Weathered Too Young (8 page)

“Dolly,” Lark
said, her
voice tranquil—soft.
“You’re very hurt, Dolly,” she cooed.
“Slater has to tend to you.
You won’t fight him
,
will you?
You’ll trust him to help you
. Y
ou’ll trust me.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Slater mumbled, frowning.

“I certainly hope not, Mr. Evans,” she said, smiling as she glanced to him.

She could see the astonishment still vivid on his face.
He was awed that she’d been able to so easily calm the horse.

He
grinned and
chuckled just a little.
“I hope not
too.”

Lark’s
own smile
broadened, for
she was somehow delighted that she’d managed to amuse him.

Slater looked to Dolly
then, slowly
stroked her neck as he said, “I’m gonna lead ya back toward the barn, Dolly.
We gotta tend to these wounds.
And once I’ve seen to you…I’m gonna ride out and find yer friend Tom…and see to him.”

Dolly whinnied, stomping several times as Slater pulled the rope over her head and around her neck.

“Dolly,” Lark whispered
,
“
y
ou can’t hear my voice if you fuss that way.”

Instantly, the horse
settled, pressing
its nose against Lark’s shoulder.

Gently, Lark stroked the horse’s
head and whispered
soothing words to it as Slater led it back toward the
barn.
“Will
she be al
l
right?” Lark asked as the horse nuzzled her shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Slater mumbled.
“Depends on whether or not she’ll let me tend to the damage.
She’ll need some stitchin’ up…and then there’s infection to worry about.”

“She’ll let you tend to her…won’t you, Dolly?” Lark whispered.
“I’ll stay with you while Slater patches you up.
You’ll let him work on you, Dolly.
You will.”

Once they were closer to the barn, Slater tied the rope
haltering
Dolly to a
post.
He
frowned as he looked to Lark
,
the intensity of his gaze causing her to feel uncomfortable.
Lark could’ve sworn he could see right through her skin—right through to her very bones.

“I’ve gotta see to her wounds,” he began, “and I ain’t t
o
o proud to say it’ll take both of us.
She might fight me a little
,
and if she does…you need to move fast.
She’ll break ya in two before ya know it if you’re not careful.”

Lark nodded and said, “I understand.”

Slater reached up and patted Dolly on one shoulder.
He removed his hat, tossing it onto a fencepost, and ran his fingers through his hair.

Lark smiled.
She
liked
the way the gesture exposed the true color of his hair—the dark beneath the sun-bleached gold.
He was a dangerously handsome man
. A
nd though it was an odd moment to wonder such a thing
,
she did wonder why he had never married.
Tom too, for that matter.
Surely there were women who would have the likes of Slater Evans for his appearance alone.
Why then had he never settled in?

“I’ll fetch a couple buckets of water
. W
e’ll have to clean her up good first,” Slater said.
He frowned, shaking his head.
“I told Tom to take
’
em both,” he mumbled.
He sighed and stroked Dolly’s mane.
“There now, Dolly,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing like a summer’s night.
“You’ll be fine.
I’ll see to that.”

Lark wondered how it felt—to be held in Slater Evans’
s
capable hands.
She fancied Dolly was soothed by his touch—hopeful at his words.

“I will not put her down…not Dolly…not without tryin’ everything else first,” he muttered to
himself
.
He glanced to Lark.
“Let’s get rid of the blood and see how bad she’s hurt.”

“Yes,” Lark whispered.

“Stay here…but be careful,” he ordered, wagging an index finger at her.

Lark
nodded and smiled
as Dolly nudged her arm.
She watched Slater reach into the barn and pick up two buckets waiting just inside the
door,
and
then
he
turned and sauntered away.
She thought for a moment of how much she liked the way his shoulders swayed as he walked—liked the way his sun-bleached, brown hair feathered a moment as the breeze caught it.

“He’ll take good care of you, Dolly,” she whispered, tenderly stroking the horse’s jaw.
“I’m not sure there are many people or things he values…but I can see that he cares for you.
You’re a lucky
girl.”

Dolly
puffed a heavy
breath, nodd
ing
in seeming
agreement.

Lark
smiled and whispered, “Oh, I see
. Y
ou are a woman, after all…and Mr. Slater Evans is handsome, isn’t he?”
Lark gently stroked Dolly’s neck.
“Handsome…and I think perhaps far more tenderhearted than he’d like us to know.”

“She healed up real good,” Tom said as he currycombed Dolly
,
“
n
o thanks to me.”

“She sure has,” Slater agreed as he hung the enormous harness on the barn wall.
“And she don’t seem to be holdin’ a grudge neither.”
He smiled at Tom
,
a reassuring smile that he didn’t hold a grudge either.
Slater knew Tom would never have taken Coaly out alone if he’d known it would have
distressed
Dolly the way it did.
Furthermore,
he
knew
that, even though Dolly’s wounds had healed nicely, Tom would never forgive himself.

