“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.
“One day the whole danged—uh, beg pardon, ma'am—the whole blessed herd turned and stampeded over the ten miles we'd just traveled, so's they could get back to the last water hole.”
“Oh, dear! I'm glad we didn't have trouble finding water.”
Libby stifled a giggle that ballooned in her chest over Gabe's worry about saying “danged.” What would he think if he knew the inventory of Tyler's vocabulary that she heard on a daily basis? But she sipped her punch—her sixth cup, for her would-be suitors had been very attentive—and smiled. In her life Libby had never been paid so much attention. And when the cowboys learned she'd gone with the herd to Miles City, they thought she was just a marvel. It helped take away a bit of her disappointment about Tyler. But only a bit.
Even the other women in the hall were beginning to put their heads together about her. She couldn't help it if almost every man present had asked her to dance. And anyway, none of them was the chestnut-haired, long-legged cowboy she wished had stayed with them instead of—
“You'll excuse us, Gabe?”
Libby whirled at the sound of the familiar voice.
“Mr. Hollins, yessir, sure.” Gabe looked as though he'd been caught red-handed committing some wicked offense.
Tyler took the, punch cup from her hand and gave it to the cowboy. “Mrs. Ross, may I have the pleasure?”
A clutter of feelings bumped around inside her—relief, the joy of just looking at him, the femaleness that pulsed through her whenever he was near, and, much as she hated herself for it, jealousy. Still, he was here, and he'd asked her to dance.
“Of course,” she replied. She reached for his extended hand, and he escorted her to the floor. But as soon as he took her into his arms, she smelled gardenia perfume. Not much else could have forced her to comment tartly, “This is a surprise. Hickory guessed that we wouldn't see you until tomorrow.”
He flushed back to his ears. “Yeah, well, Hickory doesn't know everything. Besides, I had to come back here and see how everyone is faring. Joe tells me you've been the belle of the ball tonight.”
She shrugged innocently. “I guess the men think I'm interesting because I went on that trail drive. Most of them said they'd never heard of such a thing before.”
He gave her a riveting look that made her breath catch in her throat. "I can guarantee you that isn't the reason they think you're ‘interesting.’" He searched her face, letting his intense gaze touch lightly on her eyes and rest on her mouth. Though they still moved around the dance floor, jostled by other couples, she no longer heard the music. She stared back, her lips slightly parted.
Tyler inhaled the light scent of Libby's shining hair, and it went straight to his head like a shot of whiskey. She was beautiful in the pale blue dress. It hugged her slender waist and its neckline hinted at the soft swell of her breasts. She felt so right in his arms, it almost scared him. Baffling and guileless, innocent and wise, she bewitched him without even trying. Desire surged to life within him, pounding back with twice the yearning he'd felt before. And suddenly, it bothered him a lot that any man thought she was “interesting.”
“It's so hot in here,” she murmured.
He felt edgy and restless himself. “Let's go outside for some air.”
She agreed and he took her hand to pilot her through the crowd in the hall. There were quite a few people outside, too, and he led them to a shadowed bench on the side of the building, away from eavesdroppers and harsh lantern light.
The night was fragrant of late spring, and overhead a starkly white crescent moon mingled with the stars.
“Oh, that's much bet—” Libby began, but Tyler immediately pulled her into his arms and tried to kiss her.
“Tyler!” She pushed him away and jumped to her feet. “How dare you come to me from that—that woman's bed,” she demanded in a low, shaking voice, “smelling of gardenias, and expect to kiss me?” His face was in the shadows, and she couldn't read his expression. In the awkward silence that followed, Libby felt foolish for revealing her jealousy.
He sighed. “I'm sorry.” He reached for her hand, but apparently thought better of it, and indicated the seat next to him. “Please—sit down.”
She stared at him for a moment, then relented. “Well . . . all right.” Cautiously, she sat on the end of the bench and huffily arranged her skirts.
“I want you to know that I didn't—well—I only had a couple of drinks at the Big Dipper. Nothing else.”
“And I suppose that every man who goes in there for a beer comes out smelling like that?” She knew she sounded like a shrew, but she couldn't stop herself.
“No. Callie sat in my lap,” he admitted. He leaned back against the wall and looked at the expanse of night sky over them. “I've been going to see her every Saturday night for three or four years. After Jenna died, all the women around Heavenly with eligible daughters invited me to their spreads for supper. Oh, it just boiled their beans to see me without a wife. They were bent on fixing that.” His huff of laughter was humorless. “I wasn't interested in being maneuvered into marriage. Callie asked nothing of me. Our arrangement was straightforward and uncomplicated.” He turned his head and looked at her. “But that's not what I want anymore. When I left the Big Dipper tonight, I told her good-bye. I won't be going back.”
