Weathered Too Young (40 page)

“Leave your door open tonight,” he said.
His chin was resting on the top of her head
,
and she felt him press a kiss there.
“Make sure the window is latched, and leave your door open.
I need to be able to hear everything in the house.”

Lark shuddered as the memory that an outlaw was seeking revenge on Slater returned.

“He’ll come for you, won’t he?” she asked
,
already knowing the answer.

“Yep,” he said.

Lark smiled, having grown v
ery fond of Slater’s short
answer of assurance—the one he ever used
,
even when circumstances might have begged for a longer, more detailed response.

He took her face between his hands—gazed into her eyes.
His dark eyes smoldered with emotion
,
and Lark smiled at him.
He cared for her—he did!
It was evident in his eyes—in his expression—in his kiss and his touch.

A handsome smile spread across his face as he studied her a moment
.

“What is it?” she asked
,
for she knew something was in his mind—tripping on his tongue in wanting to be said.

“Nothin’,” he said.
“I was just thinkin’ that the closest I ever come to bein’ an outlaw…is
in moments like this one…moments with you
,
when I’d rather close us in this room and have my way th
a
n be a gentleman and leave you to your bed…alone.”

Lark giggled.
“You shouldn’t say things like that to me,” she scolded—though only because she knew she should.

“I know,” he said, releasing her and stepping backward toward the door.
“That’s what I mean.
I gotta be careful
or I’ll find myself in
Yuma
p
rison…and all because of you.”

He winked and stepped from her room.
He started to close the door behind him
and
then seemed to remember his own instructions and pushed it wide.

“Leave this open,” he reminded.

Lark nodded, sighing with mingled delight
in lingering pleasure
and disappointment as she heard his heavy footsteps echo across the floor
, striding him f
a
rther away from her
.

She should be terrified—only terrified.
Yet as she changed her day clothes for her nightdress, the lingering sensation of being held in Slater’s arms—the ambrosial flavor of his kiss as it clung to her lips and yet warmed her mouth—caused such a sense of hope and joy to linger in her bosom that even the danger of an outlaw lurking nearby could not dispel the bliss that owned her.

As she lay in bed, sleep was indeed elusive.
Still, the comforting sounds of Slater’s footsteps in the kitchen
and
of the warm light that still glowed from the embers of the parlor fire lulled her.
At last, Lark drifted to deep slumber
,
t
hough not with fear and visions of Samson Kane for company
but rather with hope and visions of Slater Evans—strong, handsome, desirable Slater Evans—Slater Evans—who was not an outlaw.

Slater had been right.
Samson Kane was hiding.
The night had been peaceful.
Even Eldon, Grady
,
and Ralston heard nothing—saw nothing.
Lark awoke with hope that perhaps the outlaw had turned coward—decided it was not worth his time to lay in wait for Slater and revenge.

Yet that morning at breakfast, Slater assured everyone that Samson Kane would come—he would not give up.
The cowboys were to stay near the house
,
and the children were to stay inside
unless a trip to the outhouse was necessary.
Even then, one of the men had to go with them
.
Lark and Katheri
ne were not to venture out with
out Slater, Tom
,
or one of the cowboys to escort them
either
.

“Samson Kane ain’
t too good with a pistol or a rifle,” Slater explained.
“If he’s at
a
distance, he most likely won’t get a good shot off.
His weapon of choice is a knife.”

“That’s what Daddy told me,” Johnny said, nodding as he finished his eggs.

A cold shiver of fear traveled up Lark’s spine
,
for she’d remembered Johnny’s description
from
the day before—that Samson Kane gutted his victims.

“Well, he’s still good enough with a gun to cause damage,” Tom said.
He looked to Slater
,
eyebrows arched in a rather reminding expression.

“That’s true,” Slater said.
“So everybody needs to be watchful.
All right?”

“All right,” Johnny said, nodding.

Charlie and Lizzy nodded too.
Lark wasn’t at all certain the children understood the danger that was near.
She
w
as glad they weren’t fearful.
She knew what it was to live in fear and insecurity as a child.
Katherine’s children had already suffered enough anxiety at the loss of their father.
Thus, she was happy they did not seem overly concerned.

As Tom and Slater left the house to see to the stock, however, t
he children were not happy
about having to stay indoors.
The warm sunshine and fresh breezes of spring beckoned to them like a siren’s song
,
and they were ill-tempered
about
being forced to stay in.
Johnny was impatient, growling and fussing at Charlie and Lizzy like an old bear.
Charlie and Lizzy were either quarreling with one another or racing around the house squealing and bumping into furniture.

Finally, Katherine
had
no other recourse but to separate them in order to settle down her and Lark’s already weary nerves.
Johnny was sent to his room with a book to read
,
and Lizzy was put to the task of helping her mother in making bread.
Charlie was sent to the parlor.
Wooden soldiers in hand, Charlie miserably slunk into the parlor
, sat himself in the far corner
,
and began to set them up in rows.

“I’m so sorry,” Katherine apologized as Lark washed several dishes that had been neglected after breakfa
st.
“It’s just that, after bein’
so pent up all winter, the children can’t hardly tolerate another day in the house.”

