The Marrying Kind (34 page)

"I knew it couldn't be true." Lil tossed her chin high. "My Donovan is a long ways from perfect, but he'd never hurt a woman. At least, not physically."

"No, I don't believe he would either." Libby ran her fingers across her eyelids, staving off tears, but refreshing herself, too. "What I'm trying to say is that it seems my being here with him, you know, in that... way, has turned out to be a whole lot more complicated than I ever dreamed it could be." There was a wealth of understanding in Lil's sympathetic expression, making it easy for Libby to sort her feelings. "I honestly thought I could just enjoy whatever time we had together, then walk away. I think I finally understand that for me to be happy, I need much more than I thought I did from Donovan. I hope you don't mind my saying these things about your son."

"Say what you want about him, but tell me a little more about you first. Didn't you pay attention when your ma explained about men and their ways, or was she as green as you?"

In spite of a brief jab of sorrow, Libby give Lil a warm smile. "My mother never got a chance to explain any of that to me. She died when I was still a girl. Before you ask about my father, I have to say, he wasn't any help either. He wasn't much on personal talk of any kind, but certainly not about women's problems. From the day I started getting noticeable breasts, he turned beet red and stayed that way until he died."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I never meant to bring up bad memories." Lil looked as if she wanted to get off the sofa and offer a hug. She didn't, but Libby couldn't help but be touched just the same.

"My memories are good. I just told you about my folks so you could understand why I've never had a chance to talk about these things."

"I never had that chance either, now that you mention it." Lil's eyes glazed over as she thought back to the past. "My mother died when I was a babe, and as for my father... well, no little girl should have to learn about things the way I did."

"Oh, Lil."

"Don't go getting all sappy on me, dearie." Her eyes clear again, she squared her shoulders, matching the hard edge of her jaw. "I don't go in for tears over long ago, or tears caused by worries of the future. Today is about all I let myself think about, and the way I figure it, there isn't enough hours in one day to waste any of them blubbering all over hell. That said, and mind you, I don't want the details of my son's personal life, I don't mind talking with you about your troubles with him if that's what you'd like."

"Oh, Lil, are you sure?" Libby had listened well enough to know what the woman thought of tears spilled for any reason, but in spite of that, she could feel them burning their way through her eyelids.

"Don't make it sound like you're getting such a bargain." Laughing at herself, Lil chortled over the idea. "I never was much of a mother, but if someone like me will do as a kind of ringer for a few minutes, I'll be glad to help you if I can."

"Thanks for offering. I think my troubles are with me, not Donovan. Other women involved in the cause talk and write about the joys of free love and taking lovers with no thought to getting married. They make it sound like that's all a woman needs from a man. I assumed I'd feel that way, too, or maybe I just convinced myself I would because I wanted Donovan so much, but it doesn't work that way for me. Now that I've... been with him, I just want him all to myself. He's all I'll ever want, and I don't know what to do about it, or how to go about making him feel that way over me."

Lil nodded solemnly. "Is it safe to assume that you think you've fallen in love with Donovan?"

Risking the woman's wrath, Libby raised her head and displayed what were by now, tear-stained cheeks. "I don't think that I love him, I
know
that I do."

Lil didn't seem to notice the tears, but she came down hard on Libby on the other point. "Then you're a damn fool. My son is many fine things, but he is not the kind of man an intelligent woman falls in love with. I can't see where you can hope for a future with him."

"Don't say it—I know he's not the marrying kind. He as much as told me that himself, but I don't believe it. I think Donovan hides behind that statement because he doesn't know what a good man he is. If he'll give me a chance, I'm sure I can help him see that he's wrong about that, and therefore, wrong about—"

Lil burst into raucous laughter, interrupting Libby's impassioned speech. When she quieted, she said, "Pardon me, dear, but the next time it crosses your mind to change or 'fix' a man, any man, just forget it and remember me and Rand. I noticed the cruelty in him shortly after we met, but I was young and foolish enough to believe that my love would turn him into a cuddly little puppy. After all, most times, he was so smooth, so very nice, so stinking
loving
,
I let myself believe I could scrub away the rough spots and live with him happily ever after. By now you know how that silly little fairy tale ends."

