A Taste of Heaven (8 page)

It was a beautiful dark plaid, black and
midnight blue, with a pale green stripe, and a knotted fringe. She
reached out a tentative hand and rubbed the thick, soft wool
between her fingers. She'd never owned a shawl so fine. Looking
down, she pushed off her own thin wrap. Then carefully unwinding
the plaid from the dummy, Libby draped it over her own head and
closed the ends around herself. Immediately she felt warmer. It was
wonderful. Trying it on was a mistake, she supposed, because she
couldn't possibly afford it. And even if she could, she wouldn't be
able to justify the expense. Its price was marked at six dollars.
Saving enough money for a stagecoach ticket was more important than
anything else. But . . . maybe it wouldn't hurt to see how it
looked on her before she returned it to its current owner.

She craned her neck to search for a mirror
when she saw Tyler Hollins watching her. His expression was pensive
and troubled, as though he'd caught a child in some disobedient
act. Well, she wasn't going to steal the shawl, she thought
irritably. Embarrassed, she removed the length of warm wool and
hung it on the dress form. When he released her from his blue gaze,
he muttered something to Nort Osmer. Then he pulled his gloves back
on and resettled his hat.

“I'm going down to the feed store for a few
minutes. You can stay here, Mrs. Ross. I'll be back by the time the
wagon is loaded.”

“All right,” she said. As soon as he pulled
the door closed, Libby hurried to the side window. She half
expected to see him climb onto the wagon and drive away, leaving
her in Heavenly. When he passed the horse team and kept walking,
she exhaled a quiet sigh. Although he was lean and lanky, his wide
shoulders looked even bigger under the sheepskin coat. A woman with
a market basket on her arm gave him a double glance as she passed
him. Libby didn't wonder why—Tyler Hollins was a very attractive
man. But it seemed unfair to her that such good looks were wasted
on a man with the personality of a three-day toothache.

“Tyler isn't a bad sort,” Nort said,
obviously detecting the tension between herself and her
employer.

She walked back to the corner to stand near
the stove. “Mr. Osmer, you're not the first person to tell me that.
But if Mr. Hollins were a good sort, I don't think anyone would
have to make excuses for him, do you?”

“I reckon it might seem that way, Mrs. Ross.
But you'll feel different once you get to know—”

Just then the door opened and Libby was
immediately struck by the subtle but very noticeable scent of
gardenias. She turned and saw a woman—one who was about her own
height, but with a presence and a confidence that Libby herself had
never possessed. Her violet taffeta gown bordered on the gaudy, but
she was more formally dressed than anyone Libby had seen since
leaving Chicago. Although it wasn't raining or sunny, she carried a
parasol that matched her gown. This woman made Libby think of a
flower that bloomed only in the shade, one that couldn't bear the
heat or light of a full sun. And she had a look about her, as
though she knew something. A joke, or maybe a secret.

“Howdy, Miss Callie,” the shopkeeper said,
beaming. “You're out early today.”

“You're right about that, Nort,” the woman
said and made a face of mild horror. “Isn't it a wonder? I can tell
you, I don't like being up with the chickens. I'm not used to
starting my day before two o'clock, but I have a few chores to do
today. Do you think you could find me three dozen of those beer
glasses I use? When the boys from the Circle R visited the other
night, they stirred things up pretty good. By the time we got them
out of the saloon, they'd broken nearly every clean glass on the
shelf behind the bar. They gave my girls the vapors—they were so
upset, I had to close early.” She pushed at a rust-colored curl
peeking from her hat, plainly annoyed by this turn of events.

“Poor old Jinx Malone was feelin' right sorry
for himself when he stopped in here yesterday morning, Miss
Callie,” Nort chuckled, and leaned on his counter.

“Well, two weeks ago I told those Circle R
cowhands that I wouldn't put up with one more of them riding a
horse into my place.” She grinned cheerfully. “I expect the night
Jinx spent in jail will improve prove his memory.”

Libby bent her attention to a display of
collar pins, and tried not to stare, but her curiosity got the
better of her. The woman didn't notice her anyway. She must be the
one Libby had heard about yesterday, the one who owned the Big
Dipper. Of course, she'd seen concubines a few times in Chicago,
but never up close like this. They'd remained behind curtained
windows and when they went out, they traveled in closed carriages.
They hadn't been so brazen that they walked down the street in the
middle of the day to go shopping.

