by Sharon Ihle
Donovan turned to see that she was clearing the table, not even glancing his way. "Libby? Are you all right?"
"Me?" She slid his plate into a bowl full of soapy water. "I couldn't be better. Why do you ask?"
"I thought... I figured by now you'd be thinking of ways to get me to take you with me to the office."
Making another pass at the table, this time collecting the leftover sausages and bread, Libby shrugged. "I figured if you wanted me to go, you'd ask. If you didn't ask, I was planning to make the trip on my own anyway." Setting the dish on the counter, she turned to face him. "I'm tired of begging for your scraps, Mr. Donovan Savage. One way or another, before this day is through, I'm going to have a good, clear idea about what's going on at that publishing company, and why your father is so dead set against my equal rights editorials. You can help me. Or not."
As she started back for the table, looking a lot like a rooster protecting its territory, Donovan burst out laughing. "You're a real beauty when you get fired up, you know that? An honest-to-God beauty."
Libby didn't even favor him with a glance, much less a smile.
"May I have the pleasure, Miss Justice, of escorting you to Savage Publishing?"
She finally looked his way at this, eyes keen and alive, but wary, too. He went on. "I was thinking that once I'm part of the operation, I might have to hire you to look into our editorial restrictions and make a few changes." She was halfway across the room by then, closing in on him fast. "Do you think you could—" Libby threw herself into his arms, chopping his sentence in half, "make the time this morning?"
"Oh, yes, yes." She showered him with kisses, his cheeks, his mouth, and even his eyes.
"Damn, Libby." Donovan took her head between his hands, stilling her. "If I'd known you were going to be so damned appreciative, I'd have asked you sooner." Then he helped himself to a kiss, a real kiss that left him wanting ever so much more. "Maybe we ought to make a little extra time right now," he suggested huskily, "so I can find out exactly how grateful you are."
"I can tell you, without wasting a second: Very grateful." She extricated herself from his embrace and headed for the table. "But first things first. We're going to Savage Publishing, just as soon as I clean up a little in here. Oh, and I'll need a minute to change into something more appropriate."
He still thought a better idea would be to drag Libby upstairs and ravish her, but he kept it to himself. "In that case, I'll give you ten minutes to get ready."
"Ten minutes. But it will take me almost that long to finish in here."
"Leave the kitchen. As for fixing up, you only need to do something with your hair." She'd twisted it into a knot at the top of her head, where already it listed so badly, he didn't know what was keeping it in place. "As for your clothes, you look fine, just the way you are."
Libby glanced down at herself, making sure that she did indeed have her buckskins on, and then looked back at Donovan in surprise. "But I thought I was supposed to be impressing R. T. by wearing fashionable dresses."
"Impress him with your sharp mind and bright ideas instead. Those buckskins represent you as the editor of the Laramie Tribune." He paused to give her a wink. "I've noticed that you're a lot more relaxed and confident when you wear your reporter clothes, and that kind of attitude ought to go a long way in your favor today. Oh, and speaking of impressing him, I gave him the impression that you were staying at a boarding house, not here."
She blushed. "Thank you. I was wondering what he thought of me, you know, in that regard."
"Personally, I'm sure he thinks you're wonderful." Then he added impulsively, "So do I."
"Oh, Donovan. I don't know what to say to that."
Feeling one of those awkward, sappy moments coming over them, he quickly turned it around. "Say you'll leave that big disgusting reporter hat of yours at home. And while we're on the subject of hats, I think you'd better forget about the one I bought you, too. Even with that scarf draped over it, the thing looks like a whole team of horses ran over it."
"But I can't go to the city bareheaded."
"You'll think of something." Donovan started for the hall. "Ten minutes, Miss Justice. Don't make me wait."
Feeling as if her heart were turning somersaults, Libby reached for the casserole dish to at least cover the leftovers before heading upstairs. Smiling to herself, she realized that Donovan hadn't touched the bread or eggs and had eaten only part of the one sausage he'd taken. But better than half of her macaroni and cheese casserole was gone.
