearted, hard-working, cattle-driving Slater Evans.
Some little wounded sparrow wasn’t about to get under his skin—at least, he’d never let on.

A vision of her beautiful green eyes leapt to his mind.
The way her dark eyelashes shaded them—the way the tiny, light freckles scattered across her nose caused him to chuckle
and
smile with delight sometimes.
He wondered how it would feel to bury his hands in the soft silk of her hair.

Again he cussed a breath—shook his head in an effort to dispel such adolescent musings.
He didn’t have time for a woman
. H
e had cattle to herd
,
a ranch to run
,
endless work to do.
Anyway, Lark was young and vibrant
. T
he evidence of the fight she’d put up where Chet was concerned was proof of that.
Slater winced as he thought of her pretty face—imagined how bruised it would be by the time she climbed out of bed.
Still, she was vibrant
,
and he had no doubt she would recover and move on.
Yep, young and vibrant—and he was old and weathered.
Lark was like a daffodil in springtime
,
and he was like a worn
-
out old boot.

Slater rubbed at his
eyes, trying
to keep his mind from lingering on the memory of holding Lark in his arms the night before.
He’d nearly been driven mad with wanting to keep her there—with pure wanting her altogether.
He growled, thinking himself no better than Chet Leigh at having such thoughts.

She’s a good cook
, Slater thought, attempting to
steer
his ponderings to simpler, more suitable trails.
And she keeps a fine house too.
Still, the truth was Slater Evans didn’t care too awful much for such things.
What he liked was the sparkle in Lark’s eyes
first
thing in the morning—the way the evening sky lit up her face with a pretty smile—the way her pretty smile lit up his soul.

The Angus bull tugged on the rope
,
and Smokey whinnied his complaint, breaking the smooth rhythm of his step.

“I had me enough trouble to last quite a spell already, boy,” Slater called to the bull.
“You simmer down
. W
e’re almost home.”

Slater could see the house and barn in the distance.
He could see Tom was bringing in a few heifers.
No doubt he’d corral them until the other boys rounded up the rest.
In that moment, he hoped Chet Leigh was long gone.
It wouldn’t do a bit of good to have the herd scattered again.
Cold weather was moving in.
The cattle needed to be close.



Slowly, Lark opened her eyes.
The painful throbbing of her cheek and lip had caused her a fitful sleep.
Soft sunlight streamed through the lace curtains, painting the opposing wall with lovely designs born
e
of shadow and radiance.
Lark smiled
,
for it was a beautiful sight to wake up to.
She could hear birds just outside her window—fancied the scent
s
of grass and dust, of the fading wildflowers of autumn w
ere
nature’s perfume in that moment.

She sat upright in bed, however, as she heard the drumming of horse hooves thundering past her window.

“We need to brand him right now,” she heard Slater shout.
“So get that fire stoked, Tom.”

Leaping from her bed, Lark drew back the drapes. She unlatched the window and opened it, tenderly pressing a warm palm to her sore and swollen cheek.

“Yer gonna have a time bringin’ him down, Slater,” Tom chuckled as he hurried from the
barn carrying a branding iron.
“We’ll see if you still think that polled breed is worth raisin’ after you try and bring down a hornless bull.”

“Oh, he’s plum tuckered by now,” Slater said.
“Surely he ain’t got much fight left in him.”

Lark shaded her eyes from the morning sun and looked to the small corral to the left of the barn.
Slater’s newest bull, the young Black Ang
us he’d acquired the day before
,
was there.

Astride Smokey, Slater rode past the window once more
,
and Lark marveled at how well-matched the horse and rider seemed to be.
A large
tan-colored horse with black ma
n
e
and tail, Smokey boasted the opposition of Slater’s hair—Slater’s sun-bleached hair being fair on top and dark beneath.

“But is he tuckered enough to let you take him down easy?” Tom asked.
He laughed and added, “I don’t think so.”

“Even so, we gotta brand him,” Slater said.
“You know we can’t trust Pete Walker any
more than we can Lucifer himself.”

Guilt washed over Lark as she realized Slater and Tom had most likely been up for several hours.
They should’ve had a good breakfast—and it was her fault they hadn’t.
Remembering that they had both insisted she sleep longer than usual, she thought it no excuse for laziness.
She was certain they’d ridden out with little more than jerky to start their day.

