Weathered Too Young (18 page)

Lark gasped with surprise and delight as she drew away the brown paper to find a beautiful lavender wool coat.
She’d never owned anything so lovely—never even known anyone who had!
Well, perhaps a seamstress she’d worked for once.
The coat was beautiful—and warm.

Lark held it to her face, marveling at its softness. “It’s perfect!” she breathed.
“It’s beautiful!”

Slater smiled and nodded to Tom.
“You see…I can know what a woman wants if I have a mind to.”

Tom nodded.
“Let me see that, honey.”

Rather unwillingly, Lark handed the beautiful coat to Tom.
He looked at it
and
inspected one of the inside seams.
“Did Mrs. Jenkins wonder what you were needin’ with a coat like this?”

“She didn’t ask,” Slater said
,
shrugging broad shoulders.
“She’s scared of me
,
so she didn’t say much to me.”

Tom chuckled. “Oh, this oughta set her mind to wanderin’,” he said.
“It’s a fine coat, Slater.
I’ll give you that.”

Slater nodded and handed Lark the second package he’d pulled from the burlap bag.
“Here now…what do you think of this one then, baby?”

Lark giggled and bit her lip with delight when she drew away the brown paper to see a buck
skin slicker had been wrapped in it
—a slicker very similar to Slater’s
,
only buckskin
-
colored and much smaller.

She couldn’t stop the delighted squeal that trilled in her throat at the sight of the Slater-like coat.
“It’s perfect too!” she giggled.
“Just perfect.”
She looked up to see him smiling at her—proudly smiling at her.
It was obvious he was quite pleased with his purchase.

“Try it on now,” he demanded.
“Let’s make sure it fits.
Mrs. Jenkins assured me on the other one…but I had to guess on this one by myself in the
g
eneral
s
tore,” he asked.

Tom smiled as he watched Slater help Lark put on the slicker.
Oh, his big brother had it bad!
He shook his head, wondering why Slater didn’t just lift the girl in his arms and haul her off to his bed.
Well now, he knew Slater would never do such
a
thing
—not without marrying her first.
Still, he knew his brother—stood in awe at how he was managing to appear so calm and unruffled all the time.
Two coats!
Two!
And one he knew cost a pretty penny.
Tom had purchased a coat from Mrs. Jenkins the winter before
;
he knew how much ol
d
Mrs. Jenkins asked for such a thing.
Yep
,
ol
d
Slater Evans was in love.
Tom chuckled as he thought,
A
nd he don’t even know it
.

“Now let me see,” Slater said, taking Lark by the shoulders and studying her from head to toe.
He nodded with approval.
“Yep…yep
. T
hat’ll do just fine.”
He frowned a moment, cocking his head to one side thoughtfully.
“Hmmm.
Still, we don’t want yer head to be cold.”

Lark smiled as he promptly took the hat from his head, plopping it onto hers.
She giggled as it slipped down over her eyebrows.
Pushing at the brim, she tipped her head back and looked
at Slater from under it.
“Do you think this will make a better cowboy out of me?” she asked.
“Will I do a better job at branding next time?”

Slater laughed and reached out to position his hat so that it sat tipped and farther back on Lark’s
head
.
“I’m sure of it,” he said.

Lark allowed herself to gaze a moment into his eyes—his eyes that were fairly twinkling with some sort of unspoken joy.
For an instant, she considered that maybe she was the cause of the glistening in them—that perhaps his delight in outfitting her had caused him some sort of unique glee.
Still, she swallowed such ridiculous notions
,
especially when her attention was drawn to his hair.

“You…you cut your hair,” Lark noted aloud.

Slater nodded and ran one hand through his shortened hair.
“Yes, ma’am, I did,” he admitted.
“I was startin’ to look mighty scroungy.”

Lark couldn’t decide whether she was delighted by the change in his hair
or disappointed.
The fact that most of the sun-bleached portions of it had been cut away, combined with the shorter cropping of it, gave him a more dominating, almost intimidating appearance.
His hair was now mostly its true dark brown—no longer fell over his forehead the way a mischievous boy’s may have.
In that moment, though it would have seemed impossible an hour before
,
Slater Evans was even more striking—more handsome—more hypnotically attractive.

“Had me a proper shave too,” he added, gripping his chin in one hand and rubbing his cheek.
“Have a feel of that, baby,” he said, unexpectedly taking hold of both Lark’s hands and placing her palms to his cheeks.
“What do you think of that?
Ain’t it nice?” he asked, brushing his face with her hands over and over again.