Libby was afraid to ask what he did want. The implication of his decision made her mind spin foolish, heartening possibilities. But she knew better than to get her hopes up. She had been burned twice, and badly, by pledges made and not kept. Still, Tyler made no promises. It was the trace of yearning in his voice that touched her.
He lifted his sleeve to his nose then. “That perfume is pretty strong,” he allowed. “Maybe I should burn my shirt?” He sat up and started unbuttoning it.
“Don't be silly,” she said irritably, but he had the front open, and one cuff undone. Her eyes were drawn like magnets to his broad chest and flat belly. “Tyler!”
He stopped to rummage in his pockets. “I think I have a match here someplace. Of course, you'll have to let me wear your shawl home.”
Much as she didn't want to she burst out laughing.
“I guess I might have to burn my jeans, too. Hooeee! I stink like a saloon
girl.” He stood and reached for his belt buckle.
“Now, Tyler, stop it!” she ordered, but her giggling canceled the weight of her words. She'd never known him to act silly, just for the fun of it.
Once they got started, they couldn't seem to stop, and each round of laughter fed the next until they were weak and winded.
Finally, Tyler flopped down on the bench again in a sprawl of long arms and legs. “Oh, Libby, gal, it feels good to laugh with you. We haven't done much of that have we?” He fastened his cuff, and to her secret disappointment, rebuttoned his shirt
Her mirth subsided but her smile remained. “No, we haven't,” she agreed. “A lot of serious things have happened.”
He put his arm on the back of the bench and brushed her sleeve with his hand. “Yeah, I know. But life is so damned short. I've had time to think since we got back from Miles City.” He gave her a wry smile. “I did more than just get drunk out there in the hills. And I realized I have enough regrets in my life for the things I've done. I don't need any more for the things I didn't do . . . am I making sense?”
She leaned her shoulder against his hand just a bit. It felt hot through the fabric of her dress. “Yes, you are.”
He looked into her face again and plucked at her hand where it rested in her lap. Turning it over, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it.
The feel of his warm, soft month in her palm sent shivers rippling through Libby. Her fingers curved around his cheek and rested against the light stubble of his beard.
“Cold?” he murmured into her hand, pressing another kiss on the base of her thumb.
“No,” she whispered, leaning closer. Beneath the fading miasma of gardenias, his own familiar scent began to emerge—fresh air, leather, horses. She felt a wild temptation to weave her fingers through his thick hair where it broke over his collar.
His kiss advanced to the inside of her wrist, and she felt his tongue touch the spot where her pulse throbbed as fast as a bird's. She shouldn't permit this, but he was so difficult to resist. Sometimes, when she'd lain awake in the moonlight and shadows crossing her bed, she'd thought of that rain-drenched night in the wagon. He moved his arm from the back of the bench and wrapped it around her shoulders, turning her toward him.
“Tyler—”
“Shh,” he urged, kissing her throat, and proceeding to the corner of her jaw and the sensitive place behind her ear. He slid his big hand along her midriff up to her breast and, to her chagrin, drew a quiet moan from her. She should pull away, she knew. But his quickening breath ruffled the fine, downy fuzz on her cheek and raised goose bumps all over her body. Her heart thundered inside her ribs. When his teeth closed gently on her earlobe, Libby breathed a soft gasp and arched against his chest.
Tyler pulled back and gazed at her. The ache in his groin was so damned uncomfortable, he was torn between the wish that he'd never started this, and a raging desire to lay her down on this bench right now. As he'd suspected, under her sweet, prim exterior, a low fire burned. But he wasn't even going to kiss her mouth until the essence of gardenias no longer stood between them.
He shifted on the bench. “What do you say—have you had enough of this dance?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, I believe I have,” she said, and smoothed her skirt.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let's go home, Libby.”
Chapter Fourteen
The changes that occurred between Tyler and Libby after the grange dance were subtle but distinct. He didn't try to kiss her again, and she was glad—the intense feelings he stirred in her heart and body took her breath away, leaving her unable to think straight. But they circled each other, watchful, curious, aware. In the next few days, she noticed it in the way his eyes followed her when he thought she wasn't looking, especially when she worked on the flower beds.
She found herself searching him out, too. When he was working in the corral or near the barn, she'd drift to the kitchen window every few minutes to admire his long-legged stance, or the way the muscles in his forearms flexed when he reached for something. One day she lingered at the open door, mesmerized by the sight of him stripping off his shirt to pump water over his head. The rivulets sparkled like crystals in the sun as they ran down his torso and into the low-slung waist of his pants. As if feeling her gaze on him, he glanced up suddenly, and sent her a look of such fevered yearning, she jumped back and leaned against the rough-timbered wall.
