The Marrying Kind

by Sharon Ihle

  "It's been quite an afternoon, hasn't it?" she said brightly. "You must be feeling overwhelmed. I know I am. Your father is possibly the most remarkable, intelligent man I've ever met in my life."

  He grumbled something she couldn't understand, as he removed his jacket and hung it on the brass hat rack near the front door.

  "If I were you, I think I'd be bursting inside by now." Libby continued the one-sided conversation, sure that Donovan would join in at any moment. "It must be truly wonderful to find your family after all these years, and then discover that they're waiting to meet you with open arms. I remember what you said the other night about being a bastard, and how you thought—"

  "You can't possibly understand what it's like to be a bastard," he said, "or to have a family you don't know thrown at you, so stop pretending that you do."

  Donovan had removed his hat and added it to the rack along with his jacket, but he remained standing in front of the tall brass tree, his back to her. Recognizing that he was bound to have a certain amount of shock over the events of the day, Libby quietly strode up behind him and slipped her hands across his shoulders. She gently rubbed Donovan's back, kneading his rigid muscles with gently probing fingertips.

  "You're right, of course," she murmured dreamily, happy to be touching him, to feel the hard, angular male beneath his smooth satin vest, and to think of him as her own. "I've always had a loving family by my side, so I don't really know what it's like to wake up one day to find that I suddenly have a father. I like to think, however, that I have some idea how you're feeling right now."

  Donovan turned on her so quickly and abruptly, that Libby instinctively ducked. He caught her arms and hauled her upright again. "I don't want you to know how I feel about my family, and I don't want you to know how I feel about anything else, either—can you possibly understand that?"

  "I—no." Libby wasn't sure what to make of his mood now. She just knew that it wasn't good.

  "Then maybe you'll understand this: I don't want you to be here anymore." In spite of the declaration, for a moment, Libby thought Donovan was going to kiss her. He hovered on the brink of indecision, his hungry gaze fastened to her mouth, but at the last moment, he gritted his teeth and went on with the ultimatum. "I want you out of here by morning."

  Libby couldn't have been more stunned if he'd punched her in the gut. "But, I don't have to go home yet. I was invited to the Savage party, remember?"

  "Why would you stay on for that?" His eyes were glittering like molten silver. "You got what you wanted—R. T. promised to think about easing his restrictions on your newspaper. What other reason is there for you to stay?"

  Libby could think of a million reasons to stay, all of them linked in some way to Donovan, but he was so upset, so irrational, he frightened her a little. Because she couldn't think what else to say, she repeated her former excuse. "Because I want to go to the party."

  "No," he shouted. Then softer. "No, Libby. I've got enough on my mind as it is. It's better all around if you go now."

  "Are you telling me I have to leave your house? Are you throwing me out?"

  For what seemed like an eternity, Donovan just stared at her, his gaze filled with something akin to longing. "Yes, Libby," he finally muttered with a certain sadness. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

  "I see." Her heart, which had been racing with excitement only moments ago, skidded to a sudden halt. She felt as if it'd been torn from her chest. Had she not been flooded with sudden, suffocating pain, Libby might even have lashed out at Donovan to make him hurt the way she was hurting. But it was all she could do to look him in the eye and say, "If that's the way you want it, I'll be out of here first thing in the morning."

  * * *

  Donovan spent a horrid, sleepless night after the confrontation with Libby. His dreams, when he did manage to doze off, were filled with images of R. T. cracking a whip over the backs of his sons, their cowed bodies glistening with sweat as they strained against their traces. The load they pulled up the long steep inclines of Nob Hill included a throne that contained Donovan. The scene was reminiscent of the prodigal son returning home. At the top of the hill stood Libby, dressed in her long, flowing nightgown with several lengths of curly auburn hair tumbled across her shoulders. She was shouting, too, warning him about something, he thought. Before he could make out the words, though, she faded into the morning mist, along with the dream.