“Mm-h
mmm,” was all Lark could manage
.
Her entire body was covered in goose bumps—her heart pounding like a hammer driving a fence post.

“Ain’t prickly at all,” Slater said.
“Smooth enough to hold baby skin to.
Right?”

“Mm-hmmm.”

“Even smooth enough to…”

Lark held her breath as Slater released he
r
hands
and
bent forward
,
softly caressing her left cheek with his right one.

“That soft enough for ya?” he whispered against her neck.

“Mm-hmmm,” Lark squeaked.

Again he caressed her cheek with his own
,
this time slowly brushing her lips with first his cheek
and
then his chin.
His touch was exhilarating beyond anything Lark had ever experienced—the windswept scent of his skin intoxicating!

Lark felt her hands curl into fists at her sides
,
for she wanted to touch him in return—bury her hands in the dark silk of his hair—throw herself into his arms.
Yet she held her breath
,
determined not to faint
,
not to reveal any hint of her delight—or desire.

“Yep…soft enough to hold baby skin to,” he mumbled.
“Or even…”

Lark’s eyes widened at what she felt next—at the sense of Slater’s lips only just brushing hers—as she felt him place the tenderest kiss possible to her low lip.

“Oops,” he said, suddenly rising to his full stature.
He winked at Lark and said, “See there…it’s so smooth I slipped.”

“Mm-hmmm,” Lark breathed, her entire body trembling with rapturous bliss.

He winked again, patting her head and causing his hat to fall down over her eyebrows once more.

Tom chuckled and clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
“Why, Slater Evans…you devil, you.
Now, what’s findin’ you with such a good disposition tonight?”

Slater shrugged and shook his head.
“I guess a good shave and a hair trim can do wonders for a man.
Besides, we’re stocked up for winter
,
there’s fried chicken waitin’
…
oh!
And
I dang near forgot!”

Lark watched as Slater turned back to the coat rack, rummaged around in the inner pocket of his slicker, and produced a letter.

“We got us a letter from Katie!” he exclaimed.

“Katie?” Tom chuckled, a broad smile spreading across his face—broad enough nearly to match the one on Slater’s.

A nervous sort of unsettling anxiety flickered in Lark’s bosom.
Katie?
A girl?
Or a woman?
Judging from the delight on the faces of both men
,
a woman.
But who?
Lark silently told herself that perhaps this Katie was simply Tom and Slater’s sister.
Perhaps she’d married long ago and moved away.

“What’s she got to say?” Tom asked.

Slater shrugged an
d began to open the envelope he
held.
“I ain’t read
it
yet.
I figured I’d wait to get home first.”

“Who’s Katie?”
She couldn’t stop the question from passing through her lips
. S
he had to know who Katie was.

“Our cousin,” Tom answered.
“Well
,
our cousin’s daughter
. T
hat still makes her our cousin…right?”
He looked to Slater questioningly.

“Yes…I think,” Slater said.
“I never did understand the cousin mess…first, second…twice removed.
It’s nonsense.”

Tom smiled and lowered his voice as he looked to Lark and said, “Slater’s a little tender about where him and Katie stand as cousins or not…on account of him and her was so sweet on each other for so long.”

“That ain’t true, Tom,” Slater corrected.
He looked to Lark and said, “I was sweet on her…but I didn’t pay no mind to whether or not she was my cousin.”

Slater looked to the letter
and
began reading.

Tom winked at Lark.
“Daddy always told us that keepin’ track of cousins was just like keepin’ track of cattle breedin
’…sire
s and dam
e
s and such,” Tom told Lark.

“Oh hell, Tom,” Slater grumbled, looking up from the letter and frowning.
“Did you ever know one cow who knew whether or not another cow was her cousin?”
Slater rolled his eyes with disgusted exasperation.

Lark could’ve almost giggled at the course of the conversation—if it hadn’t been for the fact that the letter from the woman named Katie seemed to hold Slater’s attention like nothing she’d ever seen before.

“Oh no,” Slater breathed as he read over the letter.

Tom frowned.
“What’s the matter?”

“John’s dead,” Slater muttered.

“What?” Tom exclaimed.

“It’s true
. S
he says it right here.”
Slater paused to silently read further into the letter.
“He died…looks to be about two weeks back.”

“Of what?” Tom asked.
“He weren’t much older than you.”

Slater’s eyebrows arched, in morbid agreement, as he nodded.
“He’s dead though,” he mumbled as he continued to read the letter.

“What?
Did someone shoot him?”

Slater shook his head.
“Nope.
He was out helpin’ to bring in his herd
. O
ne of his boys saw him clutch at his chest…then he just fell off his horse.”
Slater looked up, handing the letter to Tom.
“She says he was dead before he hit the ground.”

