A Taste of Heaven (24 page)

“You were the one who found him?” Libby
asked.

He nodded, and his face crumpled.

“Oh, Rory, Rory—I'm so sorry,” she lamented,
and drew his head to her lap. He gripped a wad of her apron in his
fist, and sobbed out his heart while she stroked his hair. As if
feeling his eyes on her, Libby turned and glanced at Tyler.

He drew a deep breath, backed up and walked
away. At that moment he wished to God that he could rest his head
in Libby Ross's lap and cry, too.

*~*~*

The next few days on the trail were busy but,
to everyone's relief, uneventful. Libby, tired, but oddly enough,
growing stronger, had settled into a routine that made her job
bearable, if not easy. She still silently cursed the primitive
conditions. She had little privacy, and no washing facilities
beyond a bucket of warm water and a bar of soap. But that would all
be over soon. Tyler said that barring any more problems, Miles City
was two days away.

After the cause of Charlie's death had been
dispensed with once and for all, at night around the campfire the
men would fall to reviewing funny things he'd done or said, heroic
deeds he'd accomplished, the nobility of his spirit. Overall, it
was decided that Charles Ryerson had been a cowboy's cowboy,
embodying every good thing that was expected of a man who earned
his pay in the saddle.

After Rory had poured out his grief the day
of Charlie's funeral, Libby supposed that he'd feel uncomfortable
around her now and would avoid her. Instead, he was more
solicitous, and she noticed that he walked and rode with a bit more
dignity. Perhaps he had indeed become a man, she thought.

But foremost on her mind, ahead of Rory, or
the day-to-day chores, or the end of this journey, was Tyler and
the night she had spent with him in the chuck wagon. He didn't try
to kiss her again, and she was distressed to realize that her
disappointment far outweighed her relief. But she thought that
maybe it was on his mind, too, because more often than not, when
she looked up from the mules' backs, she'd see him. He rode close
to the wagon, pointing out the very vastness of the sky, the
heartstopping vistas of land, and its rugged beauty. Once, they
even saw a bear on a far hillside. Libby was relieved when the
animal showed far less interest in them than they did in it.

Sometimes Tyler galloped out ahead of her,
executing tricky roping maneuvers and breathtaking displays of
horsemanship. His skill was both surprising and impressive. She
couldn't imagine what he was up to, except that it helped pass the
hours from one cow camp to the next.

She couldn't help but admire his straight
back and tall form. He was the most attractive man she'd seen in
Montana. In fact, she was beginning to believe that he was the
handsomest man she'd ever seen in her life.

He smiled more often, revealing white teeth
that gleamed in the spring sun, and once, to her complete
astonishment, he actually winked at her from the back of his horse.
She'd laughed with delight and a blush of shyness, and nearly
dropped the lines.

Sometimes, though, he looked at her with a
hot, piercing gaze that held such raw, intense need, she felt both
frightened and enkindled, as if she needed to respond somehow. At
night, when she lay in the wagon waiting for sleep to overtake her,
she'd remember the way his lips had felt upon hers, how he'd
unbuttoned his shirt and put her hand inside. Nothing she'd
experienced with Wesley Brandauer accounted for or made her
comfortable about the restless yearning that thoughts of Tyler
produced in her.

But he performed his most amazing deed on the
afternoon that he brought her a handful of wildflowers.

Tyler Hollins wasn't such an ogre after
all.

*~*~*

Tyler stood outside the rope corral with his
pinto's foreleg in his hands, checking the hoof for rocks. About an
hour of daylight remained, and on the western horizon the low sun
lit the underside of the clouds with vermillion fire. It was one of
his favorite times of day, sunset. Sunrise was the other one.
Something about the way the sky looked—a ball of fire on one
horizon and stars on the opposite side—appealed to his soul and
gave him a sense of peace. In good weather, he loved to sit on the
porch at the Lodestar, a cup of coffee on his knee—or a drink of
whiskey, depending upon the time—and watch the days begin and end.
Three weeks had passed since they left the ranch, and Tyler was
glad that the drive was almost over. Fairly glad, anyway.

