A Taste of Heaven (19 page)

Tyler eyed his cook. Despite all the
difficulties that he'd dealt with today—the rattlesnake and this
fight had been only two of several—he realized that coming back to
cow camp and seeing her here had lifted his spirits a bit.

“Those boys are good friends. What the hell
do you suppose that was about?” Joe asked as he and Tyler walked to
the remuda.

Tyler glanced back at Libby's small
aproned figure as she handed Rory a hot biscuit and what appeared
to be the beginning of a lecture. “I have the feeling I know
exactly
what it was
about.”

He didn't add that he was starting to
understand just how Charlie and Noah felt.

*~*~*

Later that night, Tyler pulled off his boots
and spread out his bedroll next to the chuck wagon. The campfire
had burned down to low flames, popping softly now and then. Around
him, eight other exhausted men slept and snored and dreamed, but
Tyler was conscious only of the woman up in the wagon next to
him.

Living on the trail was hard on
anyone—staying clean was just about impossible, the conditions were
rough and comforts were few. Men didn't mind so much. They could
sleep almost anywhere, anytime. If a week or two passed without a
bath, it wasn't the end of the world to them. Tyler shucked his
clothes every morning and scrubbed down in an icy creek without a
second thought.

Women, on the other hand, weren't inclined to
like this life. Somehow though, despite all of those obstacles,
Libby managed to stay sweet-smelling and shiny-haired. As though
the picture in his mind had invoked it, he heard the splash of
water from within the wagon and knew that she must be washing.

So far, Libby Ross had not proven to be the
physical burden he'd envisioned. She'd learned to manage that mule
team without much training or practice, she fed the men good food
and on time, under conditions he knew she wasn't used to. She'd
done her best to try and stop that fight this afternoon, even
though the numskulls wouldn't listen to her. He smiled in the
darkness when he thought of her with his twelve-gauge pointed at
that rattler. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he'd half
expected to take a load of shot in his foot, and hoped the blast
might scare off the snake.

No, she carried her weight and did her job,
there was no denying it. He found his wary resentment of her
surrendering to growing respect. It was her vulnerability, the
whisper of tragedy he sensed in her, that gave him pause.

Thinking about the fight again, and the
reason for it, made his stomach clench. What if she did marry
Charlie? He'd seen nothing pass between them—no girlish blushes, no
shy glances from her—to indicate that she'd accepted him. That
Charlie was behaving like a lovesick calf also told him nothing.
He'd felt like that himself a time or two in his life. Fortunately,
he'd recovered.

When he lay back against his saddle and
looked at the night sky, a deep sigh escaped him. Whether it was
from the relief of finally lying down after a hell of a long day,
or from the weight of his thoughts, he wasn't sure. Plain old
cowboying on the trail was the hardest work he knew of, due mostly
to the lack of sleep that went with the job. Once, years ago now,
an old-timer had told him that if he wanted to trail cattle, he'd
better learn to do his sleeping in the winter.

Except Tyler hadn't wanted to be a cowboy.
He'd had a much different life mapped out for himself, but time and
fate intervened to put him on this path.

He wasn't sorry, exactly. He loved the
Lodestar and he'd given it everything he had, including beautiful,
fragile Jenna. And something inside him had died along the way. He
watched a pair of stars overhead sparkle blue-white. On that
silent, snow-covered November dawn five years back, it had felt as
though grief and the stars, distant and cold, were all he had left.
And he'd felt like that for a long time—a hard frost had lain upon
his soul that shut out everyone. Eventually, he grew tired enough
of his solitude to take comfort in Callie Michaels's company.

That had been enough until now. But he was
beginning to realize that the breezy simplicity of his relationship
with her might also be its drawback. Idly, he touched a spoke in
the wagon wheel behind his head, and looked up at the canvas.

The layer of ice on his spirit was beginning
to shift. What lay beneath after all this time, he had no idea.

*~*~*

The following morning Charlie came to Libby
and apologized for his part in the brawl, saying that he hoped it
hadn't diminished her opinion of him to such a low degree that she
would no longer consider his proposal. She didn't have the heart to
tell him that she'd considered and rejected it a half hour after
he'd made it.

