The Marrying Kind

by Sharon Ihle

  "That's bull." Donovan wheeled around to confront her again. "I saw the look on R. T.'s face when he asked about Lillibeth. Surely he'd have done something to help, and maybe even taken her in himself. Did you even ask him if he wanted her?"

  Lil lowered her head and stared down at the wrinkled mess her tears had made of her black velvet gown. "No," she said in a hoarse whisper. "I never asked him."

  "Why not? He opened his home and his family to me without reservation. He cares about me, Lil, and I think he cares about Beth. Couldn't you at least have given him the option?"

  "No." She sounded hard, emotionless. "Even if R. T. had offered to take her, which I doubt his wife would have appreciated, I couldn't have given Beth to him."

  "Too much pride, Lil?" Donovan couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his tone. "So much pride, you thought strangers could do better by your own daughter?"

  "Pride didn't have a damn thing to do with it." Lil looked as if she were weighing a very difficult decision. When she finally met Donovan's gaze again, she was her usual defiant self. "I won't pretend that I'm proud of everything I've done in my life, especially some of the mistakes I made when your father betrayed me with his wife. But I'll be damned if I'll sit here and answer any more questions, if you're going to condemn me."

  "I haven't condemned you." He bit back the urge to add, 'yet.'

  "I suspect you might want to when I tell you the reason I didn't give Beth to R. T."

  Their eyes still locked, Donovan knew, if he was ever to learn the whole truth, this was one time he'd have to hold his tongue. Nodding slightly, he accepted her terms. "I'm not here to pass judgment on you, Mother. I just want the truth."

  "And so you shall have it." She picked nervously at her fingernails, looking, oddly enough, a little like a schoolgirl. "I fell in love with R. T. almost the moment I met him. He's the only man I've ever loved."

  Donovan had never heard his mother use the term "love" on any occasion, and certainly never in conjunction with a feeling she'd experienced. It was a shock to hear her talk this way, and to look into the face he thought he'd known so well, to discover human frailty and a distinct vulnerability. This, from a woman he'd always thought of as a rock. It humbled him a little, made him wonder for a moment about some of the more rigid rules he'd set for his own personal life.

  "Back then," Lil went on to say, her voice stronger, "I was young and foolish. Foolish enough to believe in love and forever. When R. T. broke my heart, I thought I would die." She laughed bitterly. "Then, as I thought about it longer, I thought he should be the one to die. Since I'm incapable of murder, I punished him the only way I knew how. I, ah, went a little wild when I found out he never planned to marry me, and of course, only wound up punishing myself." She sighed, then brushed a teardrop from the corner of her eye. "R. T. isn't Beth's father. I'm not real sure who is."

  Donovan was stunned. Even though he'd always known his mother was a little "loose," he had a sudden need to get outside, to fill his entire body with some fresh air. "I think you've managed to give me more information than I actually wanted." He started for the door. "But thanks for being so honest. At least now I know everything."

  Lil leaped out of her chair and beat him to the door, positioning herself between him and the way out. "You can't leave yet—not until you understand why I did what I did."

  "I think I understand perfectly."

  "But you haven't heard why I gave Beth away. At least let me explain that."

  Donovan did not want to hear any more. He did not. But he could no more walk out on his mother now than he could rid himself of the sick feeling in his gut. "All right. But make it quick, if you don't mind. I need some air."

  Pain, or something like it, rolled across Lil's tired features, ironically making her look as if she really were old enough to be his mother. When she spoke, her voice cracked, and even made her sound more like how he imagined a mother would sound. "Even if I'd have known who Beth's father was for sure, I wouldn't have tied myself down with another prospector. That's no kind of life for a woman or a girl. I'd grown strong enough to protect myself by then, but a youngster would never have had a chance. I found a new home for Beth because I couldn't bear the idea of her growing up in the gold fields the way I did."

  "You raised me there," he reminded her.

  "That wasn't the same as raising a little girl under those conditions." Hatred shadowed her eyes, but Donovan knew it wasn't directed at him. "You were different," she went on to explain, "not only because you were a male, but because you were as independent as hell almost from the day you were born. The girl... Beth," a sudden tremor jerked Lil's shoulders, and she paused to collect herself, "I couldn't bear the idea of what might happen to her if we never got out of the gold country. I never wanted her to learn about men the way I did. You wouldn't have wanted that for her either."

  Donovan couldn't argue with that. Though he was just past five when they left the mother lode country for good, he still remembered the way grown men would leer at his mother, some of them pawing her as if she were public domain, others making ribald remarks even though her young son stood at her side. He could understand her motives for sending Beth away, if not condone them, but for that reason he couldn't quite bring himself to offer what she obviously needed so badly: unconditional forgiveness.

