A Taste of Heaven (30 page)

“Miss Libby, I have to say that the boys from
the other outfits are gonna be so green with jealousy when they see
our cook, they'll probably try to steal you away from us,” Joe
pronounced. “But you have to promise that you won't let 'em.”

Libby laughed at the sweet, honest
flattery. “I promise. After all, I've just gotten you boys figured
out.” She locked eyes with Tyler then and thought,
all except you
. He said nothing, but
she read his compliment in his eyes and his quiet smile.

“All right, everybody, let's get going,” Joe
said, in his best trail boss voice.

Wrapped in her plaid shawl, she followed them
outside to the wagon that would take them into Heavenly. Only Tyler
rode his own horse.

Perched on the seat next to Joe, who was
driving, Libby heard all the good-natured ribbing and laughing
going on behind her as they rolled toward town. Their high spirits
and excitement were contagious.

“Joe, you remember old German Sam,” she heard
Noah say.

“I remember him,” Joe said. “The glass eye
and those false teeth give me the creeps every time I see him.”

“Yeah, and what about the wig?” Kansas Bob
put in.

Libby's brows rose at the description.

Noah went on. “He was a miner for a time over
around Virginia City, and he was in an explosion before he gave it
up to drive a freight wagon. That's why he lost so many parts.
Anyways, a few years ago when Custer got the Sioux all stirred up,
German Sam was drivin' that wagon and some braves stopped him and
was tryin' to decide if they should kill him. But old Sam knew some
of their lingo, so when he heard one of the braves talk about
scalpin', he took that derned wig off and handed it to him.”

“Oh, my,” Libby said.

“Well, Miss Libby, I 'spect that brave
was thinkin' the same thing when he got a look at that bald head.
Next, Sam took out his false teeth and gave them to the Indian. He
stood there, Sam said, petrified and sayin' nothin'. But when he
took out that glass eye, those braves skedaddled
  
”

Groans, laughter, and Libby's gasp drowned
out the rest of the account.

“Good heavens, what a story!” she
laughed.

Riding next to her, Tyler laughed, too. “I
don't know. I'd think twice about anything German Sam told me.”

Tyler looked so handsome on his pinto,
silhouetted against the May sunset. She was surprised that he'd
decided to come with them. A dance didn't seem like the kind of
event that would interest him. She wondered if he'd ask her out to
the dance floor, or if he'd just lean against a wall and watch
everyone else.

But when they arrived in Heavenly, the answer
was one that Libby hadn't contemplated. The Big Dipper came into
view, and Tyler tipped his hat at the group, avoiding her eyes all
the while.

“Have a good time at the Grange,” he said,
and trotted ahead to put his horse in the livery stable next to the
saloon.

“Guess Callie will be keepin' him all night
again,” Hickory chuckled in the back. “Ow! Dang it, Kansas, watch
out who you're jabbin' with those bony elbows.”

Somehow the brilliant glow of the evening
dimmed a little for Libby. She wouldn't see Tyler again until
tomorrow sometime. And would he smell like gardenias? She gripped
the edges of the shawl and wrapped them around herself. It
shouldn't matter to her what he did. He was her boss and nothing
more. She had no claim on him or his whereabouts.

But as they drove by, she saw him come out of
the livery and head to the Big Dipper, and Libby could think of
nothing but the dull ache in her chest.

*~*~*

“Ty, honey! You're back!” Callie Michaels
hailed him from across the smoky interior of the Big Dipper. She
hurried to him in her dark blue taffeta dress, with the fabric
swishing like ten acres of wheat. Twining her sinuous white arms
around his neck, she tipped her face up to his.

He was immediately enveloped in a cloud of
her heavy perfume. Funny, he'd never really given it much thought
before, but now it seemed suffocating.

“I was beginning to think you'd forgotten
your favorite gal, you were gone so long. Why, darlin', you look
downright peaked. I guess it's because you missed me so much, isn't
it?”

He'd ridden along with the wagon to Heavenly
for the express purpose of letting Callie take his mind off his
problems. It was a talent at which she usually excelled and one she
was quite proud of. Right now, though, that idea had lost its
allure. Maybe because of a pair of sad gray eyes that he'd been
unable to look at when he and the crew parted
company . . . 

He unwound her arms and led her by the hand
to an empty table. “We had a hard trip, Callie.”

