A Taste of Heaven (22 page)

“You're a pretty amazing woman, Libby Ross.
You're braver than a lot of people I know.”

She tried to give him a wobbly smile in
return, but she couldn't completely suppress the tears that
threatened. Turning away from him, she dashed a hand across her
cheeks. It was her brave front more than anything that went
straight to Tyler's heart.

He took the cup out of her hand and put his
own down with it, then pulled her into his embrace. Bundled up in
his blanket like that, she reminded him of a child. With her
forehead resting against his jaw, he couldn't see her face. But her
hair, drying on the ends, fell in soft unruly waves over her
shoulders, highlighted here and there with lambent light. It
smelled like rain and vanilla. He could feel her tension, though,
as she leaned against him. She sniffled a couple of times.

In the last few years, he'd had more practice
soothing upset horses than upset women, but in his experience, what
worked for one worked for the other.

“Come on, darlin', hush now. It's all right,”
he intoned as he rocked her little and rubbed her back. “You're
safe. You're not alone.”

Libby couldn't ignore the solace in Tyler's
embrace. He was warm and strong, a reassuring presence in the cold
darkness of the night. She knew she should resist the comfort, but
dear God, it was so difficult.

That was how Wesley had gained her trust—by
appearing to care. By making her feel like a duchess instead of a
domestic. Until that nightmarish August night when, on top of the
raging humiliation of being discovered in his bedroom, she'd
learned that “Mr. Wesley” was to be married in a month's time to
the daughter of a prominent Chicago family—

But this man holding her in his arms was not
Wesley Brandauer. This was Tyler Hollins, a plainspoken man. A man
she sensed might be carrying a heart full of regret, too. Under the
gentle strokes of his hand on her back, she felt her tight muscles
begin to loosen. His murmured words next to her ear were
reassuring. She wasn't sure what to make of this new unsuspected
side of him, but she liked it. Very much. So when his hand slid
from her back up to her jaw, as though he'd willed her to do so,
she tilted her head and received his kiss.

Instantly a fierce heat sprang up between
them. His lips were lush, warm, thrilling. The stubble from his
beard rasped softly against her chin. She nestled closer to him,
and immediately he deepened the kiss. He tightened his arm around
her and she felt a vital, restless urgency throbbing in him and in
herself. His breathing grew heavier and her own heart beat like a
rabbit's. She told herself to resist, to end this now, but her body
refused to obey.

The instant their lips touched, a fiery jolt
zig-zagged through Tyler’s body. His arousal was swift and sharp.
Libby's mouth under his was soft, yielding. Her delicate fragrance
filled his head and he heard the low, anguished groan that came
from his own throat.

Such a simple thing, a kiss. But it had been
so long since he'd tasted one, to him it felt like his first—as if
he were a kid again, as if this were the kiss he'd always waited
for. Gently, he touched his tongue to her upper lip, then her
lower. He was pleased to feel her quick inhale. Her hand emerged
from the folds of the blanket to press flat against his chest, just
over the place where his heart thundered. He reached up and quickly
unbuttoned his shirt halfway down, then tucked her hand inside and
held it against his bare skin.

“Tyler,” she whispered, and another chink
opened in his ice-bound spirit.

He pulled back to look at her, beautiful and
fragile in the lantern light, and he knew this was what he'd wanted
to do since the first morning he saw her. Greedily he drew her to
him and took her lips again. The inside of her mouth was hot and
slick, and an intense desire burned in him to lay her down on a
pile of blankets. To shelter her with his body and press kisses on
her smooth, naked skin, while he pulled her hips to his to surround
himself with her warmth. And afterward, to sleep with his head on
her breast while the rain poured down around them—

No. He couldn't do that. He wouldn't be able
to share that with her, then put her on a train in Miles City. That
one fact brought him crashing back to the present.

Tyler swiftly kissed her forehead and cheek.
“We'd better get some sleep, Libby. Morning will be here sooner
than we want.” He shifted slightly, trying to ease the throbbing
ache in his groin, and tucked her against his side.

Although her head told her she shouldn't
allow it, Libby's heart was content to let her lie in Tyler's arms.
It was dangerous she knew she'd never see him quite the same way
again. The edgy desire he'd begun to kindle in her was bound to
keep her awake, at least for a while. But his embrace was also too
comforting, too secure to refuse. His heart was a steady timekeeper
beating under her ear.