Still, whether or not she wanted to, Libby
couldn't stay mad at him. He looked so dejected standing before her
with a first-class shiner, twisting his hat brim in his hands, that
she had to forgive him. His face lit up immediately.

“But, Charlie,” she cautioned gently, “I
think it's only fair to tell you that I still plan to get on the
train in—”

He put up his hand to stop her words. “Now,
now, Miss Libby, this ain't over yet. You keep on thinkin' about it
till we get to Miles City.” Then smiling, he put on his hat and
swaggered to his horse. As she watched him walk away, she had to
smile, too. It wouldn't be easy telling him she couldn't marry
him.

Noah Bradley, on the other hand, was cross
and silent at breakfast. He didn't speak to Libby and maintained an
obvious distance from Charlie whenever the two were in camp at the
same time. While she'd done nothing to encourage their attentions,
it bothered her to know that their friendship had been jeopardized
because of her, especially when she had no interest in either of
them.

Libby didn't see much of Charlie or Noah
after that. The herd was nervous and on the edge of panic, she'd
heard Joe tell Bean. It took all their efforts to keep them in
line.

One thing she had noticed, though, was Tyler
watching her. It seemed like any time he was within her own sight,
if she glanced in his direction, she'd find him looking at her
until he realized he'd been detected. For some reason, catching a
glimpse of those blue eyes on her made her cheeks heat in a way
that Charlie's sweetness—or Wesley's selfish groping—had not. And
despite the stern, ongoing lecture she conducted in her mind, she
found herself searching out Tyler, as well.

Late in the afternoon following the fight,
Charlie trotted up to the side of Libby's wagon, and motioned for
her to stop. “There's a storm comin'. A bad one.” He pointed over
his shoulder.

She pulled on the lines to halt the mules and
leaned forward to look at the northwestern sky. The air had turned
deathly still, and a wall of greenish black clouds was boiling up
on the horizon. Behind her, she could hear the cattle bawling
nervously, and the horses were skittish. Although sundown was still
an hour away, the land grew darker by the minute, and Libby could
smell rain. An immense angry force was gathering strength in those
black clouds.

Joe and Tyler rode up then, and looked at the
herd.

“Damn, just what we need,” Tyler complained,
his expression grim.

“What should I do?” Libby asked. She was the
only person who didn't have a job in this pending emergency.
“Should I stop here?” She knew she sounded scared, but she couldn't
hide the tremor in her voice.

Tyler never looked away from the herd and the
threatening sky. “You'd better get into the wagon. You won't be
able to cook in the rain that's coming.” Then he spurred his horse
back toward the point.

Joe tugged at the hems of his gloves. “Well,
come on, Charlie, let's get them steers together and try to keep
'em that way. I'm sure glad we crossed the river this morning.
After this rain, it'll be runnin' faster than ever.” He wheeled his
horse and followed Tyler.

Charlie leaned toward her from his saddle,
and in that moment, he wore his whole honest heart on his face. No
man had ever looked at Libby that way. “I wish I could stay here
and see after you. It ain't right that you should have to fend for
yourself—”

From the distance, Libby heard Tyler's tense,
booming voice. “Charlie! C'mon, damn it! We've got to keep this
herd together.”

Just then a zigzag of lightning arced down
from the sky with a sizzling, explosive buzz, briefly illuminating
the countryside in a glare. Libby jumped, gasping at the close
proximity of the bolt. Pandemonium erupted among the cattle behind
them. The rumble of bovine hooves competed with the following clap
of thunder as they began running, taking a general turn off to
Libby's right.

Charlie glanced over his shoulder, then back
at Libby in an agony of regret. If she'd learned one thing from
these men, it was that the welfare of the herd came before anything
else, including their own lives. “God, they're runnin' toward a
cliff. I gotta go help turn 'em. I'll see you when this is over,”
he yelled over the din. “Stay safe!” He pushed his hat down tight
and galloped off to join the crew to help turn the panicked
cattle.

Libby watched until he and his horse
disappeared behind her wagon canvas.