Slater hunkered down, gently running a hand over the deep scar on Dolly’s left leg.
The wound at her chest had also healed
,
even better than he’d hoped.
It pained him to see the scars on the beautiful animal
,
but she was alive and well
,
and that’s what mattered.
His mind lingered a moment on the day over a month before—the day Dolly had run headlong into the barbed wire fence north of the barn.
In all his life he’d never seen a woman who had such a way with horses as Lark did.
Fact was, Dolly should’ve been mad with fear and pain—could’ve nearly stomped either he or Lark to a paste of bones and blood—but she didn’t.
It hadn’t been just luck that had found Lark able to calm the animal either.
The young woman Tom had hired on as housekeeper and cook had since proven her gift with horses was a constant one.
Not only had Lark calmed Dolly (and Dolly had grown quite attached to Lark because of it), but Slater’s teeth had nearly dropped clean out of his head when his own horse, Smokey, had taken to her like a kitten to milk.

“She’s lookin’ good, boss,” Eldon Pickering said as he approached.
Eldon hunkered down to inspect Dolly’s healed wounds.
“You done some mighty nice stitchin’ there.”

Slater grinned with satisfaction.
“Yep.
She’s healed real well.”

Eldon nodded, patted the horse on the neck
,
and the
n
asked, “Me and the boys was wonderin’ if it’s all right if we spend the evenin’ in town
.
”
Slater looked to him as he continued, “We got the rest of the brandin’ done…except for that new bull you come draggin’ home from Pete Walker’s place.”

“I swear, Slater,” Tom chuckled, shaking his head
,
“
y
ou already got that little bull from
Clifford Herschel awhile back…and ol’ Outlaw ain’t none too happy about it.
Why in tarnation did ya need this new one?
An
A
ngus at that?”

Slater shrugged.
“I don’t need him,” he mumbled.
“But you didn’t need them new boots ya bought last week neither.”

Tom chuckled, “Ya got me there, brother.”

Truth was, Slater had an eye for cattle—especially bulls.
He’d made a pretty penny by purchasing young bulls for a low price
and
then selling them as they matured, proving to be fine breeding stock.
Tom was right—the Evans
r
anch’s infamous sire bull Outlaw, a massive Hereford—more ornery than a cactus in summer—hadn’t taken too kindly to the young bull, Little Joe, Slater had acquired from Clifford Herschel.
Slater knew Outlaw was feeling his age
,
wary of any other young bull that might step too close to his territory.
Still, Little Joe was already showing promise.
Whether or not Slater chose to keep him, he knew Little Joe was worth three times what he’d laid down in purchase.
He figured the same was true of Pete Walker’s young Black Angus bull.
Some ranchers were still wary of
Scotland
’s Black Angus
,
yet Slater saw potential in the breed.
His gut told him there would be wisdom in breeding them
. T
hus, he’d purchased the black bull from Pete Walk
er.
His hopes were he’d manage
to talk Pete into selling him a couple of
A
ngus heifers
. T
hen he could have a try at breeding Black Angus as well as Herefords.

“So…whatcha think, boss?” Eldon asked, rattling Slater from his thoughts on cattle breeds.
“Is a night in town for the boys and me all right with you?
It is Saturday.”

“You know ya don’t have to ask my permission, Eldon,” Slater said.
“If things are done
’
round here
,
yer nights are yer own.”
He paused and glanced to Tom.
“Just don’t be bringin’ no trouble home with ya.”

“Oh, we won’t,” Eldon
chuckled.

Still,
Slater arched one eyebrow, remembering a Saturday night several months previous when the Evans
r
anch cowboys had gotten into a brawl over one of the girls at the saloon.
Slater and Tom had had quite a time talking Sheriff Gale into letting the boys come home instead of spending the night in jail.

“No trouble, boss,” Eldon assured him.
“Honest.”
Tom chuckled
,
and Eldon added, “Why don’t you boys come with us?
You ain’t seen a Saturday night in town in a month of Sundays.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to interest me in town,” Slater said, patting Dolly’s neck as he stood.
“But you oughta go, Tom.
It’ll do ya good.”

“Ol’ Tillman Pratt’s got a new actress workin’ at his drama house, Slater,” Eldon said.
“The boys over at the Herschel place say she’s mighty purty.
They
say she’s got a voice like a bird…and I know how ya like good singin’.
Why don’t you boys join us, boss?”

Slater did like a pretty voice and a sweet song now and then.
He figured it was probably because his and Tom’s mother had sung so pretty—and near to constantly.
It seemed Ada Evans always had a song on her lips, as well as in her heart.
Slater had a moment of mournful melancholy—of missing his mother.

Suddenly he was tired—tired of chopping wood, hauling hay and oats, mending fence—just plain
tired.
“What’re
you thinkin’, Tom?” he asked his brother.

“I think I could use a little pretty singin’…and a few hours spent somewhere besides the ranch,” Tom said.
“And I know you could.”

Slater nodded.
He was weary of choring
and
could use a little distraction.
He frowned
,
however
,
and asked, “What about Lark?
Should we be leavin’ her here alone?”

“Tillman Pratt’s theatre ain’t no place for a girl…but I ain’t quite sure we oughta leave her either,” Tom agreed.