If anyone had told her even twenty-four hours
earlier that she would find herself in this situation, she'd have
called the person a liar. The distrust fostered by Wesley's
betrayal had only been compounded by Ben Ross. But she was here,
with her head pressed to Tyler's chest. He hadn't charmed her with
pretty words or false promises. In fact, it seemed that he'd gone
out of his way to keep her and everyone else away from him.

But she'd learned tonight that Tyler Hollins
was not as angry and aloof as he'd wanted her to believe.

*~*~*

When Libby awoke, it was to the sound of
voices outside the wagon. She was lying on Tyler's bedroll on the
floor of the wagon, with his blanket thrown over her instead of
wrapped around her. Apparently, he'd put her down here in this
makeshift bed. She glanced down at her underwear, realizing that he
must have seen her in this state of undress. The sun was just
coming up, and what she could see of the sky was a clear, pale
blue.

The first voice she recognized was Joe
Channing's low rumble. She pulled up to her elbow. Once again, she
wondered if Tyler ever slept.

“We came upon him about an hour ago. Hell,
there wasn't any way to look for him in the dark last night. And I
figured he'd find his way back.”

Tyler replied, “I
know . . . I know. It didn't stop raining until
way after midnight.” He breathed a heavy sigh. “I'll finish getting
these mules hitched and we'll be along shortly. Tell the boys
breakfast is coming.”

Joe mumbled something, then she heard the
sound of creaking leather and horse's hooves pounding across the
turf and off into the distance.

Tyler climbed up and stuck his head in.
“Awake yet?” He looked tired and preoccupied, but he gave her a
brief smile.

“Yes, I didn't mean to sleep so late.”
Thinking about the night before, and all that had transpired
between them, Libby felt self-conscious now. Had she really lain in
his arms and kissed him? Had she actually let him put her hand
inside his shirt so she could caress him? It brought hot blood to
her cheeks just to think about it.

“I managed to pry this damned trunk open so
you'd better get dressed while I hitch the team. Do you think you
can drive the wagon back to the herd if I lead you?”

She nodded and looked at him a bit more
closely. Was it just the light that gave his face a slightly gray
cast? “Of course. Are we far from them?”

“About three miles. Are the shovels in there
with you, or under the wagon bed?” He looked down for a moment and
squeezed his temples.

“They're back here. Tyler—is something
wrong?”

He ignored her question and once again became
the remote, responsible leader. "All right, let’s get going then.
We've got a crew to feed. And a cowboy to bury.”

L
ibby felt as
though a great weight had descended upon her chest that only grew
heavier as they neared cow camp. The West, in her opinion, was
fraught with such cruel violence, loss, and perpetual mourning, she
wasn't sure why anyone would want to come here. It was a hard place
that stole men's lives and women's dreams.

Yet as she considered the span of emerald
green plains, covered with a sky so enormous, so breathtakingly
beautiful, she almost understood the attraction of this cursed
paradise.

All traces of last night's storm were gone,
and the sun began the job of drying out the sodden earth. She
looked over the mules' backs to the horizon. Where had she seen
that particular shade of blue before? It was clear and flawless,
different from any spring sky she'd seen in Illinois. Then she
realized it was exactly the color of Tyler's eyes.

He rode ahead of her, his shoulders drooping
slightly, his back not quite as straight as usual. But when cow
camp came into view, he sat up, as though he didn't want anyone to
realize that he was susceptible to human frailties.

Joe came forward to meet them when they
arrived.

A pall of bereavement hung over the camp, but
more than ever, she felt a strong sense of family with the Lodestar
crew.

“Where is he?” Tyler asked, climbing down
from his horse.

“Over here,” Joe replied. Tyler handed his
reins to Rory, and patted him on the shoulder, then he and Joe
began to walk away.

Libby scrambled down from the wagon and,
lifting her skirt a few inches, ran to catch up. “Tyler,
wait—please, may I come, too?”

Joe and Tyler exchanged a look, and Joe
nodded. “Yeah. It's not too bad.”

Tyler waved her forward. “All right. Come
on.”