Nort pointed over his shoulder in the general
direction of the storeroom. “I've got those glasses in back. I can
send my son around with them this afternoon.”

Callie smiled at him. “Thanks. I can always
count on you. How about that fancy French soap I ordered a couple
of weeks ago? Did it come in yet? Some of my regular gentlemen have
been asking for it for the bathing room upstairs.”

Libby was astounded—this woman was so
matter-of-fact about her occupation. Regular gentlemen?

Nort looked at the calendar on the wall next
to him, tapping a Friday with his pencil. “Not yet, but I'm lookin'
for a freight wagon to come in at the end of the week.”

“Say, Nort, you should drop by the Big Dipper
some time and try out my new copper tub. I've got the only one in
Heavenly, you know.” Callie leaned over the rough wood counter a
bit, making her taffeta dress rustle ever so slightly, and her
voice dropped to a confidential tone. “You're welcome anytime. Why,
any one of my girls would be happy to entertain you for an
evening.”

Libby felt her own eyes widen, and from her
vantage point by the stove, Nort Osmer looked to her like he'd
swallowed a spoonful of cayenne pepper. Then he turned his eyes her
way, as though he'd just now remembered she was in the store, and
therefore a witness to this conversation.

Apparently noticing the direction of his
gaze, Callie turned to look at Libby, then back at Nort. She lifted
a brow, her expression expectant. “I don't believe I've met this
lady, Nort, and I know everyone in these parts. Are you going to
introduce us?”

Regaining his breath but not his normal
coloring, the storekeeper stammered. “Uh—Mrs. Libby Ross, this is
Miss Callie Michaels. She's the—uh—Miss Callie owns the Big
Dipper.”

Libby backed up a step, nodding at her
uncertainly. “I'm pleased to meet you.” She didn't know what else
to say. She'd never been introduced to the owner of a brothel
before. The winter she'd spent in the wilderness had provided no
hint of what the West was like, except to reveal its raw harshness.
Now she wondered what kind of place she'd come to, where a brothel
owner solicited business in clear daylight, and a respectable woman
was presented to the madam as though she were a member of a church
committee.

Callie smiled at her. “I'm sorry, honey, I
didn't see you standing in the corner. You must think we don't have
any manners at all around here.” Her voice softened as she
approached Libby, and she looked her up and down, though not in an
unkind way. “I'll bet you're the one Ben Ross told me about last
fall. He said he was sending for a nice lady to be his wife. I was
mighty sad to hear he passed on.”

Libby forced herself to lower her eyes.
Everyone in this town seemed to have a high opinion of Ben, and it
probably wouldn't do to let it show that she didn't share it.
“Thank you.”

“Now that he's gone, will you be staying on
in Heavenly?”

Only for as long as she had to, Libby
thought. She wanted to go back to a part of the country where the
ways and lives of people weren't so different from what she knew.
“For a while. I'm cooking for Mr. Hollins and his men at the
Lodestar Ranch.”

Callie's brows lifted in amused
astonishment. “You're working for
Tyler
Hollins?”

Baffled by her attitude, Libby nodded. "Yes,
I am."

“Well, well,” she said softly, almost to
herself. She contemplated Libby again for a moment. Then she roused
herself and laughed. “If he proves to be too ornery, come on over
and see me at the Dipper. I can always find room for one more.”

Libby felt her jaw drop slightly, and heat
flooded her face all the way back to her ears.

“Nort,” Callie said, all business again,
“I'll be looking for those glasses this afternoon. Send the bill to
the boys at the Circle R.” With that, she whisked out of the store
in a rustle of violet taffeta and a whiff of gardenias, pulling the
door closed behind her.

“Now, don't you mind Miss Callie, ma'am,”
Nort said, obviously aware of her embarrassment. “She's
plainspoken, but she means no disrespect. She don't see her line of
work as bein' any different from a doctor's or a baker's.”

