Weathered Too Young (48 page)

A moment later
,
five
United
States
m
arshals stepped into the house
,
guns drawn.

The lead
m
arshal looked to the dead outlaw on the floor.
“Would that be Samson Kane then?” he asked.

“Yep,” Slater said.

The
m
arshal looked to Slater, smiled
,
and offered a hand.

“Are you Marshal Evans?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“I’m mighty honored to meet you,” the man said.
“Legends ain’t easy to come by.”

“Thank you,” Slater said.
The other
m
arshals mumbled
their admiration as well, shaking Slater’s hand before going to inspect the dead outlaw.
Yet Slater never let go of Lark
,
keeping one arm at her waist
,
even for the blood from the wound at his arm.

“Johnny!” Katherine exclaimed as Johnny burst into the room then.

Lark wept as she watched Johnny embrace his mother
,
his sister
,
and
his
brother.

“I oughta skin you alive for runnin’ off like that!” Katherine scolded even as she kissed her boy over and over again.

“Looks like the world is finally rid of Samson Kane,” the lead
m
arshal said, smiling at Slater.
“The boy says you shot his partner too?”

Sl
ater nodded.
“I’ll point ya to
him…but I got me a couple of cowboys here that need some doctorin’.
I’ll see to my friends
,
or the boy can take one of you out to collect Chet Leigh.”

The
m
arshal glanced to Ralston
and
then Eldon.

“We’ll help ya haul these boys to town,”
the man said.

“I’d appreciate it.”

Tom chuckled, shaking his head as he studied the dead outlaw.
“Ol’ Matilda would have a fit if she seen the mess you made in here today,
Slater
,” he said.

Slater smiled and nodded.
“I don’t doubt it.
She’s probably rollin’ in her grave right this minute.”

Lark watched as the
m
arshals dragged
Sams
on Kane’s body out of the house—as they carried Ralston outside—as Katherine wrapped Eldon’s arm with her apron.

Slater reached up, ripping the sleeve from his shirt and using it to roughly bind his own wound.
Johnny sat on the floor, hugging Lizzy and Charlie.

Lark was astonished by the resilience of youth—by how quickly terror could be squelched when safety had returned.
Once the bod
ies
of Samson Kane and Grady were
moved
,
once Eldon and Ralston were bandaged and loaded in the wagon to head for town, Charlie and Lizzy and even Johnny lingered in sitting at the table with their mother.
They still trembled now and again—still needed Katherin
e
’s reassuring touch—yet their eyes were bright once more.
It seemed that the fear that had hung heavy over them for the past few days had vanished.
Slater had vanquished it by killing Samson Kane.
Brutal as the morning had been, the sun was bright
,
and fear was gone.

Lark
glanced
from where Katherine and the children sat at the table to where Slater and Tom
stood talking to the posse of
m
arshals.
She smiled when she saw that Slater was staring at her—his eyes smoldering with admiration and desire.

“You coulda got yerself killed, provokin’ Samson Kane like that,” he told her.
Lark smiled as she saw the residual fear in his eyes—the true and
boundless love there.
“You kne
w I’d come for you
.
I was in the other room and heard you provokin’ Kane.
W
hy did you take such a risk
when ya knew I’d come for ya
?”

Lark reached up and placed a hand to his cheek.
He was so handsome
.
Oh, how she loved him!
How thoroughly, wholly, and desperately she loved him!

“Because I
did know
you’d come for me…and that he’d try to kill you when
you
did,” she told him.

A deep moan sounded in Slater’s throat as he pulled Lark into his arms and kissed her.
Lark heard the
understanding chuckles of Tom
and the posse of
United States
m
arshals that were looking on
,
but she didn’t care
. S
he wasn’t shy or embarrassed.
In fact, she continued to return Slater’s delicious, impassioned kiss—returned it with full as much driven desire and vigor as
Slater
used in administering it.

It wasn’t until Lizzy
scolded
, “Shame on you, Uncle Slater!” that Lark smiled as Slater chuckled and pulled his mouth from hers.

“Let’s get the
se
cowboys
patched up and see to poor Grady,” he said.
He grimaced as he brushed Lark’s cheek with the back of h
is
hand.
“That boy gave his life for all of us.”
He looked to Tom.
“I think he deserves a place in the family cemetery…next to Matilda.”

“Yes
,
he does,” Tom said.
“Yes
,
he does.”

“In the meantime,” Slater began.

Lark’s body erupted with goose bumps as he put his lips to her ear and whispered, “
Are you gonna marry m
e today so I can keep you
in my bed tonight?”

