Weathered Too Young (36 page)

“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 g
rowled 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
. H
e’s looking for you!”

“Ouch!” Slater exclaimed
,
pulling
h
is hand away from her right arm.
“Lark!” he breathed
,
taking
h
old 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
. B
ut 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
t
he Evans ranch was f
a
rther east.”

Hunkering down at her side, Slater a
gain took her face between his hands.
“Listen to me,” he said calmly
, forcing her to look at him
.
“It’ll be all right
. W
hoever
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
. H
is 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 a
s
i
t
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 st
r
eamed 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 grip
ped 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 t
iny 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
the
n
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 plac
e where the needled had sunk.
“I don’t want it breakin’ off in there.”

Again he placed his mouth to her arm
. A
gain the warm moi
sture 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 linger
ing
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
naught
y
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 stron
g hands under her arms, gently—yet forcefully—
pulling her from
the
chair
and into his arms as
t
he
y
stood.
He paused to direct her arms to his shoulders, and then—then his mouth claimed hers
,
suddenly
voracious
,
as if
her
kiss
w
ere
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
. O
ver 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 deli
ciously!
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 t
o 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 d
affodil no more.
I ain’t young with my whole life stretched out in front of me the way you
rs
is
.
”

Lark’s heart was hammering like a locomotive
.
S
later care
d
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 w
ere
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 y
a
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 els
e could she do?
“He had a red beard and a scar
.
”