by Sharon Ihle
When Libby reached the end of the hallway, she quietly opened the door and slipped inside the dark room. She could hear Donovan's deep, regular breathing signaling heavy slumber, and almost crept back into the hall without checking him further. But something bade her come closer, to see for herself. Moving stealthily, Libby made her way to the heavy satin drapes, parted them just enough to emit a slender beam of light from what was left of the full moon, then tiptoed over to the side of his mattress. Donovan had made a wreck of his bed coverings. The quilt was hanging off the edge of the mattress, the sheets were tangled around his legs and body, and both of his pillows had fallen or been thrown to the floor. He may have been asleep, but from what she could tell of his rumpled features and the deep furrows along his brow, Donovan wasn't getting much rest.
Libby stood staring down at the troubled man, wondering what she could do to help relax him without awakening him, when suddenly, he stirred. Muttering angry oaths she couldn't quite understand, Donovan rolled from his side to his belly, then exhaled in a loud mournful sigh that sounded almost like a sob. Libby couldn't bear to stand there watching any longer without doing something to ease his suffering.
In spite of what he'd told her about his penchant for sleeping alone, in spite of the fact that should he awaken, Donovan might be angry enough to throw her out of his house for good, Libby knew what she had to do. After rearranging the sheets and quilt, she lifted the discarded pillows off the floor and carefully tucked one of them under Donovan's head. Then she climbed beneath the covers, fit herself against his backside spoon-style, and gathered him in her arms. Comforting him, she told herself, and not so incidentally, comforting the woman in love while she was at it.
* * *
Still tucked away in her office, hiding from everyone and everything but her past, Lil stood by the window and stared vacantly into the night. Somebody was knocking on her door. She'd given orders not to be disturbed unless there was some kind of an emergency, so she supposed something of that nature was afoot—but she'd yet to move. She couldn't seem to care, not even if the theatre happened to be ablaze. The knocking came again, louder and more insistent.
More irritated than concerned, Lil finally tore herself away from the window and stalked over to the door. "What the hell is it?" The words were already out of her mouth before she'd gotten the door halfway opened, well before she caught a glimpse of her visitor.
"Rand. Wha—" Lil quickly scanned the area surrounding R. T.'s imposing figure. "Is Donovan with you?"
"He went on home, Lillian. Our son doesn't know I've come back here." He spoke softly and without rancor, looking so very much like the man she'd first fallen in love with, she couldn't stop staring at him. He took his hat in his hand, smiling as if aware of her discomfort. "May I come in for a moment?"
The logical person inside her screamed NO, encouraged her to slam the door in his face and to never look back, but the broken-hearted female, the crushed spirit she'd buried so long ago, rose up from the dead and forced her to say, "I suppose so, but just for a moment. I'm very busy."
With no further preamble, R. T. marched into the office, closed the door behind him, and dropped his hat onto her desk. Then he turned to her, flashing an even broader smile, the one that once had the power to make her weak in the knees, and said, "I imagine when I showed up here earlier, it was quite a shock to you."
"To say the least." She was able to talk—Lil was pleased about that—but she hadn't moved away from the door yet. Her knees were too weak to support her. "How'd you find me earlier? Did Donovan tell you I was here?"
"Indirectly. He was quite upset this afternoon after I asked about Lillibeth so I figured he might come to you for some reason. I had my driver follow him here."
Armed with a reason to turn away from him at last—shame—Lil stared at the expensive fur hat crowning her cheap pine desk, and found in it a symbolic reason to regain her usual strength. The mink hat proved that she and Rand were no longer on common ground, no longer two people struggling to strike it rich, or at least to survive. They were separated by something much more formidable than years, physical absence, or even wealth—something Lil would never have no matter how well her theatre did: social status. Yet the thought of R. T.'s prominence did not humble Lil in the slightest. In fact, it served to bring out the fighting side of her instead.