Lark felt the blush rise to her cheeks—felt
a
mad rush of delight and desire fill her bosom.

“Uncle Slater!” Lizzy scolded again.
“What’re you sayin’ to make Miss Lark bl
ush so?
She’s as re
d as a tomata!”

Slater chuckled and looked to Lizzy.

“I’m just askin’ her if she’ll marry me today so that I can keep her in my
—”
he began.

Lark’s hand over his mouth silenced him, however, and he chuckled.

“Oh!” Lizzy squealed
,
clapping her hands together.
“Are you gonna marry him, Miss Lark?
Oh, please do!
I know it’s been an awful mornin’
—
I’m still shakin’
—
but
,
oh, do please marry him.”

Lark blushed
,
entirely aware of
the five
United States
m
arshal
s looking on
,
of Eldon Pickering
,
of Tom and Katherine and the children.

“Of course she’ll marry him,” Tom said, smiling.
“After all, it’
s why she came here…ain’t it?”

Lark blushed redder still
yet sighed with joy as Slater kissed her once more.

“Well?” he asked.

“Of course I’ll marry you,” she managed to answer.
“After all…it is why I came here, isn’t it?”

Slater laughed and gathered her into his arms.
“Yes
,
it is, baby
. Y
es
,
it is.”



Lark smiled—sighed with perfect joy and contentment as Slater kissed the back of her neck as she lay in his arms.

Running her hand gently over his bandaged arm
,
she asked, “How does it feel?”

“What?” he asked
,
pulling her body tightly against his and kissing the back of her neck once more.

“Your arm, silly,” she explained.
Slater was warm—oh, so warm—and in his arms, Lark felt more secure than she ever had in her entire life.

“Oh, that,” he said.
“I plum forgot about it.
It’s fine.”

Lark giggled and squirmed in his embrace until she lay facing him.

“You forgot about it?” she asked.
“How c
ould you forget about it?”

Slater shrugged his broad shoulders
and
buried a hand in her soft, loose hair.

“
You make me forget everything painful or unhappy,” he said.
He smiled.
“Right now…I could even forget that I’m a
beat
-
up ol’ lawman and you’re just a spring daffodil.”

“You’re a handsome lawman
,
and I’m plenty weathered to keep up with you,” she whispered, breaking into goose bumps as his hand caressed her shoulder.

“Oh, are ya now?” he teased.

“Yes,” she
giggled
.

His smile broadened.
“Well, then…how about you and me round up o
ur own herd and move up north a
ways…leave Tom, Katherine
,
and the ch
ildren to runnin’ this place?”

Lark smiled—yet simultaneously frowned.
Although she liked the idea of being alone with Slater—of being entirely secluded with her husband—she was worried about the others.
Slater
w
as their leader
,
the rope that tied them all together.
If
she selfishly stripped
him away, how would they manage?

“You’re not worried about every
one
else
?” she asked.

“I do…some,” he admitted.
“But Tom’s capable of runnin’ the ranch.
He can hire on more cowboys if he needs to.
All I know is I want you to myself…all t
o myself.
I’m tired of sharin’ your attention
.
I want you all to myself.
”

“I want you all to myself too,” Lark confessed as he kissed her.

“Then you’ll run away with me…up north to a place of our own, Mrs. Evans?” he asked.
His voice was low, alluring—entirely bewitching.
He owned her will
,
and Lark suspected he knew it.

“Of course,” she breathed against his mouth.
“After all…it is why I came here, isn’t it?”

Slater pulled her snugly against the powerful warmth of his body.
“Yes
,
it is, baby,” he mumbled as he kissed her.
“Yes
,
it is.”

Fifteen years ago
I wanted to send something special to one of my closest friends (Sandy) for her upcoming birthday.
Unable to think of any
sort
of
original
or clever gift to giv
e, I decided to write a story—a
story specifically written for
Sandy
.
I had been writing here and there for a
while
—one or two short stories a year
, which I would then
copy
to give as Christmas presents to
a very few close friends
and
family members
.
Yet
Sandy
had always been at the top of my list
to receive new stories—as well as being
my most encouraging friend when it came to
writing.
Therefore, I hoped she would
enjoy
a story
written just for her.

However, in true “Marcia” form, I had waited until the last minute to be hit by both the inspiratio
n to write a story for
Sandy
as well as
the actual idea for a story.
I had three small children, was in that crazy (but
most
beloved
and cherished
) “young mother with too many things to do” phase of my life, and couldn’t see how I coul
d possibly manage
to write a story for
Sandy
’s birthday.
Her birthday is March 7, you see—
and
I was hit with the inspiration
approximately
March 1
.
I’m not exaggerating.