“Slater, no,” Tom breathed, frowning as he accepted the letter.

Lark watched as Tom began to read the letter.
She didn’t know what to do—how to react.
Should she offer her apologies?
Should she leave them alone?
She felt she was the intruder—as if she didn’t belong there with them.

Slater forced a smile,
however, grinning
at her as he removed his hat from her head and tossed it at the hat rack.
It rung a hook and stayed.

“How about some supper?” he asked, still smiling—though she could see the excess moisture gathering in his eyes.

“I-I’m so sorry,” she heard herself whisper.

He
nodded, turned
,
and strode
into the kitchen.

Lark looked to Tom for direction.
She felt somehow disoriented—uncertain as to what action to take.

Tom looked up from reading the letter.
The tear in the outer corner of his eyes made Lark’s eyes water.

“Go on and feed him,” he mumbled.
“It’ll help.”

Lark nodded, quickly hung her slicker on the coat rack with Slater’s, and hurried to the kitchen.

Slater was already sitting at the table.
He was rubbing his freshly shaved chin with one hand and seemed lost in deep
thinking.
Lark
said nothing and simply prepared him a plate of food and set it on the table in front of him.

Tom entered the kitchen and took a seat across the table from Slater.
He nodded to Lark—a gesture that she should join them.
She sat down
,
noticed the way her hands trembled as she rested them on the table, and moved them to her lap instead.

“John? I can’t hardly believe it,” Tom muttered as he folded the letter and returned it to its envelope.

“I know it,” Slater sighed.

“She’s right to come here with us though,” Tom said, nodding.

Instantly, fear washed over Lark.
Come here?
Another woman?
A woman that Slater once cared for—obviously still cared for?
What use would the Evans brothers have for Lark if their beloved Katie was coming?

“Yep,” Slater said, mashing his already mashed potatoes with his fork.
“Where else would she go? We got the room, and she knows we love her…and the kids.
I do know Katherine though
. S
he’ll be wantin’ to find a place of her own…maybe in town
…
but she needs to stay here awhile.”

Tom sighed. “It’ll be fun havin’ the little ones runnin’ around,” he said.

Slater nodded and said, “I suppose they ain’t so little anymore though.”
He was quiet a moment
,
still picking at his meal with a fork instead of eating it.
“I just can’t believe it…John.”
He looked up to Tom, shaking his head in lingering disbelie
f
.
“Could have as easy been me
. A
fter all…I rode a lot harder life than he did.”

“He was never as tough as you though, Slater,” Tom said.
“I couldn’t quite ever figure why Katie married him instead of waitin’ for you to come back.”

There it was—evidence that Slater had been in love with the woman—evidence that he possibly still was.
Lark’s stomach churned.
She thought for a moment that she might lose the contents of it
,
for she indeed felt ill.

Slater glanced up to Lark
,
and she instantly dropped her gaze to her lap.
This was a private conversation between brothers.
She shouldn’t be there.

“You think you can handle cookin’ and cleanin’ up after a grievin’ widow and her three young children?” Slater asked.

“Me?” Lark squeaked
,
disbelieving that she’d heard him correctly.
“Y-you want me to stay?”

Slater glanced to Tom
and
then back to Lark.
He frowned, grumbling
,
“Of course. What
? D
o you expect us to take care of her and her babies…by ourselves?”

“We’ll have to get to cleanin’ out those rooms in the back of the house, I s’pose. And dig out all
M
ama’s old quilts from the attic,” Tom suggested.

“Yeah,” Slater said.
“And I probably oughta head to town tomorrow and lay in a few more supplies.”

Unexpectedly then, Slater reached across the table, gently gripping Lark’s shoulder with one strong
hand.
“Now
understand, baby…we’ll help you,” he said.
“Don’t you worry none about it.
We don’t expect you to do all this by yourself.
Still, you know we’ve kind of closed up the back part of the house
,
and even if Tom and I clean them rooms out…”
H
e
paused and sighed.
“Well, we ain’t too good at makin’ things look warm and pretty.
I want Katie and her kids to feel at home…safe.
We want
’
em to know they have
a
place where they’re welcome to stay…for as long as they need to,” Slater added.

Lark nodded as hope began to beat down the fear in her—beat down part of it, at least.
It seemed as though she would stay on through the winter—but it was obvious Slater still cared for this Katie.
Silently, Lark prayed that her dreams of Slater Evans would stop—sleeping dreams
and waking ones.

