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.
Chapter Thirteen
Libby 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.
“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 too
k 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”—n
one 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.”
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