A Taste of Heaven (36 page)

She traced her finger across his lips. "I
fell in love with you because I discovered the tender man hiding
underneath a tough, hard mask.” She arched a brow at him. “It took
some work to find him, though.”

He chuckled again and pulled her back down to
his shoulder. “I'm glad you didn't give up.”

She snuggled against him. “Well, you're stuck
with me now.”

Now and forever. Tyler turned his head to
press kisses to the outer corner of her eye and her cheek. He'd
sworn to her that he'd never let her go.

How could he, he thought, a bit ruefully,
when she had such a tight grasp on his own heart?

T
he next
morning, Tyler surprised Libby by coming into the kitchen while the
crew was making short work of her pancakes. When he walked in,
conversation ceased abruptly. She raised her brows and smiled at
him. It would take a little more exposure to his easygoing side to
get them used to this new Tyler Hollins—a man who smiled more than
he frowned.

She could not keep her eyes off him. Had
there ever been a man so handsome? His eyes had a wicked sparkle in
them this morning, and he looked far more rested even though she
knew that he'd slept only about three hours.

Catching her gaze, he winked at her and she
blushed hotly, remembering how they'd spent the rest of the night.
After she'd helped him put his bed back together, he washed and
shaved, and came to her again in her room. This time, they made
love slowly, exploring each other's bodies with curious, gentle
caresses.

Tyler stood at the worktable and faced the
men. “I don't mean to interrupt your breakfast, and I know Joe has
that schedule he likes to keep, so this will take only a minute.”
He smiled at the foreman, and a quiet chuckle rippled, through the
group—everyone knew that Tyler was the schedule maker at the
Lodestar.

“You boys probably heard that I went to
Billings. I found a new cook there. He used to work for the DHS
outfit over in the Judith Basin, and he'll be here in about a
month's time to take over this kitchen.”

All eyes shifted to Libby, with some awkward
stirring and throat clearing. Rory watched Tyler, and a slight
frown creased his brow. Only Joe grinned.

Tyler paused a beat before going on,
obviously enjoying the suspense. “I fired Miss Libby last night
when she agreed to marry me.”

Libby stared at him with her mouth open. He
was such a private man, one who shared his thoughts and feelings
with nobody—this was the last thing she expected him to say. He
winked at her again, and suddenly she realized what he had done. By
making this public announcement of their engagement, he'd expanded
the scope of his commitment to her. It wasn't a secret, or an
unsubstantial promise made in the dark. It was real. And he wanted
everyone to know it.

The cheers and whistles and applause that
erupted in the room were deafening. Tyler held his hand out to her
and she joined him at the worktable, blushing and laughing.

Joe stood up and came to pump Tyler's hand.
“So you did it, you stubborn bast—son of a gun.”

“Yeah, I did it.” Tyler held up Libby's left
hand and showed him the ring.

Joe kissed Libby's cheek, grazing her with
his big mustache. “He said he was gonna ask you, but I'll tell you,
Miss Libby,” he rumbled in a confidential tone, “I nearly wrung
this boy's neck a time or two, waitin' for him to come to his
senses.”

She whispered back, “If I'd known, I probably
would have helped you.”

His dark eyes gleamed and he laughed again,
then he shook her hand. “Welcome to the Lodestar, Miss Libby. We're
sure glad you're here to stay, even if Tyler is takin' the best
damned cook we ever had.”

Rory came up then and offered his hand to
Tyler in a very grown-up gesture. His young face was serious and
dignified. Libby had seen him wear that expression from time to
time since the day Charlie died. It was as though he'd buried the
last of his childhood with his friend.

“What do you say, Rory?” Tyler asked,
slinging his arm around the back of the boy's neck. “Does this
sound all right to you?”

Libby realized then what significance Tyler's
remarriage might have for Rory. After all, his sister had been
Tyler's first wife.

Rory nodded. “Yeah, if it'll keep Miss Libby
here so we don't have to worry about her leavin' anymore.”

Tyler replied, “That's exactly what it
means.”

A bright smile lit up his face. Then he asked
in a wheedling tone, “Miss Libby, ma'am, do you think you'll still
bake cookies once in a while?”