* * *
It was well after noon by the time Donovan met privately with R. T. During that meeting, Francis took Libby on a tour of the vast newspaper offices that made up Savage Publishing. The first stop had been in the pressroom, where she was treated to a demonstration of the huge Hoe rotary press, which was capable of printing up to twenty thousand sheets an hour, a far cry from the couple thousand her Campbell press could produce. Then they'd passed through the distribution section, where the newspapers were separated and bundled, and on through a pair of double doors that led to the reporting and editing section of the building, a large room cluttered with a maze of partitions. Libby had imagined that a publishing house like this would have impressive offices, but—as with the city of San Francisco itself—never had she expected anything on this scale.
"As you can see," Francis explained, "this is where we do most of our news gathering and editing. We naturally have our own wire and gather quite a bit of information through The Western Associated Press, but R. T. is very fond of the sensational kind of stories one can only get by sending reporters out on the streets."
Understanding exactly the kind of story Savage Publishing was known for, she impulsively asked, "You mean they go out looking for train wrecks, fire tragedies, and even stories like your father's? You know, how he lost one son, but gained the son of a forgotten mistress almost on the same day?"
Francis gave her a withering look, but it was accompanied by a wry grin, making her feel comfortable, as if they were old friends. When he led her into yet another hallway, he admitted, "Yes, Miss Justice. Our reporters are constantly on the lookout for stories precisely like the turn of events which brought Donovan into the family. Had this happened to Hearst over at the Examiner, father wouldn't even have waited until after the man's son was buried before splashing the sordid details all over the headlines."
"Really? Then why hasn't Hearst responded in kind?"
Francis shrugged, nodding to a group of reporters as they rushed past him on the way to an assignment. "He probably doesn't know about it yet. Father has many influential and powerful allies in this city. I doubt Donovan and his situation, with regard to our family, is openly discussed—whispered about, perhaps, but only among those who trust one another. Now then, what else would you like to see?"
It was easy to guess, by his tone and the abrupt change of subject, that Francis had said all he intended to regarding that aspect of his family. Libby moved onto the Savage business connections. "Donovan told me that your other brother, Thomas, presides over a business called S and S Enterprises. Is it true, that company also owns Savage Publishing?"
"Yes, it is, although, of course, Thomas has nothing to do with the daily business here at the newspaper."
"Then what other companies does S and S own to warrant the name, 'Enterprises'?"
Francis scratched his head in deep thought as they strolled out of the editorial offices. The gesture, along with the guileless, daydreaming expression on his face, reminded Libby of someone, but she couldn't figure who. It certainly wasn't Donovan.
"Actually," Francis said, finally answering as they crossed the wide lobby tiled in marble, "S and S owns a piece of several small business, but the largest enterprise and the biggest moneymaker is Eldorado Distilleries. We like to think of it as the Savage family flagship. After that, I would have to say our oyster beds in the Bay keep Thomas pretty busy, especially now that Eastern competition is so fierce and the beds are subjec
t to..."
Francis droned on about oysters and silt, or something like that as they climbed the stairs up to R. T.'s office on the fifth floor, but Libby wasn't really paying attention to him. She was still reeling over the fact that the Savage family owned what sounded like a rather large San Francisco-based distillery. She couldn't recall how or why, but she did know that the liquor industry had long been a burr under the saddle of the equal rights movement. Was there a connection between Eldorado Distilleries and R. T.'s rigid editorial guidelines?
After Francis approached R. T.'s secretary, spoke quietly with her a few moments, then returned to Libby, standing where he'd left her, he gently squeezed her shoulder. "Grace will make sure we're welcomed in R. T.'s office. He may not wish to be disturbed just yet. Are there any other questions I can answer for you while we wait?"
Libby couldn't have asked for a better opening. "Well, now that you ask, I am a little curious about Eldorado Distilleries. You mentioned, it was your family's biggest moneymaker—you surely didn't mean to say that it produces a bigger income than this newspaper and its affiliates."
