His head came up sharply. “Libby, I never wished that for one minute. Never. And I don't miss Jenna.”
“You don't?” She was surprised.
Tyler tossed his napkin onto the table and wearily rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe he should tell her. She was right about one thing—keeping this to himself wasn't doing him any good. Or her either, for that matter. But where to start? At the place where everything changed, he supposed.
He straddled the bench. Putting his feet up, he leaned back against the wall. “I'd been away from Heavenly for six years when my father got sick and I came back to run the Lodestar. One day I went into town, and I saw Jenna in front of Osmer's.” A faint smile crossed his face. “She'd grown from the scrawny kid I remembered into a beautiful, delicate woman. Almost ethereal, I guess you could say. I knew she was suited to a more gentle life than ranching. But I took one look at her and I proposed to her right there, right on the street in Heavenly.”
That she was already engaged to a lawyer from Helena didn't deter Tyler. He courted her with all the passion and heartfelt ardor of a foolish young man, never once seeing that she wasn't really the right woman for him. Winning her wasn't easy. She'd never liked living on a ranch. She'd attended finishing school in the East and wanted a more civilized life.
But Tyler was in love with her, and her father, Lat Egan, was his ally. Lat admitted that he saw more status in having a lawyer for a son-in-law than a doctor. But that was outweighed by the even bigger advantage of a marriage between their two spreads, the Lodestar and the One Pine.
“You're a doctor?” Libby asked, barely above a whisper.
He glanced at her startled, wide-eyed expression, then looked away again. “I was a doctor. Anyway, I was so persistent and promised her such an ideal life, she finally broke her engagement with the lawyer. I suppose she regretted that because she wasn't happy here, not even from the first day, I don't think. She didn't like horses, cattle, or cowboys. And even though I wanted her to be happy, I worried that I'd made a terrible mistake in marrying her. When she got pregnant, I was certain of it.”
He stood and went to the window, bracing his hands on either side of the frame. Purple dusk gave way to moonless night across the landscape, and the barn loomed as a dark mass in the distance. “It was a bitterly cold evening in November when she went into labor. Late the next afternoon, the baby still hadn't been born when she started hemorrhaging. Rory was visiting with us, but I'd sent him out to stay with Joe, you know, to get him out of the house. Jenna grew weaker and weaker—finally she asked me to send Rory for her father so she could see him one more time. God, I tried everything I could think of to stop the bleeding.” He turned and looked at her then. “She was gone before they got back.”
Libby listened to this with tears in her eyes. “The baby?”
“Stillborn.”
“B-but you told me a doctor let Jenna die.”
“That's right. I was the doctor.”
“Tyler, you didn't let her die!”
He leaned against the rough log wall and gave her a little smile, full of regret and self-doubt. What frightened Libby most was the utter lack of emotion in his voice. It was as if he were dead inside, too.
“I didn't save her, either, did I? Logically, I could tell myself that women die in childbirth every day. But that didn't ease my guilt when I put Jenna in the coffin that Charlie built for her. Or when I laid our son in her arms.”
She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob working its way up her throat.
“Jenna's father holds me responsible, too, but you know that. And he blamed Rory for not coming soon enough so that he could see Jenna before she died. I couldn't do anything about what he thought of me. But that kid was only ten years old. For the guilt he heaped upon him, I never forgave Lattimer Egan.”
“Oh, God, poor Rory,” she choked.
He flopped down on the bench next to Libby, as though suddenly too tired to stand any longer. She wished she could take him into her arms, but his icy mask and voice stopped her.
“Rory wanted to stay here—I sent him home. I thought his place was with his father. But he kept running away and coming back to the Lodestar. Finally, I gave up and accepted the responsibility of raising him. He's been here ever since. Lat was furious about that, too.”
“But you gave up medicine? Tyler, that's such a waste.”
