Weathered Too Young Read Free

heart. If Hadley Jacobson was so kind and helpful , perhaps there were others nearby who were as well.
    As Hadley talked and drove the team, Lark listened. His voice was comforting—so comforting that she was almost sad when he pulled the team in before a sturdy-looking, two-story ranch house. There was a barn a short distance off and another building beyond that—perhaps the bunkhouse.
    “Here we are. That there’s the Evans es ’ place,” Hadley said, nodding toward the ranch house. He turned to Lark and grinned. The sudden frown of panic that Lark felt puckering her brow caused Hadley to chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he said, hopping down from the wagon. “I know Tom Evans . H e couldn’t turn away a stray three-legged dog…let alone a purty little filly like yerself.”
    Lark smoothed her worn skirt and gripped the weathered handle of the carpetbag. Hadley offered a hand and assisted her to climb down as well.
    “Now, you just run on up there to that house and ask to talk to Tom. I’ll wait here for ya,” he said, “in case ya need a ride somewheres else.” He took the carpetbag from her , adding, “I’ll keep this safe for ya ’ til yer sure you’ll be stayin’.”
    Gulping down the large lump of trepidation in her throat, Lark nodded to Hadley and started toward the house. The nervous quivering in her stomach was almost unbearable! Still, she somehow managed to climb the squeaky steps leading to the porch and front door.
    Lark drew a deep breath, tucked a limp strand of hair behind her ear, smoothed her skirt once more , and puffed out a frightened sigh. Raising a trembling hand, she knocked on the door. When no one opened the door or called to her from behind it, she glanced back to Hadley.
    The handsome young cowboy stood leaning up against the wagon that had carried her to the place. He smiled and nodded to her. “Go on,” he mouthed, motioning for her to try again.
    Biting her lip, Lark knocked again. She wasn’t at first certain whether to be relieved or terrified when she then heard heavy footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. The pace of her already rapidly beating heart quickened. As the door swung open, a low, irritated grumble resonated out onto the soft late - summer breeze. Lark gulped again as she lifted her gaze to see a scowling , very angry-looking man glaring down at her. Obviously annoyed, the large man pulled up one suspender strap that had been hanging loosely from his waist, pushing it into place over a broad shoulder and bare torso. He repeated the action with his other suspender strap—all the while still glaring at Lark.
    Lark was so stunned by his appearance, any words or utterance w ere momentarily lost to her. The man was several days unshaven yet clean. He was tall with hair that appeared fair at first glance. Yet Lark quickly realized his hair only appeared fair , for his whisker growth was dark. In addition, as he tipped his head to further consider her , his hair moved, revealing that it was indeed brown beneath the top sun-bleached layer. His eyes were a deep, dark, rather dusky shade of brown that pierced with clear disapproval. He clenched a firm, square jaw tightly , and there was a rather weathered look about him—as if the sun had parched his spirit or sleep had thoroughly abandoned him. Still, even with the deep frown puckering his brow , Lark was stuck by his being so handsome. He was older than she—much older—and this only served to further intimidate her.
    She swallowed, still unable to speak.
    “Who in the hell are you?” he growled, clearly having lost patience with waiting for her to explain herself.
    “I-I’m sorry to disturb you, sir . I was hoping to speak with Tom Evans. Is … is he at home?” she choked at last, trying to portray some sort of confidence.
    The man’s frown intensified , and he rolled his eyes in a gesture of annoyance. “Tom. Tom! Get your lily-white…get in here! There’s a…someone askin’ after