He joined her for supper every night after the crew had eaten, and sometimes even brought wildflowers for the table. He became the easier-going man Joe had described on her first day here, quicker to laugh and joke with the men. She was pleased to see him spend more time with Rory, too, and give him greater responsibility. Rory was so puffed up with pride, she thought he'd float away.
The Lodestar was definitely a happier place.
One afternoon, Libby was in Tyler's office to talk about a shopping trip to Heavenly when they heard Joe's footsteps thunder through the house.
He appeared in the doorway, and one look at his face told her something was wrong.
“What's the matter?” Tyler said, rising from his chair.
“It's the new man, Jim Colby.” Joe had hired him to take Charlie's place. “That stallion threw him against the side of the stall. It looks like Jim busted his arm.”
“Goddamn it!” he erupted. “I knew we should have cut that horse. What the hell good is breeding stock if we can't even get close enough to feed the mangy bastard? Well, how bad is it?”
Joe shrugged. “I would have liked Doc Franklin to take a look at it, but I sent Kansas Bob to Heavenly for him, and he ain't in his office. I can set it, but I thought maybe you'd want to give it a try.”
Tyler blanched, and he shook his head. “No. You boys can take care of this. You've done it before.” Taking a key from his desk drawer, he went to the glass-fronted cabinet that held the bandages and dark-brown bottles she'd seen the night she cut her hand. “I can give him something for the pain, though.” He plucked a bottle off the shelf and handed it to Joe with instructions about how much to give Jim.
“You sure you don't want to handle this? You could give it a try.”
Tyler glanced at Libby, then back at his foreman, and lowered his voice. “You know how I feel about that. You'll do fine.”
With an oddly resigned expression, Joe gripped the bottle in his gloved fist and strode from the room.
Puzzled by what she'd just seen, Libby looked at Tyler. His face was still a flat, unreadable mask. “You did a great job with my finger. I thought you handled the injuries around here.” She held her hand up and waggled it for his inspection.
“Not me—we. Joe has set lots of broken bones in his life. He doesn't need my help.” Walking to the window; he lapsed into a reflective silence while he stared at the green bluffs beyond the valley.
She looked at his broad-shouldered back. The conversation seemed to have reached an end. “Um, maybe we can talk about the provisions?”
“Make the list, Libby. I trust you to know what we need.”
“But—”
”Go on, now,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. “We'll talk about it at supper, okay?”
She left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Whenever he withdrew into himself, Libby knew he was thinking about Jenna. She couldn't fault him for mourning his wife, but—but oh, God, it made her feel like she was competing with a ghost.
Everything about that idea was wrong, she told herself as she walked back to the kitchen. It was wrong of her to envy a dead woman, a woman whose tie to him had been much stronger than her own. After all, despite the brief heated moments they'd shared, Libby was still Tyler's employee, just like Kansas Bob or Possum Cooper.
At least she trusted him enough to stop comparing him to Wesley Brandauer. She realized that there were things about Tyler she didn't know, but she felt he'd always been honest with her. That he'd never led her to believe he was anything other
than what he said.
She looked out the kitchen window at the nearly completed flower beds. The rich, dark soil was tilled, and free of choking weeds and grass. Now the prairie roses, climbing on trellises that flanked each end of the porch, were visible in all their delicate beauty. The only task that remained was to line the edge of the beds with stones. She took her gloves from an apple crate next to the door, and walked outside into the sun.
It seemed like a good job to get her mind off the one fact about her relationship with Tyler that frightened her the most. She might work for him, like Kansas Bob or Possum, but it was a safe bet that she was the only one on this ranch who was in love with him.
*~*~*
That night, Tyler brought no wildflowers to put on the supper table. He was distracted and quiet, and responded to her attempts at conversation with one-word answers. When she asked him to pass the gravy, he handed her the bread. Libby realized that sitting with him under these circumstances was lonelier than having supper by herself.
“Tyler,” she said at last, getting up for the gravy, “keeping things bottled up isn't good. I've seen what it does to you.”
After, a pause, he lifted his eyes to hers.
“I don't talk about myself much. You should know that by now—it’s not my way.”
She put her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. “What I know,” she said earnestly, “is that the troubles you're keeping to yourself eat you up and make you miserable. It's not as if it doesn't show.”
He put down his fork and pushed away his empty plate. She could see him grappling with the decision to tell her what was on his mind.
“I-I know that somehow Jim Colby's broken arm made you think about Jenna.” Libby's voice trembled slightly, and she cleared her throat to steady it. Putting her hands in her lap, she dropped her gaze to her half-eaten meal. Daring and desperation forced her to candor. “I can imagine that you miss her but—it's been so hard knowing that when we—when you kissed me, you wished I was her.”
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