Slater shook his head. “Eddie Dean Wakley robbed trains and banks, Lark,” he said. “He murdered people…but he didn’t torture ’em first. He wasn’t the monster Samson Kane is.”
He studied her a moment, and she brushed more tears from her cheeks. He wasn’t glaring at her—wasn’t looking at her with an expression of revulsion the way she’d expected him to.
“Did you really think I’d care about it…about your daddy bein’ an outlaw?” he asked. Through her tears, she thought Slater looked almost wounded.
“Don’t you?” she asked.
“No,” he breathed.
Lark buried her face in her hands, sobbing with relief. It couldn’t be true! Surely it couldn’t be! This was the man who had hunted her father down, taken him to prison. How could he not care that she was an outlaw’s daughter?
Still, as she felt his hands on her shoulders—as she looked up to see him hunkered down before her—the truth did begin to pierce her heart. He didn’t care! She could see it in his eyes.
“Do you care that I’m an ol’ law dog?” he asked. “I mean, I did put your daddy in the prison that killed him.”
Lark shook her head. “I told you,” she whispered, “my mama and I thanked God for you…every night.” She smiled at him as he brushed the tears from her cheeks with the back of one hand. “I guess you’re feeling pretty foolish about now,” she said.
“Well, I’m always feelin’ foolish in one way or the other,” he chuckled. “But why do you say it?”
Lark smiled. “Because you were worried over me finding out about your past,” she said.
Slater sank to his knees, gathering Lark into his arms as he laughed. He chuckled.
“Is that what you were going to tell me yesterday, Slater?” she whispered, letting her forehead rest against his neck as he held her. “You were going to tell me the truth, weren’t you? About who you really are?”
“I was gonna tell you the truth about somethin’ anyway,” he said, kissing the top of her head. He was so warm—so strong. She heard him chuckle again.
“What has you so amused?” she asked.
“It kinda reminds me of some of them tales ya hear that ya know somebody just made up,” he said. “A United States marshal…fallin’ for the daughter of an outlaw he once rode down? Who’s gonna believe that?”
Lark pulled herself from his arms, studied his face a moment. What was he saying? Was he confessing his feelings for her at last? He smiled, cupping her chin in his hand.
“Yes, Lark,” he said, grinning at her. “I have fallen for an outlaw’s daughter.”
“H-how fallen are you?” she asked.
“Well, we’ll talk about that later,” he said. “If I start talkin’ about it now…well, let’s just say I got an outlaw to be wary of.” He smiled, placed a soft kiss to her lips, and whispered, “And so do you…’cause you do bring out the scoundrel in me, Miss Lark.”
Lark smiled and whispered, “Y-you really don’t care who I am?”
“Of course I care who you are, baby,” he whispered against her mouth. “I just don’t care who your daddy was.”
Oh, his kiss was the flavor of paradise! Heated and driven, Slater’s kiss sealed Lark’s hopes. He loved her! She recognized it now—recognized the consuming love his kiss conveyed to her soul! He pushed her back in the straw pile as his mouth endeavored to consume the passion of hers.
All at once, however, he pulled away from her, pulling her to her feet in the same motion.
“This ain’t safe for you,” he mumbled. “And not just because there’s an outlaw roamin’,” he added. The mischievous smile she so adored accompanied a playful wink. Kissing her hard on the mouth once more, he picked up her carpetbag, taking hold of her hand and leading her from the barn.
“Will it be tonight?” Johnny asked as everyone sat at the table for supper.
Katherine and Lark had fed a nice supper to Eldon, Grady, and Ralston while Slater and Tom kept watch from the front and back porches of the house. Now the cowboys took their watch while Slater and Tom had a meal.
Slater shrugged as he chewed a bite of his supper.
“I don’t know, Johnny,” he said. “Ol’ Samson…he’s either hidin’ like a rat or strikin’ like a snake.” He looked at Johnny, adding, “But don’t worry. We’ll be rid of him soon enough.”
“Who is Samson Kane, Uncle Slater?” Charlie asked then. “And why does he want to kill you?”
“Hush now, Charlie. We don’t need to talk about it now,” Katherine said.
Yet Slater looked up from his meal.