One fist snug against her hip, she said, "I gather you listened in on my conversation with Donovan long enough to know everything about Lillibeth?"
"What I didn't know, Donovan told me over drinks." He hadn't lost that devastating smile. "At least he told me everything of interest to me, anyway—that she wasn't my daughter."
"In that case, I can't imagine why you stopped by, unless you wanted to try to humiliate me a little more. Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Savage, but I'm fresh out of secrets."
"Lillian—sweetheart." He spread his arms. "Forgive me if I seemed cold or unfriendly earlier, but it was such a surprise to see you after all these years, and I must admit, a bit of a shock to learn you had... others in your life while we were seeing one another."
Bitterness spread throughout Lil, poisoning her tongue and her tone. "Oh, that's right. I forgot the rules—only you were allowed to have 'others' in your life. I was supposed to sit chastely waiting for you to show up between your wife's pregnancies, then get down on my knees and beg for a few moments alone with you, right?"
"Oh, Lillian, you haven't changed a bit." He chuckled deeply, appreciatively. "Let's not argue about the hurts of the past. There's nothing we can do to change a thing either of us has done. If we must talk about those days, I'd much rather we concentrated on the good times we shared."
Finding a fair measure of strength in her anger, Lil strutted past R. T. and circled her desk, placing herself in the position that carried the most authority in her tiny office.
"The only thing we ever shared that I would even think of discussing with you is Donovan. Now that it looks like you've managed to take him away from me, I can't imagine there's a thing left which could be of interest to either of us."
He chuckled again, reminding Lil how much she'd once loved to hear him laugh. Then, collecting himself, he murmured, "Oh, my darling Lillian. I doubt you've lost Donovan—and don't try to tell me that you've forgotten the things which once interested us so much." Arching his eyebrows suggestively, R. T. slipped out of his topcoat and casually draped it over her chair. Then he made his way around to the back of the desk. "I can look in your eyes right now and see that you haven't forgotten a thing about me or what we once had."
Lil stood frozen to the spot, even though R. T.—her Rand—had moved so close, she could see little spikes of gray marching through the forest of black hairs on his head. So close, she could have reached out and touched him with very little effort. Fighting the impulse to do just that, wanting desperately to hold her ground, she demanded, "What do you want?"
"I realize it's been a long time since we've been together, Lillian." His eyes glittering lustily in the semi-darkness, R. T. slipped his hand along her neck. "But, do you really have to ask?"
She'd tried all these years to forget what those hands could do to her, and in fact, had convinced herself that she had. She thought she'd managed to seal off her feelings as a woman by turning her back on that part of herself so long ago. How could Rand have walked through her door and stirred her blood so quickly—and by his mere touch alone? What evil lurked in her soul that she could allow this man such power over her?
Even though she felt herself slipping past the point of no return, Lil stuck a defiant chin in his face. "Oh, I think I know what you want, all right, but what I don't know is why you're looking for it here. Don't tell me that perfect little angel you married doesn't know how to keep your cock from crowing all over town."
Faster than Lil would have imagined, R. T. jerked her off her feet and pinned her to his chest. "That's one of the things I've missed most about you, Lillian." His voice was harsh, guttural. "You ha
ve such a wonderfully wicked way with words."
That's what he said, but Rand didn't give her a chance to utter even one more of the words which roused him so. His mouth came down on hers, hard and possessive, just the way she liked it, and Lil was lost to the man she'd never stopped loving.
* * *
The following morning, Donovan woke up sensing something was amiss. He opened his eyes, halfway expecting to find Libby lying beside him, but he was alone—as usual. He yawned, breathing deeply, and knew immediately that he hadn't been alone all night. Libby's springtime scent was all around him, on his pillows, saturating the sheets, and most disturbing of all, seeping through the hairs on his chest and into his heart. He closed his eyes, trying to recall when and why she'd come to him, but all he could remember was a feeling of contentment during the night, of being cradled, warmed not only by body heat, but from the inside out, for the first time in his life.
