Weathered Too Young (20 page)

“That’ll make a right purty dress, Miss Lawrence,” Mrs. Gunderson said.
“And I’m so glad to finally meet you.
I’ve just heard so very much about you from them Evans boys…and it’s nice to finally have
a
face to go with their stories.
Why, Tom tells me you’re a better cook than Matilda Simpson was.”

Lark
blushed, simultaneously
pleased and suspicious.
Tom had often told her she was a better cook than Mrs. Simpson had been, so she didn’t doubt he’d also mentioned it to Mrs. Gunderson.
What she did doubt was that the stories Mrs. Gunderson had heard—well, she did doubt they were
all
told by Slater and Tom alone.
No doubt Mrs. Jenkins had mentioned selling the lavender dress coat to Slater.
No doubt everyone had whispered here and there about the young, unmarried woman keeping house for the unmarried Evans brothers.

Still, it was nice to be in town at last.
When Slater and Tom had suggested she accompany them to town to meet the stage bringing Katherine and her children, she’d paused.
Lark knew there was bound to be gossip.
Yet her desire to visit the
g
eneral
s
tore, to
spend some of her collected wages to perhaps procure some fabrics and notions for a few new pieces of clothing for herself—well, she’d decided she could endure the gossip.
She’d endured worse, after all.

“Are…are those for sale
?
” Lark asked as her gaze suddenly fell to a shelf of books nestled next to a large pickle barrel.

“The books?” Mrs. Gunderson asked, following Lark’s gaze.

“Yes.”

Mrs. Gunderson smiled.
“Why
,
yes, they
are!” the cheery proprietress exclaimed.

She was a tall, slender
woman
,
older, with
gray eyes and hair the color of dried leaves.
Lark thought Mrs. Gunderson looked just like she belonged in autumn—as if her appearance matched the weather outside the store.

“We’ve got several books here that I hear are very interestin’…though I haven’t read them, of course,” Mrs.
Gunderson said, leaving the counter and walking toward the shelf.
Lark watched as Mrs. Gunderson stooped to look at the books.
“Here’s one…
The Countess of
Vista
Verde
…and here’s one called
Two Moths and the Moon
.
”

Lark frowned, disappointed in t
he titles the woman had mentioned
.
“Are there any others…perhaps adventure tales…or maybe something by Mr. Twain?” she asked.

Mrs. Gunderson looked again.
“Hmm.
Not that I see right off.”

“Maybe some poetry?
I read a small book by Longfellow once…and I do like Lord Tennyson,” Lark said.

“I know I’ve got a little book of poems here somewhere,” Mrs. Gunderson mumbled.
“Ah, yes…here it is!”
Lark watched as the woman pulled a small book from the shelf.
Handing the book to Lark
,
she said, “
Favorite Poems
. Will that do ya for a spell, do ya think?
I can order in anything ya like…but this looks like a sweet little book for today.”

Lark accepted the book, somewhat disappointed at first.
She’d hoped for some grand adventure to read—or at least a collection from a poet she knew.
Still, as she let her fingers travel over the pretty little book
,
its lovel
y white cover embellished with g
old lettering and a pretty rendering of a sprig of lilacs
,
she smiled.
Carefully, she leafed through the small book, pausing to
glance over the list of poems i
n the contents.
For all the books the Evans brothers had in their parlor (rather, for all the books in the parlor that had once belonged to Slater and Tom’s mother)
,
there wasn’t one poetry book.
Thus, Lark put the book on top of the stack of paper-wrapped parcels of fabric and notions.

“I’ll love it!” she told Mrs. Gunderson.
And she would, for Lark had not owned a book since she was a small child.

“Wonderful!” Mrs. Gunderson exclaimed.

Mrs. Gunderson figured the cost of the fabrics, the notions
,
and the book, and Lark paid her.

“You sure ya don’t need me to help ya out with all that?” Mrs. Gunderson asked.

Lark smiled and shook her head.
“I can manage…but thank you.”

“Well, I’ll just see ya next time ya come to town then, sweetie.
You keep warm this winter.”

“Oh, I will.”

Mrs. Gunderson tossed a friendly wave
,
and Lark stepped out of the
g
eneral
s
tore and onto the boardwalk.

“Most likely just runnin’ slow,” she heard Slater mumble.
“
Right?” he asked Tom.

“Most likely,” Tom agreed.

Lark frowned, however.
She could see both men were worried.
“How late is it?” she asked.

Slater and Tom turned, and Tom forced a smile.
“Oh, near to an hour,” he said.

“Have I been in there that long?” she asked, looking back to the
g
eneral
s
tore.
Mrs. Gunderson smiled through the large window—tossed another wave.

“Mmm-hmm
,” Tom said.
“And it looks like Mrs. Gunderson had a good day in the
g
eneral
s
tore too.”

Slater studied the stack of packages in her arms.
“Elvira Gunderson don’t let nobody leave without emptyin’ their pockets first,” he said, grinning.
Without asking, he took the parcels from Lark’s arms.
“Here…I’ll run put these in the wagon for ya.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Lark began to argue
.
“I can just
—
”

“I’ll be right back,” Slater interrupted, however.
“And don’t worry
.
I’ll see they’re stored safe.”

