A Taste of Heaven (29 page)

An ache crept up Tyler's chest to his throat
and made it tight. It was a sensation he hadn't known in a very
long time—at least five years. But he recognized it. Tyler felt
like crying. For himself, for a little girl left at an orphanage by
a tubercular mother, for a good cowboy who'd lost his life working
for the Lodestar.

His eyes started to burn. Damn it, he
thought. He swallowed hard and pushed the feeling back to the
smallest corner of his heart, where it belonged.

He drained his glass, then pushed himself to
his feet, and looked through the kitchen window again. It seemed
like there was only one person in the world tonight who could make
him feel better.

Libby glanced up to see Tyler standing in the
doorway. Why did he have to be so handsome? she wondered irritably.
Even in his current state of dissipation, he looked better than did
most temperate men. It would be much easier to ignore him if he
were ugly, or even dirt-plain.

Getting a plate, he walked to the stove and
spooned up chicken stew from the big pot on the burner, and brought
it to the table.

“May I join you?” he asked, and waited for
her answer.

She stared at him with her jaw slightly open.
He was going to have his supper with her? She'd never seen him eat
with anyone, except for that stormy night in the wagon when they'd
shared biscuits and tender, fevered kisses. It seemed like years
ago, now.

“Yes, of course.”

He took the seat across from her. She caught
a faint whiff of whiskey, but he wasn't drunk, or even tipsy. A
kind of fatalism had settled on her shoulders in the hours since
their last encounter. Despite Joe's confidence to the contrary, she
assumed that Tyler was about to deliver her dismissal.

He poked his fork into a piece of chicken.
“That's quite a right arm you have.”

A scorching blush sizzled up her from her
neck to her hairline, and she began babbling. “I really apologize.
I can't imagine—I don't know why I—”

“Yes, you do,” he said, capturing her eyes
with his. “And so do I. Joe was right. I haven't been so easy to
get along with. As for last night, I don't remember it very well,
but I'm sure I made a jackass of myself.”

It wasn't exactly an apology, but it sounded
like one. And to her own amazement, Libby found herself making
excuses for him. “Well, I guess a lot has happened lately,” she
said. “There was the drive, and the storm, losing Charlie—” She
still got a catch in her chest when she remembered the unnatural
peace on his face that morning.

Tyler picked up a piece of bread from the
plate on the table. “That's not good enough. Those things happened
to all of us. Anyway, this goes back a lot further.”

“To your wife?” She felt as though she were
putting her head in the lion's mouth by asking.

He sighed slightly. “Yeah.”

Tyler had said that she'd died in childbirth.
“Maybe if she'd had a doctor to take care of her?” she posed. Libby
thought of the night he'd bandaged her hand—he'd said there hadn't
been one in Heavenly for a long time.

His tone turned flinty. “A
doctor
let Jenna die. A doctor who
was supposed to know how to save lives, not let them slip
away.”

“Oh, dear.” That would explain, then, why he
seemed to think so little of physicians. She knew they were heading
into dangerous territory with this conversation. Fortunately, he
turned its direction.

He put his hand on the table, close to hers.
“Anyway, I’m sorry for the way I acted. I know you were just trying
to help.”

She glanced down shyly it her plate.
“Actually, you can be pretty charming when you want to be."

Whatever response he might have expected from
her, clearly it hadn't been this one. He smiled self-consciously,
and then he laughed, reinforcing her comment, but refuting it at
the same time. “Yeah, charming like an abscessed tooth.”

She laughed, too. “No—well, sometimes . . .
”

With that, the tension of the afternoon
eased, and they talked of inconsequential things, summer chores on
the ranch, the rhythm of the land and the seasons, her progress
with the flower beds.

“I don't think you'll want to be digging out
there tomorrow,” he said, and popped the bread crust into his
mouth. “It's going to rain, probably most of the day.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked,
somewhat doubtful. “There isn't a cloud in the sky. The stars are
so close and bright.”

