The Marrying Kind (37 page)

"No, nothing like that. In fact, I haven't been back to the theatre for a few days. I was asking about the distillery for another reason. I was wondering if it's true that you're a big contributor toward the campaign against the equal rights movement, you know, where lobbyists are concerned."

R. T. sighed and rolled his eyes as if disgusted, but oddly enough, Donovan thought he saw a fair amount of relief in the man's expression, too. "Libby again, right?"

Hedging slightly, Donovan replied, "A friend of hers, actually, but yes, she told me that through the distillery, you're one of the biggest contributors in those efforts."

"And so?" Smiling, R. T. strolled across his expansive office toward the desk. "I'm not sure I understand what it is you want to know, Son. I've never kept my objections to this women's suffrage thing secret. Are you asking me how much money I spend lobbying against women's rights? If so, I can't imagine why that should concern you."

Now Donovan wasn't even sure why he'd brought the subject up. It was as if the feeling of warmth he thought he'd just shared with his father had been blown away by an icy wind. "I don't care what you spend your money on, or how much it costs you. I was just wondering, on Libby's behalf, if you could find another cause to back. The women's movement is very, very important to her."

R. T. had reached his chair, but instead of taking it, he gripped the back, his fingers digging deep furrows in the soft leather. "Do you think for one minute that I'd spend even a penny of my money on something that wasn't terribly important to me?"

Donovan had never been the object of his father's wrath, and while he couldn't exactly say he occupied that position now, he felt uncomfortably close to the target. "Of course not, but as I said before—I'm asking on behalf of Libby and her—"

"Libby." Coming from between R. T.'s lips, her name sounded like evil incarnate. "I thought she meant nothing to you, and that by now she'd have run back to Wyoming, where she belongs. Why is she still here?"

Silence swelled between them like a great stinking cloud, growing ever larger as the minutes ticked, while Donovan tried to come up with an answer. To extract himself from the awkward position, especially since he couldn't think of a logical answer—logical to him, anyway. He shrugged and said, "I'm sorry I even brought the subject up. Consider it closed."

"No. I don't think I can close it that easily, Son. I didn't get where I am by dodging disagreeable tasks. I faced them head on. I think I see a distinctly unpleasant task in this Libby woman, and in fact, saw it the first time I met her." His usually composed features, though badly bruised, began to mottle and change shape. "Those suffragists are all alike, picking and hounding a man until they break either his back or his spirit."

"I'm not going to get into a discussion about Libby or suffragists." And if he had to walk out the door to do it, Donovan knew he would. "Maybe it'd be best if I go."

"No, wait." R. T.'s voice left little doubt that he'd issued a command. "We won't talk about Libby or her blind devotion to the 'cause.' We'll talk about my distillery and another woman, the former Olivina Blair. Come, sit down."

But suddenly, all Donovan wanted was out of the conversation. And out of the room. "I think it would be much better if I leave."

"Perhaps, but before you go, at least let me tell you why I protect my interests so heartily."

"All right." He agreed, but Donovan stayed right where he was at the drafting table.

Apparently unperturbed that his son hadn't done everything he'd been told, R. T. went on. "Are you aware that
Eldorado
Distilleries is how I made my fortune—and how I still collect my fortune?"

Donovan shrugged. "Just from the bills I've run up with the company, I can imagine that it's a real moneymaker, but I thought you struck it rich in the gold fields."

"Oh, I did, son, but not as rich as the distillery made me." He spoke of the company with reverence. "The other businesses compromising S and S are largely toys to keep Thomas and Francis busy. They even kept Andrew out of trouble for a while."

Donovan did not want to talk or think about Andrew. "But Savage Publishing must surely make a profit."

"A little," R. T. conceded, "but nothing of the magnitude I make at the distillery. If not for Olivina, I wouldn't have bought a damn newspaper business in the first place."

Curious now, Donovan crossed the room and stood facing his father from the other side of his desk. "What does she have to do with the
Tribune?"

