Weathered Too Young by McClure Marcia Lynn

Author:McClure, Marcia Lynn [McClure, Marcia Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Distractions Ink
Published: 2010-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

Lark closed the door behind her as she entered her room. She was tired—it was true. Yet her mind was alive with thoughts, feelings—her heart still beating erratically, the result of Slater’s flirting. She closed her eyes and placed a hand to her forehead as her tired mind whirled.

She knew her face was still fiery with blushing. She wondered if her heart would even resume an even tempo. She was thrilled by Slater’s attentions—devastated by the fact that he cared so deeply for Katherine. Unexpectedly, even to herself, she burst into tears. Yet this was not sobbing—merely the quiet tears of fear, fatigue, and even strange delight.

Lark knew she’d grown too comfortable—too pleased with the life she’d come to know at the Evans ranch. She’d fallen too deeply in love with Slater. Furthermore, she sensed the life that she had enjoyed was all too abruptly coming to an end—or, at very least, about to change, dramatically.

Oh, certainly she’d always known a man like Slater Evans would have had many women in his past. Yet she’d somehow convinced herself that he was so single-minded to his work—to his cattle and horses—that no woman would ever breach his attention. Still, a mature, beautiful woman, recently touched by tragedy and looking as alluring as anything on earth, had now returned from Slater’s past—returned to be part of his future. Yes, Slater had flirted with Lark, but it could well have been he meant only to entertain Katherine.

Lark felt weary and discouraged. She knew better than to ponder such matters when she was in such a state of exhaustion. Her arms felt heavy as she reached around to work the buttons of her shirtwaist collar.

“Oh!” she gasped, suddenly remembering she’d left the small poetry book she’d purchased in the parlor. She knew reading a few pages before going to sleep would ease her mind into a more restful slumber.

Quietly, she opened the door and peered into the darkness. Across the way she could see the embers of the dying fire yet smoldered, for an inviting orange glow beckoned her. She paused, unable to remember if she’d heard Slater’s boots drop overhead. Every night she waited—waited to hear him settle, hear his boots thud to the floor. It was how she knew he was in bed—how she found her own peace in knowing he slept just above her. Had she heard them a moment ago? She thought she had.

Again she peered across the entry toward the parlor. She unlaced her boots and removed them, not wanting to disturb Katherine or the children.

Slipping out of her room, she made her way to the parlor. Lark marveled at how silent the house was, how the absence of voices and light caused the room to seem lonesome—a room that had been filled with life such a short time before. The book of favorite poems was resting on the edge of a small table, just where she’d left it.

As she reached for it, however, Slater’s voice from behind startled her.

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