Free A Taste of Heaven by Alexis Harrington Page A

moment. Then she roused
herself and laughed. “If he proves to be too ornery, come on over
and see me at the Dipper. I can always find room for one more.”
    Libby felt her jaw drop slightly, and heat
flooded her face all the way back to her ears.
    “Nort,” Callie said, all business again,
“I'll be looking for those glasses this afternoon. Send the bill to
the boys at the Circle R.” With that, she whisked out of the store
in a rustle of violet taffeta and a whiff of gardenias, pulling the
door closed behind her.
    “Now, don't you mind Miss Callie, ma'am,”
Nort said, obviously aware of her embarrassment. “She's
plainspoken, but she means no disrespect. She don't see her line of
work as bein' any different from a doctor's or a baker's.”
    Or a cook's, it seemed. “She certainly
is—colorful.” She moved to the window to get a final look, and saw
Callie on the sidewalk outside, talking with Tyler Hollins. While
Nort's son loaded the wagon, Tyler stood with a foot propped on the
hub of one of the wheels. Through the wavy window glass she could
see his expression clearly—and he actually laughed at some remark the woman made. Libby
wouldn't have guessed that he had any laughter in him. The grin
transformed his face and not only made him seem less like a
toothache, it made him look younger, as well. Beyond that, she
thought she saw a hint of fondness reflected in his expression for
the woman he was talking to. But then he glanced up at Libby, and
the smile disappeared. Straightening, he took his foot from the
wheel hub, and even his posture looked rigid and uncomfortable, as
though she'd learned something he didn't want her to
know.
    Well, she might, have. Maybe Tyler Hollins
was one of Miss Callie's “regular gentlemen.” What a thought! Libby
wasn't so naive she didn't realize that men, sometimes respectable
ones from good families, visited soiled doves like Callie Michaels.
She supposed that perhaps even Wesley— But they didn't stand on a
public sidewalk and converse with the women.
    It was none of her business, she reminded
herself, tugging at the hems of her gloves. The less she knew about
Tyler Hollins, the better. Her job was to feed him and his men, and
nothing more. It shouldn't bother her one bit if looking at Libby
had the power to replace his smile with a frown.
    But it did bother her, and she didn't know
why.
    As if to see what caused Tyler's abrupt
change of mood, Callie glanced over her shoulder at Libby, and sent
her another knowing smile. Then she tapped his arm with her violet
parasol, opened it, and made her way down the street.
    Tyler pulled out his watch, then motioned to
Libby to come outside.
    “We're ready to go, Mr. Osmer,” she said.
    Nort had finished tallying up their bill and
was entering the amount in his blue-backed ledger. “It was mighty
nice seein' you again. If you think of somethin' else you want,
tell Tyler and he can pick it up when he comes into town on
Saturday evenin'.”
    Libby couldn't imagine telling Tyler
anything. She adjusted her shawl over her head. “On Saturday?”
    He came around to her side of the counter to
open the door for her. “Oh, sure. Ty rides in every Saturday and
has supper at the Big Dipper. He's done it for a few years now.
Weather allowin', that is.”
    That was about as “regular” as a man could
get, Libby decided. “Then I guess I won't keep a plate warm for
him.”
    Bidding good-bye to Nort, Libby walked out,
reluctant to trade the store's warm, aromatic shelter for a cold,
hard wagon seat next to a cold, hard man.
    Tyler stood at the back end of the wagon box
to load some feed sacks. They looked heavy but he threw them into
place with little trouble. “Did you get everything you need?” The
work was hot and he'd taken off his coat.
    Libby watched the fabric in his shirt pull
tight and slacken with his efforts. “Yes, I think so.”
    He pitched the last sack into the wagon, then
looked at her and frowned slightly, as though her very