"Yes, that's exactly what I meant. The distilleries bought this publishing house as a sort of wedding present for the future Mrs. Randolph T. Savage." Francis laughed, but then lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "I probably shouldn't have said that, but I suppose Donovan will learn about father's rise to San Francisco prominence soon enough. R. T. was well-off when he arrived in this town, but after he purchased the distillery, he became quite wealthy. Trouble was, a man who ran a distillery wasn't much of a catch for a society-bound woman like Olivina—and she's the woman he wanted after my mother died. R. T. bought himself a more respectable business, and as Thomas would say, a well-bred wife."
Libby feigned surprise. "You mean to tell me that R. T. Savage isn't in the newspaper business for the same reason as you and I—the love of a really good story?"
Laughing richly, Francis took Libby's hands in his. "Oh, my dear lady. You are the only person I know—including the members of my family—who understands us journalists and why I love this business so much." He looked directly into her eyes, smiled shyly, and added, "I really do enjoy your company, Libby. I hope you'll be staying with us a while."
Sincerity poured out of Francis along with every other quality he seemed incapable of hiding—warmth, vulnerability, and an almost childlike sense of delight. That was when Libby finally figured out who he reminded her of—her very own father, Jeremiah Justice. No wonder she felt so comfortable in his presence, so safe. She only hoped that Francis wasn't as good a judge of character as her late father was. If he were to guess what she was really thinking about S&S Enterprises, she had an idea that, new friends or not, the apparent heir to Savage Publishing would escort her out of the building faster than his father's fancy shoes could kick her down to the lobby.
The thought gave Libby a start, making her wonder if she should even chance crossing paths with R. T. today. If she were to blurt out a single word of what she suspected, no doubt he'd get her out of the building even faster than Francis would—perhaps through the nearest window. It would be better for all concerned, especially Donovan, if she were to gather up all the facts she could, and then make an appointment with R. T. Alone.
Her mind made up, Libby grasped Francis's hand, intending to thank him for the tour and make a fast departure, but before she could get a word out, the double doors at the end of the hallway parted.
Then it was too late to run.
Chapter 15
Inside R. T's massive office, Donovan lounged, across the desk from his father. It felt good to be here this time, even right, regardless of the fact that he hadn't exactly been "to the manor born." As an added bonus, he'd discovered now that he'd gotten to know the man better, he actually liked him. A lot.
Donovan felt pretty much the same way about Francis, the brother he'd once dreamed of having. In fact, he not only accepted the hardworking newspaperman as family, but found in him a great deal to respect, too. Following instincts he'd honed through years of gambling with just about every kind of crook on the face of the earth—including a female sharper dressed as a nun, who kept a spring-loaded card holdout up her voluminous sleeve—Donovan had no doubt that Francis was, above all else, an honest, decent man.
Brother Thomas, of course, was another matter entirely. Maybe later as he became more integrated into the family, Donovan would stand to be near the foul-tempered oaf long enough to find something about him he liked. Next time they met, he vowed, he'd at least give it a try. As for Susan... Donovan couldn't even think about her without also thinking of his lost sister, a reality so fresh and painful he simply wasn't up to facing it yet.
"Enough business for a while," said R. T., breaking into Donovan's thoughts. "Tell me a little more about this Liberty Justice you brought home with you from Wyoming. I have the definite impression she's more than just a cute little reporter to you. Is there something serious going on there?"
"Aw, hell, R. T. I don't think so—at least, I hope not." Sinking back against the plush leather chair, he rolled his eyes. If the truth were known, Donovan would have to admit that even though he'd never known the meaning of "serious" where a woman was concerned, Libby had managed to shake him up a little. Enough so that he continually caught himself thinking of ways to keep her around a little longer. He doubted such thoughts qualified as "serious" feelings for her, but even if it were true, he was not about to discuss such unnerving emotions with his father, in spite of his new, rather comfortable relationship with him.
Thinking the better move would be to brush the subject off entirely, he laughed and said, "Libby's bright, she's good-looking, and she needed a little help. So I helped her. That's really all there is between us. I guess I'm nothing but a rounder who happens to be a sucker for a damsel in distress."
