A Taste of Heaven (13 page)

He turned his horse and splashed through a
shallow coulee to cut across the back field behind the ranch house.
As it came into view on the valley floor, he saw a plume of smoke
rising from the kitchen chimney. The form of Libby Ross rose in his
mind's eye again, from her small, fragile-looking shape and softly
curved breasts, up to those big gray eyes, where a nameless sadness
lurked—

Goddamned and gone to hell, huh? he thought
to himself with more than a little irony. It looked as though that
vow was no longer an alternative, either.

*~*~*

“So, are you ready for your first trail
drive, Sass?” Charlie plunged his spoon into the sugar bowl in
front of him while Libby refilled his coffee cup. “Gonna get out
there and ride drag and rope strays and go without sleep?”

“Yup, I am,” Rory said, grinning. “I can't
hardly wait.”

The crew was gathered for Sunday lunch. Libby
was accustomed to cooking full-blown Sunday dinners, and today she
decided to serve roast beef. And since she expected this to be one
of the last meals she'd fix here, she wanted to make it
special.

Several times during the night she'd caught
herself listening for Tyler Hollins's return. Did having “supper”
in town mean that he also spent the night? It certainly didn't
matter to her how he spent his time, she'd thought primly, or with
whom. But after having overheard that conversation between Tyler
and Joe, she'd been unable to sleep much. Surely if he was going to
make her leave, he'd pay her for the time she'd worked here. And
that little bit, combined with her own few dollars, might be enough
to buy her that stagecoach ticket.

Finally, toward dawn she grew bold enough,
and curious enough, to tiptoe out to the hall to see if his door
was closed. But when she looked, it stood open, and in the pale
wash of moonlight that filled his room, she saw that his bed was
empty.

Charlie shook his head and laughed while he
dumped three spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee. “You're sure in a
hurry to get drowned or hit by lightning,” he teased. “Or maybe you
just want to go to Miles City and see what a big town is like,
Sass.”

Libby had to suppress her own laughter
because she suspected that Charlie was serious about his last
remark. She'd seen Miles City last fall when she'd arrived in
Montana. The minor difference between it and Heavenly was that it
had a few more blocks of tall, funny buildings, a real Chinese
laundry, a photographer, and a bakery. But to young men who lived
their days on the grasslands and in the wide-open hush of the
country, Miles City might seem like an exciting place.

“Rory, why do they call you Sass, anyway?”
she asked, as she set a spice cake on each of the two tables. “So
far, I haven't heard you sass anyone.”

“Well, it don't really have anything to do
with that, Miss Libby,” Rory answered cautiously. His expression
made her think she'd unwittingly hit upon a touchy subject.

Low laughter rippled through the men. Joe,
who was sitting at a place nearest the wall, turned sideways on the
bench and leaned back. Putting one elbow on the table, he idly
smoothed his mustache with his finger. A sly grin made his dark
eyes gleam. “Charlie, maybe you should tell Miss Libby how Rory got
his nickname. You're the one who gave it to him.”

Charlie ducked his head, but Libby could see
that he was blushing just as vigorously as he had when he gave her
the wildflowers. “Aw, shoot, Joe. That ain't a proper story to tell
a lady.”

“It can't be as bad as all that,” Libby said,
getting curious now.

“Go ahead, Charlie,” Kansas Bob urged, with a
laugh. “I don't think Miss Libby will take offense. 'Course, she
might not think much of you after she hears it.”

Scowling, Charlie turned to Noah who sat at
the table behind him. “You were there too, Noah. Why don't you tell
her?”

“Nossir, not me,” the weathered cowhand said,
shaking his head and sinking his knife into the cake. “I was just
glad Mr. Hollins never found out about it.”

Libby started laughing, too. “Come on,
now. How did Rory get his nickname? Will someone tell me,
please
?”

“I will,” said a voice behind her, and Libby
saw Charlie wince before giving his attention to his plate. All
other murmuring in the room ceased as the men became suddenly
interested in their food.

Joe grinned, and his chuckle rumbled up from
deep in his chest. “Looks like you've had it now, cowboy,” he said
to Charlie.

