Weathered Too Young (4 page)

By the time the sky was pink and orange with a tranquil sunset, a hearty beef stew and freshly baked rolls were waiting
,
warm
,
scenting the kitchen with a soothing, beckoning aroma. Lark hoped the meal was as good as it smelled—hoped the other tasks she’d been about, like tidying and freshening the house, were noticeable.

As she placed a mason jar filled with wildflowers in the center of the freshly polished kitchen table, she heard her new employers talking as they ascended the porch steps.
She s
miled, pleased
by the sound of their low, masculine voices.
It comforted her—caused her to feel safe—somehow protected.

As they entered, Tom drew a deep breath and smiled. “
Mmm-mmm
!” he hummed in exclamation.
“Smell that, big brother?
Heaven, that’s what it is. That’s the smell of
h
eaven.”
Tom sighed a sigh of contentment
,
and Lark smiled.
At least one of the Evans brothers was pleased.

Slater Evans remained silent and scowling.

“Smells good enough to eat, Miss Lark Lawrence,” Tom said, stepping into the kitchen.

“Well, I hope it tastes good enough to eat,” Lark said, nervously glancing to Slater.

Slater Evans’
s
scowl softened some
,
and he nodded a greeting.
Lark forced a friendly grin in return.

“Could be I’m a little tired of jerky and biscuits myself,” the menacing man muttered as he sat down at the table.

Lark puffed a breath of relief. She’d been afraid Slater Evans would still overrule his younger brother and send her away.

As the two weary-looking men sat at the table, Lark began, “Mr. Jacobson said you employ cowboys…but that they see to themselves.
I neglected to inquire after them before you left…so I went on Mr. Jacobson’s word and prepared just what I thought you would need.”

“We have four hands ridin’ for us,” Slater answered.
His dark eyes met her gaze
,
and Lark struggled to keep from glancing away.
After all, it was rude not to look at someone when they were addressing you—especially one’s employer.
“The boys see to themselves
,
and Eldon Pickering is a fine cook.
He sees to their meals,” he explained.
He shrugged his very broad shoulders, adding, “Anyway, they’re out roundin’ up right now.
They’ll be gone a couple more days, I suspect.”

“Oh, good,” Lark sighed.
“I was afraid I hadn’t prepared enough.”

Quickly, she went to the stove and ladled stew onto two plates.
She’d placed a pat of butter on a roll—and then another—and added the warm bread to the plates.

“Here you go, gentlemen,” she said, placing the plates on the table—one in front of Tom and one before his brother.
“I hope it appeals to you.”

She smiled, feeling more hopeful as the faces of both men brightened.
The stew would be good—she knew it would—and both Tom and Slater would want nothing more to do with jerky and hard biscuits once they’d tasted the stew and soft, warm rolls.

Tom glanced up to her as she stood beside the table.
Smiling, he said, “Sit down, Miss Lark. You must be starvin’ to death.”

Lark shook her head. “Oh no
,
I couldn’t. I’ll wait until you’ve both finished.”

Both men looked to one another
and
then to her with sincerely bewildered expressions.

“You’re
funnin’ with us,” Slater said, glaring at her with doubt.

“Well, no. I thought I should wait until you’ve finished and clear things away before
…
” she began.

“Oh, for cryin’ in the bucket,” Slater said, shaking his head.
“Where you from
,
girl?” Slater chuckled.

“East,” Lark answered.

“East?” Slater asked.
“Well, don’t folks
east
sit down to their supper all at once?”
He shook his head once more and said, “Now, get yerself a plate and sit down with us, girl. We’re just two ol’ cowboys.
And we don’t have the patience to be treated no different.”

Lark looked to Tom for reassurance.
He smiled.

“What are you lookin’ at him for?” Slater asked, however.
“I live here as much as Tom does
. Y
a don’t have to look to him for everything.”

“Well, ya scared her clean outta her corset, Slater,” Tom scolded, grinning.
“Ya make out you’re such an ol’ grump.”

“I am an old grump,” Slater said.
He looked to Lark again.
“I said to get yerself a plate and sit down with us, girl’,” Slater reminded.

“Don’t mind Slater, honey,” Tom
said, yet
he nodded at her to do as Slater instructed.
“He’s a might better with cattle and horses than he is with people these days.”

Lark nodded and turned to retrieve another plate from the cupboard.

“Honey?” she heard Slater ask his brother.
“She ain’t even been here a day
,
and already you’re callin’ her honey?”

“What of it?” Tom asked.

“Well, I never heard ya call Matilda
‘
honey,
’
” Slater said.

Lark ladled stew onto a plate for herself.
She placed a pat of butter on a roll and returned to the
table.
When
she looked at him, Slater nodded his
approval, even
for the lingering scowl on his handsome brow.

“I think you oughta be the one to give thanks this evenin’, Slater,” Tom said.

Slater scowled at his
brother.
He
looked to Lark and mumbled, “Tom always thinks I’m more in need of talkin’ to the Lord than
him
.
Thinks he’s already got his place in
h
eaven and that I’m still a long way off from earnin’ mine.”

“You said it…not me,” Tom said as he offered a hand to Lark.

