The Marrying Kind

by Sharon Ihle

  Of course, once the offensive edition of the Laramie Tribune had left the train station on its way to San Francisco, she'd known it was just a matter of time before R. T. closed her down—or worse. Not that she'd thought the man would actually do her physical harm out here in her own territory. Still, to be on the safe side, Jeremy and Hymie had formed a "watch committee," where they met all incoming trains from the West to keep a lookout for strangers who could be hired guns.

  As for Donovan... Libby still couldn't think of him, not and maintain the visage of strength she needed to get herself and her brother through the trying times ahead. Not if she were to keep her fragile link to sanity.

  The frame finished, Libby positioned it on the wall facing the counter, which gave it the most exposure, then held it there with one hand as she poked around in her hair looking for a pencil to mark the spot. Since she'd pretty well destroyed the hat Donovan had loathed so, she'd taken to keeping her magnifying glass and tape measure in her pocket, and poked her pencils into her bun. She could usually find one easily, but sometimes, as now, the pencils either burrowed themselves so deeply into her thick hair that she had trouble locating them, or they simply fell out as she flitted around the pressroom. As for her glasses, Libby never knew where she might find them these days.

  Irritated by the delay, she whirled around, slammed the frame down on the counter, then reached back with both hands and ripped at her bun. That's when she noticed movement just outside the Tribune's offices. Still digging around in her hair for a pencil, she squinted hard as the "hitching post" out front began to walk up the steps toward the door. When the man—she could tell that much about the blurred figure—reached the porch, Libby could see that he was dressed in a fancy white shirt and dark suit, and for just a moment, she thought she glimpsed something shiny and red between the lapels of his jacket—a vest?

  For a split-second, Libby's heartbeat accelerated, then it stopped altogether. Her hands froze to the top of her head. Then the door opened, setting off the little bell, and the man strolled into the room. He was carrying a small bag, an expensive leather item with the letter S embossed in gold on the side. Time was up, as she'd expected. But why, oh, why did Donovan have to be the messenger?

  "Afternoon," he said as he approached. Never taking those silvery-blue eyes off of her, he swung the bag up on the counter between them. "Say hello, Libby—you do remember me, don't you?"

  "Y-y—" She cleared her throat and then, mercifully, her arms relaxed enough to slide down to her sides. A stubby pencil clattered down to the counter at the same time. Donovan glanced up at her hair, cocked one eyebrow, then looked back into her eyes—and smiled. Shaking inside—outside, too, she thought—Libby quickly said, "Of course I remember you. I wasn't expecting to see you again, is all."

  The smile grew into a grin, one that blinded her as much as his twinkling eyes. She found herself wanting to kiss him, but remembered that he was here on business. Then he got right to it, confirming her worst fears.

  "Surely after the less-than-flattering editorial you sent to Savage Publishing last week, you had to be expecting someone from the main offices to stop by and see you."

  She nodded numbly. "Yes, I suppose so."

  "Well, here I am." He spread his arms. "I have something here for you. If you have a minute, I'd like to get this over with as quickly as possible."

  "Please do." Libby could feel her temper rising slowly from the ashes of her heart, giving her the strength she would need to see her through this moment. Even then, she had to brace her knees against the counter to keep them from shaking. As Donovan reached into the bag and withdrew a thick packet of papers, she muttered, "I've been expecting this, but I have to say that I'm disappointed you've chosen to deliver the bad news yourself. Shall I vacate the entire building while you do your dirty work, or may I go upstairs to my room?"

  "Oh, I want you to stay right where you are for this." Still smiling, Donovan spun the papers around so she could read the one on top as he explained the contents. "This is a release you need to sign, a legally binding contract between you and Savage Publishing which gives Liberty Ann Justice full and complete control of the Laramie Tribune from here on out. That includes ownership of the press, cameras, and all the other items you ink-slingers lay claim to as part of your printing business."

  "Ownership?" She'd heard what Donovan said and followed the printed words, yet Libby couldn't quite make sense of them. "You mean the paper is mine to keep?"

  "Precisely. The only thing you can't keep is the name, Tribune. That stays with Savage Publishing, but then I didn't figure you'd want any part of my father's company anyway. Was I right?"

