Weathered Too Young (15 page)

“It ain’t none of it yer fault,” Slater said, wagging a gloved index finger at her.
He grinned, “But my bull bein’ branded Sue…that is.
So maybe you’ll feel guilty enough about brandin’ that poor feller with a girl’s name…to make up a batch of them cookies I like so much.
What do ya think?”

Smokey nudged Lark’s shoulder
,
and she smiled, reaching up to tickle his velvet nose with her fingers.
“I think I might be able to manage it,” she said.

“Al
righty then,” Slater said.

Lark smiled and watched him
mount
Smokey
.

“I’m gonna run that A
ngus back to the pastures.
You comin’, Tom?”

“Yeah,” Tom said.
“I’ll be right along.
”

Slater nodded, touched the brim of his hat to Lark
,
and rode away.

“He’s really not angry with
me
for the bull…is he?” Lark asked Tom.
She needed just one more moment of reassurance.

“Hell no!” Tom chuckled.
“I swear, that’s the hardest I’ve heard Slater laugh in years.
It done him good.”

Lark smiled and nodded with gratitude.

“Now, you run on in and get warmed up,” he said.
“Next time take a minute to fetch yer coat.
All right?”

Lark nodded.
She wondered if she’d be asked to do any other outdoor chores—for the truth was
,
she didn’t own a coat.
She wondered if she could make it through another winter with just her shawl for warmth.

“Well then, we may not be in for lunch today
. M
ight take us
’
til supper to get the herd back together…though they couldn’t have gone far,” Tom explained.
He turned and
headed for the barn.
“I’ll
see
ya
later, honey.”

“Bye
-
bye,” Lark called after him.

She watched him disappear into the barn.
In a few moments, Tom rode out on Willis
,
his bay mare.

“You have a good day now,” he called as he rode past her.

Lark waved and watched him follow his brother—watched as they rode Black-Eyed Sue the Black Angus bull toward the fenced pasture.

Turning, she hurried back toward the house.
The air was chilled
,
and she didn’t want to linger.
Furthermore, she had cookies to bake
,
and she wanted to have a nice supper waiting when Slater and Tom returned.

She smiled as she entered the kitchen.
“Black-Eyed Sue,” she giggled to herself.
No doubt the other cowboys on the Evans ranch would hear the tale soon enough—or see the evidence for themselves.
Everything was wonderful in that moment.
Lark had a home—at least for the winter.
Things had settled into a comfortable routine
,
and Chet Leigh hadn’t ruined it either.

As she busied herself in the kitchen, Lark hoped the men could round up the cattle quickly.
The weather was certainly turning colder. Slater had explained that the deep snows that buried the higher pastures each winter would soon descend from the darkening skies. The cattle needed to be close—to find protection in the windbreaks of the close pastures.

“Cookies,” she breathed, smiling at the memory of the light that had flashed in Slater’s eyes when he’d asked her to bake for him.

She thought of his touch, of the feel of his fingers on her cheek, of her chin being held in his hand.
She allowed herself a moment of daydreaming—wondering what it would be like to have Slater Evans kiss her.
Yet she did not linger too long in such fanciful musings.
He was a man—an older man—and no doubt used to the company of more mature women.
What would an orphaned girl such as herself have to offer?
How could she ever endeavor to entertain him with her youthful conversation or flirting?

Sighing, she determined to keep busy
. I
t was ever her way.
Thus, humming a favorite melody, she set about ensuring the Evans men returned home to a warm and fragrant house—to a hearty meal—and the warmest, sweetest cookies they’d ever tasted
.



Lark heard a gust of wind suddenly whip around the house
,
and she shivered in
thinking of the men out in the weather. She hoped they would return
soon.
The sun had already set
,
and still Slater and Tom had not returned.
She hadn’t heard the rumble of the other cowboys
’
horses in bringing them back to the bunkhouse either—and she began to worry.

A loud banging arrested her attention
. I
t sounded as if it had come from the barn.
At once, she thought of Dolly and Coaly—hoped that Dolly was not having another moment of being frustrated with being kept in the stall in the barn.
Pulling her thin shawl snugly about her shoulders
,
Lark left the house by way of the back door.

The wind was indeed chilly and rather fierce in nature, easily penetrating her slight shawl. Immediately, her teeth began to chatter. She could clearly see the barn door standing open. She knew the door must be kept bolted at night in order to keep coyotes from w
a
ndering in and startling or harming stock.

Quickly, she made her way to the barn and struggled to close
the heavy doors. She felt a hand on her shoulder suddenly
,
and Lark cried out—entirely startled. Spinning around, she found herself face-to-face with Slater.

“What’re ya doin’?” he demanded
,
looking tired and somewhat irritated.

“The barn door was open. I-I was just bolting it,” she stammered.
She fancied his jovial, friendly mood of earlier in the day had been wrung from him by hard work.

“Why didn’t you put your coat on?” he asked.
“Do ya wanna catch yer death?”

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered as he took her hand and began dragging her back to the house.

“Don’t apologize to me. Yer the one that’ll freeze.”

