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A Taste of Heaven

Page 9

by Alexis Harrington


  “We sure did, Rory. Charlie and Kansas Bob and the rest were feelin' pretty grim about all the dead cattle till they came upon these horses. I found 'em a couple of miles outside of Heavenly, and we brought 'em in from there.” He grinned again. “It sure felt good to be with healthy animals runnin' wild through the grass.”

  “Aw, dang it, Joe,” Rory put in. “I wish I coulda gone with Charlie and Kansas Bob.” His young face wore an expression of impatience and disappointment, and he scuffed at the porch planking with his boot. “All I've been doin' is pulling balky heifers out of the mud. Are you gonna let me go on the trail drive this time, or do I have to stay home again?”

  “You've got to talk to the boss about that, Rory,” Joe said, pointing the end of his rein at Tyler. “He's the one who gets final say around here. You know that.”

  Rory looked at Tyler expectantly.

  Tyler gave the boy a mock punch in the arm with his gloved fist. “So you want to go to Miles City with us, huh? Eat dust and get rained on and stay up on night herd?”

  Rory nodded so vigorously, Libby, watching him through the glass, thought he'd end up with a headache. “Oh, yessir, I do!”

  Tyler rested his chin on his hand and appeared to give the matter grave consideration. “You'll have to ride drags with the Coopers, you know, in back of eight or nine hundred cattle. Charlie and Kansas Bob will be riding point, and Joe and I will be ahead of them.”

  Rory's eyes shone with wonder, as though he were being offered a grand tour of Europe. “Yeah,” he breathed.

  Tyler laughed then and slung an arm around the back of the boy's neck. His genuine affection for Rory was obvious to Libby, as real, she thought, as if he were Tyler's own son. So he did care about someone. She saw it in his eyes when he turned, and heard it in his voice. And for a moment she felt a twinge of envy for the sense of belonging all these people had, with the land, and with one another.

  “All right, you can come with us,” he said. “But I'm guessing that by the time we get back, you'll wonder why you ever wanted to go.”

  Rory let out a whoop similar to the noise Joe and Charlie had made when they rode in. His entire face seemed to be consumed with a goofy grin. “Wait'll I tell Charlie!” he said.

  “Tell me what, Sass?” The cowboy in question approached the group, as mud-covered and travel-weary as anyone Libby had ever seen. His one hand was tucked inside his slicker, reminding her of a picture she'd once seen of Napoleon.

  “Tyler says I can go to Miles City with the herd!” Although he was trying to regain a careless nonchalance, Libby could almost feel his excitement through the glass.

  Charlie laughed. “Well, I guess every man's gotta try it once before he decides to make it a regular job.”

  “What's the matter with you, Charlie?” Tyler interrupted, and indicated his tucked-in hand. “Have you got a stomachache or something?”

  “No, sir, nothin' that a cup of hot coffee won't cure,” Charlie said, and glanced down at his boots as though embarrassed.

  “You go on and get the coffee, then take Rory over to the corral to pick out a few horses for the trip.” Tyler gave Rory another grin.

  “Go over and have a look, Sass,” Charlie said. “I'll meet you there in a minute.”

  Rory, losing his nonchalance for good, whooped again and jumped off the porch. He took off in the direction of the corral.

  Libby moved away from the window and watched as Charlie came around the side and appeared in the kitchen doorway, where he lingered. He yanked off his hat, but his other hand was still inside his slicker.

  “’Afternoon, Miss Libby, ma'am.”

  “Hello, Charlie,” she replied, and went to the dish rack for a blue enamel cup. “You look like you could use some hot coffee.”

  He took only one step forward, as though he were an awkward stranger to this kitchen. He smelled like horses, rain, and hard work. “Well, uh, yes, ma'am.”

  “You were right—you did make it back in time for supper tonight,” she said, prodding the conversation along. Why was Charlie Ryerson who, up to now, had shown her only confidence and charming bravado, acting like a twelve-year-old schoolboy?

  He smiled a bit sheepishly. “Me and the boys couldn't wait to get back to the Lodestar and some decent food. In fact, while we were out on the north range, I saw somethin' I thought you—well, they were right pretty, and—here.”

  He opened his slicker and pulled out a small bouquet of pale purple wildflowers. They were crushed and a little wilted from their journey, but at this place and moment in time, Libby thought they were the loveliest flowers she'd ever seen. He made a vain attempt to straighten some of the broken stems, then gave up and held the bouquet out to her.