He sat hunched on the bench, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor between his boots. He squeezed his temple between his thumb and second finger. “I just lost my nerve, and now I'm afraid I'd freeze. That's why I didn't want to set Jim Colby's arm. Anyway, there's a doctor in Heavenly, Alex Franklin. God help him.” His back heaved with the deep breath he drew. “So, Libby—it isn't grief I feel for Jenna. Not anymore. It's guilt. I persuaded her to give up the life that she wanted in Helena for one she hated here. And when I should have saved her life, I couldn't. After we buried her up on the bluffs I came back here and sat on the porch, trying to figure it all out. The only thing I knew for certain was that I was responsible. But as evening began to come on, I saw two stars right next to each other, a big one and a little one. I asked them to forgive me. And I have lots of times since.”
Her heart contracted with anguish for him, and she understood why he'd walled himself off from everyone. Never once had she guessed how dark a burden he carried. Yet she knew she should have realized that Tyler was a doctor. It all made sense—his skill with the cut on her hand, the medical supplies in his office, his compassion in the face of suffering.
“Tyler,” she whispered, because that was all she could do over the constriction in her throat, “Jenna doesn't need to forgive you. You need to forgive yourself. I wish you'd told me about this sooner.”
“So you'd know what a fraud I am?” he asked, his face still pointed at the floor.
“You're not!” she said emphatically. “I-I knew a man who was a fraud, a selfish liar.”
“You mean Ben Ross?”
“No, not Ben. Someone worse, back in Chicago. You're nothing like him. There's so much goodness in you. You're just afraid to let it show.” That was what she'd responded to all along—the goodness in Tyler—no matter how she tried not to, no matter how he tried to put her off.
“You think so, huh?” he scoffed.
She put her hand on his shoulder. It was tight and tense. “Yes, I do, Tyler.”
Tyler sat up and looked at her, the eyes, the silky, vagrant strands of hair that framed her face, the lush coral mouth. But more than anything, he saw honesty, and his cynicism faded. She meant what she said.
He pulled her into his arms and rocked her slowly. That sweet, faint scent of flowers and vanilla came to him, and he kissed her temple. “Libby,” he murmured, “bringing you to the Lodestar was the best day's work those boys ever did.”
“You didn't think so at the time.” He heard the smile in her words.
“It just took me awhile to admit it to myself. But I wasn't so lonely after you got here.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “Those long days here at the ranch and out on the trail—knowing that I would come back and find you in the evenings, it felt more like home . . . at night, knowing that you slept in the room next to mine, I wanted to come to you . . . ”
Libby heard the subtle change in his voice, and she pulled back to look at him. She recognized the low, blue flame in his eyes that she'd seen once or twice before. Entranced by his words, by his touch, she inhaled his clean scent. “And did you?” she asked softly.
He stared at her lips, then let his gaze drift over her face. “Once. I lay beside you for a few hours.” He made it sound like the most intimate, personal thing that had ever taken place between two people.
Her face grew warm. “You slept on top of the bedding . . . I thought it was a dream.”
He lowered his mouth to hers. She felt his breath mingle with her own. “It wasn't.”
When his lips met hers, it was as if they'd never kissed before—all th
e passion and lonely, urgent longing between them now suddenly flowered in the low-lit kitchen. He teased her mouth open and she felt his tongue against hers, warm and seeking.
Breaking away, he whispered, “God, I love kissing you.” His fervent honesty fanned the timid spark he'd ignited in her, and her pulse jumped its tempo. He buried his mouth against her throat, leaving a trail of heat as he worked his way up to her lips again.
With deft agility, Tyler turned her around on the bench and lifted her to his lap. Again, he was struck by the certainty that this virgin widow, with her brave spirit and banked fire, could make him forget the desolate years of regret and emptiness. He wanted to claim her as his own in every possible way. But he couldn't make himself tell her that. Maybe his breezy association with Callie had cost him his ability to court a woman, to gentle and honor her with his body and his heart.
“I don't know how to say what I want to say,” he muttered against her neck. “It's been a long time since I've asked . . . Libby, I need you . . . ” He wound his hand in the folds of her skirt.