  What did it mean? "Er, yes, but... but—"

  "I realize this may be hard for you to grasp at first, and maybe later we can talk about it more. All I want you to understand right now is that I'm the one who went to R. T. and got this taken care of. I'm the one who kept him from sending someone out here to burn you out, or whatever it is they do when an affiliate 'goes bad.' Does that much make sense?"

  She was dizzy, numb, excited, and afraid to believe him, but everything he said was there in black and white. Libby nodded and another pencil clattered to the counter top. "I understand, but I can't say this makes any sense. Why did your father do it?"

  His gaze following the pencil as it rolled across the counter then fell to the floor, Donovan looked slightly amused. "My why's first. Why didn't you tell me what R. T. did to my mother?"

  "Oh, that..." Obviously he knew what had happened. She could see the pain in his eyes. "Lil made me promise not to. I figured it was her story and her right to decide when and how it got told, so I agreed to keep quiet about it. Didn't she tell you that?"

  "No, but then, I didn't ask. I was in too big a hurry to have a little talk with my father."

  "Oh." Had Donovan blackmailed the man into giving her the Tribune?

  "R. T. didn't deny hurting my mother," he continued, "but he claimed he had nothing to do with Seamus's death. I admit I haven't been a very good judge of the man, but I tend to believe him—at least, I'd like to believe that of him." He looked enormously sad for a moment, making Libby wonder if he hadn't caught at least a glimpse of the evil in his father. She decided that maybe he had.

  Catching her speculative gaze, Donovan produced a bright smile. "At any rate, I do know R. T. won't be bothering my mother again. In fact, after the threats I made, I expect he'll be hiring a bodyguard to make sure nothing happens to her—ever again."

  Wondering now about those threats, certain they weren't of a physical nature, but more likely of a "social" nature, Libby caught sight of another moving "hitching post" outside. Squinting, she could see that a woman—a very well-dressed woman, at that—had reached the porch. The door opened, and she stepped inside, looking more familiar by the minute.

  "Hello, Libby," she said, approaching the counter. "Is everything between you two..."—she glanced up at Donovan expectantly—"...all right?"

  "Susan?" Libby could hardly believe her eyes, but her vision was clear now, and there was no mistaking her visitor—Susan Savage. "What are you doing here?"

  "Making things difficult for me," said Donovan, delivering an angry scowl to his sister. "I thought you had some shopping to do."

  "That's what I thought I'd do to keep myself entertained, but I can't seem to find a decent store." She turned back to Libby. "Tell me there's at least one dress shop in this town."

  "What are you doing here?" Libby repeated, stunned.

  "Donovan brought me with him. I thought I might enjoy a little visit out here for a while, before heading to the Capital City in Washington."

  "Washington? Why are you going there?"

  Susan practically busted her buttons as she said, "I have a job. You're looking at the fully enrolled member of the NWSA who's going to be assisting Belva Lockwood in her presidential campaign—by next year, we could have a female president."

  "But what about your duke?"


  "Oh, him." Susan shrugged. "It turns out he did mind my joining the cause." She leaned forward and chuckled. "He only minded, of course, because father minded. It seems anything that affected my dowry, affected Henry. He was especially affected when I told him to take his titledom and go to hell."

  "And that," said Donovan, gripping Susan's elbow, "is just where I was thinking of sending you if you don't leave Libby and me alone to talk."

  After peeling her brother's fingers off her arm, Susan turned back to Libby. "I guess I'd better run along, but I'll be back soon."

  "Wait." Libby reached across the counter and captured Susan's hand. "What about your father? Surely he hasn't given his approval for your trip to Washington."

  The bright smile disappeared and, in its place, came a thoughtful expression, not quite a frown. "He definitely did not approve, but I want to live my own life. Father knows, if he wants to see me again, that he's going to have to accept that about me. It will take some time, but I think he'll forgive me someday." She giggled. "I've always been his special little angel—how can he not?"

  "Su-san," came Donovan's voice, a clear warning.

  "Well, good-bye for now," she said, giving Libby a knowing glance and little wave. Then, bustles bouncing, she scurried out of the office.