Another fork of lightning snaked down from
the clouds, closer this time, and her mule team lurched forward and
started running, too. A peal of thunder shook the earth and the sky
opened, loosing torrents of rain driven by a fierce wind. Her sight
dimmed by the lashing downpour and the ink-black clouds, Libby
pulled frantically on the reins to halt the runaway mules. But they
charged on. Water ran in streams from the brim of her hat, further
obstructing her vision.

“Whoa! Stop! Please, stop!” she yelled, her
heart pounding at the base of her throat. The team bounced her and
the chuck wagon over ruts and bumps at a speed that the vehicle was
never intended to travel. It creaked and rattled as it flew over
the rough terrain, and behind her, Libby heard cans and jars
thumping around in the chuck box. Caught by a gust of wind, her hat
flew off her head, and for an instant its bonnet strings pulled
tight around her throat. A couple of times, the wagon tipped
precariously to one side, almost toppling over. Her heart nearly
paralyzed with gnawing fear, Libby struggled to keep her seat
without dropping the reins. She had no trouble imagining herself
thrown from the spring seat, and her life ending abruptly with a
broken neck.

Finally, with a burst of strength born of
utter terror and the instinct to survive, she hauled on the lines
with every fiber of her will and body. Her arms felt as though they
would disjoint at the wrists and elbows, and despite her gloves,
the leather reins bit into her hands.

“Stop, damn you!” she cursed the mules, her
voice a cross between a snarl and a scream. But it worked—the team
stopped, their rain-drenched sides heaving.

Her own breath coming in harsh, sobbing
gasps, Libby stared at them. Oh, dear God! she thought She set the
brake and wound the lines around it, then wrapped her arms around
herself for a moment. Her entire body felt shaky and boneless from
the adrenaline coursing through her. She peered through the gray
veil of rain, trying to figure out where she was, but nothing
looked familiar, and nightfall was fast approaching. How on earth
would she find her way back to cow camp? She couldn't even tell
east and west—the sky was the same dark gray in every direction she
looked. But she couldn't just sit out here. She had to try.

After she and the mules caught their breath,
Libby took up the lines again and turned the wagon, in the
direction she believed she'd come from. She had to get back to the
crew before sunset. They'd be hungry after this hellish day, and
more than that, she didn't want to be out here in this vast, wild
country, alone in the dark. But there were no defining landmarks
that she recalled from her first breakneck ride past here. And the
low clouds and sheets of pounding rain shortened the horizon
considerably.

She scanned the soaked grassland for a
chestnut-haired horseman; surely even if this storm presaged the
end of the world, Tyler Hollins would still be out here, riding the
range and tending to details. It was his way—he was strong,
capable, immutable, like granite. While those very traits made him
seem annoyingly remote and unemotional, she also took comfort from
them. As the miles and days of this trip rolled by, more and more
often Libby would lift her gaze from the ears of the mules to
search for his straight back up ahead. And he was nearly always
there.

But now she found only the sky touching the
land. She couldn't tell where the sun was setting. Nowhere did she
see the herd or even one cowboy. Libby felt as though she were the
last person on earth. She'd known this particular kind of
desolation only once before, and it had been here in Montana, when
the wind moaned and the snow was deep . . .

She let the mules slow to a halt. There was
no point in going on now. She'd just get herself more hopelessly
lost. Her only recourse was to wait until morning. Maybe the
weather would clear by then. But right now the rain turned to a
stinging, wind-driven hail, and she scrambled over the seat into
the shelter of the wagon. She'd taken off her saddle coat earlier
and thrown it into the back, lulled by the mild spring afternoon,
and her clothes were soaked through.

Falling into the pile of bedrolls, Libby
shivered in the gathering darkness while hail and rain pelted the
wagon canvas. The shotgun—she should have the shotgun, she thought
nervously. Just in case. She pulled off her gloves and hat, and
crawled over the bedding, looking for the lantern that hung on the
back of the chuck box, hoping it hadn't bounced off its hook. When
her hands closed around the glass globe, she prayed that at least
one match in her apron pocket was still dry.