  "Have you ever thought about going to look for her?"

  "Lots of times," she said, hanging her head again. "But it wouldn't have served any good purpose. That family is all she's ever known, and I doubt they've told her about me. What good would it do to show up now? It would only break her heart and ruin everyone's life. And for what? So I could see how my project turned out? I may not be the best mother ever to hit the earth, but I'm not quite that selfish."

  Donovan considered her words, but just couldn't agree. "Is believing that the reason you can sleep at night?"

  "If I didn't believe that, I couldn't even live with myself." She raised her chin and looked straight up at him. "I still think I did the best I could by her."

  The best Donovan could do by his mother then, was to give her shoulder a squeeze. "Thanks for your candor. I do appreciate it, and promise to give everything I've learned some good hard thought." Thinking he might not be seeing her for a while, Donovan impulsively leaned forward and kissed Lil's forehead.

  "Oh, Donovan..." Choking back her tears, she reached up and touched his cheek. "If I'd a thought you and R. T. would actually meet up the way you did, if I'd known you'd find out about him and Beth, I never would have kept all these secrets from you. Never. Please believe that much of me."

  But he couldn't. Not yet. "It doesn't matter now. What's happened has happened, and we'll both have to find a way to live with it." He managed a short smile before informing her of the decision he'd just reached. "I intend to keep my interest in the saloon for the time being, but I need a break. You're going to have to get yourself another manager for the gaming end of things. Jack Thibbins ought to be a good man for the job."

  "You're walking out on me? Just like that?"

  "Not walking... just taking a little time for myself. I don't know what I mean to do right now. I only know that I'm not going to be coming back here for a while. Try not to take it too personally."

  As he set her aside and reached for the doorknob, she stooped to begging, another rarity in this stone-woman mother of his. "Don't—please don't go this way. What do I have to do to make it right again? Just tell me, I'll do anything."

  "It's not you, it's me. I just need to get away for a while." Then, because he could feel himself wavering, Donovan yanked open the door and blindly stormed out of the room, nearly colliding with the man who was standing on the other side—a man who had obviously been eavesdropping.

  "Hello, Lil. It's been a long time." R. T.'s gaze traveled from her tear-stained face to her saloon-girl gown. "You're looking downright..." He didn't finish the sentence. The disillusionment in his expression said everything.

  Having fresh fi
rst-hand knowledge of how badly Lil's little secrets could hurt, Donovan slapped his father on the back and said, "You look like you could use a drink. Why don't we go somewhere and have a couple of belts?"

  Chapter 14

  By the time Donovan had returned to his house that night, Libby was beside herself with worry. She'd imagined him crushed in a cable railway accident a thousand times, shot by Thomas Savage during a jealous rage, and even swept off his feet by R. T.'s attractive secretary. When that last image had come to her, Libby unfortunately had been standing on a chair, putting the finishing touches on the wallpaper, which by then had shrunk away from the windowsill by close to two inches. After picturing Donovan with another woman, she'd manhandled the paper so badly, there was nothing left to do but leave it alone and hope that he never noticed.

  When he finally had come through the door, Donovan had been grumpy and uncommunicative. He'd pleaded exhaustion, promising to have a long talk with her first thing in the morning, insisted that his stomach was too upset for him to eat, and then gone straight upstairs to his room, leaving Libby alone as she'd been all day. She hadn't taken his neglect well at first. And not just because he'd left her to dine alone—again. She'd gone upstairs after him, demanding information about his trip to Savage Publishing, and at last he'd grudgingly admitted that he hadn't gained her any concessions for the Tribune, even though that was the major reason he'd gone to see R. T. in the first place. Libby had tried to question him further after that, but Donovan declared that he would not discuss R. T., the publishing company, or even his mother, and had stomped off to his room.

  It took a while, but after she'd fixed herself a snack, then retired to her own room for the night, she finally put her anger aside and started worrying about Donovan all over again. Libby lay in the darkness for at least an hour, her eyes squeezed shut, but she couldn't drift off to sleep. She kept hearing something sad in Donovan's voice when he'd spoken to her, recalled seeing something in his remarkable eyes, a glimpse, she thought, of the soul he claimed he did not possess. If that's what she'd seen, it was a lost soul, for sure. The thought made her too restless to sleep, too worried about Donovan not to make sure he was all right. She impulsively threw her covers aside and started for his room.

  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 p
ast 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?