The Marrying Kind (40 page)

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 this 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."

Although Donovan no longer looked worried about the pressman or Libby's brother, she thought he did seem to be a tad concerned about her. "Everything's all right then?" he asked. "We're getting married?"

"Oh, I didn't say that." She batted her lashes in a way that would have made her friend Dell enormously proud. "I haven't exactly said yes, yet. I don't want to make this too easy for you."

"Aw, come on, Libby."

"I have to be sure—sure that you'll do anything to protect me and our children from harm."

"Of course, I will. I swear it." He slapped his palm to his chest.

"You'll do...
anything?"

"Yes, yes. How can I prove it to you?"

"Easy." Libby knew her expression had to be deliciously conspiratorial. She couldn't have hidden it. "It seems this newspaper office and the entire upstairs are overrun with mice."

Donovan started and made a kind of strangled sound deep in his throat, but to his credit, he didn't utter a word of protest.

"If you can get rid of those mice, I'll marry you. Oh, and by the way—we grow them as big as
rats
out here in Wyoming Territory."

The End