A Taste of Heaven (18 page)

“Tyler!” she called. “Are you all right?”

He turned to face her, the light streaks in
his hair gleaming under the sun. “Yeah,” he exhaled.

Relief made her arms and legs feel like lead.
She held the shotgun in a death grip. She could even detect the
metallic smell of the long barrel.

He walked over and touched her arm. His eyes
were startlingly blue against his pallor. Sweat ran from his
temples into the lather on his face.

“Pretty good shooting, Libby.” He waved a
shaky hand in the direction of the decapitated snake.

Libby looked at it and swallowed. Reaction
was beginning to set in and chills rushed over her body in waves,
making goose bumps rise on her skin. For no reason she could think
of, tears welled in her eyes.

Tyler peered into her face. He wiped the soap
off his jaws with the towel slung around his neck. Prying the
weapon out of her hands, he leaned it against the wagon wheel. Then
he put an arm around her shoulders.

“I-I didn't know if I c-could do it—” She
turned and dashed her hand across her eyes. Her voice shook, her
limbs shook, and she couldn't conquer either one. He'd think she
was just the flimsy, inept female he'd believed her to be all
along. But it was infinitely comforting—and just as disturbing—to
stand in his loose embrace. “I always m-missed before—”

“Shhh . . . it's all right, Libby.” The
timbre of his voice had changed, and he spoke right next to her
ear. “Shhh.” It was the same reassuring tone he'd used when he
bandaged her hand that night in his office. Then he pulled her
closer and put both arms around her. She melted against him. She'd
had so little comforting in her life. Growing up with dozens of
other children in the orphanage, she'd been fed, clothed, and
provided with basic education. But hugs had been few and far
between.

When he pressed her cheek to his warm, bare
shoulder, she thought she felt his lips graze her temple.

“B-but I might have shot you instead.”

Backing up a bit, he lifted her chin to look
at him, and smiled with honest admiration. “Yeah, but I was willing
to take the chance. Besides, I'd bet on you over a snake any day.
And see? You did hit it. Took its head clean off.”

She glimpsed at the creature again. “I guess
I did.”

He shifted her to one arm, keeping her close
to his ribs, and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Sure you did. You
know, you earned that snake's rattle, if you want it.”

She shook her head vehemently. “God, no.”

He smiled again, as nice a smile as he gave
to Rory and Callie. “If we were back in Texas, we'd be having
rattlesnake stew for supper.”

“Snake stew!” She made a face. “N-no, we
wouldn't, not if I were doing the cooking. I-I wouldn't have that
thing in my kitchen.”

“Noah Bradley will be disappointed when he
hears that. So will a couple of the other boys from south Texas.”
Lifting his closed razor, he looked at it wobbling slightly in his
grip, and a wry chuckle escaped him. “Maybe I'll wait until tonight
to shave. Right now, I'd probably slip and cut my own throat.”

Tyler counted himself lucky. He'd had close
calls with rattlesnakes before, but he'd always been wearing his
revolver, or had a weapon close by. He felt incredibly stupid now
for taking, off his gun belt with his shirt. Where the hell had his
head been? If Libby hadn't been here—

“You know, you probably saved my life.” He
admitted this a bit grudgingly. To be defended by a little city
woman like her—damn, Joe would really give him hell for this.

“I only shot the snake instead of you,” she
reminded him with a little laugh. “It could have been lots worse.”
The color was returning to her face. For a minute, he'd worried
that she might faint. But probably not Libby. He was beginning to
believe that Joe had been right about her—she was stronger than she
looked.

“Well, you saved me from being bitten
anyway. And saved yourself from the job of cutting open the wound.”
He sketched the mark of an
X
in the air with his razor, then tucked it into his
belt.

Shifting his gaze to her again, his smile
faded. He searched her face. It was small, smooth, and pretty under
the mild April sun. Her eyes were fringed with long lashes that
were much darker than her honey hair. Like a reflex action, he
tightened his arm around her and slowly brought his fingertips to
her cheek. Her breasts, pressed to his side, felt soft and full. He
let his eyes drop to her moist mouth, which also looked soft and
full, and tried to remember the last time he'd kissed a woman. It
seemed like a silly thing to wonder about, considering the fact
that he regularly slept with a female who gave him blithe,
uninhibited access to her body. But Callie would not let him or any
other man take her lips in a kiss. For reasons known only to her,
she thought it too intimate an exchange, whether or not he was one
of her “regular gentlemen.”

