A Taste of Heaven (31 page)

“One day the whole danged—uh, beg pardon,
ma'am—the whole blessed herd turned and stampeded over the ten
miles we'd just traveled, so's they could get back to the last
water hole.”

“Oh, dear! I'm glad we didn't have trouble
finding water.”

Libby stifled a giggle that ballooned in her
chest over Gabe's worry about saying “danged.” What would he think
if he knew the inventory of Tyler's vocabulary that she heard on a
daily basis? But she sipped her punch—her sixth cup, for her
would-be suitors had been very attentive—and smiled. In her life
Libby had never been paid so much attention. And when the cowboys
learned she'd gone with the herd to Miles City, they thought she
was just a marvel. It helped take away a bit of her disappointment
about Tyler. But only a bit.

Even the other women in the hall were
beginning to put their heads together about her. She couldn't help
it if almost every man present had asked her to dance. And anyway,
none of them was the chestnut-haired, long-legged cowboy she wished
had stayed with them instead of—

“You'll excuse us, Gabe?”

Libby whirled at the sound of the familiar
voice.

“Mr. Hollins, yessir, sure.” Gabe looked as
though he'd been caught red-handed committing some wicked
offense.

Tyler took the, punch cup from her hand and
gave it to the cowboy. “Mrs. Ross, may I have the pleasure?”

A clutter of feelings bumped around inside
her—relief, the joy of just looking at him, the femaleness that
pulsed through her whenever he was near, and, much as she hated
herself for it, jealousy. Still, he was here, and he'd asked her to
dance.

“Of course,” she replied. She reached for his
extended hand, and he escorted her to the floor. But as soon as he
took her into his arms, she smelled gardenia perfume. Not much else
could have forced her to comment tartly, “This is a surprise.
Hickory guessed that we wouldn't see you until tomorrow.”

He flushed back to his ears. “Yeah, well,
Hickory doesn't know everything. Besides, I had to come back here
and see how everyone is faring. Joe tells me you've been the belle
of the ball tonight.”

She shrugged innocently. “I guess the men
think I'm interesting because I went on that trail drive. Most of
them said they'd never heard of such a thing before.”

He gave her a riveting look that made her
breath catch in her throat. "I can guarantee you that isn't the
reason they think you're ‘interesting.’" He searched her face,
letting his intense gaze touch lightly on her eyes and rest on her
mouth. Though they still moved around the dance floor, jostled by
other couples, she no longer heard the music. She stared back, her
lips slightly parted.

Tyler inhaled the light scent of Libby's
shining hair, and it went straight to his head like a shot of
whiskey. She was beautiful in the pale blue dress. It hugged her
slender waist and its neckline hinted at the soft swell of her
breasts. She felt so right in his arms, it almost scared him.
Baffling and guileless, innocent and wise, she bewitched him
without even trying. Desire surged to life within him, pounding
back with twice the yearning he'd felt before. And suddenly, it
bothered him a lot that any man thought she was “interesting.”

“It's so hot in here,” she murmured.

He felt edgy and restless himself. “Let's go
outside for some air.”

She agreed and he took her hand to pilot her
through the crowd in the hall. There were quite a few people
outside, too, and he led them to a shadowed bench on the side of
the building, away from eavesdroppers and harsh lantern light.

The night was fragrant of late spring, and
overhead a starkly white crescent moon mingled with the stars.

“Oh, that's much bet—” Libby began, but Tyler
immediately pulled her into his arms and tried to kiss her.

“Tyler!” She pushed him away and jumped to
her feet. “How dare you come to me from that—that woman's bed,” she
demanded in a low, shaking voice, “smelling of gardenias, and
expect to kiss me?” His face was in the shadows, and she couldn't
read his expression. In the awkward silence that followed, Libby
felt foolish for revealing her jealousy.

He sighed. “I'm sorry.” He reached for her
hand, but apparently thought better of it, and indicated the seat
next to him. “Please—sit down.”

She stared at him for a moment, then
relented. “Well . . .  all right.” Cautiously,
she sat on the end of the bench and huffily arranged her
skirts.