  Donovan's narrow gaze followed his sister's departure. When he was sure Susan was out of earshot, he turned back to Libby and said, "She's a cutie, that one, and smarter than I first thought, too. I really enjoy having Susan as a sister, but her sense of timing is lousy. Oh, and speaking of sisters—" He reached into the satchel and drew out a magazine. He turned to a page bearing a woman's photograph. Holding it next to his profile, he said, "What do you think? Do you see the likeness?"

  Libby squinted, but did see a certain resemblance. "I guess. Who is she?"

  "Lillibeth Jones. She's a shadowcatcher in Pasadena who got an award of some kind for her photographs—that's why she was in this magazine. Don't you think she could be my missing sister?"

  Libby shrugged, dazed by everything else. "Possibly. What are you going to do? Go look her up?"

  "I don't know. I don't want to think about that right now. I'm not done talking about you. Where were we?"

  By now, Libby was in such shock, she could hardly remember her own name, much less where their conversation had been interrupted.

  It didn't matter. Donovan seemed quite content to do the thinking for them both. "I believe you were probably wondering what it cost me to get this deal for you. Right?" He jabbed the contract with his finger, and Libby automatically nodded. Another pencil fell out of what was left of her bun. He laughed, glanced at her disheveled hair, and said, "It beats the hell out of that hat. Did you burn it?"

  Her throat was so dry, Libby nearly choked as she said, "No, but I did bury it away in the bottom of my dresser."

  "You should have buried it, period." After a short laugh, Donovan turned serious again. "Back to what this contract cost me—not a damn dime. All I had to do was sign a little paper, myself, a deposition agreeing that I'd never lay claim to any part of the Savage family fortunes, including the name. I'm back to being William Donovan again."

  "Will—" Her lungs felt as if they'd collapsed, and Libby's throat closed tightly, making it impossible to go on.

  "I hope you weren't trying to call me Willy," he snapped. "I thought I'd warned you about that."

  Gasping and laughing at the same time, Libby finally managed to draw a breath. "No, honest, I wasn't, but I am wondering how you could have given up your name? Why?"

  "Because..." He paused, looking puzzled, or maybe hesitant, for the first time since he'd stepped through the door. "Oh, I don't know, Libby. Maybe I felt like getting out of the big city and taking another look around Laramie, and maybe I thought I'd see if one of the local newspapers needs a first-rate advertising solicitor. Or maybe, just maybe, I came here and did it all for you."

  "For me?" She heard the words and understood somewhere in her brain exactly what he was saying; but, for some reason, Libby couldn't let herself believe it. "You mean you... love me?"

  He rolled his eyes and sighed. "I was hoping you'd figure that out for yourself. I'm not much good at this sappy stuff—remember?"

  "Oh... Donovan." The tears in Libby's throat rose to her eyes, threatening the floodgates. Needing to touch him, to feel his arms around her and know that this was real, she swung herself up on the counter, leading with her right leg as if mounting a horse. Trouble was, the counter wasn't as wide or as high as most horses. Had Donovan not been there to catch her, Libby would have flung herself beyond the counter and onto the floor.

  Righting her and wrapping her firmly in his arms, he kept his face just inches from Libby's as he said, "Still as awkward as ever, I see."

  "That's right. I haven't changed, but I think one of us has." She touched his cheek, finding out that he was very real. "Oh, Donovan," she murmured, her breath catching in her throat. "How you've surprised me. As long as it took you to finally find a real family, I can hardly believe you've given them up for me."

  "Yeah, well, that's what I did all right."

  His complexion seemed to darken. Or maybe it had turned a little rosy. William Donovan—blushing? And could he possibly be aware of it? He glanced down at the floor then and shuffled his feet, making Libby think that maybe he was all too aware.

  Speaking with what sounded like a fair amount of difficulty, Donovan went on. "I don't know why it took me so long to figure it out, but did you know there's no law that says a fella's got to accept just any old family that gets thrown at him, even if he does want a family as badly as I do?"

  "But—"

  "Let me finish, while I still can."