She turned to find Tyler Hollins standing in
the open doorway. When he walked in, the atmosphere in the kitchen
changed. For Libby, the change stemmed from more than just his
autocratic manner. He brought with him a physical charge, and the
smell of horses, leather, and hay that, for reasons she couldn't
define, seemed different on him than any other man present. He
carried a shotgun, or maybe it was a rifle, that he propped against
the back wall. Libby wasn't at all familiar with firearms—she
couldn't tell which it was.

“One day a couple of summers back, Charlie,
Noah, and Rory went into Heavenly.” He pulled off his hat and
gloves, then plucked a clean coffee mug from the table and went to
the stove to fill it. “They were supposed to pick up the mail and
some wire at Nort's and come back here. But Charlie does love the
ladies. And he and Noah got a bad hankering for what goes on above
the saloon where Callie's girls work.”

Libby glanced away, remembering the woman's
swish of violet taffeta and gardenia perfume.

Tyler poured a drizzle of cream into his mug,
then continued. "Of course, they realized they couldn't take Rory
up there. So they swore him to secrecy, left him at the bar and
paid Eli, the barkeep, enough money to give Rory as much
sarsaparilla as he could drink. And that was quite a bit. Ever
since, Rory's been Sass. At least he has been to Charlie.” He took
a sip of coffee and shot a glance first at Rory, who scanned the
other faces around the table like a cornered rabbit, then at
Charlie, who looked as if he wished he were either dead or anywhere
else. “At the time, they said Noah's horse had thrown a shoe, and
that's why they were so late. I guess you boys didn't think I knew
about that.”

He sounded gruff, but despite the frown in
his voice, Libby thought she saw a glimmer of reluctant amusement
in his eyes. Again she was struck by the fact that he seemed to
genuinely care about Rory.

“I didn't tell him,” Rory whispered
frantically to Charlie. “I didn't!”

“No, he didn't,” Tyler interjected and leaned
against the edge of the worktable. “Eli told me. He said it was the
most sarsaparilla he'd ever sold in one afternoon.”

Guilt flashed through Libby. She wished she
hadn't pressed to learn this secret. Its disclosure had only made
everyone uncomfortable, including her. Tyler turned then and she
found herself being scrutinized by those blue eyes.

“Mrs. Ross, I'd like to have a word with you,
if you don't mind.”

Libby's insides twitched when she heard that
familiar, commanding voice. Well, this was the end, she was
certain. He was going to tell her he'd found someone to take her
place. At least she'd beat him to it this time. She was packed and
ready to leave.

As if sensing disaster, everyone in the room
suddenly found they had something that needed attending to at that
very moment The sound of benches scraping on the planking was
followed by jingling spurs and a jumble of comments.

“The top rail on the corral needs shorin'
up—”

“I believe that sorrel is goin' lame—”

“I want to take another look at the roof on
the woodshed—”

Half-eaten meals and pieces of spice cake
with just a bite or two missing were abandoned on the tables as the
men hurried out the door into the afternoon sun. Charlie turned and
cast a hang-dog, apologetic glance at Libby, then sped outside.

Just before Joe left, he gave Tyler a
searching look that she noticed he wouldn't meet. Joe jammed on his
hat and shook his head in obvious irritation, slamming the door
behind him.

Libby turned back to Tyler, and arched a
brow. “You certainly know how to clear a room.”

Ignoring her comment, he went to the back
wall and picked up the shotgun he'd left there earlier. He eyed her
bandaged finger. “How's your hand?” he asked.

“A little better.” She took a deep breath and
steeled herself for the bad news, then looked at the weapon again.
“If you'll just get someone to bring down my trunk, I'll be ready
to go in ten minutes. You won't need to shoot me,” she quipped
dryly, covering her dread with a veneer of wit.

He turned and stared at her. “Go?”

“Well, yes. Isn't that what you want to tell
me, Mr. Hollins? That you found a cook in Heavenly to take on the
trail drive?” She peeked around him, as though a driver might be
standing there. “And that I should get my belongings together
because one of the men is waiting to take me into town?”

“No, I wasn't going to say that.” Libby saw
his grip tighten on the barrel of the shotgun. “As a matter of
fact, I want to tell you that we'll be leaving for Miles City in
three days. If there's anything you need to get before that, you'd
better do it. I'll have a couple of the boys roll the chuck wagon
from the barn and chase the mice out of it.”