“I know,” she whispered. She stood up and extended her hand. He looked at it, and then at her face. He saw acceptance there, and maybe the same desire to fill the emptiness she'd known.
Tyler lifted her hand to kiss it, then tucked it inside his own. Lighting a candle, he led them through the swinging door and up the stairs to his room at the end of the gallery.
Libby stood in the doorway with her hands clasped in front of her and looked at the four-poster she'd daydreamed about in the train station. Were they doing the wrong thing? In the eyes of polite society, perhaps. In the peace and beauty of Montana Territory, she didn't think so. Looking at Tyler, she knew in her own mind that making love with this man was indeed the right thing to do.
Tyler set the candle down on the bureau and came to her where she waited. He ran his hands up and down her arms, rucking the fabric of her sleeves. He pulled the ribbon off the end of her braid and combed his fingers through the plait. The light strokes sent waves of delicious shivers over her. Though his touch was tender, she sensed powerful desire coursing through him.
“Save me, Libby,” he whispered thickly. “And I'll save you. We've had too many years of heartache, I think.”
With those words, any last-minute trepidation fell away from her. “I think so too,” she replied. He drew her into his embrace, and she clung to him, feeling the warm muscle and bone of him through his light shirt.
He grasped her buttocks and pulled her up against his hips, murmuring unintelligibly. She felt the hard length of him through her skirts. He made a noise in his throat and kissed her again, hot and slow, his lips moving over hers with sweet urgency.
When his hand slid up her back and around to her breast, she pulled in a deep breath and leaned into his palm. Her heart pounded in her chest. Surely he must feel it, she thought.
With hands that trembled slightly, he reached up and opened the buttons on her bodice, one by one, then he untied the ribbons on her camisole. His warm hand on her bare breast was electrifying. Her nipple hardened instantly under his touch.
Feeling that, Tyler's flimsy grasp on his resolve to go slowly diminished considerably. He wanted to pull her clothes away and lay her down, to look at the beauty of her nakedness, and to feel her against his own bare skin. He wanted to watch her pretty face when he joined his body to hers.
Impatiently, he unbuttoned his own shirt and opened it wide. As if by instinct she pressed against his chest, and the feeling that ripped through him was so consuming, he wondered how he'd ever thought that even the most talented madam could replace this.
She shrugged out of her dress, letting it lie where it fell with a click of buttons on the hardwood floor. She stood before him, small and shy in her drawers and open camisole, her hair draped around her like a young girl's. Obviously bashful, she couldn't lift her gaze from the rag rug under her feet.
Seeing her like that, he swallowed and hurried to kick off his boots, and shed his pants and shirt Then he stepped forward and swept her up into his arms.
“Angelheart, you're so beautiful.”
Angelheart. Libby remembered him calling her that the night he was drunk and wanted to sleep with her. At the time, she'd written it off as the rambling of a whiskey-soaked brain. But he'd really meant it.
He laid her on the mattress. In the low flicker of the candle, she saw the testimony of his arousal, and quailed a bit. She'd never seen a man completely undressed before. He was beautifully built, with long legs and a flat belly. The red-gold hair on his chest picked up highlights from the candle, and she stretched out a hesitant hand to touch it. But when Tyler lay next to her and began a trail of kisses from her jaw down her neck, she lost track of everything else. He rested his palm between her breasts for a moment, then smiled.
“See what you've done to me,” she said. “My heart is hammering away.”
“A healthy sign,” he said, grinning. “See what you've done to me.” His smile faded and he guided her hand to him, wrapping her fingers around himself. Intuition rather than experience told her what to do, and when he moaned into her neck she knew she'd discovered what pleased him.
He gripped her wrist. “Whoa, stop, honey. I'm not as strong a man as you think.”
She didn't know what he was talking about but as he gazed at her lying before him, his expression grew serious and he lowered his head to gently suckle at her breast.