“Yeah, but it'll rain. I can smell it
coming.” He gestured at the open doorway. She lifted her head and
sniffed, then shook her head. “Can't you?” He sounded surprised
that she couldn't.

“This is all a lot different from the city,”
Libby said, getting up for the coffeepot “It would take a lifetime
of living here to learn everything there is to know. You're so much
a part of the land and the animals—it suits you.”

He held out his coffee cup for her to fill.
“It didn't always, though. For a while, I wanted to get away from
here so bad, I thought I'd bust. And I did leave for a few years to
go to school. I came back when my father got sick. I wasn't
planning to stay, but I ended up promising him that I would.” He
laid his knife and fork across his empty plate. “It was the last
thing he asked of me. He said it was my responsibility to steward
this land, to keep it for my own son just as he'd kept it for
me.”

Tyler fell silent for a moment. He wasn't
sure that there would be sons to inherit the Lodestar when his own
life reached the end of its days. But the idea of children made him
think of the act that created them, and he looked at the woman
sitting across the table from him.

Despite the events of this morning,
regardless of the times they'd clashed, and the conflict that raged
in him, his desire for Libby had not dimmed. If anything, it had
grown stronger.

He remembered just enough of last night to
recall holding her to himself, with her soft breasts pressed
against his chest. More than ever Tyler wanted to lay her on his
bed and find out if hearts could be mended in the joining of bodies
and spirits. He could imagine her, soft and aroused with the timid
fire that he'd felt coursing through her that night in the
wagon.

That she was a virgin was almost a
certainty—she'd admitted that she and Ben Ross hadn't consummated
their marriage of convenience, and her inexperience had been
obvious when he kissed her. But what sweet pleasure it would be to
gentle her and coax her from her shyness.

He shook off this daydream. It was
impossible, out of the question, and he'd just make himself crazy
if he didn't stop thinking about it.

“I've got to check on that bay filly.” He
pushed himself away from the table and Libby stood to pick up their
dishes. He took them from her hands and carried them to the sink.
When he turned, he couldn't quite stop himself from walking back to
her.

“Thanks for dinner, Libby,” he said, allowing
himself the treat of looking down into her delicate face. He let
his gaze roam over her soft, coral mouth, her smooth brow, her
eyes. “And, well, everything else.”

She blushed, the color staining her cheeks
with an innocent beauty that tugged at his heart and made him
smile. “You're welcome, Tyler. I-I hope you'll be feeling
better.”

Unable to resist, he pressed a kiss to her
cheek and the corner of her mouth.

“I do, too.”

*~*~*

Tyler didn't return until later that night.
He'd ridden the open range in the moonlight until both he and his
horse were exhausted. When he finally came home, he'd sat on the
front porch, hoping that would take his mind off Libby Ross. But it
hadn't worked.

In all his life, he'd never had to deal with
the conflicting emotions that were at war within him now. His life
had been simple: work and sleep. Problems were met head-on and
solved. Even his Saturday nights at the Big Dipper were figured
into his routine.

Now he climbed the steps in the dark,
carrying his boots to avoid waking Libby, and praying for the
oblivion of sleep. As he neared her bedroom door, though, his steps
slowed, and once more he found himself stopped in front of it. As
he stood there, he got the stupid notion that she was the only one
who could make him feel better. The only one who could redeem his
spirit from the lifeless void into which it had fallen.

He gripped the doorknob again, and this time
he turned it. The door swung open and he saw her lying there. Her
hair flowed loose behind her head, and the front of her nightgown
had opened to reveal the swell of a perfectly curved breast. A
shaft of light from the half-moon cut across the bed. She looked so
beautiful, he thought, swallowing. He put his boots down in the
hallway and padded into the room.

It was a stupid, dangerous thing he was
doing, he told himself, but that didn't stop him. Fully dressed, he
eased himself down next to her on top of the blankets, and had but
a moment to inhale her sweet vanilla scent before sleep overtook
him.

L
ibby stood at
the kitchen window, looking at the clearing skies and wet yard
through the wavy glass. Tyler had been right—it had begun raining
steadily just after dawn and now, at three o'clock, the sun was
finally drying things out.