She knew that her amazement must be plain on
her face. After what he'd said yesterday, after the way he'd
treated her since the day they met—

Something vital stirred in her soul,
something that had slept through her lonely girlhood at the
orphanage, and all the years of Eliza Brandauer's icy, genteel
intimidation. A desire for something she'd never dreamed of having
for herself—consideration. This desire roused itself now and made
her speak up.

“Miles City! I believe you swore yesterday,
and bitterly, too, that I wouldn't be going to Miles City.
Something about hell—”

For the second time in two days, Tyler, who
previously hadn't blushed for a good fifteen years, felt his face
get hot. Damn it, but this woman tied him up in knots. He looked at
her, small, straight-backed, and dignified as she stood before him.
Her soft hair was tied up with a black ribbon and hung in a long
fall nearly to her waist. “You weren't supposed to hear that,” he
muttered, breaking contact with her eyes.

“It would have been hard not to since the
door was open,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And
you and Joe didn't trouble to lower your voices. So I assume you
couldn't find anyone else to do this job, and I'm your last and
only choice.”

He dodged this statement of fact. “We're
going to Miles City, Mrs. Ross. Everybody at the Lodestar has a
duty. We need someone to cook for us, and that's what you do with
this outfit. It isn't easy work, I'll grant that, and the hours are
long. But the pay is decent.” With tremendous effort, Tyler managed
to keep from fidgeting.

Libby Ross looked at him dead-on, with eyes
that could have frozen the Musselshell River. “I'm sorry, Mr.
Hollins, I won't be going with you.”

“What?” He was completely flummoxed.

She drew herself up so tall that though the
top of her head just cleared his shoulder, he felt as if she'd be
looking down at him any minute.

“I have no intention of following you
to the middle of nowhere, with a bunch of cattle and horses and
cowboys, only to have you change your mind about me
again
. And maybe dump me in the
nearest town we come to if you do find my replacement. I'd rather
leave now and take my chances in Heavenly. I'll find a job somehow
so that I can go back to Chicago.”

He sputtered wordlessly before finally
finding his voice. “That's a lousy thing to say. I told you I'd be
responsible for you as long as you work for me.”

Her nose came up just a notch. "And you can
decide to end that whenever you choose. Isn't that so?” She waited
as though she expected an answer.

He stared back at her. He couldn't believe
this turn of events. Here he'd resisted the very idea of having
this distracting woman in his house, with her sad gray eyes and
scent of vanilla . . . And now when he'd finally come around to a
grudging acceptance of her, when he really needed her help, she was
refusing!

“Well, damn it, this puts us in a bind. If
it's the money—”

She shook her head and smiled. For that
instant, it was unsettling how much this smile resembled
Callie's—as though she knew something that he didn't. “It's not the
money, Mr. Hollins. It's a matter of respect. And I've had precious
little of it from you while I've been here. You're more polite to
your dog.”

Now Tyler shuffled a bit and looked out the
window. How the hell was he supposed to defend himself against
that? Maybe he hadn't always been as tactful as he should have. It
had been a long time since he'd had to deal with any female besides
Callie, and she had no particular expectations of him. Plus, she
was safe.

Libby Ross, on the other hand, always made
him think of that absolute truth lurking at the back of his mind, a
hard lesson he'd learned long ago—tender sensibilities got wounded
and tender hearts were inclined to break. He knew he'd made some
sacrifices over the years in leaving those emotions behind.
Sometimes he felt it very keenly that he chose to remain on the
outskirts, keeping himself apart from others.

Tyler was not unaware that except for general
greetings from the men, he'd silenced all conversation when he'd
walked in earlier. The aroma alone had been enough to draw him into
the kitchen. The hum of conversation that he heard, and the
feminine laughter, only pulled at him harder. He'd hung back for a
minute, watching from the shadows on the porch as Libby moved
around the tables. It was plain to him, and a little annoying, that
without much fuss or bother, she'd fit easily into the daily life
of the Lodestar. Without much fuss or bother for anyone but him, he
thought. Now she turned those big eyes on him, half expectant, half
wary.