“Secrets…it ain’t good to keep some of ’em, Charlie,” Slater said. “Most of ’em probably.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I reckon it’s about time I quit ignorin’ where I been. After all, it made me who I am.” He glanced to Lark and smiled. “And I guess maybe that’s a good thing.”
Lark smiled. Indeed it was a good thing. Whatever happened to make Slater the man she loved—whether it was birth, experience, or both—it was a good thing.
“Well,” Slater began, “me and my daddy didn’t get along together most of the time, Charlie. My mama always said it was because we were too much alike.”
“Amen,” Tom mumbled.
Katherine nudged Tom with one elbow, quietly scolding him.
Slater grinned and continued, “I wanted to be my own man…wanted to see the whole of this great country of ours. I wanted to ride free in the open, herd cattle, and sleep out under the stars. So when I was near to Johnny’s age…a might older…I left. I was big for my age and pretty full of myself too. So I hired on to cowboy for a rancher who was drivin’ a herd out to Texas.” The children were entranced—and so was Lark. She’d wondered about Slater Evans from the moment she’d met him—wondered about his past and why he felt so weathered.
“I cowboyed for near to five years. Then one day, a band of rustlin’ outlaws scattered the herd I was helpin’ drive. They killed six of my good friends. I won’t go into it all now, but I ended up a deputy in a little ol’ town in south Texas. I had me a reputation soon enough, and to cut into the meat, by the time I was twenty-one, I was United States Marshal William S. Evans.”
Slater smiled at Lark, his eyes smoldering with emotion.
He loves me, she thought.
The children were completely enthralled, and Slater continued, “I took down a good many outlaws…real bad men, some of ’em. The governor of Texas even give me a set of pistols for bringin’ in a bad hombre named Samson Kane.”
“Samson Kane?” Charlie asked, his eyes as wide as supper plates.
“Yep,” Slater said. “Samson Kane was about the worst I ever run into. Killed folks, scalped Indians, robbed banks—you name it…he done it. He went by Samson ’cause he never cut his hair. He let it grow all long and straggly…then braided it like a woman.
“Well, one time me and old Samson had a go-around. I’d seen him kill a deputy down in El Paso, and when I caught up to him…well, we did go around, using fists and feet and whatever else was handy. Now, ol’ Samson carried himself a big knife…an Arkansas toothpick, they call it. Sailors use ’em a lot…wear ’em in a holster on their back. But not Samson Kane…nope. He sheathes his at his leg…his thigh, opposite his pistol. Anyway, me and Samson was goin’ around, and he up and pulls this knife…starts pokin’ it at me. I can’t even recollect how, but somehow, I got hold of the knife and gave him a sting he won’t soon forget…right across his face like this.” Lark watched as Slater indicated the place on his face where Samson was scarred.
“You gave him the scar?” Lark asked.
“Yep,” Slater said, shaking his head. “I suppose that’s another reason he don’t care too much for me.”
Johnny chuckled—silencing his momentary amusement when his mother glanced at him with disapproval.
“Samson Kane was madder than a hornet…but bleedin’ and hurt enough he couldn’t go ’round with me much after that. So I dr
ug him off to the county jail, and the doc in town stitched him up. I testified in court to what I’d seen him do—to the murder of the deputy. Then I drug his sorry hind end to Yuma. They locked him up, and I went on my way.”
“But this ain’t the first time Samson Kane’s escaped from Yuma, now is it, Slater?” Tom urged, nodding at his brother.
“No,” Slater admitted. He inhaled a deep breath, exhaled, and said, “A couple years later, I’m ridin’ along mindin’ my own…and I hear a voice behind me say, ‘Yer done fer, Marshal Evans.’ I drew my gun and turned, but I heard gunfire before I’d pulled my trigger. The bullet grazed my head just here.” Slater turned his head and parted his hair on the left side of his head with his fingers to reveal a thick scar. “The graze to my head dizzied me up a bit, and before I got myself straight, ol’ Samson Kane shot me again…here…in the shoulder.”
Slater unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it aside to show the children the scar at the front of his shoulder.
“It’s worse at the back,” Lizzy said. “I seen it one day when you were bathin’.”