“Peanut butter?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, ma'am!”

“I think that's one job I'd better keep,
then.”

One by one, the men approached the informal
receiving line to congratulate them—Kansas Bob, Noah, the Cooper
boys, and all the rest, including Jim Colby.

Jim was a big man with a lantern jaw and
quiet, solitary ways—the complete opposite of the man he'd
replaced. There wasn't much he could do around the ranch with his
arm in a sling, but both Joe and Tyler had insisted on keeping him
on at full pay.

As she received their sincere best wishes and
good-natured teasing, Libby basked in the well-being that washed
over her. She might not have blood relatives to witness her
marriage to the man standing next to her, but she had the people at
this ranch.

And that counted for a lot.

*~*~*

Plans went forward for the wedding, and
Libby's days were busy. No formal invitations were sent. Rather,
news of the event was spread by word of mouth, and Nort Osmer was
counted upon to do most of the broadcasting. The ceremony would
take place at the Lodestar, and there would be a cookout feast
afterward.

Libby forced herself to remember that while
it felt otherwise, this was not her first marriage. And she was a
widow on top of that, marrying after a disgracefully short period
of mourning. In Chicago, where rigid Victorian etiquette held sway,
even a domestic would be expected to wear black for at least two or
three years. Things might be more relaxed in Montana, but a white
dress for Libby was still out of the question.

When Tyler took her into Heavenly to buy the
fabric for her wedding gown, with a trace of regret she passed over
a bolt of fine white lawn in favor of lavender shadow stripe.

“Was that nine yards, Mrs. Ross—uh, Miss
Libby?” Nort asked, measuring off the stripe.

“Yes, that's right,” she said, watching him
unroll the fabric on the counter.

“I swan, who'd have dreamed when you came
here last September that you'd be marryin' two of our boys within a
year's time?” Nort pondered tactlessly. He looked up from his
yardstick. “I guess this was what you could call one of them
whirlwind courtships.”

Just then the door opened behind Libby, and
she turned, hoping that Tyler had finished his business with
Sheriff Watkins. She doubted that Nort would feel quite so
reflective if he were here. Instead, she saw Callie Michaels.

“Hello there, Nort. And if it isn't Mrs.
Ross,” she exclaimed, smiling, and looking around the store. “I
thought that was Ty's wagon out front. Where has he run off to?”
She swept in with a rustle of emerald brocade and gardenia
perfume.

“Oh, he's down talkin' to the sheriff,” Nort
said.

Callie walked up to the counter and rubbed
the lavender shadow stripe between her soft, plump fingers.
“Running up a new dress?” she inquired of Libby. “Except for church
and those dances at the Grange hall, there aren't many places
around Heavenly to wear a nice dress.” She looked down at her own
brocade and laughed broadly. “ ‘Course, I don't go to church and
we've got dancing every night at the Big Dipper.”

Libby smiled and backed up a step, the
perfume starting a headache at her temples. “Mr. Osmer, you'll put
in a spool of matching thread, too, please?”

“I guess Montana didn't scare you off, after
all. Ty said you'd decided to stay on and work for him in his
kitchen.”

She heard the barb hovering under Callie's
remark. She found it unnerving to be in the company of this woman
who'd spent more time touching her future husband's body than Libby
had herself.

“Actually, I've been promoted,” Libby
began.

“That's right, Callie,” Nort jumped in.
“Tyler and Miss Libby here are gettin' married. We're just now
measuring off the dress goods for her weddin' dress. And Ty is
talking to Jack Watkins about performin' the ceremony.”

This time, Libby silently blessed Nort for
his gabbiness.

Though her expression did not change, the
madam's face paled beneath her powder. “Well, is that a fact?” she
said a bit too brightly. She turned her knowing smile on Libby, and
looked her up and down. “Then I probably won't be seeing him—for a
little while, anyway. Nort, I'll come back when you're not so
busy.”

She left as she'd arrived, with a swish of
brocade and a choking cloud of gardenia.

When the door closed, Libby let out a low,
angry breath and released her clenched fists.