He pulled her along for a time and then stepped aside so that she might enter the house ahead of him.
Instinctively—for she was far more chilled than she’d realized—she rushed to the fire in the parlor.
Kneeling before it
,
she began rubbing her hands together to warm them.

“It’s so cold!” she exclaimed.
“I-I didn’t think…well, the day wasn’t so cold…I thought…” she rambled nervously as Slater stood staring at her, an expression of suspicion owning his handsome face.

“Go get your coat,” he rather ordered.
“I want ya to go out and help me slop the pigs before supper.”

“Um…of course,” she began, “
t
hough I do have a few things to finish up before I can get supper on the table.
I would rather just stay in, if it’s all the same.”

“It’s not,” he grumbled.
“Now go get yer coat.”

Taking a deep breath, Lark stood and turned to face him. “The truth is…I don’t really…I don’t really have one.”

His eyes narrowed
,
and he asked, “You don’t?”

“No
. B
ut I do just fine without…most of the time.”

Slater chuckled
,
and she could see disbelief in his eyes. “You don’t own a coat?”

She shook her head proudly.

“It gets way below freezin’ here, baby…and you can’t be
without
one.”
He inhaled a long breath
,
and she could see the fatigue in his eyes.
“I’m goin’ into town tomorrow
.
I can pick one up for you…unless you wanna go you
r
self.”

Lark swallowed hard. “Well, that would be fine, but…but…”

“But what?”

“Well, I-I don’t really have the means to purchase one.”
She was humiliated!
What would he think of her now?
She was nearly destitute
,
and now he would know just how desperate she had been when she’d come to his door—how desperate she still was.
“I really can do without.”

His frown deepened
,
and she walked past him toward the kitchen.
“Anyway, I better see to your supper.
I’m sure you haven’t had anything to
—
”

“Hold on there,” Slater growled, catching hold of her arm. “You can’t do without a coat here. And what do you mean you don’t have the means for one?
Ain’t we payin’ you enough to afford a coat?”

Lark tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear.
“Well…well,” she stammered, “in truth, Tom and I have never actually discussed
…
wages.” She was beginning to feel frantic.
What would Slater think of a young woman who was willing to work as hard as Lark did for no compensation?
Still, to Lark, shelter, food, comfort
,
and companionship were far more important than money.

“You never discussed wages?” he asked. All at once, Slater seemed to fly into a temper. “How old are you really, baby?” he growled at her.
“I want to know…the truth…here and now…’cause I know you lied to me when you first came here
,
and obviously you ain’t even old enough to know how to dress right for the weather! I don’t wanna be goin’ to jail, accused of kidnappin’ or somethin’! Now, you tell me, on the level, Lark Lawrence. How old are you
,
and where did you come from?
”

Devastated by his sudden apparent disapproval, Lark sat down on a nearby chair.
All the delight she’d known in daydreaming—in her imaginings that Slater Evans approved of her
,
even liked her—melted.
He would loath
e
her now
,
just like everyone else who hated orphans—especially runaway orphans.

Turning from him, she spoke calmly
,
masking her emotion—for, after all, she had grown accustomed to doing so. “I’ll be nineteen in two months,” she confessed.
She heard Slater sigh
,
but she dared not look at him in trying to interpre
t whether he sighed with relief
that she was not young
or with disgust that she was not older.

“My father died when I was a child…and my mother when I was fifteen,” Lark began.
“I was sent to an orphanage in
New York City
,
and I couldn’t breathe there.
It was always so dirty…and so cold in the winter.
I imagine it was worse than prison. So almost two years ago
…
I ran away. I’ve been running ever since
,
working for seamstresses mostly
. B
ut the one here in town
,
Mrs. Jenkins
,
she doesn’t need any help. I needed somewhere to sit out the winter.”
She shrugged
.
“That’s no different than the cowboys who work for you and Tom
,
is it?”
She didn’t look up at him, only continued her confession.
“Hadley Jacobson told me about your Mrs. Simpson having passed…and I came here…spoke with Tom…and he hired me.”

She nearly sprang from her seat then, standing to face him as all her fears and frustrations erupted. “I’ve done a fine job here! You can’t tell me any different! I’ve cooked and mended and cleaned
,
and I don’t expect anything but shelter, food…a place to winter,” she cried.
“I’m no different than those cowboys out in the bunkhouse
.
I’ve worked hard for you…and…and with the exception of what happened last night with that horrible Chet Leigh…I’ve done nothing wrong!”
She paused
,
and he said nothing, only continued to study her with narrowed eyes.

“You patronize me because you see yourself as better than me…older
,
more mature…a man.
You think I’m just a child
,
but I’m not.
I work hard
. A
nd now, just because I don’t own a coat
…
you’re ready to turn me out? Well, that’s fine, Slater Evans!” she cried, though anger had joined fear and heartache in her bosom.
“If you can’t see past the nose on your face to the fact that I’m as much of a woman as you are a man
,
that I’ve worked hard for you
,
that I can take care of myself…well, then
…
fine! I’m sure I can find someone else who’ll be willing to…to…!” Lark turned from him and stormed off toward her room. She would pack her shabby little carpetbag and be on her way. Tom would drive her into town
;
she was sure he would. She had enough money tucked away for a train ticket to—to somewhere.