  Feeling sluggish, Donovan finally dragged himself out of bed and headed downstairs. Even before he reached the kitchen, he could smell the mouth-watering aroma of blueberry muffins baking in the oven, and fresh-ground coffee beans percolating on the stove. So Libby hadn't taken him seriously after all, he thought, not nearly as irritated as he figured he should be to find that she'd disregarded his wishes. Still, Donovan rounded the corner preparing to do battle.

  "Ah... good morning to you, Mr. Donovan." Gerda nodded toward the table. "Sit and I will feed you."

  It was not Libby, after all. He blinked the grit from his eyes and yawned his disappointment away. "Isn't this Friday? What are you doing here?"

  "I left a note Tuesday, saying I wouldn't be back until Friday of this week. Didn't you read it?"

  He vaguely remembered something about a holy day rearranging her schedule. Nodding, he dropped into a chair. "I forgot. Is Miss Justice up yet?"

  "Up and gone, to make room for more of your little piggies. She asked me to give you this." She reached into her apron and tossed a slip of paper onto the table. "Humph, and good riddance, if you ask me."

  Gerda waddled over to the stove and poured a cup of coffee, giving Donovan a moment to read Libby's note. Thanks for everything. Sorry to have been such a bother. The next time you're in Laramie, do me a favor and DON'T stop by to say hello. It was signed, Liberty Ann Justice, for herself, and no one else.

  Aw, hell, he thought. This isn't what he'd meant when he'd told Libby to leave his house, not for her to run off like this. He'd have taken her to the depot and even bought a ticket for her, if she hadn't purchased a round-trip fare. He sure never wanted her making her way around the city on her own. Even though ridding himself of Libby is what he'd thought he wanted, Donovan buried his face in his hands.

  * * *

  Several blocks northeast of Donovan's home, Libby reached up and tentatively knocked on a door marked "manager." Amazed at the number of gamblers huddled around the faro table so early in the morning, she tugged her working hat even lower, to hide her face, and impatiently rapped on the door again. It opened at that same moment.

  "Well, hello," said Lil, clearly surprised to find Libby standing there. She glanced behind her. "Where's Donovan?"

  "Good morning, ma'am. I don't know."

  Lil looked her up and down, smirked, and said, "Then what the hell are you doing here?"

  Chapter 9

  Just before the door slammed shut in her face, Libby impulsively stuck her foot between it and the jamb. Biting back the urge to cry out as the door smashed against the soft kid leather of her new shoes, she grimaced and said between clenched teeth, "Please? Just give me a minute to explain. Donovan threw me out of his house, and I have nowhere else to go."

  Lil pulled the door back a little, easing the pressure on Libby's foot. "He threw you out, you say? Donovan threw you out of his home?"

  Swallowing her pride along with the ache in her throat, Libby nodded.

  "Well, I'll be..." Lil stared at her a moment longer, looking puzzled, then pulled Libby inside her office and closed the door. "That doesn't sound like Donovan at all. He takes everyone in, and for as long as they need to stay. Was it because of our little tiff, you think?"

  Her shoulders stiff, Libby managed a little shrug. The last thing she wanted was for that subject to enter the conversation. "I can't really say for sure, Mrs. Donovan, but—"

  "I'm nobody's misses. Never have been, never will be. Call me Lil."

  Libby could have kicked herself. She'd known that Donovan was a bastard—how could
she have made such a blunder? "As I was saying, I think Donovan is having a little trouble getting used to the idea of having the Savage family in his life. With me underfoot, it may be too much for him. I can't say, for sure."

  "The only thing you said that makes sense is him trying to get used to that damnable R. T. Savage. As for you—hell, his place is usually teeming with folks that don't have anywhere else to go. What'd you do to make him toss you out?"

  "Nothing, I swear."

  Lil studied her a moment, then her gaze fell to Libby's valise, as if noticing it for the first time. She took it from her and stashed it in a corner of her tiny office. Then she gestured toward the chair behind the desk. "Have a seat, dear. Maybe we do have a few things to talk about."

  Although she felt ill at ease, especially taking the only seat in the tiny office, Libby quickly circled the desk and sat down. Lil didn't waste any time grilling her.