Or a cook's, it seemed. “She certainly
is—colorful.” She moved to the window to get a final look, and saw
Callie on the sidewalk outside, talking with Tyler Hollins. While
Nort's son loaded the wagon, Tyler stood with a foot propped on the
hub of one of the wheels. Through the wavy window glass she could
see his expression clearly—and he actually
laughed
at some remark the woman made. Libby
wouldn't have guessed that he had any laughter in him. The grin
transformed his face and not only made him seem less like a
toothache, it made him look younger, as well. Beyond that, she
thought she saw a hint of fondness reflected in his expression for
the woman he was talking to. But then he glanced up at Libby, and
the smile disappeared. Straightening, he took his foot from the
wheel hub, and even his posture looked rigid and uncomfortable, as
though she'd learned something he didn't want her to
know.

Well, she might, have. Maybe Tyler Hollins
was one of Miss Callie's “regular gentlemen.” What a thought! Libby
wasn't so naive she didn't realize that men, sometimes respectable
ones from good families, visited soiled doves like Callie Michaels.
She supposed that perhaps even Wesley— But they didn't stand on a
public sidewalk and converse with the women.

It was none of her business, she reminded
herself, tugging at the hems of her gloves. The less she knew about
Tyler Hollins, the better. Her job was to feed him and his men, and
nothing more. It shouldn't bother her one bit if looking at Libby
had the power to replace his smile with a frown.

But it did bother her, and she didn't know
why.

As if to see what caused Tyler's abrupt
change of mood, Callie glanced over her shoulder at Libby, and sent
her another knowing smile. Then she tapped his arm with her violet
parasol, opened it, and made her way down the street.

Tyler pulled out his watch, then motioned to
Libby to come outside.

“We're ready to go, Mr. Osmer,” she said.

Nort had finished tallying up their bill and
was entering the amount in his blue-backed ledger. “It was mighty
nice seein' you again. If you think of somethin' else you want,
tell Tyler and he can pick it up when he comes into town on
Saturday evenin'.”

Libby couldn't imagine telling Tyler
anything. She adjusted her shawl over her head. “On Saturday?”

He came around to her side of the counter to
open the door for her. “Oh, sure. Ty rides in every Saturday and
has supper at the Big Dipper. He's done it for a few years now.
Weather allowin', that is.”

That was about as “regular” as a man could
get, Libby decided. “Then I guess I won't keep a plate warm for
him.”

Bidding good-bye to Nort, Libby walked out,
reluctant to trade the store's warm, aromatic shelter for a cold,
hard wagon seat next to a cold, hard man.

Tyler stood at the back end of the wagon box
to load some feed sacks. They looked heavy but he threw them into
place with little trouble. “Did you get everything you need?” The
work was hot and he'd taken off his coat.

Libby watched the fabric in his shirt pull
tight and slacken with his efforts. “Yes, I think so.”

He pitched the last sack into the wagon, then
looked at her and frowned slightly, as though her very appearance
displeased him. “Didn't Nort give you—oh, damn it, wait here a
minute,” he muttered, and jumped down.

Libby gazed at his shoulders as he strode
back into the general store and closed the door. Behind her, she
heard the horses shift restively in their harness. If she had to
put up with his sour attitude much longer, her temper, a deeply
buried and long restrained emotion, would slip away from her and
she'd tell Tyler Hollins exactly what she thought. And when that
day came, she knew she'd better be packed and ready to go. He would
almost certainly make good on his threat to bring her to Heavenly
and leave her.

Moments later, the door opened again and
Tyler walked out with a paper-wrapped package under his arm.

“Let's get going, Mrs. Ross. It's a long ride
back to the Lodestar.”

Libby hoisted herself up to the seat and
tucked her skirts around her again. “Surely not longer than this
morning.”

“We can't drive the horses as fast with the
wagon loaded down like this.”

“Oh.” Her heart sank at the news, and she
shivered as a stiff gust bit through her wrap. The tree behind
Osmer's rattled its bare branches in the wind. Overhead, the sky
was growing dark again with heavy clouds.

Tyler climbed onto the seat next to her and
put on his coat. Then he thrust the brown paper package into her
hands. “Put that on.”

“What is it?” She tried to look into his
face, but he kept it pointed toward the horses ahead while he
wrapped the reins around his fists.