Confused, aching all over as he recalled the confrontation with his mother, yet assuaged somehow as he thought of Libby and the night, Donovan climbed out of bed and dressed himself. On his way downstairs, he checked the guest room, but it was empty. Alarmed as he recalled how angry she'd been over his failure to gain more editorial freedom for her, Donovan hurried downstairs. A fast glance in the living room produced no sign of her, but when he stepped into the kitchen he found Libby bent over the stove.
Her back to him, wearing Gerda's apron to protect her buckskins from splatters, she was maneuvering sausages around in the frying pan. "Good morning," he said, tossing his white handkerchief onto the floor. "Is it safe to come in here?"
Glancing over her shoulder, Libby favored him with a smile. A big smile. "Of course. Come on in and sit down. I figured you'd be starving when you finally got up so I fixed you some breakfast."
Not sure what he'd done to deserve such royal treatment, especially as uncommunicative as he'd been last night, Donovan picked up his handkerchief and took her up on the offer. He wasn't just starved, but famished.
The moment he sat down, Libby produced a mug of coffee for him, then she returned to the stove. He was in the midst of blowing a cool spot on the surface of the steaming brew when she came back again, this time presenting him with a piping hot casserole dish.
After driving a spoon through the thick brown crust, she said, "There you go. Help yourself. The rest will be ready in a minute."
Donovan slid a suspicious gaze over the edge of the casserole. The contents looked vaguely familiar, a little like scalloped potatoes, but like nothing he'd ever seen at the breakfast table. "What the hell is that?"
"Macaroni and cheese. And if you don't mind my saying so," she added proudly, "I make the best there is."
The warm, comforting aroma had reached his nose by then, but Donovan couldn't hide his grimace over the thought of forcing such fare down his throat, especially so early in the morning. He didn't bother to lie. "Thanks, Libby. I really do appreciate all the trouble you went through, but... actually, I don't much care for macaroni and cheese. Even if I did, this isn't exactly my idea of breakfast. I'd rather have some sausage and maybe a couple of eggs, if you don't mind."
Gerda would have snapped at him, or at least stomped off in a huff, had he dared make such a remark about her cooking, but Libby surprised him with a bright smile.
"The sausages are already cooking, and I'll have your eggs ready in just a few minutes. You could at least taste my macaroni and cheese while I see to the rest."
Because he was starving and didn't want to irritate the cook—and only because of that, he assured himself—Donovan ladled a sticky spoonful of Libby's 'specialty' onto his plate as she went back to work at the stove. "You're looking nice and perky this morning," he commented, waiting for the macaroni to cool. "Did you get a good night's rest?"
"Oh, gosh, yes. I slept like a baby."
"Is that so?" He grinned. "Woke up hungry every two hours or so, did you?"
She laughed. "No, silly. I meant to say that I slept hard, like a log."
"Oh, then I guess you just woke up the one time and couldn't find your way back to your own bed."
Libby turned toward him, a grease-splattered spatula dangling from her fingers. "I got cold last night. I just came in long enough to warm myself a little. Is that a crime?"
"Not that I know of."
Looking a little sheepish, she came back to the table long enough to shove a dish of sausages and bread under his nose. Donovan reached out and caught her wrist. "Thanks, Libby," he whispered, feeling awkward. "I appreciate the thought."
She shrugged. "It was no trouble. I was already cooking sausages."
"Not that." His fingers slid down to her palm and he squeezed her hand. "For last night. Thanks."
For a moment, he thought she was going to say something deep, maybe dangerously personal, but she just smiled instead and muttered a quick, "You're welcome." Then she flounced back to the stove and finished cooking his eggs.
Later, after Libby had returned to the table for the last time, she sat down with Donovan and picked at a sausage while he ate. After he'd filled his belly enough to relieve the sharpest and most urgent hunger pangs, he decided a bit of an apology was in order.