Offering his son a smug grin, R. T. evaded the direct question. "I've always considered myself to be a damn fine-looking man, as you are, and by the time I built the distillery into what it is today, I was a damn rich man, too. In all honesty, those attributes weren't nearly enough to capture a woman like Olivina, at least not as my wife."

"She's a very beautiful woman," Donovan said, able to offer the compliment sincerely.

"Oh, Olivina is much more than simply the most beautiful creature in all of California. Along with the Blair family, she's also a leader of society and representative of all things fine and regal. I wanted that for myself. I wanted her Donovan—wanted her on any terms. Surely you can understand that."

Donovan understood better than he thought R. T. could know. Nowhere had there been any mention of love. "I'm with you so far."

"Then you'll certainly understand what I did when I discovered she would never marry me as the owner of a distillery, no matter how well I could feed her expensive tastes. Producing whiskey is not exactly the proper kind of business which would allow her to keep her social standing. Ah, but as a newspaper magnate, I was quite acceptable as husband material." The smug grin wider, he elaborated. "Olivina engineered the Savage family's move into San Francisco's elite, not I. If the women of this country ever get to take part in elections, they'll vote in temperance. Given my circumstances now, I'd practically be out on the street, should that day ever come, so I'm not about to let it happen." His expression darkened. "I think you can guess how long Olivina would stay by my side should my fortunes slide. The women's vote would cost me far, far more than mere money. Now do you see my point?"

Whether he liked it or not, Donovan had to admit that R. T. definitely had one. "Sure, and I can't say that I blame you for taking such a hard stand against equal rights. I just wish there were some other way."

"You let me know if you think of one. In the meantime, I rather like being a respectable businessman of major prominence." He circled the desk, still limping slightly, and patted Donovan's shoulder. "I've noticed that you've become used to your elevated status since joining the family business. It looks good on you, Son. Don't throw it all away over a woman, especially an unfinished hellion like Liberty Justice."

Now R. T. was treading on Donovan's toes. Donovan shook hands with his father and said, "I appreciate your taking the time to explain all this to me. Now, I really have to go. Advertising accounts are waiting, you know."

"That's my boy. And you wait until tomorrow night at the Young Gentlemen's Ball. You'll meet so many beautiful women of quality, not to mention, wealth, you'll wonder why you ever turned your head to take a second look at that rowdy little female reporter. Mark my words."

* * *

Back at Donovan's house, Libby had washed, dressed, and just finished tidying up her room, when she heard someone banging on the door downstairs. She hurried to answer it, and was surprised to find Lil standing there. An unusually bright sun had broken through the thick fog early that morning, burning off all but a few misty tendrils of haze. Yet most of Lil's face and her entire body were wrapped in a cloak. Practically knocking Libby to the ground, she didn't wait for an invitation, but pushed her way inside the house and quickly slammed the door behind her.

"Is Donovan here?" Lil asked, her blue eyes round in panic.

"No, he's not. What's wrong?"

"Nothing or everything. I don't know for sure." Unwrapping her body like a butterfly sheds its cocoon, Lil draped the cloak on the credenza, then staggered breathlessly into the living room. "I've got to sit a minute."

Libby followed Donovan's mother, but didn't join her on the couch. "You're making me very nervous. What happened?"

"It's Seamus. He was gunned down as he left the theatre this morning."

"Oh, no." Libby clutched her throat. "How bad is he? Will he be all right?"

"Never again, dear. Poor Seamus is dead."

Feeling sick inside, Libby finally did sink down beside Lil on the sofa. "Why would anyone shoot a dear, sweet man like Seamus? Do you know who did it?"

Lil smirked. "That's open to all sorts of speculation, but if you want my opinion, I think our dear Randolph Savage had something to do with it."

While she thought very little of the man, Libby couldn't fathom the idea he'd commit murder. "How can you say that? Did someone see him?"

"No, of course not, and I'm not swearing that it was Rand who had this done, but think about it girl—Seamus had only one enemy in the entire world that I know of: R. T. Savage, from the minute he smashed his fist into the man's face." She sighed heavily and let her head fall back against the sofa. "No one saw exactly what happened, but Seamus had no more than walked out the door, and he was shot. One of the fellas standing around outside said he heard a buggy drive off in the fog, but no one saw the rig or the driver clearly. I don't know. Maybe I'm overreacting 'cause of all the grief that man's put me through."