“Oh, really?” She called to Eli to bring them
a bottle and two glasses.

He nodded. “We lost Charlie during a
thunderstorm. He's buried about forty miles from Miles City.”

She stared at him. "Oh, damn and
hellfire."

Eli brought the whiskey and Callie poured two
drinks.

Tyler leaned back and bolted the shot in one
gulp.

“How'd that little cook hold up? What was her
name—Lacy? Leah? Nort told me she was in a dither to get back to
Chicago. Can't say that I blame her, especially after Charlie's
death. She was a sweet thing, but really, Ty, she looked like she
wouldn't know a steer from a jackrabbit.” She perched on her chair
and leaned toward him in a way that gave him an unobstructed view
of her plump, powdered bosom.

“Actually, Libby turned out to be a lot of
help. She worked hard, she didn't complain.” He held his glass out
and she gave him another drink. "She even saved my life." He
related the story of the rattlesnake.

“Well, she was a special wonder, wasn't she?”
Callie drank half her whiskey. “So now you boys are without a cook
again. I’m sure you'll find some old cowhand here in town.”

“No, Libby came home to the ranch with us.
She decided she didn't have anything waiting for her in Chicago,
and I—we realized it would be a mistake to let her go.”

“Oh—that
is
good news," she said and gave him that
knowing smile of hers. She rose from her chair and wriggled her
taffeta fanny into his lap, reminding him of a hen settling on her
nest. “You know, Ty, you haven't been upstairs to my boudoir in
ever so long now.” She leaned in and quickly nipped his earlobe,
and adjusted her seat a bit more. “If I remember it right, I have
some unfinished business to conduct with you.”

Tyler's arousal felt more like a basic
reaction than the real fire that Libby could spark. He chuckled.
“Still shameless, Callie.”

She smiled again. “Why, honey, if I changed
you'd be so lost, you wouldn't know what to do. Now, come on. Let's
go upstairs, and you can tell me all about your trip.”

Oh, what the hell, Tyler thought. “All
right.”

Giggling, she stood up and took his hand.
They wove their way through the busy saloon and up the staircase to
Callie's blue velvet and cream lace boudoir on the second
floor.

“Now, then,” she said, leaning against the
closed door. Her whiskey eyes gleamed. “Let me show you everything
you've missed.”

Like a magician, she slithered out of her
dress. It happened so quickly, he wasn't sure how she'd done it.
But she stood before him wearing nothing but her shoes. Leaving the
dress in a puff of fabric on the floor, she walked up to him and
brushed her breasts against his chest. He swore she was purring
like a cat.

Reflex made Tyler run his hands along her
bare skin. Using the same deft skill with which she'd undressed
herself, she pulled out his shirttail and unbuttoned his pants.
When her nimble hand closed around him he drew a sharp breath and
leaned into her grasp. Without thinking he put a finger under her
chin to lift her mouth to his. Immediately, she pulled her head
back.

“Now, now,” she warned playfully, continuing
the artful massage, suddenly to no avail. “You know I don't hold
with kissing.”

He sighed and gripped her wrist to stop her
hand. “But I do, Callie.” Their eyes locked for a moment, long
enough for Tyler to ask himself what the devil he was doing here.
This wasn't what he wanted anymore. He knew it, and his body was
telling him, as well. In his mind rose the image of a young widow
in a simple, pale blue dress and long honey-colored curls.

Stepping back, he tucked in his shirttail and
buttoned his pants. A look of panicky comprehension crossed
Callie's powdered face before she recovered her breezy nonchalance.
“Tyler—darlin', you just got here. Are you leaving?”

“It's not you, Callie. It's me. Things
are 
. . . 
different, I
guess.”

“Well, I know it's not me,” she agreed,
attempting a joke. She grabbed a thin wrap from a blue velvet chair
and threw it around herself. Then in a voice that was barely
audible, “Does she kiss you?”

He gave her a keen look. Her obvious jealousy
surprised him, even though she tried not to let it show. Without
replying, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a double
eagle.

“I can't charge you, Ty,” she said, laughing
uncertainly. “I didn't earn it.”

Smiling, he lifted her hand and pressed the
coin into it. “Then call it a good-bye gift,” he said, kissing her
forehead, “between old friends.”