“How old are her children?” she managed to inquire.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tom answered. “She’s got a boy,
’
bout twelve, I guess. And there’s a girl
’
bout six and another boy
’
bout…what…four?
Darlin’ little babies…just darlin’.”

Slater rested one elbow on the table—rested his forehead in his hand a moment as he mumbled, “I just can’t believe John’s gone.
Them poor kids.”

Lark wanted to touch him—to simply lay her hand on his arm in offering reassurance.
In truth, she wanted to wrap her arms around him
and
promise him that the pain caused by the loss of his friend would subside
,
that she’d take care of his little cousins
,
that she’d even take care of the woman he still cared for.

“The three of us used to have such a time together when we was young,” Tom began.
He looked to Slater
and
grinned.
“Remember, Slater? You and John and me? Remember how we’d go out down by the crick and go swimmin’ buck
neked.
Mama used to get so upset.”

Slater chuckled. “Yeah. We had some times, all right.
Remember when Katherine caught us swimmin’ that one time? She turned as red as an overripe tomata!”

“Poor Katherine,” Tom sighed.
“Poor little
Katie
.
Just can’t imagine what she’s goin’ through
’
bout now.”

Lark’s discomfort was increasing.
So many thoughts and feelings were battling within her.
She wanted to stay—she did!
More than anything she wanted to stay on at the Evans ranch.
But could she?
Could she linger in watching another woman come into the house
,
a woman both men cared so much for—especially Slater?
She thought of a story her mother used to tell her when she was small—about a girl who lived in the cinders and was abused and mistreated by a cruel stepmother and stepsisters.
Would her life begin to mirror that of the poor cinder wench?
Oh, she knew the Evans brothers would never abuse her
,
but would they grow to unknowingly ignore her
,
to put off her company for that of Katie and her darling children?
Yet winter was so near—only a breath away.
She couldn’t leave
,
even if she’d wanted to
,
and she didn’t.
Lark didn’t want to leave the Evans ranch.
She didn’t want to leave jovial, playful Tom Evans—and she couldn’t leave Slater.
He’d stolen her heart
,
and she couldn’t abandon it—not yet.

“When will they be arriving?” she asked.

“A week before Thanksgivin’…so her letter says.” Slater mumbled. “I do feel sorry for those kids.
They’ll have to finish growin’ without a daddy now. It’s tragic
,
that’s what it is. Plain tragic.”

Lark could see that both men were deeply upset. She felt it best to leave them alone.
Mourning a friend or loved one was a deeply personal journey
,
and she was only the housekeeper and cook.

“Well, I-I should…I have a few things to finish up,” she stammered awkwardly.
“Would it be all right with you both if I finished these dishes tomorrow before breakfast?”

Slater and Tom both
frowned and looked
at her as if she’d just uttered the oddest string of words they’d ever heard.

“Honey,” Tom began, “before you come to us…well…we’d been lettin’ the dishes sit dirty for near a week before warshin’
’
em.”

Slater nodded as he finally started eating his meal.
“Most times we didn’t even use plates…just stood at the stove, eatin’ out of the pot.
And a man don’t need nothin’ but his hands for jerky.”

“You go on and turn in, if you’re wantin’ to, honey,” Tom told her.
“It has been a long day.”

Lark nodded.
Yet feeling tears of empathy filling her eyes, she bit her lip to keep them from escaping and said, “I am sorry…about your friend John.”

Tom smiled gratefully, and Slater nodded.

Lark left the kitchen and started toward her room.
She paused
,
however
,
the beautiful lavender wool coat catching her eye.

Glancing behind her to ensure both men were still in the kitchen, she hurried to the coat rack, quickly snatching the coat.

Once in her bedroom, she closed the door, exhaling a heavy sigh.
The room was dim.
She hadn’t built a fire in the hearth
,
for she didn’t want to waste wood that might be better burned in winter.
Still, she had lit a lamp and now turned up the flame as she sat on the bed to examine the coat.

She smiled as she buried her face against the soft wool.
Oh, it felt heavenly!
Lark was certain the wool coat even smelled warm.
Quickly, she stood, slipping her arms into the long sleeves.
It fit her as if it had been made for her!
It was warm indeed
,
and she was soothed, thinking that even if winter proved to be merciless in its low temperatures, she would be safe.
Her smile broadened as she thought of Slater’s having purchased it for her.
She wondered what Mrs. Jenkins thought—wondered what he’d paid for it.
Surely the ten dollars Slater had taken from Tom as payment toward a coat could not have afforded both the lovely lavender coat and the leather slicker.
Her heart leapt at imagining Slater thinking of her while he was in town not once but twice.