“Lizzy!” Katherine exclaimed.
“Did ya now?” Slater chuckled.
“But how did you get him back to Yuma?” Johnny asked.
“Shot him in the leg,” Slater said. “And when he fell off his horse, I kicked him the gut and beat the sense out of him…tied him up, tossed him over his horse, and took him back.”
“Why didn’t they hang him?” Johnny asked.
Slater shook his head. “I don’t know. They were supposed to.” He paused, chuckling to himself. “Now I’m thinkin’ I shoulda made sure they did…or else hung him myself when I had the chance.”
“Well, I think that’s just about enough talk of outlaws and shootin’,” Katherine said. “It’s late, and you children need to be gettin’ to bed.”
“Aw, Mama,” Charlie whined. “I wanna stay up and hear more about cowboys and outlaws and such.”
“And that’s exactly why you need to get to bed,” Katherine sighed, rolling her eyes with exasperation.
“You’re not gonna get upset and run off again, are ya, Miss Lark?” Lizzy asked.
Lark blushed. “No, Lizzy,” she said. “I’m fine now.” She looked to see Slater smiling at her. He winked, and she said, “I’m just fine.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“It was Chet Leigh’s horse we seen out there, Slater,” Tom said. “He was pretty far off…but there ain’t no mistakin’ that strawberry roan he rides.”
“And ol’ Outlaw ain’t nowhere to be seen,” Eldon added. “Little Joe neither…though Chet must naughta had time to let loose the Angus bull. Sue’s right where we left him last night.”
“Well, it ain’t coincidence,” Slater grumbled. “Chet Leigh ain’t gonna just show up one mornin’ to cause trouble…not without help. He’s too yellow for that. Nope…he met up with Samson Kane somewhere. That idiot cowboy is ridin’ with that dirty outlaw.”
“Chet’s from Texas, Slater,” Tom reminded his brother. “He knew who you was. He probably heard Samson Kane askin’ around about ya somewhere between here and Yuma.”
Though the men conversed in lowered voices, the quiet of early morning somehow made their conversation more discernable. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. Lark had risen from her bed, dressed, and was preparing to start breakfast when she heard Slater, Tom, and Eldon’s discussion. Now she stood just outside the kitchen, listening as the men sat at the table talking. Tom and Eldon had been out that morning searching for any evidence that Samson Kane might be lingering nearby. From what Lark had heard so far, it sounded as if Samson Kane now had some assistance with his vengeful intentions—Chet Leigh. Lark thought of the last time she’d seen Chet Leigh, and her hand involuntarily moved to her cheek at the memory. The swelling and bruising Chet’s attack had left on her face were long gone, but the horrible recollection of his abuse would never leave.
Still, even for the frightening memories she now possessed of both Chet Leigh and Samson Kane, it was Slater she was worried about. No doubt Chet hated Slater for beating him senseless and sending him away. He’d probably relish the chance to beat Slater senseless in return. Furthermore, she already knew what Samson Kane’s intentions toward Slater were. After all, the outlaw had tried to kill him before. It was unlikely his plans had changed. The thoughts of what either villain would do to Slater if they caught him off guard sent a tremor of terror shooting through her. Why couldn’t Samson Kane have died in prison the way her father had? Why couldn’t Chet Leigh just have ridden away and never looked back?
Weary of eavesdropping, for she wanted to know every detail of what the cowboys had discovered, Lark stepped into the kitchen.
Slater looked to her, and her heart leapt as he smiled. Even the danger lurking in the lingering dark hours of morning couldn’t dampen the sheer elation she felt at seeing his smile, for it reminded her that he loved her—that he’d fallen for her.
“Samson Kane and Chet Leigh…what will they do?” she asked.
“Cause trouble,” Slater answered.
“Ol’ Outlaw is gone…and Little Joe too,” Eldon offered. “It was Chet who let ’em out. Ain’t a doubt in my mind.”
“They’re tryin’ to draw us out,” Tom explained. “They know how important them bulls are…and they’re hopin’ some of us will ride out to try and round ’em up.”
A sudden vision of Samson Kane’s vile, malicious smile crossed Lark’s mind, and she winced at the sickened sensation the image left in her stomach.