“Good-bye?” Her voice was shaking now. She
held the money on her open palm and clutched her wrapper.

Walking to the door, he opened it and nodded.
“Good-bye, Callie.”

After looking in all the shop windows, Tyler
had nothing to do. He could have gotten his horse and ridden back
to the Lodestar, but that held little appeal. Finally he ambled
down the twilit street to the grange hall. Sitting on a bench
outside, he crossed his ankle over his knee. From within, he could
hear music and whooping and the faint rumble of dancing feet.

This sure wasn't how he'd picture his
Saturday night. Usually by this stage in the evening, Callie would
have pulled some new trick out of her repertoire that left him so
exhausted and sweat-soaked, he could barely walk. But his
association with Callie—the gardenia perfume, the smoky saloon, the
ostentatious “boudoir”—none of it seemed right for him anymore.

When she'd opened his pants tonight, giggling
and purring, he'd never felt as low and coarse as he did at that
moment. It wasn't Callie's fault. She'd done nothing different—he
was the one who'd changed. He no longer found solace in physical
satisfaction that was nothing more than a business deal, no matter
how imaginative. Hell, she wouldn't even kiss him and pretend to
like it. He couldn't pinpoint the moment this change had occurred,
but he knew who was responsible for it.

Just then the door swung open, and Tyler
looked up to see Joe Channing.

“Well, don't this beat all?” he said,
surprise in his voice. “Are you too cussed and ornery even for
Callie?”

“Come on, Joe,” he mumbled. “Not tonight,
okay?”

Joe looked him over, then sat down next to
him in the near-darkness and started rolling a cigarette. “What
happened?”

Tyler shrugged and twiddled with the rowel on
his spur. He didn’t know how to explain it, so he told him about
the scene in Callie’s bedroom. “It just isn’t the same.”

Joe gave a low whistle accompanied by a thin
line of smoke. “Callie could stir a man three years in his grave.
If that don’t interest you anymore, you’ve got it worse than I
thought.”

“Got what?” he asked dully.

“Why, you’ve got it bad for that little gal
inside.”

“Aww, Jee-zus—” Tyler uncrossed his
ankle.

Joe shook his head and spoke sharply. “Now,
there ain’t no point in denying it. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,
and in my opinion, you couldn’t do no better. She’s a fine woman,
and I believe she likes you—despite the rocky path you’ve made her
walk.”

“You’re imagining things,” Tyler said, with a
little less vigor.

“Oh, I am, huh? Then whey the hell did we run
all over Miles City like a flock of hens looking for one lost
chick, and drag her back to this piss-ant town to cook for a crew
of rough cobs like us? Especially when you said, if I rightly
recollect, the Lodestar ain’t no place for a woman.”

“I thought you and the boys wanted her to
stay!”

“This ain’t about me and the boys. It’s about
you.”

“It was my responsibility to take care of the
crew. And she needed a job.”

“Give it up, Ty. That horse just ain't gonna
run." Tyler heaved an exasperated sigh, but offered no further
argument. Rightly interpreting his silence, Joe flicked his
cigarette away, and stood. “All right, then, come on.” He reached
for Tyler's arm.

He looked up at him. In the dark, Joe's most
prominent features were his hat and his big mustache. “Come on
where?”

“You get your ass into the Grange hall and
ask that lady to dance before some other cowboy wins her. They've
been linin' up to spin her around the floor all evenin'.”

“I don't like to dance.”

“Then why did you come down here? You could
have gone back to the ranch instead of hangin' around out here like
a sulky, empty-handed kid in front of a candy store.”

Tyler grumbled, but he let Joe pull him off
the bench and steer him into the dance.

After they got inside, Tyler waited for his
eyes to adjust to the light. He scanned the people on the dance
floor, but didn't see her.

Joe nudged him. “She's right over there,
drinkin' punch with Gabe Swanner.”

Tyler took one look at her, beautiful in her
simplicity, and knew he was a doomed man.

*~*~*

Sitting by an open side door, Libby listened
with polite interest while Gabe Swanner related the story of the
trail drive he'd worked on the summer before. It was stuffy in the
room from the hot, exercised dancers, and the mingled scents of bay
rum, perfume, and beer. She fanned her face with her handkerchief.
She was surprised at the number of people here. They must have come
from miles around.