Lark placed her right hand in Tom’s palm, smiling as she saw him reach across the table and take Slater’s hand.
She startled, however, when she felt Slater take her left hand.
Tom let her hand lay easily in his palm.
Yet Slater’s grip was firm.

As Tom and Slater closed their eyes, Lark closed hers
,
bowing her head with respect.

“Dear Lord,” Slater began, “thank ya for this fine day…for the hard work me and Tom done.
Thank ya for talkin’ Clifford Herschel into sellin’ me his little bull…”

Lark nearly giggled out loud.
She couldn’t help opening her eyes just a bit to glance to Slater.
He wore a
frown, as
usual, and
seemed sincere in his prayer.
She looked to Tom, however, to see him
grinning, as
usual—his shoulders bouncing with a barely withheld chuckle.

Slater continued, “Thank ya, Lord
,
for this house and ranch…for the good boys me and Tom got cowboyin’ for us.
Thank ya for this food…and it does smell good, Lord…so I suppose I oughta be thankin’ ya for the girl too
. T
hank you for dumpin’ this little wounded sparrow on Tom’s side of the porch so that he can have somebody to call honey and so I don’t have to keep makin’ biscuits.”

Lark heard a low chuckle escaped Tom and bit her own lip to keep from laughing—for she had the feeling that Slater Evans was entirely sincere in his offered prayer—at least, mostly.

“Thank ya for the good
e
arth, the sun, the moon
,
and the stars, Lord,” Slater continued.
“And for them lilacs we had last spring
. T
hey sure were nice.
Amen.”

“Amen,” Lark
managed, though
Tom chuckled the closing word.

As the men released her hands, Lark opened her eyes.

“I forgot to mention,” Tom began, winking at Lark, “that ya might want to keep yer distance when Slater’s prayin’.
Ya never know when he might be struck by lightning…and ya don’t want it to swallow you up when it does.”

“I pray just fine,” Slater said.

Lark held her breath as she watched him pick up the spoon she’d previously set on the table and tentatively tasted the stew.
Already she knew the Evans brothers well enough that her stew could taste like mud and Tom wouldn’t say a word.
But she wasn’t so certain it would be easy to please Slater.

“Mmm!” Slater said,
however, his
frown finally fading.
“It’s good,” he added
,
nodding to
Lark and
smiling.

It was the first time Lark had seen a smile break his
face
,
and
it was fascinating! At first sight, she’d thought him a very handsome man—even for his scowling and grumbling. But with a smile donning his
face, he
was truly extraordinary!

Lark
sighed, relieved, and
watched as Tom plunged his own spoon into the stew.

He too nodded and
smiled, pleased
with the flavors of the meal placed before
him.
“Matilda
never done stew this good,” Tom said.

“No indeed,” Slater agreed.
He looked to Lark and smiled once more.
“It’s a fine meal, girl.
A fine meal.”

“Thank you, Mr. Evans,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“My
name’s Slater
,” he said, pulling apart the buttered roll and biting into one half.

“Yes, sir,” Lark said, nodding.

“Sir?”
He was frowning at her again.
“How old do think I am, girl?”

“Well, yer actin’ like you’re old enough to be her granddaddy,” Tom teased.

“Well, I am old
.
I’m at least old enough to be her daddy,” Slater grumbled.

“Slater, you’re thirty…and that ain’t old
. A
nd it certainly ain’t old enough to be her daddy,” Tom chuckled. He turned to Lark. “Thirty…that ain’t old
,
is it, honey?”

Slater answered for her. “Shoot, Tom
…
twenty-five is old to a young thing like her. Ain’t that right, baby?”

It was the way he’d said the word
baby
,
not as if he meant to point out her
youth but
rather as an endearment—similar to his brother referring to her as honey.
It made Lark uncomfortable—because she liked it!

“I have to agree with your brother, Mr. Evans,” she somehow managed to answer.
“Thirty isn’t old.”
He grinned at her as he chewed his bite of bread
,
and it gave her courage.
In that moment, she began to
understand
,
and
she would let him know that she did.
“You’re not fooling me with your decrepit old
-
man behavior, sir.”

Tom
chuckled and broke
full into
laughter.
“She’s
got you spiked, brother Slater,” he laughed.
“Tarred, feathered
,
and nailed to the barn door!”

Though he still wore a slight grin on his handsome face as he studied her, Slater mumbled, “Leastways I’m outta diapers.”

Lark felt her own smile broaden.
She liked the two men—the Evans brothers. They were kind
,
and she sensed they would prove to be very entertaining.
Furthermore, it seemed as if her stew had ensured that she would be sleeping in a nice warm bed all winter. That in itself was worth smiling about.

The two men ate several helpings of stew and rolls
,
all the while complimenting Lark on having prepared such a fine meal.
They talked of other things as well—the new bull Slater had managed to purchase from a man named Clifford Herschel, the south fence that needed mending
.
Tom even mentioned a girl named Ella May.
Apparently she was growing up.
He’d seen
her out
at her daddy’s place
,
and she was turning into a fine
-
looking young woman.
Both men talked about remembering when she’d been born—thus mused over their own aging awhile.