A Taste of Heaven by Alexis Harrington

Author:Alexis Harrington
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: historical romance, western, montana, cattle drive
Publisher: Alexis Harrington

Chapter Nine

Libby sat on a low pile of bedrolls in the back of the wagon, leaning against the chuck box with Tyler's shotgun across her knees. Her muscles were tight and cold, and her teeth chattered. She couldn't leave the mules harnessed to the wagon all night, so she'd hobbled them. But unhitching the team in the rain had soaked her to the skin. When she'd tried to open her trunk to find dry clothes, she discovered that the dampness had caused the lid to swell tightly and firmly closed. No matter how she pulled and pried, she couldn't open the trunk.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been here. The sun had gone down long ago, and time felt as though it had stopped. The bedrolls and sacks of flour and cornmeal cast tall, angled shadows that seemed to bend toward her like creatures from a fever dream. Rain continued to buffet the canvas, and heavy wind gusts rocked the wagon. The storm played tricks on her ears, too. Sometimes she thought she heard someone calling her. She shook herself. Of course, that was impossible.

It had crossed her mind that one of the crew might look for her—Charlie or Joe—but that was out of the question, too. They probably had their hands full with the herd in this storm, and who would search for her in the dark and the rain? She'd be expected to take care of herself, for a night anyway.

She thought of the Lodestar and a hysterical little sob crept up her throat. For most of the time she'd spent at the ranch, she'd wished she were in Chicago, even though her future there was uncertain. But now she understood what Joe had meant when he'd spoken of the ranch house seeming like a grand home—a safe, lighted harbor in this sea of grass. God, she yearned to be there now, dry and comfortable, instead of stuck in this wagon—cold, miserable, and lost, prey to bears or any other hungry animal that came down from the hills.

Just then, she heard a noise outside, right next to her. She sat up, her back stiff. What was that? she wondered. It sounded like something—or someone—had bumped the wagon box. She strained to hear, her breath stopped in her chest. This time she knew it wasn't her imagination, but her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears, she couldn't tell what direction it had come from. She lifted the shotgun and pulled back the hammers. Her hands were damp on the stock and barrel. Aiming at the dark front end of the wagon, she sat as rigid as a mannequin, waiting, listening, her throat chalk-dry.

A man's head and shoulders appeared in the arched opening behind the seat. He was nothing but a dark, unfamiliar silhouette framed in that arch. Already edgy and frightened, Libby swallowed a scream and her heart doubled its pace. She leaned forward. She'd lived through too much and come too far to let this man harm her.

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