Now and then he'd look up at the chuck wagon,
watching Libby's white-aproned figure as she moved from the chuck
box to the fire to the water barrel. She wore her plaid shawl with
the ends tucked into her waistband, and looking at it, Tyler
thought it was the best six dollars he'd ever spent. Even on clear
days like this one, the breeze that blew over the grass was chill
and sharp.

Before he'd gone out of his way to avoid her,
now he found himself more preoccupied with her than his job. More
than once he'd caught himself acting like a goofy schoolboy around
her.

“Looks like we made it, after all. We should
be in Miles City tomorrow afternoon.” Joe ambled up, but Tyler
heard his approach before he spoke—he had the noisiest spurs of any
of them. “Sometimes I had my doubts.” He crouched next to Tyler and
pulled up a blade of spring grass.

Tyler glanced down at him, surprised. “You?
You've never worried about much of anything.”

Joe ripped the blade into long, thread-fine
strips. “I guess what happened to Charlie sort of made me back up
and take a look at things.”

Tyler pulled a hoof pick out of his pocket.
“Yeah?”

“Sure. A man never knows when his time is
gonna be up. That's why he has to keep lookin' forward, and not let
things from the past drag at him.”

Tyler sighed and rubbed his nose against the
back of his glove. He had the feeling that he knew where this line
of conversation was going, but figured he might as well play along.
“What's dragging at you?”

Joe squinted up at him, the late-day sun
golden-bright in his face. “Me? Nothin'. I'm not talkin' about
me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was thinkin' of Rory.”

Tyler let the pinto's hoof drop, and looked
at Joe. This wasn't the response he was expecting. “What's the
matter with Rory? I talked to him about Charlie. He was upset but
he seems to be doing all right.”

Joe pointed the grass stem at him. “That's
just my point. Think of what that boy has been through. He lost his
ma and his sister, he's cut off from his old man. Now, this week,
his hero got killed by a lightning strike. But he ain't gonna let
it dry him up and turn him into a bitter man.”

“If you're comparing him to me—he's—how the
hell—” Tyler spluttered, then found his voice, “For chrissakes,
Rory is only fifteen years old!”

“Yessir, he is. That's a lot to happen to
someone in such a short lifetime. If he was like his pa, he could
blame you for Jenna. 'Course, I guess he don't need to—you blame
yourself enough to cover everyone.”

Tyler gave him a hard look and didn't
respond.

A cold, stiff breeze flattened the grass
around Joe. “Are you gonna let Libby Ross get on the train in Miles
City?”

He picked up the pinto's hoof again. Even
within the confines of his own heart, he wasn't willing to consider
how her leaving would change his life. “‘Let’ doesn't have anything
to do with it. She wants to go. And she should.”

“Not accordin' to what I've seen lately. Even
the boys have noticed it.” Joe reached into his jacket pocket and
brought out a bent cigarette.

Tyler felt a flush creep up his neck and he
kept his face tipped down toward the hoof as though it were the
most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. “There's nothing to notice,”
he mumbled. He felt the foreman's gaze on him.

“Ty, some men spend years lookin' for
somethin' that'll make them happy, never knowin' it was right under
their nose the whole time.”

“I've got the years to spend,” Tyler snapped,
beginning to feel badgered.

Joe stood and threw the grass stem aside, and
started to walk away. As if thinking better of it, he turned and
looked at him across the horse's back. Lighting his cigarette with
a kitchen match, he held it out and gazed at the flame for a
moment. Then he lifted his dark eyes to consider Tyler. A humorless
smile spread his big mustache across his lean face.

“I'll bet Charlie thought the same thing.” He
blew out the match with an exhale of cigarette smoke, and went back
toward camp.

T
he sky was
dark with the threat of rain when the Lodestar crew arrived at the
Miles City stockyards early the next afternoon. Tyler climbed onto
the wagon seat next to Libby to drive her into town, and she bid
farewell to the men there as they saw to the delivery of the
cattle. Saying good-bye was much harder than she'd
expected.

She waved to most of them from the chuck
wagon while they stayed in their saddles, herding their charges
through the gates. Rory stood in his stirrups and waved his hat.
Joe, however, rode his horse to her side. He leaned over and kissed
her cheek, tickling her face with his huge mustache. His smile held
genuine fondness.