Disheartened, Libby sighed. "Are you saying that I might as well go back to Laramie as fast as I can because Donovan will never be mine?"

Lil methodically brushed the crumbs off her skirt. "I hate to say that, and I won't, but then I don't want to fill your head up with false hope either. Just understand that Donovan is the kind of man who most times won't let himself
be
the good man he is. I suppose he's lacking the things you need because he's never been around a decent, loving relationship. I like to think he has it inside him to love you, or someone, but that he simply doesn't know how." Lil struggled to her feet. "That's my fault, I expect, since I'm the one who raised him, but there isn't much I can do about it now. If you want the cold, hard facts, I guess maybe I raised him that way cause I'm not so sure there is such a thing as love."

Libby thought of objecting, of making an impassioned plea in the name of love, but if she hadn't learned another thing from Lil during this discussion, she knew when to keep her thoughts to herself. The woman was done answering questions about life and her son, and she wanted to be on her way. Although she longed to give Lil a hug to show her gratitude, Libby knew instinctively that such a gesture would only make her uncomfortable. Instead of embarrassing her, she showed her gratitude with a few simple words.

"Thank you for listening and advising me, Lil. I really do appreciate everything you had to say even if I didn't like what I heard here and there."

"No thanks are necessary." Looking a little flustered, Lil buttoned her dress. "You know, I learned a little something here, too. Now that we've talked and I've had a chance to think about the kind of man my son is, I believe it would be a very bad idea for me or you to tell Donovan about his father—especially the part about what he did to me last night."

"But you can't just let R. T. get away with that. It isn't fair."

"R. T. didn't get away with much, dear, and never forget this—life isn't fair." She tapped her finger against her own chin. "It won't do a damn bit of good to try to explain to Donovan how R. T. made you feel in his office, either. If anything, it'll probably make things worse. When you're dealing with a slippery snake like Rand, I have a feeling, a person simply has to learn about him for themselves. Know what I mean?"

Libby considered the thought, especially in relation to the way the man had mentally assaulted her right in front of his two sons. "You're absolutely right. There is no way to explain that kind of evil unless you've glimpsed it personally."

Lil crossed the short distance between them and shook Libby's hand. "Then we're agreed. It might be best if you don't even mention I stopped by today."

"All right." Libby was thinking of inviting Donovan's mother back again, maybe for a meal, when she noticed Lil had become distracted by something.

Her expression flickering between horror and surprise, Lil said, "Great Caesar's ghost. What happened to the wallpaper?"

Libby's heart lodged in her throat. How could she have forgotten about that damned wallpaper? She practically led the woman who'd put it up to the scene of the crime. "Oh, ah..." Libby stumbled around with her answer, hating to lie, afraid to tell the truth. "I think there are some mice in the house."

"Good Lord, does Donovan know about them?"

Libby didn't like her tone, the underlying suggestion, but she continued digging a verbal hole for herself. "Yes, he even set a few traps."

"Did he really?" Lil pulled the curtain aside and stared down at the hard brown little lumps of macaroni and cheese. "How awful for poor Donovan. He's terrified of mice, you know."

"He is?" Libby had noticed he was none too fond of them, but then, who was? "More than most folks, you think?"

"Oh, definitely." As she surveyed the area, Lil briefly explained why. "He and I didn't have a pot to piss in during our early days, and we moved around a lot. We took over an abandoned miner's cabin in Jackson down in Mother Lode country one summer and found the place overrun with damn mice." She slid her fingers along the edge of the paper near the window, her brow bunched in contemplation. "The poor kid was only about five at the time. I had to leave him alone at night while I was dancing and singing to earn enough money to put food in our mouths. I didn't find out until later that every time he went to lie down on his ratty little cot, those mice would run all over him."

A shudder of revulsion ripped through Libby. "I had no idea."