“I want you to know that I didn't—well—I only
had a couple of drinks at the Big Dipper. Nothing else.”

“And I suppose that every man who goes in
there for a beer comes out smelling like that?” She knew she
sounded like a shrew, but she couldn't stop herself.

“No. Callie sat in my lap,” he admitted. He
leaned back against the wall and looked at the expanse of night sky
over them. “I've been going to see her every Saturday night for
three or four years. After Jenna died, all the women around
Heavenly with eligible daughters invited me to their spreads for
supper. Oh, it just boiled their beans to see me without a wife.
They were bent on fixing that.” His huff of laughter was humorless.
“I wasn't interested in being maneuvered into marriage. Callie
asked nothing of me. Our arrangement was straightforward and
uncomplicated.” He turned his head and looked at her. “But that's
not what I want anymore. When I left the Big Dipper tonight, I told
her good-bye. I won't be going back.”

Libby was afraid to ask what he did want. The
implication of his decision made her mind spin foolish, heartening
possibilities. But she knew better than to get her hopes up. She
had been burned twice, and badly, by pledges made and not kept.
Still, Tyler made no promises. It was the trace of yearning in his
voice that touched her.

He lifted his sleeve to his nose then. “That
perfume is pretty strong,” he allowed. “Maybe I should burn my
shirt?” He sat up and started unbuttoning it.

“Don't be silly,” she said irritably, but he
had the front open, and one cuff undone. Her eyes were drawn like
magnets to his broad chest and flat belly. “Tyler!”

He stopped to rummage in his pockets. “I
think I have a match here someplace. Of course, you'll have to let
me wear your shawl home.”

Much as she didn't want to she burst out
laughing.

“I guess I might have to burn my jeans, too.
Hooeee! I stink like a saloon girl.” He stood and reached for his
belt buckle.

“Now, Tyler, stop it!” she ordered, but her
giggling canceled the weight of her words. She'd never known him to
act silly, just for the fun of it.

Once they got started, they couldn't seem to
stop, and each round of laughter fed the next until they were weak
and winded.

Finally, Tyler flopped down on the bench
again in a sprawl of long arms and legs. “Oh, Libby, gal, it feels
good to laugh with you. We haven't done much of that have we?” He
fastened his cuff, and to her secret disappointment, rebuttoned his
shirt

Her mirth subsided but her smile remained.
“No, we haven't,” she agreed. “A lot of serious things have
happened.”

He put his arm on the back of the bench and
brushed her sleeve with his hand. “Yeah, I know. But life is so
damned short. I've had time to think since we got back from Miles
City.” He gave her a wry smile. “I did more than just get drunk out
there in the hills. And I realized I have enough regrets in my life
for the things I've done. I don't need any more for the things I
didn't do . . . am I making sense?”

She leaned her shoulder against his hand just
a bit. It felt hot through the fabric of her dress. “Yes, you
are.”

He looked into her face again and plucked at
her hand where it rested in her lap. Turning it over, he lifted it
to his mouth and kissed it.

The feel of his warm, soft month in her palm
sent shivers rippling through Libby. Her fingers curved around his
cheek and rested against the light stubble of his beard.

“Cold?” he murmured into her hand, pressing
another kiss on the base of her thumb.

“No,” she whispered, leaning closer. Beneath
the fading miasma of gardenias, his own familiar scent began to
emerge—fresh air, leather, horses. She felt a wild temptation to
weave her fingers through his thick hair where it broke over his
collar.

His kiss advanced to the inside of her wrist,
and she felt his tongue touch the spot where her pulse throbbed as
fast as a bird's. She shouldn't permit this, but he was so
difficult to resist. Sometimes, when she'd lain awake in the
moonlight and shadows crossing her bed, she'd thought of that
rain-drenched night in the wagon. He moved his arm from the back of
the bench and wrapped it around her shoulders, turning her toward
him.

“Tyler—”

“Shh,” he urged, kissing her throat, and
proceeding to the corner of her jaw and the sensitive place behind
her ear. He slid his big hand along her midriff up to her breast
and, to her chagrin, drew a quiet moan from her. She should pull
away, she knew. But his quickening breath ruffled the fine, downy
fuzz on her cheek and raised goose bumps all over her body. Her
heart thundered inside her ribs. When his teeth closed gently on
her earlobe, Libby breathed a soft gasp and arched against his
chest.

