Weathered Too Young (5 page)

When supper was finished, Lark was surprised when neither man left the table.
Simply, they stretched back in their chairs, continuing their conversation as Lark cleared the dishes from the table.

“Ol’ man Brown’s sellin’ that colt
Montana
sired,” Slater said, yawning.

“The bay?” Tom yawned the question.

Both men were tired—it was sorely obvious.
Lark’s heart pinched a little
,
imagining how difficult it would be to maintain such a ranch as she understood theirs to be.

“Yep. I’d like to have him,” Slater said, nodding.
“He’s a good-lookin’ colt. I think we’d be smart to buy him.”

“I think yer right.
How much is ol’ Brown askin’?”

“Too much.
But I’ll talk him down.”

“You always do,” Tom chuckled.

As Lark stacked the washed and dried dishes in the cupboard, the long, laborious day began to make itself known on her body and in her mind.
She managed to stifle a yawn—but just barely.
Suddenly, she felt as if she couldn’t take another step, hear another word, or keep her eyes open a moment longer.

“Gentlemen?” she began
,
folding her hands neatly at her waist as she stood at the head of the table.
Both Slater and Tom looked weary—worn to the quick.

“I-I think I’m finished here,” she ventured.
“Would it be al
l
right if I retired for the evening?” She was nervous—afraid she would cause offense
or had perhaps forgotten some task.

“Of course, honey,” Tom answered.
“I’m sure you’re plum wrung out.
Though I can’t imagine you needin’ any beauty sleep.”
He winked at her
,
and she
smiled, delighted
by his compliment—and kindness.
“Still, tomorrow does come early…so you just go onto bed whenever the notion takes hold of ya.
All right?”

“Thank you,” Lark said
,
nodding.
She felt a slight blush rise to her cheeks as Slater’s attention lingered on her a moment.
“Thank you for allowing me to work for you both.”

“Thank you for savin’ me from another meal of leather and flour paste,” Tom said.

“Oh, you just go on and keep that up, little brother,” Slater growled.
“Go on…if ya dare.”

Tom chuckled and nodded to Lark.

“Good night, Lark,” he said.

“Good night,” Lark told him.

Slater on
ly
nodded to her,
but she said, “Good night, Mr. Evans,” all the same.

She dropped a mild curtsy and left the kitchen.

Once inside the cozy room with the pretty painting, lace curtains
,
and welcoming bed, Lark shut the door behind her, exhaling a heavy breath of fatigue and relief.

Oh, she was tired!
More tired than she’d been in a long time.
Yet she knew a measure of comfort
,
for the Evans brothers had liked her meal.
They even seemed to like her—though it was obvious Tom was still more accepting of her existence than Slater.
She
hoped she would begin to feel more at ease in Slater’s presence. Something about him greatly unsettled her
,
and she couldn’t imagine living months and months with such unsettling feelings—though she’d rather live with them than shelter in a cave all winter long.

Opening her worn carpetbag, Lark withdrew her very tattered nightdress. As she changed her dress for her nightdress, she began to notice the throbbing in her feet.
They were sore
,
worn from walking so far.
It would be heavenly to sleep in a bed—to remove her shoes and simply rest well-sheltered.
In truth, Lark didn’t mind so much sleeping under the summer moon and stars.
Still, there was much to be said for resting on a mattress
instead of the hard ground.

With a sigh of weariness of mind and soreness of body, Lark offered her prayers and snuggled beneath the clean, beaconing softness of the sheets and quilt.
She fancied a moment she was resting on a cloud—swaddled in the linens of
h
eaven.
She smiled as she closed her eyes
,
for if the soft bed w
ere
a cloud made of heavenly linens
,
then the two men for whom she would now cook and clean must indeed be no less than guardian angels.
She mused that it had been a long, long time since she’d slept in such a haven of safety.
With two such capable men as the Evans brothers
so close
at hand
,
Lark
k
new she would sleep well.
Not only had she found a means of earning wages, food
,
and shelter for the winter
,
she’d happened upon a sense of sanctuary she’d not experienced for many years—ever so many.

“Good morning,” Lark cheerily greeted as Slater entered the kitchen the next morning.

He looked
startled and quickly
adjusted his suspenders. “I didn’t think you’d be up and about yet, girl.”

She smiled. In
deed, the sun had not yet
risen, though
a warm orange glow peered over the horizon.
“Why ever not? Those were your instructions
. Y
ou said you and Mr. Evans rise before
sunup.”
She arched an
eyebrow, proud
of herself for having surprised him.
“Now, if you’ll sit down…I have hotcakes and bacon ready.”

Slater shrugged broad
shoulders, his
face marked by an expression of indifferent surrender. He pulled a chair out from the table, depositing himself in its seat.
Lark set a plate of hotcakes and bacon on the table before him, smiling
as a grin
curved his handsome lips.

Slater picked up a slice of bacon, mumbling, “Where is Tom?
That ol’…he better think
’
bout gettin’ himself outta bed. We gotta lot to do today.”

He was silent for a long space of time as he ate
and
seemed to enjoy the food.
Lark owned a sense of pride
,
for it was obvious her cooking pleased him.