She felt restless. It wasn't that she didn't
have enough to do here in the kitchen. But she missed her work in
the flower beds. It was good to get out in the sun, and after a few
hours of weeding and digging, she slept like the dead at night. Not
only that, but it gave her something to think about besides
Tyler.

Tyler.

Today, it seemed that she'd been able to
think of nothing but him and the beautiful, disturbing dream that
she'd had last night. In the way of dreams, it had been a confusing
jumble that made no sense. Why would a man lie down to sleep with a
woman on top of the blankets, with all his clothes on? At the same
time, it was so vivid, she'd sworn that she could smell the clean
scent of horses and hay, even after she'd awakened and realized she
was alone.

This morning when he'd come into the kitchen
for coffee, she could hardly look him in the face, she felt so
self-conscious. He, on the other hand, had looked a little better
than he had lately. His eyes were brighter, and he smiled more.

Sighing, she went to the oven to baste the
roast she was serving for supper. One good thing about living on a
cattle ranch was that she never lacked for beef or had to worry
about how fresh it was. She knew exactly where it came from, and
when.

From outside, she heard running footsteps and
jangling spurs. It sounded as though someone were dodging the
puddles between the barn and the house. Suddenly the door flew
open.

She froze, basting spoon in mid-drizzle.

“Miss Libby!” Rory gasped, charging into the
kitchen. His color was high and he was breathless, and he was as
mud-spattered as she'd seen any of them.

“What?" Oh, God, what had happened now? she
wondered, her heart lurching to a full gallop.

“Miss Libby, Joe says to get yourself
prettied up because—” he huffed, “because we're goin' to the grange
dance tonight.”

“A dance?”

“Yes'm. One Saturday night a month, there's a
dance at the grange in Heavenly. Joe said if it quit rainin', we'd
go. Well, we're goin'! Right after supper!” He turned around and
raced out again, slamming the door behind him.

A dance. That meant music and socializing.
She hadn't been to a dance since Mrs. Brandauer had donated Libby's
services to an event sponsored by one of her pet charities. Even
then, Libby had worked in the kitchen at the dance, not attended as
a guest. She wasn't even sure she could remember the few simple
steps she'd learned as a girl.

Hurriedly, she shoved the roast back in with
the hem of her apron and closed the oven door. She hoped she had
something nice enough to wear. Pushing on the swinging door, she
raced through the parlor and up the stairs, all the while mentally
reviewing the skimpy contents of her wardrobe. Granted, this was
the frontier, but she wanted Tyler to be proud of her—

Well, what a ridiculous notion, she scolded
herself. She wasn't dressing to please him. Not exactly . . .

In her room, she stood before the wardrobe,
considering and discarding possible dresses, until she finally saw
the one that would be perfect.

At supper, the crew offered to serve
themselves so that Libby could wash and dress. She was so nervous,
she had trouble turning the handle on her curling iron without
burning herself. When she put on the pale blue gown she'd selected,
she was surprised to discover that it was a bit loose now.
Apparently hard work and worry had taken a few pounds from her. But
she was able to hide the fact with the cream satin sash, and the
sweetheart neckline was still flattering.

Finally, she stood before her, washstand
mirror, twisting this way and that, trying to see the results of
her efforts. Her hair, tied back with a blue ribbon, hung down her
back in big curls that caught a gleam of yellow sunlight from the
window. She dabbed a bit of lavender water on her throat and behind
her ears. Then leaning closer to the mirror, she pinched her cheeks
and bit her lips until they stung like fire. Nodding at her
reflection, she drew a breath, then left her room and went down the
stairs.

At the bottom, Tyler and the Lodestar cowboys
waited, including the ones who weren't even going tonight, to see
what their cook looked like when she was dressed up. Their hats
clutched to their bellies, they stared at her in amazed silence
that reminded her of her first day here. The smell of bay rum
hovered in a cloud above them. Everywhere she saw shined boots,
water-slicked hair, and dressy shirts.