  Libby wasn't about to miss the rest of what Donovan had to say. She pressed her lips together, flattening them, and gave him a short, silent nod.

  "It occurred to me," he went on, "that if I wanted a family so damn badly, why not start my own?"

  "Your own family?" she blurted out, forgetting herself. "You mean you want children?"

  "I guess so," he whispered softly. Donovan's eyes misted slightly then, making them look bluer and more luminous. "I have to tell you, Libby," he said in that same soft whisper, "the idea of making a new family with you sounds just about perfect."

  "Oh... oh," Libby's voice, heart, everything felt strangled, wrung out. "Oh, Donovan... I love you so much."

  Again he blushed, but this time he took it in stride, his euphoric expression overshadowing his rosy cheeks. Still, for a moment, Libby thought he was going to turn away from her. He didn't, but he did mutter in a deep serious voice, "Oh, now don't go getting all sappy on me. I told you, I'm not much good at that sort of thing."

  Fighting her tears, she said, "Do it right, Donovan. Ask me to marry you."

  He tugged at his collar, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I guess you forgot that I'm not exactly the marrying kind."

  "Oh, I remember perfectly, but it seems I've discovered that I am the marrying kind. I won't live with you or have your babies any other way. Now, are you going to ask me to marry you, or not?"

  Surprising her, Donovan turned Libby loose, ripped off his hat, then slammed it to the floor. "I knew it," he shouted. "I just knew it. Didn't I tell you the first time I looked into those big calf eyes of yours that I saw a little white house, a picket fence, and kids running amok in a vegetable garden? Didn't I? You lied to me."

  But he wasn't angry. His eyes were twinkling with mischief. "I didn't lie, not really. I thought I didn't want those things, but now I see that I can't stand to have it any other way. Not between us."

  Her eyes misting with tears, blurring anyway, Libby didn't see the men approaching until the door crashed open, setting off the bell with such gusto, it sounded like the fire alarm. She turned toward the racket only to find Hymie down on one knee, his shotgun pointed directly at Donovan's heart.

  "Don't move you citified slicker," he cackled, "or I'll blow you to kingdom come. We seen thi
s fella get off the train, Libby, but I couldn't find my blasted gun right away. Sorry it took us so long to get here."

  Behind him, with feet wide apart and Libby's father's pistol drawn, stood Jeremy. "Looks like we're just in time, sis," he said, sounding tough, in spite of the fact that, using both hands, he still couldn't keep the gun from shaking.

  "Wait." Donovan's hands went straight above his head. "Don't shoot. I'll marry her. I swear I planned to marry her all along. I'll do it now, right this minute if you want."

  Amazed by his sudden declaration, though not terribly surprised, Libby thought about calling off the guns. Instead, she turned so only Hymie and Jeremy could see her, smiled and winked. "If Donovan told me once, boys, he told me a thousand times that he's not the marrying kind. He's lying."

  "No, I swear to God, I'm not lying." Donovan eased one hand lower toward his vest. "Let me show you."

  "Whatcha doing there?" Hymie jabbed the shotgun toward him. "Reaching for your weapon?"

  "No gun, I swear. Just some proof." Fumbling for a moment, he pulled out a small blue velvet box. "See? I already bought the wedding ring—in San Francisco. My sister, Susan, can verify that." Keeping his eyes trained on the gunmen, he handed the box to Libby. "Take it, it's yours."

  Biting her lip to keep from showing her pleasure as she turned to him, she raised her brows high. "You got me a ring? You really were going to ask me to marry you all along?"

  Grinning broadly, Donovan glanced at her. "You bet. Now call off your dogs."

  "You let me go through all that, that 'marrying kind' business, when you meant to ask me anyway?"

  His grin sheepish now, he shrugged. "You said, if something's too easy, it's not worth having. I thought you might like to work a little at getting me to propose, so you could properly appreciate me."

  "Really?" As she tried to decide exactly how to handle the situation, Libby remembered a little something she'd forgotten to clear up before leaving San Francisco. Trying to hide an impish grin, she said, "I think you might be right, Donovan, and thanks for the suggestion. Hymie, Jeremy? You can put your guns away."