Weathered Too Young (39 page)

“Samson Kane was in
jail
because of me,” he interrupted.
“I saw him kill a man…and I testified a
gainst him in a court of law.
I’m the man who
put him in
Yuma
p
rison.”

All at once, inexplicable relief washed through Lark
.
Her heart soared with joy and love.
Her joy in knowing her own past had tainted her assumptions where Slater’s behavior had been concerned—that he was no outlaw but rather a hero—only caused the love she secreted for him to surge to an overwhelming magnitude.

Lark smiled, brushing more tears from her cheeks—tears of happiness and relief.
She couldn’t speak
;
she was too beset with joy.

Still, Slater asked, “You thought I was an outlaw?”
He shook his head
,
and Lark did not miss the expression of hurt that crossed his features.
Instantly, she was regretful.
How could she have ever thought it?
She knew Slater was a good man.
Suddenly, she was as astonished that she’d ever considered the notion as Slater was.
Furthermore, she was disgusted with herself.
She’d known outlaws—been able to recognize them her entire life.
In that moment, she realized it was even how she knew to lie to Samson Kane when she met him beyond the pasture
. H
er experience-sharpened instinct had instantly known Samson Kane was outlaw.

“I-I’m sorry,” she began.
“I was so frightened…and nobody would tell me anything.
Tom only said Samson Kane was a shadow from your past…that you’d angered him somehow.
All I could think was that you’d betrayed him or something.
Why didn’t Tom tell me you’d testified against him?
Why didn’t he tell me that Samson Kane has come looking for
you for the sake of revenge?”

Slater said nothing at first.
“Because I told him not t
o tell you,” he said at last.
He shook his head in a matter of self-disgust.
“I told him not to.
Katie knows I don’t like to talk about my past…that I don’t like other folks talkin’ about it.
I…I can’t tell you why it bothers me so…
’
cause I don’t know why myself
. I
t just does
. I
t aggravates me
…and I don’t like to talk about it…especially about Samson Kane.”

“I understand,” Lark said—and truly, she did.
She didn’t like to talk about her past either
. O
nly she knew why—exactly why.

“It don’t make it right though…the way I run outta here,” he continued.
“Especially after you and me was…a minute before we were…”

“What were you going to say to me in the kitchen, Slater?” Lark inquired.
She had to know.
Even now, her heart was racing at the memory.
She’d been certain he was about to confess to caring for her in those moments before Tom and Katherine had returned with the children—in that moment before he’d remembered to ask her about the man she’d seen.

Slater grinned
,
though it was accompanied by an expression of defeat somehow.
“Fact was, I was gonna tell you about Samson Kane…about my past
,
where I’ve been
,
what I done before I finally come home and took to cattle ranchin’.”

Lark was disappointed.
She’d felt certain he’d meant to tell her more than that.
As she’d lingered in his arms in the kitchen, she’d been sure he was going to tell her he cared for her.

“Oh,” she breathed.
She felt as if the joy she’d known a moment before had been somehow sucked from her body—from her very soul.

“You best get
some sleep
, baby,” he said
, rising from his chair.
“You’ve had a long day of it.”
He strode toward her, hunkering down before the sofa and taking her hand in his.
He smiled at her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
“I mean…
lyin
’ to outlaws, pickin’ fights with cactus
…
”
His smile broadened as he added,
“
Kissin’ old men.”

Lark couldn’t help
but
smile as he winked at her.

“Not to mention thinkin’ you worked for a bandit…then faintin’ and all.”
Slater nodded.
“Yep…you put in a full day and then some.”
He released her hand and stood.
“Yep, you best get to yer bed.”

“What about you?” she asked.

Slater smiled
,
and Lark’s heart leapt as she saw the mischief in his eyes.

“Are you invitin’ me to come with ya?” he teased.

Lark giggled, delighted by his flirting.

“You know what I meant,” she said.

“Did I?” he asked.

“Yes
,
you did,” she giggled.

“Well, I’ve gotta keep watch a while,” he told her.
“Ol’ Samson Kane…he’s most likely gonna bide his time a
while…but I ain’t positive
. S
o I’ll just wait up a while.”

“But you’re tired,” she told him.
“You have to be.”

Slater shook his head.
“Naw.
My feathers are too ruffled for settlin’ down just now.
But I want you to get to yer room and get some sleep.”

He took her hand, pulling her to her feet.
“Come on,” he said,
picking up the lamp from the mante
l
and carrying it with him as he led
her to her bedroom.

Once inside her bedroom, Slater s
e
t the lamp on top of the small table just inside.

“I know you’re gonna think I’m a devil,” he began then, turning her to face away from him as he began to unfasten the buttons on the back of
her collar
, “but I really do need to take a look at yer arm.
Cactus needles don’t just hurt
. T
hey can cause a nasty infection.”