Libby gasped and arched against him, and passion exploded between them. The feeling of his hot, moist mouth tugging at her nipple sent arrows of fire through her belly to her womb. He reached for the tie on her drawers to loosen them, then jerked them off her hips and down her legs. He ran his fevered palm up the insides of her thighs, stopping to touch his fingertips to the place between her legs that had grown liquid with readiness. His strokes were like the beats of a hummingbird's wings against her swollen, throbbing flesh.
“Tyler,” she whimpered, writhing under his hand. Blindly, she groped for him.
“I know.” He dropped his head to suckle her other nipple.
She wasn't sure if she wanted him to end his ministrations or increase them, but this torment could not go on. The heat, the need building in her was excruciating, and she didn't know what to do about it. When he stopped, she was consumed with frustration.
“Oh, no, please—”
“Hush, sweetheart, I won't leave you this way,” he whispered hoarsely.
Tyler covered her with his body and nudged her legs apart. Take it slow, he told himself, but it wasn't easy when he wanted to bury himself in the hot center of her. His need was as punishing as hers. He probed her flesh, and finding the opening to her femininity, pushed against its portal. He felt the resistance. Beneath him, Libby tensed.
He gazed down at her. Passion had made her eyes heavy-lidded and even in candlelight, he could see the rosy flush that colored her cheeks. He took her hands and laid them on either side of the pillow, then interlaced her fingers with his own. “Just this once, Libby, I promise—” He clamped her earlobe between his teeth and claimed her virginity in one smooth stroke, then lay still, waiting for her body to accommodate his.
A cry escaped her and she gripped his hands.
“I'm sorry,” he murmured, putting swift, soft kisses on her forehead and cheeks and eyelids. He wasn't happy about hurting her, but it felt so good to be surrounded by her.
For her part, Libby was surprised and disappointed by the sharp twinge of pain. But then he began moving inside her with a flow and rhythm that transcended the moment, and harkened back to the most primal drive of life. Though she had no experience to draw upon, she found herself lifting her hips to complement his movement. Inevitably, the throbbing heat she'd felt moments earlier returned to burn higher and hotter than before.
“Tyler,” she moaned, her breath whooshing out of her with each pounding stroke. She felt like crying, like dying. Every muscle was rigid with the wanting of something that eluded her. Hearing
her, Tyler whispered reassurance and endearments, and increased this sweet agony, moving faster, harder.
At last, when she was sure that her death must be imminent she teetered on the knife-edge of a breathless suspended moment. And he pushed her over with a thrust that triggered spasm upon spasm of intense, overwhelming pleasure. He smothered her wail with a searing kiss.
Tyler quickened the fast, hard thrusts. His breathing was heavy and labored, and sweat poured off him. “Sweet angel," he mumbled like a man in delirium. "My sweet angel—” The last word dissolved into a groaning sob that sounded as though it were being ripped from his soul. He pushed into her while his straining body convulsed, and white hot jets poured into Libby.
He let his forehead rest on the pillow next to her, waiting to get his breath back. Finally rolling to his side, he tucked her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. It felt so natural, so right having her here in his bed. It was as though she'd always belonged here.
With a deep sigh, he kissed her forehead, and hugged her to him. “Are you all right? I hope I didn't hurt you too much.”
“No, you didn't.”
He uttered a satisfied noise. “That's good.”
Libby lay in his embrace, sated and awed and desperately in love. Her heart was so full, she could barely speak without telling him.
It had not come easily to her; the Tyler Hollins she'd first met was a difficult man to love. Stubborn, cold, and self-sufficient. That had been only a shell. The real man who hid beneath that was uncertain and vulnerable. She wished she could tell him how she felt. But this wasn't the time. She had no way of knowing whether he'd come to her merely out of loneliness, or genuine affection. She wanted to think it was the latter. But she'd revealed her heart once before and had lived to regret it. Though Tyler wasn't Wesley Brandauer, she wasn't ready to take that chance again.
For now, though, she nestled against him. The morning might bring with it aching regret for this night, or for things left unsaid. Tonight, though, she was content to lie with him in his bed, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
A Taste of Heaven Page 24