rose petals floating on it.
He suspected that Libby's life hadn't been an
easy one for all that she'd worked for a wealthy family in a big
house. He'd think that wouldn't be as hard on a woman as life on
the prairie. But she had a look to her gray eyes that reminded him
of heartache. That nagged at his conscience.
He hadn't meant to snap at her when she'd
made the comment about competing with the doctor in Heavenly. She
couldn't know how he felt about doctors, or the medical profession
in general—
He straightened away from the railing and
stretched his spine. His morning was coming up fast—it would be
here in just over four hours and he couldn't spend the rest of the
night sitting on the parlor sofa. He had to get some sleep.
Turning, he padded back into the house and
picked up a lighted candle to see his way up the stairs again. But
when he reached the second floor, he realized that Libby Ross's
door was ajar. He hadn't noticed it earlier when he'd charged out
of his room and down to the parlor.
He took a tentative step, and then another,
until he was standing in front of her door. The cut on her hand was
a bad one. It would heal well enough, he supposed, but what if it
had started bleeding again? He put his fingertips on the edge of
her door and hesitated. A long wedge of light from his candle fell
through the opening and across the wide plank flooring. Jesus, he
must be out of his mind— Finally, he gave the door a push. The
candle in his fist wavered slightly.
In the semigloom, and small as she was, she
looked like a child in the bed. Her wounded hand lay palm up next
to the pillow, the bandage still pristine white. Even in sleep she
looked exhausted and vulnerable, but her long hair flowed behind
her like a satin drape. He reached out and lightly brushed the
backs of his fingers against its softness.
It was then he saw that cuddled to her like a
rag doll was the plaid shawl he'd bought for her this morning.
For a moment, he had the wild notion that if
he were to lift the blanket, he'd find a pair of angel's wings
folded against her body. Tyler backed out of the room more quickly
and quietly than he would have thought himself capable. He went to
his own room and shut the door, his heart thudding in his
chest.
He'd talk to Joe in the morning, he swore
with edgy resolve, jamming his hand through his hair. If his
foreman couldn't find a new cook for the trail drive, then by God,
Tyler would see to it himself tomorrow night when he went into
Heavenly. If it meant he'd have to offer the job to every man
standing at the bar in Callie's saloon, he'd do it.
He had to get Libby Ross out of his house and
out of his life.
*~*~*
Late the next afternoon, Libby pulled her
chair around to sit in a square of pale sunlight at the kitchen
worktable. A light breeze from the open door stirred her skirts
around her ankles. After dark gray days of soaking rains, the
weather had cleared and this afternoon was mild enough to let her
open the door to air out the kitchen.
Picking up a rolling pin, she began rolling
out a crust for the apple pies she was making. Her finger was still
tender, slowing her down and making some chores downright
impossible. Handling the pie dough was awkward business with her
bandage, and keeping the gauze dry was just a nuisance. But she did
as she'd been instructed. She half expected Tyler Hollins to sweep
in at any moment and inspect her hand.
She'd seen her employer several times today,
but mostly from the distance. He'd spent the day at the corral
across the yard, helping to break broncs, as Joe had called them at
breakfast. He'd apparently cleaned up her mess in the kitchen last
night because this morning she'd found the sink empty and all the
dishes put away.
Now and then, she glanced out the window and
saw Tyler sitting on the top rail, watching the cowboys on the
backs of a succession of wild horses that seemed bent on throwing
them off and killing them.
But when Tyler jumped down into the
He suspected that Libby's life hadn't been an
easy one for all that she'd worked for a wealthy family in a big
house. He'd think that wouldn't be as hard on a woman as life on
the prairie. But she had a look to her gray eyes that reminded him
of heartache. That nagged at his conscience.
He hadn't meant to snap at her when she'd
made the comment about competing with the doctor in Heavenly. She
couldn't know how he felt about doctors, or the medical profession
in general—
He straightened away from the railing and
stretched his spine. His morning was coming up fast—it would be
here in just over four hours and he couldn't spend the rest of the
night sitting on the parlor sofa. He had to get some sleep.
Turning, he padded back into the house and
picked up a lighted candle to see his way up the stairs again. But
when he reached the second floor, he realized that Libby Ross's
door was ajar. He hadn't noticed it earlier when he'd charged out
of his room and down to the parlor.
He took a tentative step, and then another,
until he was standing in front of her door. The cut on her hand was
a bad one. It would heal well enough, he supposed, but what if it
had started bleeding again? He put his fingertips on the edge of
her door and hesitated. A long wedge of light from his candle fell
through the opening and across the wide plank flooring. Jesus, he
must be out of his mind— Finally, he gave the door a push. The
candle in his fist wavered slightly.
In the semigloom, and small as she was, she
looked like a child in the bed. Her wounded hand lay palm up next
to the pillow, the bandage still pristine white. Even in sleep she
looked exhausted and vulnerable, but her long hair flowed behind
her like a satin drape. He reached out and lightly brushed the
backs of his fingers against its softness.
It was then he saw that cuddled to her like a
rag doll was the plaid shawl he'd bought for her this morning.
For a moment, he had the wild notion that if
he were to lift the blanket, he'd find a pair of angel's wings
folded against her body. Tyler backed out of the room more quickly
and quietly than he would have thought himself capable. He went to
his own room and shut the door, his heart thudding in his
chest.
He'd talk to Joe in the morning, he swore
with edgy resolve, jamming his hand through his hair. If his
foreman couldn't find a new cook for the trail drive, then by God,
Tyler would see to it himself tomorrow night when he went into
Heavenly. If it meant he'd have to offer the job to every man
standing at the bar in Callie's saloon, he'd do it.
He had to get Libby Ross out of his house and
out of his life.
*~*~*
Late the next afternoon, Libby pulled her
chair around to sit in a square of pale sunlight at the kitchen
worktable. A light breeze from the open door stirred her skirts
around her ankles. After dark gray days of soaking rains, the
weather had cleared and this afternoon was mild enough to let her
open the door to air out the kitchen.
Picking up a rolling pin, she began rolling
out a crust for the apple pies she was making. Her finger was still
tender, slowing her down and making some chores downright
impossible. Handling the pie dough was awkward business with her
bandage, and keeping the gauze dry was just a nuisance. But she did
as she'd been instructed. She half expected Tyler Hollins to sweep
in at any moment and inspect her hand.
She'd seen her employer several times today,
but mostly from the distance. He'd spent the day at the corral
across the yard, helping to break broncs, as Joe had called them at
breakfast. He'd apparently cleaned up her mess in the kitchen last
night because this morning she'd found the sink empty and all the
dishes put away.
Now and then, she glanced out the window and
saw Tyler sitting on the top rail, watching the cowboys on the
backs of a succession of wild horses that seemed bent on throwing
them off and killing them.
But when Tyler jumped down into the
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