“By dang, that Callie,” Nort laughed and
shook his head. “If she don't take the cake.”

Libby knew it wasn't cake that Callie
Michaels was interested in taking.

*~*~*

That night, Libby lay in Tyler's arms,
quivering in gasping astonishment at the pleasure he summoned from
her body. After a climax that had left her weeping and exhausted,
she rested in his strong embrace, her own pulse still echoing
faintly in her womb.

“Are you all right?” he murmured, slowly
smoothing her hair. She could hear the smile in his voice—he knew
very well what her answer would be.

“Yes. You're pretty pleased with yourself,
aren't you?”

“Well, maybe a little. It's more important
that you're pleased.” His big hand ran up and down her bare
back.

She stretched against him languorously. “I
am, but you have an unfair advantage over me. You learned in school
how to—um, how this works.”

He laughed softly and kissed her forehead.
“Trust me, honey, this isn't something you can learn from a book.
It's mostly instinct and practice.”

Practice. It made her think of Callie
Michaels and all the “practice” he must have gotten in her bed.
Telling herself that it shouldn't bother her was not very
effective.

“Uh, you mean like when you went into
Heavenly on Saturday nights . . . ” Her voice
trailed away. She didn't have the courage, or even the right, she
supposed, to ask what his life had been like before.

Rolling her to her back, he turned on his
side to face her and propped his head on his hand. The vague shape
of him loomed over her in the darkness, and he interlaced his
fingers with hers.

“What's this about?”

After an awkward start, she told him about
seeing the woman at Osmer's that afternoon.

He sighed. “Libby, what was between Callie
and me, that was mostly business. It might be hard to understand,
because here in this bed, it's so personal with us—” He paused, as
though searching for the right words. “I guess I was friends with
her. I went to her looking for forgetfulness more than anything
else. You know . . . I paid her. She and I
never had real intimacy, not like this. Hell, she wouldn't even
kiss me—she thought it was too familiar or something.”

“Oh.” This cheered Libby enormously, although
she couldn't say why. But it probably accounted for the reason
Tyler liked to kiss her now. She squeezed his hand.

“And anyway,” he continued, “after you got
here—well, things were never the same. I couldn't—it didn't—” He
stumbled to a halt.

Libby waited, trying to puzzle out what he
meant. “What?”

He took her free hand and pressed it to
himself, that particular part of his anatomy now in repose. “It was
like this the whole time.” He sounded self-conscious, a rarity for
him.

“Really?” she asked. The brief touch of her
own palm, though, was apparently enough to revive him. Now she was
very happy. She remembered Callie, with her cloying smell of
gardenias, and that complacent, secret smile.

He leaned over and nuzzled her neck. “When
that happened, I knew I wanted only you. That was why I told Callie
good-bye,” he said simply. “And it seems the more I get of you, the
more I want.” The kisses he left behind were warm, soft.

She couldn't suppress her giggle when he
touched a ticklish place.

“Are you going to let me see the material you
chose for your wedding dress?” he asked, working his way down her
shoulder.

She turned her head toward the window. “I
didn't get white, if that's what you're wondering.”

“Did you want white?”

“It really wouldn't be appropriate.”

He was up on his elbow again. “Why the hell
not?” he demanded.

“For one thing I'm a widow. Plus, well,
Tyler, you should know better than anyone. I’m not a virgin—”

He put a finger to her chin and brought her
face back to his. “You were a virgin when you came to my bed and
I’m going to be your husband, the only man you'll ever sleep with.
If you want to be married in white, there's no reason why you
shouldn't be.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and
chuckled. “Besides, I've seen a few pregnant women go to the altar
in white. It's not illegal, you know.”

She reached up to pull him back down to the
pillow. “I don't give a damn what color the dress is as long as
you're there.”

He laughed. “That's the spirit. You're
starting to sound like me. Now let's see,” he said, kissing her
throat, “where did I leave off?”

*~*~*

The golden days that followed were the
sweetest that Libby had ever known. In love, Tyler Hollins was a
very happy man. When they were alone, they couldn't keep their
hands off each other. And he seemed to find so many reasons to come
to the kitchen.