  "How long have you been staying with Donovan now?"

  "Almost two weeks, I guess."

  "Hmmm." The skirts of her shiny peach gown swishing noisily, she began pacing, tossing off the next question as easily as if asking Libby if she'd like a cup of tea. "May I assume then, that during that time you've been keeping my son's bed warm?"

  Libby didn't know whether she was more shocked by the question or the fact that Donovan's mother was asking it. She took an entire minute to gather herself enough to answer. When she was able to speak, her cheeks felt as if they were aflame. "No, ma'am, you may not assume such a thing. I had my own room, and there I stayed. Alone."

  "Really?" Looking even more puzzled than before, Lil gave the worn carpet and her feet a rest. Then she studied Libby a moment, taking special note of her odd little bonnet. "Except for your taste in hats, and when you're wearing buckskins and pigtails, you ain't a bad looking gal. Why aren't you sleeping with him?"

  For this, Libby had no answer; but she suddenly wanted desperately to talk it out with another woman. Since her father died, there really hadn't been anyone for her to confide in, at least, not an intimate with the wisdom of an adult. Oh, she and Jeremy shared a lot, but he couldn't possibly understand what was going on with her now or make any more sense of the circumstances than Libby could. Even Dell, God love her, wouldn't be much help since the only thing that interested her, where men were concerned, was a fat bank account. Yet, for some reason, and in spite of Lil's cold, apparently selfish ways, Libby felt she could confide in the woman without reservation.

  Deciding to trust that instinct, she admitted, "He, er, did try to get me to come stay in his room the other night." She could feel her cheeks growing hotter by the minute. "But I—well, he was a little drunk, and I got too scared to go with him."

  "Scared... of what? Whiskey doesn't make Donovan mean—he don't drink too much often, but when he does, it puts him to sleep. There ain't but one reason I can think of for a woman to turn tail and run from a man like Donovan." Lil chuckled as she added, "And it's been so long since either of us crossed paths with a woman of virtue, I doubt we'd recognize her."

  Libby couldn't stop her embarrassed groan or prevent the sudden splash of color on her cheeks. Lil's bright blue eyes grew huge. "Oh, come on," she chided. "You're not trying to tell me that you've never... that you're as pure as the driven snow."

  "Except for a few of Donovan's shameless kisses, yes, ma'am, that's exactly what I'm saying." Libby held her head high, but avoided meeting his mother's gaze.

  Lil, who'd been pacing again, came to an abrupt halt. "In that case, I suggest you run as fast as you can. Go back to Laramie, and never think of him again."

  "Oh, no, ma'am. I can't do that."

  "And why not?"

  Libby, who wasn't used to baring her heart and soul this way to anyone, much less to a woman such as this, hedged a little as she admitted, "I like Donovan a lot, enough that I don't want to go back just yet."

  "In other words, you're falling in love with him?"

  Libby sighed. "I think that maybe I am."

  "Then get out of town before you take the tumble, because you'll only get your heart—and your virtue—destroyed." Lil leaned across the desk. "Donovan's a bit of a cold shake when it comes to personal attachments." She uttered a short, harsh laugh. "Wonder where he gets it."

  "I'll keep that in mind." Libby needed a change of subject. "There's another reason I'm here, and it has nothing to do with your son. Will you help me?"

  "If you expect to get anything out of me, you'd best get one thing straight right now." Lil flattened both palms against her desk. "I've gone to a lot of trouble around here to hide the fact that Donovan and I are mother and son. It's strictly for business purposes, you understand. I think it's better for both of us if the employees believe that we're simply good friends. If you want to stay around here, you won't refer to him as my son again."

  "No, ma'am, I won't."

  Lil straightened and gave Libby a little smile. "And quit calling me ma'am. I'm sure as hell not your mother." Libby had to chuckle over that, and at once felt at ease. Laughing with her, Lil said, "Now let's get down to bedrock. Why have you come to me? I've already told you what kind of man Donovan is, and I can't change his mind if he doesn't want you around."

  "Oh, no, I wasn't looking for help with him. I need a place to stay and a little help learning how to get along with society-type folks, is all."