Suddenly, however, he scowled.
Lark held her breath
,
worried that perhaps Slater had bitten into a hard lump of flour or salt in the hotcakes—that he’d found a flaw in her efforts.

“He better get his fanny out here,” he grumbled, however.
“Maybe I oughta send you upstairs to look in on him.
That would sure enough get him movin’.
Don’t ya think?”

Lark felt her eyes widen at the suggestion.

“Matilda was always havin’
to
drag Tom outta bed,” he continued, still eating.
“That boy couldn’t get himself up on time if the house was fallin’ down.”

“Now, that ain’t true at all, Slater,” Tom said, yawning as he entered the
kitchen.
He grinned at
Lark, running
fingers through pillow-tousled hair.
“If the house was fallin’ down
,
I’d wake…sure enough.”

Lark couldn’t help but giggle.
Yet she bit her lip when Slater glared up at her.

“Don’t go encouragin’ him to smartin’ off, girl,” he scolded.
“I have a hard enough time lightin’ a fire under him without him havin’ any conspirators nearby
to herd him
on.”

“Yes, sir,” Lark mumbled.
She was nervous
,
anxious over having vexed him
—t
hat is, until he winked at her, implying he was only teasing her.
He didn’t smile at her
,
but she read his implication all the same.
Could it be that Slater Evans was as much a teasing trifler as his brother?

Tom sat down in a chair across the table from Slater.
As Lark placed a plate of food before him
,
he scowled
,
studying his brother for a moment.

“You done combed yer hair already?” Tom asked then.

“Maybe I run my fingers through it before I come down,” Slater answered, placing his fork on his plate and stretching back in his chair.

Tom smiled and shook his head.
“You never run yer fingers through it when I cook breakfast.”

“You don’t ever cook breakfast, boy,” Slater said.

“All the same…ya even put a shirt on before comin’ down,” Tom continued, shoving a slice of bacon into his mouth.
“I think havin’ Lark around just might civilize ya a might.”

“I’m plenty civilized,” Slater said to Lark as she sat down next to Tom.
She’d had her own breakfast already
,
but she didn’t see the harm in sitting a moment before moving onto the rest of her daily chores.

“Civili
zed enough to know it’s gonna
take us all day to fix that length of fence that needs fixin’,” Slater continued.
“And then I gotta ride over to Clifford’s place and get
that
bull.
We’ll need to brand him soon
.
I don’t want to wake up one mornin’ and find
he’s
found its way onto somebody else’s pasture.”

“Well, let me eat my breakfast in peace…before ya go plannin’ my whole life out,” Tom grumbled.

Lark
smiled, amused
by the fact Slater had finally gotten the best of his brother’s good mood.

She glanced to Slater to see him grinning at his brother.
He nodded and winked at her again.

Lark’s smile broadened.
She was beginning to understand—Slater was nearly as playful as Tom was!
He simply came about it from a different point of view.
Where Tom was always smiling, teasing
,
his mood always discernible
,
Slater was measured, guarded—a rascal.

“Well, while you’re eatin’ yer breakfast in peace,” Slater teased, “I’ll get busy.
Finish up and meet me in the bar
n
.
I’ll show you how a man shoes a horse.”

“Oh. You plannin’ on watchin’ me shoe, Slater?” Tom countered.

Slater smiled and stood, saying, “Just get yer fanny out there.
The mornin’s half wasted already.”

“The sun ain’t even up yet, Slater,” Tom grumbled.

Slater chuckled
,
and the sound caused an odd sort of thri
ll to run through Lark’s
limbs.
“That
was a right fine way to start the mornin’, girl,” he said, nodding at her with approval.
“Thank ya kindly for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.
Thank
you
, Mr. Evans,” Lark said.

“We’ll be seein’ you about
noon then…for some lunch.
Al
l
right?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Lark agreed.
She knew the heavy sigh he exhaled was due to the fact she’d addressed him so properly.
Still, he didn’t scold her—simply took a weathered hat from its place
on the chair by the front door
and left.

“See…he ain’t all that bad once you get to know him, is he?” Tom asked once the front door had shut.

Lark shook her head and smiled.
“No…I suppose not. He just makes me a bit nervous somehow.”

“That’s
’
cause he’s so good-lookin’,”
Tom chuckled.
“All women every
where in the world get a little jittery when ol’ Slater’s lingerin’.
The amusin’ thing is…he don’t even know it. He just believes anything
feminine in nature
think
s
he’s mean and worn out.
Ain’t that somethin’?”

Lark smiled. “Why would he think that?”

Tom shrugged broad shoulders.
“He’s got some strange kind of humility
,
I guess.
Like a disease or somethin’.
Whatever the reason, he thinks he’s on the finishin’
-
up side of life instead of the startin’
-
out side.”

Lark frowned.
Slater Evans was thirty—that’s what she remembered hearing the day before.
Thirty wasn’t old.
Why, most great men didn’t even begin greatness until far into their thirties.
She thought it sad—that Slater Evans wou
ld go about his days and
nights thinking
the best part of his life was behind him.