R. T. laughed along with him, making light of the situation, as Donovan hoped he would. "I'm glad to hear you're not seriously involved with a woman like that."
Donovan didn't care for what that remark suggested. "Don't let Libby's buckskins and men's boots fool you. As far as I can tell, she doesn't pack a gun or a knife."
"Not even strapped to her thigh?"
Donovan shook his head before he realized he'd inadvertently admitted something he normally would have kept to himself.
Looking more thoughtful now, concerned perhaps, R. T. adopted a surprisingly breezy tone, considering his grim expression. "Physical damage isn't what concerns me. If you're not careful, her kind can do much worse than leave a few scars. Believe me when I say that she and all her spinster friends usually have ulterior motives for just about everything they do. As the publisher of this newspaper, I know more about suffragists than I ever cared to know."
Donovan's fingers tightened around the arms of his chair. He did not want to discuss his feelings for Libby, and yet he could hardly sit here and allow his father to go on about her as if she were beneath contempt. Just as he was thinking of speaking up, someone knocked on one of the doors and slipped inside the room.
"Excuse me, Mr. Savage," R. T.'s secretary said, pushing the doors shut behind her, "but Francis and Miss Justice have finished their tour. Shall I send them in?"
After exchanging a fast glance with Donovan, R. T. sighed. "I guess you might as well. And Grace—-bring us all some refreshments, too. The best."
After his secretary left, R. T. leaned across the desk and spoke in low, rapid tones. "Just remember what I was saying about your little playmate. Go ahead and have some fun with her, but watch your back, Son. In fact watch your front and every little piece of your business right along with it. Mark my words on this—that girl's nothing but trouble, the kind of trouble that can make things very uncomfortable not just for you, but for our entire family."
Those remarks so shocked Donovan that he could hardly make sense of them. He had no chance to figure out how to respond to such a statement before Libby and Francis waltzed into the office with R. T.'s secretary
trailing behind them.
"Ah, there you two are," said R. T., his glib tongue so smooth, Donovan wasn't even sure he'd heard right when listening to R. T. just a moment ago. "Take a seat. Donovan and I were just going over the type of position he might be best suited to here at the newspaper. What do you think he'd be good at, Francis?"
"I really wouldn't know without interviewing him, Father." Francis helped Libby into the chair beside Donovan, then sat down on the seat to her left. "I suppose a lot depends on the positions you've opened up for him. One of them wouldn't be managing editor, by any chance?"
The Savage men laughed together over that remark, but Donovan had an idea that, to Francis, it really wasn't a laughing matter. This was the one area concerning R. T. with which he was a little ill-at-ease. The old man seemed to take great delight in teasing others, especially his sons, making Donovan wonder if he didn't possess a usually concealed streak of cruelty.
All but confirming that theory, R. T. waited an uncomfortably long moment before saying, "No, Francis. I'm not looking to replace you. We're all in agreement that you've done a fine job as managing editor of this newspaper."
Grace returned and immediately approached the desk to serve each of the men a snifter of brandy. Only then did she turn to Libby. "May I get you a cup of tea, Miss Justice? Or perhaps you'd prefer something cool."
"Oh, no thanks. I'm fine."
Donovan caught R. T. studying Libby, and noted his frown. Although their recent conversation was still fresh in his mind, he thought his father's expression may have been prompted more by Libby's "hat" than Libby herself. She'd taken her work bonnet apart, removing all the little odds and ends adorning it, cut the brim down, and then covered the whole thing with her black lace scarf. It looked better than before, and was a definite improvement over the mangled hat he'd bought, but still... it looked a little odd.
"A toast to my boys?" said R. T.
While the men "cheered" one another, Libby slipped on her glasses and took the opportunity to glance around the office. The entire interior—the displays of fine leather, expensive furnishings, and dramatic bay view windows—positively reeked with the scent of power. Each carefully selected item pointed to Savage as a person of great power, from his fancy desk to the gilt-framed photograph of himself with President Garfield. Beside that hung another equally impressive photo of him with then newly appointed President Arthur. Again, Libby had to marvel over what heaven it must be to claim an important man such as this as a father.