  "You mean the Savages, don't you?"

  It was the first time Lil had looked angry since Libby had twisted her arm. Libby quickly explained about her newspaper, and what she hoped to accomplish with R. T. A few moments later, Lil was laughing.

  "In that case," she said, pacing again. "I can help you out with a room, I expect. As for the rest, I'll warn you right now, I don't know a whole lot about society or 'respectable' folks."

  "You know more than I do, I'll wager." Libby pushed out of the chair. "I want to thank you for talking to me and for the offer of the room. I wasn't sure, after what happened, you know, with us and all—"

  "I think we'd best forget that for now. As for the rest," Lil clucked, "I don't do nothing for free, sugar—I learned that little lesson a long time ago. You've seen what kind of a place I run here. If you can't sing, dance, or serve drinks, then I don't see how I can help you. You sure an innocent like you is up to working here?"

  Libby gave herself a minute to think it over. She didn't know much about singing, dancing, or serving drinks, but she realized that she did know one thing for sure right then—she loved Donovan at least enough to give it a try. "My pa used to say that I couldn't carry a tune in a corked jug, and I never did learn how to dance, but I think I can serve drinks without much trouble."

  Raising her eyebrows with admiration, Lil said, "All right. But before I hire you, let's talk about what you can do for me."

  * * *

  At around five the following afternoon, Donovan managed to slip off on his own for the first time since he'd stepped through the sumptuous portals of the Savage family estate, high atop Nob Hill. Discreetly concealing himself behind the lush fronds of a potted palm tree in the corner of the ballroom, he sipped a glass of champagne and watched as a parade of beautifully turned-out men and women paid homage to his father.

  They were passing in hordes through the ballroom on the main floor of the mansion, the nattily suited gentlemen commiserating with R. T. over the loss of his son, the bejeweled ladies in velvet and satin ball gowns falling all over themselves in an effort to become acquainted with the handsome son R. T. had recently found. Through it all, Donovan remained aloof, neither taken by his new family, their lavish home, and their affluent friends, nor affronted by any of it either. He remained a distant observer, his curious nature the main reason he'd come to the affair in the first place, and even found himself mildly amused by some of the antics he'd witnessed since stepping into the manse—that is, with the exception of his introduction into society.

  Despite his new siblings' efforts to make him feel comfortable, Donovan still felt awkward an
d embarrassed around them. He sensed gazes on himself, curious speculative eyes of strangers wondering, no doubt, about his mother and the circumstances of his birth—wondering, too, he supposed, whether this "newfound" son had blackmailed his way into the Savage family. He even supposed he was providing his father's guests with a little entertainment.

  Most of the entertainment for Donovan did not come from those curious guests or the tuxedoed jugglers slowly rotating around the Italian marble fountain gracing the center of the room. Nor did the serving girls, their lithe young bodies barely covered by Grecian drapes, catch his eye for long. He was having far more fun watching his brothers, Thomas and Francis, greet the other millionaires as they arrived, each trying to outdo the other when it came to dazzling their guests with glib rhetoric.

  And then there was Susan, the sister Donovan had long wished for, a genteel, polite woman, attractive enough to have captured the heart of an honest-to-God duke with close ties to the Crown, no less. And yet she was not quite the sort of sister his childhood dreams had conjured. She lacked something he craved but for the life of him, he couldn't figure what.

  Perhaps, Donovan thought, berating himself, he was being too demanding, too critical and wasn't giving this newfound family of his a chance. Maybe if he was to seek them out, to actually engage one of his siblings in a private conversation, he might discover a common ground that had nothing to do with his suddenly enviable bloodlines.

  Donovan was just trying to decide whether to start with one of his brothers, or dear sweet Susan, when he noticed another woman being escorted into the room by one of several purple-liveried servants. She looked vaguely familiar at first glance, but Donovan might have thought nothing of it had he not decided to take a second look at the newcomer. That's when he caught her surreptitiously scanning the room with a pair of spectacles perched near the tip of her nose. Libby had crashed the party.