Tyler pulled back and gazed at her. The ache
in his groin was so damned uncomfortable, he was torn between the
wish that he'd never started this, and a raging desire to lay her
down on this bench right now. As he'd suspected, under her sweet,
prim exterior, a low fire burned. But he wasn't even going to kiss
her mouth until the essence of gardenias no longer stood between
them.

He shifted on the bench. “What do you
say—have you had enough of this dance?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, I believe I
have,” she said, and smoothed her skirt.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then
let's go home, Libby.”

Chapter
Fourteen

T
he changes
that occurred between Tyler and Libby after the grange dance were
subtle but distinct. He didn't try to kiss her again, and she was
glad—the intense feelings he stirred in her heart and body took her
breath away, leaving her unable to think straight. But they circled
each other, watchful, curious, aware. In the next few days, she
noticed it in the way his eyes followed her when he thought she
wasn't looking, especially when she worked on the flower
beds.

She found herself searching him out, too.
When he was working in the corral or near the barn, she'd drift to
the kitchen window every few minutes to admire his long-legged
stance, or the way the muscles in his forearms flexed when he
reached for something. One day she lingered at the open door,
mesmerized by the sight of him stripping off his shirt to pump
water over his head. The rivulets sparkled like crystals in the sun
as they ran down his torso and into the low-slung waist of his
pants. As if feeling her gaze on him, he glanced up suddenly, and
sent her a look of such fevered yearning, she jumped back and
leaned against the rough-timbered wall.

He joined her for supper every night after
the crew had eaten, and sometimes even brought wildflowers for the
table. He became the easier-going man Joe had described on her
first day here, quicker to laugh and joke with the men. She was
pleased to see him spend more time with Rory, too, and give him
greater responsibility. Rory was so puffed up with pride, she
thought he'd float away.

The Lodestar was definitely a happier
place.

One afternoon, Libby was in Tyler's office to
talk about a shopping trip to Heavenly when they heard Joe's
footsteps thunder through the house.

He appeared in the doorway, and one look at
his face told her something was wrong.

“What's the matter?” Tyler said, rising from
his chair.

“It's the new man, Jim Colby.” Joe had hired
him to take Charlie's place. “That stallion threw him against the
side of the stall. It looks like Jim busted his arm.”

“Goddamn it!” he erupted. “I knew we should
have cut that horse. What the hell good is breeding stock if we
can't even get close enough to feed the mangy bastard? Well, how
bad is it?”

Joe shrugged. “I would have liked Doc
Franklin to take a look at it, but I sent Kansas Bob to Heavenly
for him, and he ain't in his office. I can set it, but I thought
maybe you'd want to give it a try.”

Tyler blanched, and he shook his head. “No.
You boys can take care of this. You've done it before.” Taking a
key from his desk drawer, he went to the glass-fronted cabinet that
held the bandages and dark-brown bottles she'd seen the night she
cut her hand. “I can give him something for the pain, though.” He
plucked a bottle off the shelf and handed it to Joe with
instructions about how much to give Jim.

“You sure you don't want to handle this? You
could give it a try.”

Tyler glanced at Libby, then back at his
foreman, and lowered his voice. “You know how I feel about that.
You'll do fine.”

With an oddly resigned expression, Joe
gripped the bottle in his gloved fist and strode from the room.

Puzzled by what she'd just seen, Libby looked
at Tyler. His face was still a flat, unreadable mask. “You did a
great job with my finger. I thought you handled the injuries around
here.” She held her hand up and waggled it for his inspection.

“Not me—
we.
Joe has set lots of broken bones in his
life. He doesn't need my help.” Walking to the window; he lapsed
into a reflective silence while he stared at the green bluffs
beyond the valley.

She looked at his broad-shouldered back. The
conversation seemed to have reached an end. “Um, maybe we can talk
about the provisions?”

“Make the list, Libby. I trust you to know
what we need.”