The Marrying Kind

by Sharon Ihle

  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 have 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."

  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 f
orgotten 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 subject to..."