“I wanted
to
smell the hyacinth today,” Lizzy whined, pressing a fist into the smaller mound of bread dough her mother had given her to knead.

“I know, sweetie,” Katherine
sighed
.

Lark smiled
,
her heart aching with sympathy
,
for she too had taken every opportunity to enjoy its perfume, knowing the lovely fragrance of early spr
ing hyacinth would soon be spent.

“I just hope Charlie isn’t into mischief,” Katherine mumbled.
“Lark, would you look in on him for me?
I swear, when he’s anywhere by himself
,
I’m always worried I’ll look up to find he’s burned the house down around us.”

Katherine continued to knead the dough on the countertop
as
before
,
a
nd
Lark nodded.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Lark said.
“But one can never be too sure about little boys.”
Lark dried her hands on her apron and winked at Lizz
y.
“Isn’t that right, Lizzy?”

“Oh yes, Miss Lark,” Lizzy agreed.
“Last time
M
ama sent me to check on Charlie, he was eatin’ a bug.
He said he’d just always wondered what they’d tasted like.”

“Oh dear,” Lark said, frowning.
She certainly hoped Charlie hadn’t decided to see if one bug tasted different than another.
Hurrying into the parlor, she was relieved to see the boy
had
not taken to eating bugs
to
battl
e
boredom.
Rather, he sat in the chair in front of the old desk in the corner.

At once—though Lark was relieved Charlie was not crunching on some multilegged creature—she knew that the desk was rarely touched.
Slater and Tom had explained to her that it had belonged to their father—that they somehow liked the idea of it being just the way he’d left it.
Just as they’d liked the idea of their mother
’
s knitting basket remaining on the floor near one end of the sofa
,
just
as she’d left it—before the fever had taken them both within three days of one another.

“Charlie?” Lark ventured, hoping the boy hadn’t had time to disturb the desk too much.
“What’re
ya
doin’, sweetie?
”

Charlie turned around, smiling and eyes bright with excitement.

Instantly, Lark’s worries increased.
It was well she knew the expression plain on Charlie’s face in that moment—he’d been into something.

“Look what I found, Miss Lark,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Here in this desk drawer.”

Lark hurried to Charlie and the desk, hoping what he’d found was something easily replaced or shut away.

“Honey, you know none of us touch Mr. Evans’
s
desk,” she said as she approached.

“But look,” Charlie said, holding up a key.
“This key was in the drawer
.
I know
’
d it wasn’t there before, so I turned it and pulled…and look what I found inside.”

Lark did look.
As Charlie pulled the drawer open once more, a slight gasp escaped her as she
saw
what lay in the drawer
.

“I know what this is,” Charlie said, picking up the
silver
US
m
arshal’s badge and holding it out to her.
“I seen these before
.
I saw one on the sheriff when we was in town yesterday even.
This is a lawman’s badge!”

Lark
was astonished!
Had Slater and Tom’s father truly been a
US
m
arshal?
She wondered
why
she’d never h
e
ard either man mention it.

“And look here,” Charlie continued.
Reaching into the drawer, he removed a finely crafted wooden box.
Lifting the lid
,
he whispered, “Pearl-handled pistols!”

“Charlie!” Lark breathed.
“We shouldn’t be
—”

“But what does it say?” Charlie interrupted
,
obviously careless of any ramifications of having discovered such a treasure.
“Right here…on this gold plate on the inside of the box?”

Lark looked to the place Charlie indicated.
There, on the inside of the box lid, was indeed a rectangular gold plate.
Lark could see an etching or engraving on the plate and moved closer in order to see it more clearly.

“What does it say?” Charlie asked.
“And what does this paper say too?”

Charlie handed Lark a paper—a telegram—yet her attention was still on the gold plate.

“And feel how heavy this badge is, Miss Lark!”

Charlie offered the
m
arshal’s badge to Lark
,
and she accepted it—though her attention was fixed to the gold plate in the box containing the pearl
-
handled pistols.

“It says,” she began, “
Presented to
US Marshal
William S. Evans
with much gratitude and thanks
from the people of the great state of
Texas
.
”

“William S. Evans?” Charlie asked.
“Who’s that?
Uncle Slater and Uncle Tom’s daddy?
Is that who hid these in this drawer?
I’m sure glad someone left the key in it!
Ain’t these pistols a si
gh
t?”

But Lark’s heart was in her throat.
Her stomach churned as understanding began to wash over her.

“And what’s on that paper, Miss Lark?
What’s that say?” Charlie begged.

With a trembling hand, Lark raised the telegram and read aloud, “
By telegraph from
Washington
D.C
.
To US Marshal William S
later
Evans
s
top. To certify that you are hereby rein
stated as United States Marshal
s
top. Permission to act as your judgment dictates concerning escaped prisoner Samson Kane or any other fugitive, crim
inal, or law
-
breaking citizen s
top.
”

“William S. Evans!” Charlie exclaimed
,
pointing to the gold plate in the gun box lid.
“William Slater Evans?
Uncle Slater’s a
lawman
?”

2