“Miss Libby, ma'am, thanks for lookin' after
us old cowhands—we never ate so good till you got here,” he said in
his voice of low, rolling thunder. “I hope you find the best of
everything back in Chicago. But we're gonna miss you.”

“Thank you, Joe.” Her throat tight with
emotion, it was all she could do to get the words out. “You'll find
another good cook.”

“Maybe. But I doubt it.” He sent Tyler a
brief scowl that she didn't understand, then wheeled his horse
around to rejoin the others. Next to her, she heard Tyler sigh,
then he slapped the reins on the mules' backs and turned the wagon
toward town.

Driving down Main Street, they passed
saloons, shops, a bank, the blacksmith, and all manner of business
offices. Libby's eyes and ears were assaulted by the buildings and
people and horses. How quickly she'd grown accustomed to the
wide-open and the quiet of both the Lodestar and the range. And
this was just a small town in eastern Montana. Chicago was a
hundred times busier and noisier than this. But she'd get used to
it again, she told herself. The traffic and the crowds would become
so familiar she wouldn't really notice them after a while.

Tyler had been pretty quiet sitting next to
her, and it reminded her of the day they'd gone to Osmer's and he
bought her the plaid shawl she now wore.

“Will you start back for the Lodestar
tomorrow?” she asked, studying the clean lines of his profile.

“Yeah, in the afternoon. It’ll give the boys
a chance to sober up. I imagine they'll get going on a pretty good
drunk once they finish at the stockyards and clean up.”

“I hope not Rory,” she exclaimed. “He's too
young to be going into saloons and drinking.”

“Oh, Joe will buy him a beer or two,” he
said, maneuvering the mules around a wagon with a broken wheel. “I
don't think sarsaparilla is going to do the trick this time.”

A gap of silence opened as they both
remembered Charlie.

“Well, maybe not,” she agreed softly.

“It was good for Rory, having a woman
around,” he continued. He kept his eyes straight ahead, but a brief
smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “I don't suppose we've
taught him much about how to behave around a lady. Or how
comforting a woman's heart can be. I meant to thank you for sitting
with him after Charlie's funeral. Joe hadn't had the chance to tell
me it was Rory who found Charlie's body.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap. “He just
needed someone to talk to.” She'd been good for Rory, she thought.
And for Tyler Hollins? She cast a sidelong glance at him. “And are
you going to get drunk tonight, too?” They passed a busy saloon and
she couldn't help but remember Callie Michaels and the Big
Dipper.

He turned and looked at her. The smile was
gone. “No, I've got to find another cook.”

Not for the first time during the course of
the trail drive, Libby caught herself wishing that things had
turned out differently. Just a few short weeks ago, she'd smugly
believed that her plan to return to Illinois was a good one. She'd
wanted to leave Montana, an uncivilized wilderness thinly populated
with people whose standards and ideas were completely alien to her.
Why, the first time the Lodestar crew had invited her to sit and
eat supper with them, she'd been aghast. Mrs. Brandauer would have
happily starved before she invited Libby to dine at the same table
with the family. But after spending time in the West, she'd begun
to value the absence of pointless formality that separated people
into such rigid stations.

Tyler stopped the wagon in front of what
passed for a hotel in these parts—another narrow, two-story
clapboard structure that reminded her of the buildings in Heavenly.
Four rooms and a tiny bath, reached by a staircase on the side,
were built over a restaurant downstairs. After he'd paid her, duly
subtracting the cost of her saddle coat and gloves as she'd
insisted, they stood on the busy sidewalk in front of the
restaurant.

Tyler was dirty and tired, and he smelled
like cattle, horses, and hard work. But he remained unforgivably
handsome, formed as he was with long bones, and lean, powerful
muscles. It ought to be illegal for a man to be that attractive,
she thought. With a sense of resignation, she knew that he would
look good to her no matter what the state of his appearance. A
brief gleam of afternoon sun sparkled on the blond stubble in his
one-day auburn beard.

“Well, Libby, you made it.” He shifted his
weight from one long leg to the other, and pushed his hat forward
and then back. An awkwardness sprang up between them.