Tom glanced over, smiling and tossing a wave.
“Ya think you could help us a minute here, honey?” he asked.

Lark raised her eyebrows and pointed to herself with one index finger.
“Me?” she asked.

Tom nodded, still smiling.
“Yep.
The other boys are off herdin’ up
,
and we gotta get this little bull branded before Slater has hisself a fit of apoplexy.”
Tom frowned and grimaced.
“If ya feel up to it, that is.
That’s an awful sore
-
lookin’ cheek you’re wearin’ there, darlin’.”

“I’m fine,” Lark fibbed as the pain of deep bruising on her face increased when she smiled.

“Then come on out,” Tom said.
“It’ll only take a minute.”

Lark nodded, fastened the window latch
,
and pulled the drapes. Hurriedly, she dressed and pulled her hair back into a braid.
She gasped when she saw her reflection in the small mirror hung above the pitcher and washbasin table.
Her right cheek was swollen and purple
,
her lower lip likewise puffed
with a dark scab down its center.
For a moment, she considered not leaving the house—for any reason—even if Tom and Slater did need her assistance.
Still, inhaling a deep breath of determination, she nodded.
After all, her face would heal, and she knew that if Slater had not ridden to her rescue when he did, Chet Leigh might have caused her pain and damage that would not have.

As she opened the front door, the frigid morning air sent a shiver through her. It was colder than she’d expected. Still, she hurried to the small fire where Tom and Slater were waiting.
The branding fire was warm
,
and she rubbed her hands together before it, soothed by its heat.

Still mounted on Smokey, Slater frowned at her.
Removing the black slicker he wore, he held it out toward her.

Lark smiled and shook
her head, however.
“Oh no. I’ll
be fine,” she said, even as a visible shiver quivered her.

“I can’t wrastle that bull to the ground with it on anyhow…and you’ll catch yer death out here in this c
old.” He tossed the coat to her
,
and she caught it
,
awkwardly slipping her arms through the sleeves and bunching them up to her elbows.
The slicker was blissfully warm—warm from Slater’s having worn it
,
from the heat of his body.
It smelled heavenly—of jerky and leather and wind.

“Slater’s gonna rope him and wrastle him down
.
I’ll help hold him
,
and you put the brand
to him.
Al
l
right?” Tom asked as Slater rode toward the corral fencing in the young bull.

“What?” Lark exclaimed. “Surely…surely you’re only teasing me.
Aren’t you?”

Tom laughed and removed his gloves.

“Here,” he began, helping her to pull the gloves on.
“It ain’t hard. See…the gloves will protect yer hands
. Y
ou just take hold of the iron by the stick end
. S
ee how the brand end is gettin’ hot there in the fire?”

Lark nodded, though still uncertain she could actually perform the task.
She’d seen the men brand cattle before. It wasn’t that it looked difficult—at least putting the brand to the animal’s hindquarters
. I
t was that she knew it must hurt the beast more than she cared to fathom.

“Just lift the iron out of the fire
,
get a good stomp on him
,
and push it hard to bull’s hind end there,” Tom explained, misunderstanding Lark’s trepidation.
“Me and Slater will keep him still for ya…but ya need to be quick in doin’ it.
All right?”

“But…but it has to hurt,” Lark said.

Tom chuckled, nodding.
“I’m sure it does, darlin’…but it’s necessary.
Now, you just brand him right on his left hindquarter.
It’ll be over before ya know it.”

Lark shook her head, but Tom only chuckled as he picked
up a nearby
rope up and began to wheel a small lasso over his head.

There was no more time to consider. Lark turned to see the young bull bolt out of the corral and charge straight for them.
Slater and Smokey were a length behind
,
and Lark’s heart began to hammer as she saw Slater wheel his lasso and spring it, roping the bull’s head.

Slater pulled the rope to tighten it around the bull’s neck as he wrapped the lead end around his saddle horn
, and
Tom sprung his lasso, roping the animal’s back feet.
In an instant, Slater slid from his saddle, taking hold of the bull’s head and twisting its neck sharply.
The bull rather toppled over
,
and Slater kept his neck twisted while Tom wrapped h
is rope around the animal’s feet
,
rend
er
ing it helpless to escape.