Tyler had never understood that. To him, it
was just another physical act. But now, holding Libby in his arm,
he thought that perhaps he did understand. To cover her mouth with
his own would mean much more than a casual meeting of lips, and he
ached to do it. But it scared him.

Their association would end one of two
ways—she would get on the train in Miles City, or she would marry
Charlie. Either way, she would be gone soon, and so be it. He
wasn’t even foursquare positive any more that her going was a good
thing. But he knew it was the right thing.

“Well, I guess you'd better get back to
whatever you were doing,” he said, and released her.

Libby wished he hadn't. No matter how
inappropriate the notion was, she felt she could stand with his arm
around her all afternoon. He was strong, unyielding—like a rock—and
she found more reassurance in that than she would have guessed. And
while her knowledge of such things was limited only to Wesley, she
swore he'd been about to kiss her. The thought was warm and
tantalizing, and brought fire to her cheeks.

No. Enough of that foolishness, she
scolded herself, and pulled away from him, backing up four or five
paces. It wasn't just that she and Tyler Hollins would be parting
company in a few days. He was her employer,
her employer
, just like Wesley Brandauer. Well,
maybe not exactly like him. He'd been selfish, and haughty
sometimes, and had known how to charm and cajole her to achieve his
own gains.

But Tyler was not warmth and security, not
for her, anyway, and she didn't need his strength. She'd gotten
this far on her own, she could manage the rest of the way, too.

She tucked her hands into her apron pockets,
suddenly feeling awkward. “Yes, I'm sure the men will be expecting
their lunch soon. I-I'd better get busy.” She bent to retrieve the
shotgun. “I'll put this away.”

Rory rode in then with a bundle of firewood
tied to the back of his saddle. “I thought I heard a shot,” he
said, looking at her, then at Tyler. “Have you been target
practicin', Miss Libby?”

“I guess you could say that,” she said with a
shaky laugh.

Tyler, putting on his shirt, gave her an even
look. “And her aim has improved, Rory. It's improved a lot.”

The incident about the shooting spread
quickly through the men. Having witnessed Libby's misfires at the
ranch fence, they all congratulated her on her marksmanship, and
made jokes about the danger of a sharpshooting woman. Joe offered
to make a hat band for her out of the diamond-patterned snakeskin,
but she declined.

“Well, dang—ain't we havin' it for supper?”
Noah Bradley inquired of her that evening. He looked down at his
tin plate of pork belly, fried apples, and biscuits. Though the sun
was low in the sky, his hat cast a shadow over his eyes. “I've been
lookin' forward to rattlesnake ever since I heard about it this
afternoon.” A couple of disappointed murmurs had carried the news
to him at the back of the line, as Tyler had predicted.

“Sorry, Noah.” Libby shook her head. “I'm
trying to learn to make coffee you men can stand a spoon in, if
that's what you want, and biscuits nearly as big as stove lids. But
I refuse to cook a snake for supper.”

“No disrespect, Miss Libby, but we ain't used
to such civilized cookin' in Texas.” Like a lot of the cowboys,
Noah was very sure of himself, although he lacked some of Charlie's
easygoing good nature, or Joe's mannered dignity. But he was
generally respectful in the few dealings she'd had with him. And
she knew that he and Charlie were friends. “Down on the Nueces
River we ate snake and lizard.” He smiled, and his face fell into
weathered creases that looked out of place on a man so young. “I'll
tell you all about it if you go for a walk with me after
supper.”

That was the last thing she wanted to do, but
before she could refuse, Charlie, who was getting a drink from the
water barrel, jumped in.

“Miss Libby don't want to take a walk with
you, Noah.” He stepped closer, his usually friendly face clouded
over like a storm hovering above the mountains. Immediately the air
crackled with tension between the two men.

Noah gave him a cold look. “Maybe she does.
Who died and made you the boss man, Charlie?”

Libby had no intention of going anywhere with
Noah Bradley, but could imagine the scene becoming ugly, and she
refused to be argued over like a bone between two dogs. Charlie's
infatuation, or whatever it was, had robbed him of his sense.
“Excuse me, if I could say something—”

Both men ignored her. Charlie jabbed a finger
into Noah's shoulder. “Miss Libby ain't one of those dance hall
dollies you're used to. She's a lady.”

Noah's face flushed with anger, and he
jerked his shoulder away. “The
lady
can decide for herself if she wants to take a stroll. What do
you know about ladies, anyhow, Charlie? You've had to pay for your
pokes for years now,” he said, shoving back.

“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.