  “Oh, Charlie,” she said, and smiled up into his scarlet face. “I didn't think any flowers were blooming yet. Thank you very much.”

  He immediately began backing away. “Well, ma'am I, that is we want you to know that we're— um, glad you're here. It can be kind of hard out here for a lady sometimes—” He backed into the doorjamb, and his face turned redder still. Then he put his hat back on and hurried through the doorway.

  She watched hint trot across the yard to the corral, then she turned to put the cup back on the dish rack.

  Charlie's kind gesture lightened Libby's heart considerably, and as she pumped water into a mason jar for her bouquet, she couldn't help but smile. If only his boss were as kind.

  She caught sight of her white bandaged finger, and remembered Tyler's warm, light touch the night before. Well, actually, he could be kind when he wanted to be. But he was as stormy and unpredictable as winter on the Great Lakes.

  Libby put the flowers on the worktable, where she could look at them from time to time, and returned to her job with the potatoes. Outside, she heard the discussion continue between Tyler and Joe.

  On the porch, Tyler squinted up at his foreman. “How did it go in Heavenly?”

  “It's like I told you before, Ty. There's no one left around here who'd be good for this job.” He nodded toward the kitchen.

  Annoyance, and some other emotion that Tyler didn't want to examine, washed over him. “Damn it, Joe, it can't be that hard to find a cook for a bunch of cowboys. How have we done it before?”

  Joe leaned down from his saddle and spoke directly to him. “Before, outfits weren't closing down right and left. I'm tellin' you, Ty, the Big Die-Up finished a lot of ranchers. When there's no place to work, there's no workers.” He sat up again. “I don't have to tell you that. You already know it.”

  In frustration, Tyler plunged his hands into his back pockets. Yes, he knew it, but Joe's answer didn't satisfy him. Joe hadn't sat next to Libby Ross last night, bandaging her hand and inhaling that sweet fragrance, trying to ignore the swell of her full breasts under her blouse. Joe hadn't been the one to peek into the woman's room while she slept, and see her hair spread out on the pillow, or get that foolish notion about angels. Joe hadn't fallen off his horse—something that never happened to Tyler—in front of the whole damned crew, just because the woman had distracted him. He idly kicked at one of the porch uprights, then made his decision.

  “All right, Joe. I'll take care of it when I go into town tonight.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

  Behind him, he heard Joe call after him. “Now, Tyler, think about what you're doin',” he warned. “We've already got a cook, and a good one that the crew is happy with. We're eatin' like kings because she's here, and she told me she'd be willing to go to Miles City with us. Don't go stirrin' things up and makin' changes for no good reason.”

  Tyler stopped dead and turned. “I'll be goddamned and gone to hell before I'll take a woman on a trail drive. And I've got the best reason in the world, Joe. Like you just told Rory, I'm the boss.”

  In the kitchen, Libby Ross finished peeling the last potato, and slowly wiped her hands on her apron. She reached out and stroked one of the tender petals in the bouquet Charlie had brought her while she considered he
r next course of action. After she put the potatoes on the stove, she would probably have enough time to pack while they boiled. Sighing, she pushed herself away from the table, carried them to the cook pot, then turned to go upstairs.

  Chapter Six

  “Ty, honey, I'm about done in,” Callie pouted playfully. The single candle burning on the nightstand gave her an artificial but handsome radiance. “If word ever got around that I couldn't please my very favorite regular gentleman, I'd be out of business for sure.” She flipped a corner of the linen sheet over his bare hips and reached for a wrapper so brief and transparent, it seemed nearly pointless.

  Tyler felt a dull flush creep up his neck. In his life, this had never happened to him. “Don't worry, Callie. I'm not likely to rush out and tell anyone about it,” he muttered.

  She gave him that secret smile and idly rearranged a coppery sausage curl that rested on her collarbone. “Of course I know that. You're a better man than to talk about a lady's imperfections. And since you always put me in mind of an unbroken stallion, I know this must not be my night.”

  Tyler regarded the powdered, naked female kneeling next to him on her mattress, and couldn't help but smile back. She knew exactly what to say to soothe a male ego, even if it did sound a little practiced and overblown.

