A Taste of Heaven

by Alexis Harrington

  “Charlie—Noah, stop it!” Libby demanded, but if either of them heard her, she saw no indication of it. She backed up. They were nose to nose, and she saw Noah's right hand close into a fist. Around the campfire behind her, she became aware that all conversation and eating had ceased. She looked around for Tyler or Joe, but didn't see either one.

  Suddenly, Charlie's hand flew up under Noah's plate, launching pork and apples into his face and down his shirtfront.

  After his initial shock, fire flamed in Noah's eyes. “You son of a bitch!” With the raging energy of humiliation, he flung himself at Charlie and they fell to the ground, rolling and grappling like a pair of tomcats, neither one able to pull an arm back far enough to deliver an effective punch. A hat tumbled across the grass, carried by the wind.

  Every man present abandoned his supper to watch the brawl, and to egg on the combatants.

  “Watch out for eye-gouging, Noah!”

  “Swing with your left, Charlie, your left!”

  Even Rory, wide-eyed and grinning, yelled, “Git him, Charlie! Show him how it's done!”

  “Rory!” she exclaimed. “Don't encourage them!”

  Occasionally, a successful punch got thrown and the sound of a fist connecting with a face made a sickening noise. She hovered on the outside of the group, a horrified witness, until she managed to elbow her way between a couple of cowboys.

  “Will someone please pull them apart?” she demanded, trying to make herself heard over the whooping and hollering of the onlookers. They made as much enthusiastic racket as spectators at a prize fight. “Hickory, do something about it!”

  “Aw, they're just havin' a little fun, Miss Libby,” Hickory Cooper said, pantomiming jabs without looking at her.

  Frustrated with being ignored, and jostled back and forth, she shouted, “Isn't someone going to stop this before they kill each other?”

  “Yes, damn it to hell! I'm going to stop it right now.” An angry voice thundered through the camp, and Libby turned to see Tyler coming on like a locomotive with long legs and spurs. Joe was right behind him.

  Tyler looked weary and thoroughly disgusted, as though this bothersome thing was the last straw at the end of a particularly trying day. Fury poured off him in waves that scattered the men like grain in a hailstorm. Even Libby thought he was a terrifying figure.

  “Goddamned harebrained idiots,” Joe barked in his low voice. “You get your asses up from there and have done, or both of you will be riding away from here tonight with your pay.” He and Tyler yanked the two men up by their shirt collars.

  “But, Tyler—” Rory protested.

  “Rory,” he replied warningly, indicating by his tone that the youngster would be wise to maintain his silence. “Charlie, aren't you supposed to be with the herd?”

  “Yeah,” he grumbled between breaths, and jerked his dirty, grass-stained shirt back into place. Then he took his hat from Bean, who'd retrieved it, and put it on. His eye was already swelling, apparently one of Noah's fists had made contact.

  “Noah, you get on with whatever you're supposed to be doing,” Tyler ordered. “The rest of you do the same.”

  With his nose bleeding down the front of his shirt, Noah stormed off across the field.

  Libby went back to her post at the chuck wagon, both shaken and angry with Noah and Charlie, wishing she could give them a piece of her mind. She couldn't believe those two had rolled around on the ground and punched each other like—like savages!

  She'd never seen anything like that back home. Yes, it probably had happened all the time, but not right under her nose. Then she decided that being bawled out by Tyler and Joe was punishment enough.

  She poured hot water into the dishpan and began washing the plates and utensils with soap that wouldn't lather. And for the first time since they'd left, she found herself thinking about the Lodestar instead of Chicago.

  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 k
ind 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.

  The sulfur head blazed and in the glaring kerosene light, she grabbed up the shotgun and a box of shells with hands that trembled. Thank God Tyler had insisted that she learn to shoot this thing. She still thought that hitting the rattlesnake had been far more luck than anything else, but having the gun on her lap would make her feel a little safer.

  The lightning had moved on, but the storm continued to howl around her. Her hair hung in limp, wet hanks on her neck and back. Picking her clammy, cold skirts away from her legs, Libby tried to think of a convincing reason why she shouldn't feel sorry for herself. But given her miserable circumstances and her growing fear, she couldn't come up with even one.

  Hot tears welled up in her eyes, and she let them come because she could think of no reason to stop them, either.

  *~*~*

  Tyler looked at the milling, tightly herded cattle with a sense of profound relief. They might have to round up a few head—there hadn't been time to count them yet. But at least they'd turned them before they plunged off the cliff.