They crossed the wet grass, and along the way
were greeted by several of the men. They saluted Libby and Tyler
quietly with tips of their hats, falling back on the respectful
formality that disaster sometimes brings out in people.

Outside the campground against the shelter of
a boulder, Libby saw a man's form covered by a slicker. His boots
and twelve inches of chaps stuck out, and his hat had been placed
over his chest. Tyler stood beside the body for a moment, then
crouched to pick up the hat and slicker.

She approached, then drew a deep breath and
stared at Charlie Ryerson as he lay there. She hadn't known what to
expect. Tyler told her that Charlie had been struck by a bolt of
lightning. It seemed a very brutal way to die—she'd once seen a
tree split into two smoldering halves—but he looked as if he were
sleeping. His hair and big mustache were wet, and she remembered
that he'd lain in the rain, undiscovered, until this morning. The
thought of that tore at her heart.

“Oh, Charlie,” she whispered, and blinked
back hot tears that scalded her lids. She would not begin crying
again. She couldn't. Weeping left her feeling drained and
defenseless.

Tyler gazed into the still face for several
seconds, then pulled off his glove and brushed the cowboy's hair
off his forehead. “Give me a hand, Joe,” he murmured, and they
turned him over.

Libby gasped. A large, jagged rip in his
shirt ran down his left shoulder blade. The fabric along the rent
was scorched, and when Tyler lifted one edge she saw that the skin
underneath was blackened as if someone had held a flame to it.

Tyler examined both of Charlie's hands, front
and back, and glanced down at his boots. She couldn't imagine what
he was searching for.

“Here it is,” he said then, and showed them
Charlie's right elbow, where his sleeve was also torn and
blackened. “Here's where it came through.” He looked at the
unnaturally peaceful face again. “Does his mother still live in
Wichita?”

“I believe she does,” Joe said.

Tyler nodded. “I'll wire her when we get to
Miles City.” He propped his own arm on his knee, then he looked up
at Libby. All traces of the frown she knew so well were missing.
His expression was open and unguarded, betraying his sense of loss.
“We'll need a blanket from his bedroll for a shroud. Could you get
that?”

She nodded with her shaking hand pressed to
her mouth, her throat constricted. “D-do you want me to sew him
into it?”

Tyler gave her a small, tired smile. “No, we
won't do that. He'll be all right.” He reached out and patted her
foot. “Go on, now. Get the blanket, and then we'd better eat. Joe,
you go with her, and talk to the crew. See which of them would like
to dig Charlie's grave.” He made no effort to move beyond taking
off his hat.

“Ty?” Joe prodded.

He glanced up again. “I'm just going to sit
here with this boy for a minute.”

It was the first time she'd ever seen him
express any real emotion. No, she corrected herself. It was the
second. Last night, there had been something in his kiss, his
tenderness . . . that feeling. But it had to have been due only to
the circumstances, she told herself. Thrown together like that in a
frightening situation—it couldn't have meant anything more.

Joe nodded and put a hand on his shoulder.
Then as she and the foreman walked away, she glanced back and saw
Tyler gently fold Charlie's hands across his chest. She turned her
head and inhaled, pushing down her persistent urge to cry.

When they'd put some distance between
themselves and Tyler's privacy, Joe spoke.

“Maybe it don't seem like the right time to
say this, but I think I should. Charlie was in love with you.” He
said it quietly; it was a very personal thing to discuss. “I don't
suppose he told you that. He said he couldn't work up the
nerve.”

“Joe,” she said, her voice trembling again,
“h-he hardly knew me—”

The ring of his spurs was comforting as they
walked along. It was a sound that she'd learned to listen for, the
men's jingling spurs, and one that had become familiar to her, like
the soft tick of a clock. She'd miss it when she went back to
Chicago.

“He knew enough to suit him, Miss Libby. I
don't think he could have given you an easy life—not too many
people out here have easy lives. But he would've done everything he
could to give you a happy one.” He sighed. With his head bent, he
looked every bit as downcast as Tyler. “He couldn't tell you any of
that himself, but I know he wished he could. I'm not sayin' this
now to make you feel bad—” He kicked at a tussock in his path. “Aw,
hell, ma'am, I don't know why I said it.”