  He suspected that none of Callie's customers ever felt inadequate in her “boudoir,” as she liked to call it. It was a luxurious curiosity in this hard-edged town on the western frontier. Draped in blue velvet and cream-colored lace, it was the most elegant room in all of Heavenly and for miles around. Nothing about the rough confines of the saloon downstairs even hinted at the lavishness at this end of the second floor, and not many men were invited to visit it. And, unless a fight broke out in the Big Dipper, the only sound that drifted upstairs was that of the piano.

  For a woman who earned a living with her body—and he knew that had to be difficult—she seemed remarkably well kept, if a man didn't look at her too long or too hard.

  “It didn't have anything to do with you,” he said and put one arm under his head. “I've had a lot on my mind lately.” That was the truth. Between trying to assess the winter damages and deal with the matter of Lib—the cook, just falling asleep had become a challenge. The woman had invaded his thoughts continuously since he first set eyes on her, and every minute he'd spent with her after that only made things worse. He saw the soft curve of her cheek, her tiny waist— Why the hell he was thinking about her here, in a madam's bed, mystified him. There was nothing about Callie that could be confused with an angel. Angels! he scoffed to himself. What would he be conjuring up next? Pixies and stardust?

  But scoff though he might, when Libby Ross's face had risen in his mind his desire for Callie just sputtered out, despite her most ambitious and creative efforts.

  “Isn't that why you come to see me every Saturday night?” Callie asked, leaning over to purr in his ear and give him a closer view of her bare alabaster breasts. “So I can make you forget all your troubles, and ease your . . . mind?”

  “That's exactly why I'm here, Callie,” he replied, hoping to recover his dignity in this situation.

  “And you're leaving again in a few days?”

  He reached up and pulled her down to lie against him. “Yeah, I'll be gone for two or three weeks on the trail drive. But there's still tonight.”

  “Hmm, then I'd better enjoy this while I can,” she said, and wriggled her hips against him. He looped an arm around her while she slid her hand under the sheet and ministered to him with professional skill. Her heavy gardenia perfume lay over them like a blanket. It was nearly suffocating compared to the airy, weightless scent of flowers and vanilla . . .

  Across the inside of his closed eyelids drifted a confused image of long honey-colored hair and big gray eyes. She nipped his earlobe, just sharply enough to make him turn his head and try to cover her lips with his own. Callie immediately pulled away and sat up, clutching her silly transparent wrap to herself in a rare show of modesty.

  “Now, Ty, you know the rule. I'll pleasure you any way you like, except for kissing. I don't allow kissing. You didn't forget?”

  He gazed at her and sighed. “No, I didn't forget.” He considered her in silence for a bit longer. Finally, he held out his arm. “Just lie down here and sleep with me, then.”

  Her sculpted brows rose daintily. "That's all you want? What about—"

  “That's all I want, Callie.”

  He thought she looked almost disappointed. Then she smiled that cat smile, blew out the candle, and did as he asked. She snuggled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

  Tyler stared at the ceiling until long after the piano downstairs fell silent.

  *~*~*

  The next morning, Tyler got his horse from the livery stable and headed back to the Lodestar, tired and frustrated in more ways than one. Trying to find a new cook, he'd talked to every sober man he saw in Heavenly who could drag one foot after the other. Not one was interested. Either they were already working for one of the surviving spreads, they were headed elsewhere, or they didn't know a single thing about cooking. As desperate as Tyler was to replace Libby Ross, he knew he couldn't bring home someone who was as bad or worse than their last cook. The crew wouldn't stand for it, and he wasn't much interested in lousy food himself.

  As the bunch grass and sage slipped by, Tyler wrestled with the problem. What was he going to do now? Those cattle had to be in Miles City four weeks from now. That was the deal he'd made with the buyers. But he couldn't take a woman on a drive. Women weren't made for the hardships of the trail. They were delicate and easily injured. He'd had to think twice before even agreeing to let Rory go. And he was a strong fifteen-year-old boy, accustomed to working long hours, and in all kinds of weather.

  He couldn't allow Libby Ross to go with them. Could he? Tyler pondered his alternatives, and kept coming around to the same truth. He had no alternatives, no choices. To meet the schedule he'd agreed to, and to feed the crew on the drive, he'd have to take her with him. Joe had said she was willing to go . . .

  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.”

 

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