"Donovan didn't get much sleep that summer in Jackson, but I don't think he has to worry about mice crawling through his hair here. Now that I've studied the damage a little better, I don't think he's got mice a'tall. It looks to me like someone ripped the damn paper right off the wall." Lil turned and headed for the door. "I think I'll go have a little talk with Gerda. She's too damned independent for her own good. Maybe it's time Donovan found himself another housekeeper."

"No, wait." Libby caught up to her in the foyer. "I can't let you do that. I'm the one who did this."

"You
tore the frigging paper off the wall? What, if I may ask, possessed you to do a thing like that?"

Reminding herself that brashness was Lil's way, Libby stood her ground. "I was waiting for Donovan the other night, worrying about him too, I guess, and I accidentally worked up a little tear with my fingernail. I tried to fix it, but I was so worried about Donovan that, well, I don't know exactly how it happened, but it just got bigger and bigger. I did everything I could think of to cover it up best I could, but—"

"All right, enough. I believe it was an accident. Save the story for him." Chuckling to herself, Lil sashayed over to the door and turned the knob. Before letting herself out, she glanced at Libby, raised one eyebrow and said, "You really do care about Donovan, don't you?"

She gulped, but proudly admitted, "As I said before, I love him. In fact, I'm thinking of telling him so tonight, right after I explain about the wallpaper."

Lil wagged her index finger. "Tell him there are no mice, dearie, please do, but take my advice on the rest—don't tell him you love him. Not unless you're fixing to run him off for good."

* * *

Late that afternoon at Savage Publishing, Donovan whistled as he strolled into his brother's office and dropped on the desk the names of the new accounts he'd solicited. "There you have it, Francis. Ten new advertisers for the
Tribune
—count 'em—ten."

Whistling his appreciation, Francis looked over the new accounts. "It looks like most of them are located around the Barbary Coast."

"That's right, an area which, until now, has been a relatively untapped source of working capital, I might add."

Francis laughed. "R. T. will be very pleased, I'm sure."

Thinking of paying his father a visit, and not incidentally, gathering a little of his praise in the bargain, Donovan asked, "Did he ever come in today? I thought I'd stop by and say hello before I go on home."

"No, I'm afraid he didn't make it in at all." Francis ran his hand across his high forehead. "He sent a messenger instead, to inform us that he'd been beaten and robbed last night while he was out shopping for Olivina's anniversary gift."

"Beaten? Is he badly hurt?"

"He's at home and, according to the message, only damaged cosmetically. There's a black eye, a swollen, bloodied nose, and some sore ribs, but nothing broken, as far as the doctor could tell."

"Damn." Donovan kicked the edge of the desk. "What's this town coming to when a decent man like R. T. can't walk the streets without getting attacked by hoodlums? Did they catch them yet?"

"I don't have any more details than what I told you. Maybe you ought to stop by the house tonight and at least say hello. We might have more details by then."

Nodding thoughtfully, Donovan said, "I have a few more things to do around here, and I need to stop by my own place first. If you see R. T. before I get there, be sure to tell him that I..."—he paused, not exactly sure how to express the sentiment—"...hope he feels better real soon."

"I will." Francis shook his hand, adding, "If I miss you tonight, I'll see you again first thing tomorrow morning, fireball."

Although that statement coming from the brother he respected so much had gone a long way in lifting Donovan's spirits, he was still concerned and about half-mad as he strolled in through the door of his home that evening. Finding the house as dark as his mood, he called, "Libby? Where are you?"

"In here."

Her voice sounded flat and emotionless coming out of the darkened living room, and her tone raised the hairs at the back of his neck, but Donovan was not about to step foot into that particular room unless it was well lit. "It's too dark in there. Either light the lamps or come out here."

He could hear her heavy sigh, but also the squeak of her chair as she rose from it, and assumed she was headed to the foyer where the lamp atop the credenza illuminated the surroundings. A moment later, almost like an apparition, Libby suddenly appeared in the doorway.

Her sad brown eyes looking much too large for her drawn face, she said, "Your sister went to work for the cause today by sending some inquiries about Savage operations." Libby waved some papers toward him—telegrams, he thought. "I think we'd better have a little talk."