Libby didn't know what to think; but if there was any chance that Savage had taken part in the death of Lil's bouncer, she suddenly had another concern. "What about you? Do you think your life is in danger, too?"

"I kinda doubt R. T. would come after me that way, although, just to be on the safe side, I wrapped up real good before I came here, so no one would notice me."

"But if he had Seamus killed—"

"Rand's a cold-hearted, conniving bastard, but I think the fact I'm Donovan's mother carries some weight with him. If he did have something to do with the murder, I also think he'd figure I'd take Seamus's death as some kind of warning to keep my nose out of his business from now on. I just come here to let you know what happened, on the outside chance that R. T. done it. There's just no way to know for sure."

"But what do I have to do with any of this?"

Relaxing at last, Lil chuckled. "Sugar, you're the one told me he gave you a look wishing you was dead. I just figured I ought to warn you against pushing him any further than you already have—or who knows what the man will do."

Libby went cold inside as she recalled the look R. T. had given her last night when she'd hinted that she knew more about his injuries than what he'd admitted. She remembered having thought that he looked as if he were measuring her for a coffin. "My God," automatically slipped out as she exhaled. "Oh, my God."

"Libby?" Lil sat upright, her spine rigid. "What is it? Have you done more than you told me about?"

"I think..." She drew in a breath, still trying to remember and analyze the conversation from the evening before. "I think that maybe I have. Last night when Donovan and I went to see him, I kind of hinted that I knew his accident was no accident."

"You didn't."

"Oh, yes, I did. Not only that, I've enlisted his daughter Susan to work for the cause. She's been digging up a lot of 'unfriendly' information about some of his business dealings."

"That's it." Lil jumped up from the couch. "Even if R. T. had nothing to do with Seamus's death, we've got to get you out of here now, before there's more trouble than you or Donovan can handle."

"Donovan?" Libby looked up at Lil, tears misting her eyes. "What will I tell him?"

"I'll tell him, when the time's right. If you've got your hooks into my boy even a little bit, I'm sure he'd want you to be safe. Besides..." She reached down, touching Libby's tear-stained cheek. "You knew you had to go back home soon anyway, didn't you?"

Libby bit her lip, nodding miserably.

"Then even if I'm completely wrong about R. T., this just saves you the trouble of prolonging the agony."

In that, Lil was right. There was a good bit of confusion here over Seamus and R. T.'s possible involvement in his murder, but Libby did know that her faith in the things she believed in had been restored. She'd been wavering, thinking of giving up the cause for Donovan, as if the fight for equal rights had anything to do, one way or another, regarding the relationship between a man and a woman. She could no more give up the cause than stop breathing. And Donovan had asked her to do neither.

Rising slowly from the couch, Libby impulsively put her arms around Lil and gave her a hug. "Thanks for caring about me. Thanks for... everything."

Lil sniffed. "Now, don't go blubbering all over me. I'm not much for this mothering business, you know."

Libby released her, but only stepped back a little. "When you see him again, please tell Donovan that I... that I wish him well in his new life. Oh, and don't forget to thank him for everything he tried to do for me."

"I will." She smiled at Libby, looking so serene and motherly, it was hard to think of her as the queen of a dance hall. "If it's any consolation, I've never seen my boy so addle-brained over a female before. You got to him as good as anyone ever will." When the tears started rolling down Libby's cheeks, Lil's tone hardened. "Now you run upstairs and pack. I've got to get back to the theatre and get some sleep. I've been up all night. I'll let myself out."

Libby didn't waste any time after that. Tears falling continually as she worked, she had all her things gathered and stuffed into her small valise within fifteen minutes. The only extra time she took was to double-check the schedule to make certain there was an afternoon train heading toward Laramie—there was—and then make a decision about what to do with the lovely dress Donovan had bought for her. Take it, or leave it. She'd just about settled on taking it—after all, what use would he have for the dress—when she heard the front door slam.