“Will you ride out to round them up?” Lark asked.
“No,” Slater mumbled. “Samson Kane ain’t too good with a gun, but Chet Leigh is. And both of ’em are such cowards they’d try to shoot us from a distance instead of facin’ us like men.” He glanced to Eldon and added, “And any of you boys are fools to think Chet won’t pick you off just because he used to ride with ya. Once a man turns to outlawin’…he don’t usually look back.”
“Well, we can’t just sit here and do nothin’, boss,” Eldon grumbled. “We can’t just sit on our fannies and wait. Can we?”
“Not for too long, no,” Slater said. “But there oughta be a posse of marshals here by tomorrow mornin’. Once I sent that telegram requestin’ reinstatement…well, they know Kane’s here now, and they’ll come for him.”
Tom chuckled. He shook his head, having been amused by something or someone.
“And what’s so funny?” Slater asked, frowning with disapproval.
“I just never thought I’d see the day when you’d be willin’ to wait somethin’ like this out, that’s all,” Tom answered.
“We got women and children here now,” Slater said. “You know that, Tom. We can’t risk a shootout…not when they can see us and we can’t see them.”
Tom nodded. “Oh, I know it. I do know it,” he said. “I was just admirin’ yer patience…since you didn’t seem to be born with too much of that particular virtue in the first place.”
“I got me plenty of other virtues, little brother,” Slater said. He glanced to Lark, winking at her. “Just ask Lark. Ain’t I got plenty of virtues, baby?”
Before Lark could answer, however, Tom said, “Bein’ good at kissin’ ain’t a virtue, Slater.” Eldon chuckled, and Lark blushed.
Slater nodded and said, “Maybe so…but the way I keep from draggin’ Lark on upstairs with me every night…now that is.” He looked to Lark and added, “Ain’t that right?”
The rifle report startled everyone. Instantly the men were on their feet, the rifles they’d each had setting on their laps at the ready.
“Grady! Hey there, Grady,” Slater called through the kitchen window, standing slightly ajar.
“It ain’t me, boss!” Grady answered from his post on the front porch.
Another shot rang out, and Lark heard something fall against the back door.
“It’s Ralston,” Tom said.
“Eldon…watch the front of the house from the w
indow,” Slater ordered Eldon. He looked to Lark then, pointed an index finger at her, and said, “You stay here.”
Lark nodded, though a wave of terror washed over her.
“Ralston?” Tom called as another gunshot echoed through the still morning air. “You all right, Ralston?”
Slater and Tom hurried toward the back of the house.
“Get the children to the kitchen, Kate,” Lark heard Slater order. “Sit ’em down under the table so they don’t give as good a target.”
“But, Uncle Slater,” Charlie began, “Johnny ain’t with me. He left a while ago. I saw him climb out the window…but he didn’t know I saw him.”
“What?” Slater exclaimed.
“Johnny!” Katherine cried.
Lark startled as another shot reported, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass.
Katherine and the children screamed and hurried into the kitchen.
“Get under the table!” Katherine told Lark as she and the children dropped to their knees.
Pushing chairs out of the way, Lark and Katherine huddled under the table with Lizzy and Charlie.
“Oh, Johnny!” Katherine cried, shaking her head. “What on earth was he thinkin’?”
Lizzy and Charlie were sobbing. Tears welled in Lark’s eyes as well—made even more profuse by the unpleasant memories that came flooding back to her in that moment. Suddenly she saw herself as a child—felt herself wrapped in the protection of her mother’s arms—closed her eyes and envisioned a time when she and her mother had huddled under a table for safety as her father exchanged gunfire with a lawman. Her father had gunned down the lawman. Lark could still see the life fading from his eyes as her father stood over him—as he, Eddie Dean Wakley, taunted the old sheriff as the dying lawman drew his last breath.
“Lark…Lark!”
Lark opened her eyes to see Slater hunkered down before her.
“Ralston’s been shot,” he said, drawing her thoughts back to the present. “If we drag him in here, will ya see what you can do for him?”
“O-of course,” Lark said. “Of course.” She started to crawl out from beneath the table, but Slater shook his head.
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