Lark watched him stride across the street to where Dolly and Coaly waited in the alley with the wagon.
Eldon, Grady, and Ralston had already headed back to the ranch with the other wagon of supplies.
Slater and Tom were determined
Katherine
and her children would want for nothing while spending the winter at the ranch.
Thus, they’d sent the cowboys home to unload before
Katherine
and her children arrived, explaining that they didn’t want
Katherine
to know they’d lai
d
in extra stores
. S
he’d worry herself sick with guilt.

“He’s worried
’
cause the weather’s lookin’ a might threatenin’,” Tom explained.
“We wanna be sure we get those children home and settled before any snow flies.”

“Snow?” Lark exclaimed.
Instantly she felt chilled and worried.
Lark didn’t like snow—not one bit.
To her
,
snow meant hardship—deep, biting cold—fear and anxiety.

Tom nodded, looking up into the sky.
“It don’t feel cold enough yet
,
but it’s chilled…and the air is calm.”

“I don’t like snow,” she whispered.

“You don’t?” Tom asked.
“Not at all?
Not even at Christmas?”

Lark shrugged.
“Maybe at Christmas…if everyone is safe inside and there’s plenty of wood.”

She watched as Slater returned from the wagon.
Unaware a delighted smile was spreading across her face (for she loved the rhythm of his swagger), she thought how nice a winter might be—how she might grow to like the snow—if it kept Slater in the house and nearer to her.

Oh, he hadn’t kissed her again—hadn’t even flirted with her too often since the day after
Katherine
’s letter had arrived.
He’d returned to the Slater Evans he’d been before—rather brooding, sometimes laughing, most times working himself into a deep fatigue.
Lark was disappointed, of course.
Yet she’d almost instantly come to understand that his flirting with her, his kissing her, was merely because an unusually good mood had overcome him that day.
Pete Walker had only just agreed to sell him five or six Angus heifers come spring.
Furthermore, he’d had his hair trimmed and a comfortable shave while he’d been in town.
Lark understood these things had simply combined to put him in a more jovial disposition than usual.
That was all.
Moreover, she’d made up her mind not to linger in melancholy and unhappiness over the fact that he never kissed her again—never appeared unexpectedly in her bedroom intent on building a fire and wearing only his under
-
trousers.
No.
Instead, she’d made up her mind to savor the fact that he had kissed her at all!
Yes.
The entirety of the day following Slater’s flirtatious kisses, Lark had pondered her life—her situation.
She was safe at the Evans
r
anch, after all
;
even if her heart wasn’t
,
she was.
She was safe and warm and earning a hefty wage.
It was true that, though she was in love with him, Slater wasn’t in love with her.
Yet to be near him, to linger in his company, it was the only place she longed to be.

Thus, having thought and pondered, having reevaluated her life and circumstances, Lark had chosen to find happiness instead of disappointment.
If the arrival of
Katherine
and her children meant change, then she would have to endure it.
She’d endured worse.
Still, the worst she’d endured didn’t have the potential to break her heart the way her current situation did.
But she was not deterred.
She would stay at the Evans ranch for as long as Slater and Tom would have her there.
And she would secret her love for Slater as if it w
ere
the most valuable treasure on earth and she had been called upon to protect it.

Therefore, as she watched Slater approach—as she watched his broad shoulders sway back and forth with the striking rhythm of his saunter—she forced a calmness to her expression and ignored the gripping pain of regret and longing in her heart.

“I hear it,” Tom said as Slater stepped up onto the boardwalk.

“Thank you,” Lark said.

He nodded and smiled at her a little.

“Listen,” Tom said as he leaned over and looked down the street.
“Here it comes.”

“Finally,” Slater mumbled
,
also leaning over to look down the street.

Lark didn’t look in the direction of the approaching stage.
She simply tried to steady her breathing and convince herself that all would be well.
Pulling the collar of her slicker more snuggly around her neck, she waited and listened to the approaching rumble of the horses and stage
,
her heart hammering louder and louder
,
her anxieties growing as quickly as the stage approached.

In a matter of seconds, the stage driver pulled the lines, halting the team of horses directly in front of the
g
eneral
s
tore.
Lark held her breath as the shotgun driver climbed down from the stage and opened the door.
She saw young faces at the window—the faces of children—wearing expressions of excitement mingled with fear.
Instantly, her heart ached for them. They’d lost their father
;
they’d been stripped from their home and everything familiar.

Lark forced a friendly smile
and
waved to a little boy who had his nose pressed up against the window as he stared out at her.

Katherine Thornquist was a beautiful woman!
Lark felt her mouth drop slightly agape as the stage driver offered her a hand
to help
her out of the stage.
She was small, like Lark, but had hair as bright as the sun and the bluest eyes Lark had ever seen.
Lark noted the red, puffy state of her nose and eyes.
She’d been crying.
Lark thought that she’d probably been crying since the death of her husband.
As Katherine stepped gracefully down from the stagecoach, new tears sprung to her eyes. Lark thought it incredible that a woman could still look so beautiful in such a state of agonizing emotion.