"I'm sorry I wasn't up to talking last night," he began, wondering how to broach the subject of the saloon without going into detail about his mother. "You deserved an explanation, especially about that damned editorial policy my father insists on having, but I was just too tired to talk about it anymore when I came in."
"You looked tired, too. What about now? Can we talk about me and my concerns with Savage Publishing yet? I can't stay in San Francisco forever, you know. Poor Jeremy and Hymie must be running themselves ragged by now."
Her leaving was another subject Donovan wasn't up to discussing. So he tackled the easier topic. "There really won't be much to talk about until I've had a chance to meet with R. T. and think things over a little more. All I know for sure is that I'm quitting the saloon business, at least for a few months, and may be in a position to help you a great deal, before long."
"Quitting?"
Libby's eyes were bigger, browner, and more luminescent than he'd ever seen them. Or had they looked like that all the while, and he'd never allowed himself to get quite so lost in them before? "That's right. Quitting."
"I don't understand," she complained. "And what does Lil think of all this?"
"She and I had a little disagreement. We've parted company, for the time being."
"How on earth can you 'part company' with your own mother?" Those big, beautiful eyes went narrow and judgmental, and for a moment, Donovan considered evading the entire subject of Lillibeth. But something, a need to talk it out perhaps or maybe even his growing trust in and value for Libby's opinion, coaxed him to tell her all about his secret sister. When he'd finished, he added, "Lil actually wants me to believe that Beth is better off not knowing about us. Can you beat that?"
Libby looked thoughtful, and her eyes were moist. "I think she might be right. Odds are the people who adopted her never told her about her true mother. Think how many lives could be ruined over this."
"I know all that, but it's eating me up inside, not knowing where she is or if she's happy. Wouldn't you feel the same way if we were talking about Jeremy?"
"Of course I would, and I understand completely what you're saying, but is your curiosity worth all the pain you might cause? That's what I think you ought to consider before you do something rash like hunt her down."
Like it or not, Donovan knew that Libby had raised several very good points. He sighed heavily. "All right. I'll think about it a little longer. In the meantime, I'm also thinking about taking my father up on his offer of a job at the newspaper office."
"You, working for Savage Publishing? Are you kidding?"
Donovan shoved another huge forkful of macaroni and cheese into his mouth, and chewed slowly as he came to a final decision. "No, I'm not kidding. In fact, as soon as I'm finished with breakfast, I'm going
right over to R. T.'s office."
"Oh, Donovan—this is wonderful." Her eyes were positively glowing. "What department will you start in? Surely not circulation for the son of the publisher. Oh, I know. You'd probably make a great advertising solicitor."
"Slow down a minute." Slightly put off by her enthusiasm, although he wasn't exactly sure why, he said, "I haven't even told R. T. that I've decided to join him. I don't know what kind of position he's got in mind for me."
"Sorry, but the way you said it, I thought you'd been with him last night and discussed all this."
Donovan had been with R. T. last night all right, but the only topic of conversation had been Lil and the missing Lillibeth, in whom R. T. had developed a decided lack of interest once he'd confirmed that she was not his daughter. As for the meeting with Lil, it had been brief, awkward, and very uncomfortable for all three "family" members. With nothing more than a good-bye to Lil, Donovan and R. T. had gone to a more respectable saloon for a drink, then continued on their separate ways.
He kept eating, avoiding Libby's questioning gaze, until he couldn't fit another bite into his stomach. Then, doing his damnedest to hide a playful grin, he pushed away from the table, patted his belly, and groaned. "Thanks again for the meal. I guess I'd better get over to Savage Publishing now, to see what kind of job R. T. has lined up for me."
Donovan started for the door, expecting Libby any minute now, to stop him and beg him to bring her along. "Who knows?" he added, baiting her a little. "Maybe he'll make me the editor for the San Francisco Tribune. Wouldn't that be a hoot?"
"That would be pretty funny, all right."