A Taste of Heaven Read Free

Mr. Osmer. It looks as though I'll be needing to,
that is, maybe I can find work here in town.” She gestured at the
pine counter, feeling very awkward. “Could you use help here in the
store? I don’t have any experience with keeping shop, but I’m
trustworthy and I can learn.”
    Nort looked like he’d swallowed one of the
big sourballs in the jar next to his hand. “Well, uh, ma’am, I mean
Mrs. Ross, after the beating we took this winter, things are pretty
quiet. I wish I could help but I don't do enough business here to
pay a clerk. And my wife, well, she wouldn’t—” He stammered a few
more words, until Libby took pity on him.
    “Maybe you've heard of other work I could
do?” she asked, struggling to maintain hope. It was a formidable
task. Everything about the last few months had seemed hopeless.
    “I wish I could say I had, but Heavenly is
just a little burp of a place and the only work in town for a woman
would be down at the Big Dipper.”
    Libby drew a quiet breath. “The Big Dipper is
the saloon?”
    He looked apologetic. “Yes, ma’am. Miss
Callie is always looking for ladies, well, that is—” Suddenly, his
attention caught on something beyond Libby’s shoulder. She turned
to see him eyeing the three cowboys outside his window. Then he
looked her over speculatively, his hand at his chin. “Say, now that
you mention it, I just might know of something.”
    An apprehensive, uncomfortable feeling
brushed Libby. To be a woman alone in the world, and in a strange
place, was a chancy circumstance at best. But without resources,
she was prey to any number of dangers. A fleeting memory of a warm,
fragrant kitchen flickered through her mind, then it was gone, like
the afterglow image of lightning. Libby glanced at the door,
thinking that perhaps she should leave—while she could.
    “Please don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Osmer.
I’m sorry to have taken your time.”
    Osmer leaned toward her, both hands on the
counter. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Can you cook? I mean, do
you think you could cook for a bunch of people?”
    She smiled. “Cook? Oh, yes! I have a lot of
experience with that.” For a nice little restaurant, she
envisioned, or maybe at the hotel.
    “All right, then. Let’s go talk to those
boys.” He nodded toward the figures on the other side of the
window. “They're with the Lodestar outfit and they’re looking to
replace the cook they run off last week.” He stepped out from
behind the counter.
    “Lodestar outfit,” Libby echoed hollowly.
“You mean a ranch?”
    “Yes, ma’am. It’s a big spread over near the
Musselshell River, one of the few around here that came through the
winter in passable shape. Tyler Hollins owns the place. He’s due
back tomorrow and if there's no one to put three squares on the
table, well—” Nort lifted his brows expressively. “He won't be too
happy.”
    “But, uh—they ran off their last cook?” Libby
found herself being herded toward the door with Nort Osmer's hand
firmly under her elbow.
    “Now, don't you fret. They’re good boys, most
of the time, and they need someone to fix them decent meals. No
fancy food, mind you, just lots of it. Cowboying is hard work.”
    He opened the door to his shop and stepped
out on the walk. At the sound of the overhead bell, the three glum
men turned. Seeing Libby, once again they yanked off their hats,
and watched her with a kind of mystified fascination.
    “I believe I’ve got your problem solved,
boys, but you can thank me later.” He gestured at the three
cowhands and presented them to her. Charlie Ryerson seemed to be
about her age; he was the one with the mustache. Noah Bradley, a
slightly older man, looked like he was made from hard-tanned
leather and bones. Rory Egan had an earnest young face and a light
scattering of freckles.
    Nort held a hand out toward Libby. “This here
is Mrs. Libby Ross, Ben’s widow. Old Ben passed away from the
pneumonia.”
    There was a murmur of