Lark pulled her braid to one shoulder as Slater continue
to work the buttons. He’d already unfastened the top two buttons of her collar
;
two more
and
the collar would be free. She could feel his fingers brush her skin
,
and it sent goose bumps blossoming along her arms.
Lark couldn’t keep the visions of her reoccurring dream of Slater from playing out in her mind.
After all, wasn’t it always the same?
In her dream, didn’t Slater always begin his seduction with the unfastening of her collar buttons?

“My sleeve is damp,” Lark said, finding her breathing was uneven.
“Katherine must’ve put a warm compress on it while I was unconscious.”

“Yep,” he said.

A slight gasp escaped Lark
as she felt
Slater’s
hands on her neck. His fingers
traveled slowly
, caressively,
over the exposed flesh at the top of her back—traveled forward and around until—until she felt him tenderly embrace her neck
between his strong hands. She began to tremble as he
gently pulled her
back against him.

Slater’s
hands slid beneath
the fabric of her shirtwaist at her shoulders.
Slowly he pushed the sleeves of her camisole from her shoulders—softly caressing them—sending waves of goose bumps to rippling over her arms.
Lark felt as if
she
would
again swoon—this time with delight—as she felt
his breath on the back of her neck
,
and she knew
Slater’
s mouth was close to her skin
. He didn’t touch her
—didn’t press his lips to the place, nor even brush his whiskery chin against her. Still
, the sensation
of delicious anticipation—the deep longing burning through her
,
her silent pleading with him to kiss her—was nearly
unbearable. His warm breath
continued to tease her tender flesh—his hovering in not quite
touching her
as he continued to unfasten the rest of the buttons of her shirtwaist
.

Once Slater had unfastened every button, he tucked one hand under her arm, gently pulling her wounded
limb
from her sleeve.

“It still hurts,” he mumbled
.
It was not a question.

“Yes,”
she whispered.

Carefully, he ran the palm of his hand over the wounded area of her arm.
His touch sent a wave of bliss shivering through her.

“Well, just have to keep an eye on it,” he mumbled.

He released her arm then as his
arms encircled
her waist
,
pulling
her
back against the firm contours of his body
. His breath
tickled
her neck just below he
r ear, and Lark closed her eyes—balled her hands
into
fists
in trying to keep from turning to kiss him.
She felt him softly blow on her neck—her shoulder.
He was t
easing
her—taunting her—and was near torturous!
At last, she felt the tender press of his kiss to her neck—felt his whiskers softly scratching her skin.

Another shiver traveled through her
,
and Slater chuckled.

“Why, you’re ticklish, ain’t
ya, Miss Lark,” he whispered.

Lark said nothing
,
for she couldn’t even begin to find her voice to speak.

He caressed the bareness of her shoulder with his whiskery cheek, sending another tremulous quiver through Lark—and she could longer resist him.

Turning in his arms
,
she sighed when she found he did not pause in pressing his mouth to hers.
Slater kissed her—deliciously kissed her—sending warmth and desire coursing through her body—sending love and hope in love being returned burning through her mind and heart.

Slater knew he could not be distracted by passion—by love.
Samson Kane was hiding somewhere
,
lurking in the shadows
,
waiting for Slater to lower his
defenses
.
He could not linger in savoring Lark’s kiss—the sense of her tender body in his arms
. N
o.
The sudden realization that Kane had been close to Lark—that he could have as easily killed her as to believe her lie—pulled Slater’s awareness even closer to the danger waiting in the dark.
Breaking the seal of their lips, he pulled Lark to him, reveling in the alluring scent of her hair—in the way she fit so perfectly against him.

For the first time in a long time, Slater Evans had something to fight for.
He wanted Lark—wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in all his life—and he wanted her because he loved her!
He could admit to himself—silently allow himself to hear the words over and over in his mind.
He loved Lark
,
and suddenly, he didn’t care that he was older than she was.
Suddenly, he knew he had more to offer than he’d thought.
He was older than she was, yes—weathered by life—but it didn’t matter
. F
or in that moment, something affirmed to him that Lark loved him.
In that moment
—
as all the events of the day
and
every moment of the past months
quickly traveled through his mind
—
Slater knew that he could make Lark happy
. H
e could!
She loved him
,
and
he realized then that her love had repaired a bit of the weathering caused by his past.
He loved her—and he would have her!
He would!
But he’d have to vanquish the threat of harm now threatened by Samson Kane.
Thus, he could not be distracted—not for one moment—not even by love.

Lark tightened her embrace of Slater
;
even for the pain in her arm she held him more tightly.
She thought how wonderful it would be to stay in his arms—to sleep in them—and she sighed as her cheek rested against the firmness of his chest.