The Marrying Kind Read online

  "I guessed as much—or haven't you figured that out." Savage sighed as he reached for a solid gold nail file lying beside his thick felt ink pad. "May I call you William, or are you still known as Willy?"

  Still known as Willy? Along with that peculiar statement, something in the man's voice tickled Donovan's memory. Had they met before? Fighting the anger along with his confusion now, he muttered, "I never go by'William or Willy. I'm just plain Donovan."

  "I'll remember that." Savage smiled at him again, the expression warmer, more familiar than ever. His eyes twinkling as he drove the file under the already immaculately groomed nail of his left index finger, R. T. went on with his strange conversation. "Why have you come to me after all these years? Do you need money or a job?"

  "Why the hell would you think a thing like that?"

  "I didn't mean to offend you." R. T. made a fast examination of Donovan's suit. "You look as if you're doing all right. If not for money or a job, are you thinking of staking your claim to the Savage family name?"

  Donovan leaped out of his chair. "My claim to the... family name? What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I thought..." Savage cocked his head, losing just a little of his cool confidence. "Just exactly what is it you want from me... Son?"

  Chapter 5

  In far less time than she would have expected, Libby heard the wide double doors at the end of the hall crash open against the walls. Reaching into the cute little lace-edged bag Donovan had insisted on buying for her, she grabbed her spectacles and brought them to her nose in time to see him barreling down the hallway toward her. His expression was frozen, so icy she could have skated across it. What had happened in there?

  "Come on. We're leaving," he muttered tightly.

  "But what about me? Don't I get to—"

  "This isn't a good time for it." Tugging her to her feet, Donovan half-dragged Libby alongside him. "I know you have a lot of questions right now—and believe me, I'll answer them all—but you'll have to wait a while. I can't deal with your questions until I get a few answers of my own."

  Another protest was on the tip of her tongue, but something in Donovan's tone told Libby to keep her comments to herself. Never, even in the heat of their name-calling argument, had she seen him without at least a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, or a slight curl at the corner of his mouth. She couldn't begin to fathom what had happened in R. T.'s office, but she was reasonably certain it had nothing to do with her or the Tribune—and that it would probably be best if she were to keep quiet for the time being.

  Sticking to that plan, Libby allowed Donovan to drag her down the four flights of stairs, then into a hired carriage which took them a few blocks northwest to Stockton Street, an area which seemed to be the less-respectable part of town. Although Donovan assured her they were only at the fringes of the notorious Barbary Coast section of San Francisco, she kept a lookout for criminal types as he escorted her through one of the three high-arched doorways leading into Lucky Lil's Theatre and Gaming Saloon.

  Libby, who'd never even peeked inside such an establishment, donned her glasses in full view of Donovan in order to take her first glimpse at the sordid side of life. Though it was not quite noon, the saloon was better than half-full of customers, men from every kind of business, as far as she could tell by their dress. The rest of the crowd seemed to be female dancers—or actresses, depending on their duties of the moment—all of whom dressed in a manner which showed a good bit of leg and even more cleavage.

  As Donovan, who was still standing beside her, scanned the room for his partner, Libby turned her gaze toward the stage, which covered the entire wall at the opposite end of the long room. The performing platform, lighted by gas jets, rose some five or six feet above the main floor and was draped with blood-red curtains of velvet which were tied back. On this stage, five half-naked "actresses" were saucily singing, as a short bald man pounded out a tune on the piano nearby. Although she couldn't quite make out the words, after watching and listening to the reactions of the male customers, Libby had an idea the song was rather ribald.

  Most of those patrons clustered around the tables peppered throughout this central area, while others sat in balconies above each side of the stage. Under the fancy balconies on the left were several gaming tables in front of a long bar. On the right, more gaming tables lined a wall that also contained a row of doors to what Libby assumed were offices.

  Donovan started to lead her deeper into the saloon, still scanning the crowd for his partner. Her passage was noted by several appreciative "hoots" from the customers, and she was almost relieved when he brought her right up to the bar and called to the woman at the other end.

  "Goldy? Come here a minute."

  The scantily clad blonde who was tending a customer at the other end of the cherry-wood bar whirled around at the sound of Donovan's voice, then quickly made her way down the narrow plank which served as an elongated foot board to accommodate her diminutive size.

  "Hiya, honey," she greeted, all sooty lashes and pouty red lips. "What are you doing here at this time of day?"

  "I had a little unexpected business come up. Is Lil in her office?"

  "She sure is, honey." With a long, heavy-lidded look in Libby's direction, Goldy asked him, "Is this cute little thing the business that came up?"

  "No, she's not, and watch how you talk around her. I've got to see Lil privately for a while, and I want you to keep an eye on Miss Justice. Understand?"

  Again the barmaid glanced at Libby, this time tossing her a little wink. "Got it, honey. Do you want me to give her the good stuff, too?"

  Donovan's gaze quickly skimmed Libby, lingering over her eyeglasses a moment longer than she would have liked. "Give her whatever she wants. Just keep a damn good eye on her, and don't let any of the customers bother her."

  With that final order, he turned to Libby and said, "I'll try not to be too long. Make yourself comfortable, but don't leave this stool." Without any warning, Donovan then fit his hands to her waist and lifted her up onto the little round tufted seat.

  "But I don't want you to leave me here alone. Can't I go to the office with you?"

  "No. You'll be all right where you are." Donovan pinched her cheek. "Just keep your glasses on so you can see what's coming your way."

  Before Libby could make a retort, Goldy said, "If you want to catch Lil, Donovan, you'd best go stop her. Looks to me like she's heading for the bank."

  With a quick glance toward the center of the room, Donovan spotted the woman Goldy referred to and took off in her direction, leaving a completely bewildered Libby to fend for herself. So much for gallantry, she thought sourly. But she did strain to see past the gamblers who were standing around a craps table, for a glimpse of this "partner" of his.

  Finally getting the right angle, Libby spotted the red-haired woman Donovan had stopped as she walked toward the doors. She was dressed in a striking gown of royal-blue velvet, one which covered her breasts decently enough, though its low dip in the front brought far too much attention to her impressive bosom.

  "What's it gonna be, honey?" asked Goldy, interfering with Libby's fierce study of the woman.

  "Huh?"

  "What can I get you to drink, sugar?" There was unmistakable laughter in the barmaid's voice. "A beer, some whiskey, a little cognac?"

  "Oh, ah... nothing, thank you."

  Alcohol—at just past noon? Libby was scandalized by the idea. She wasn't one to indulge in libations very often, unless you counted the sip or two of cherry brandy she once enjoyed with her father at the end of a long day behind the press. Squaring her back and carefully folding her hands in her lap in a more ladylike way, she let Goldy know in no uncertain terms that she was not that kind of female. Then she went back to studying Donovan and the flame-haired hussy.

  Something bad had happened in the few moments she'd turned her gaze from them. Donovan appeared to be very angry now, his features set and stony, and it was also painfully clear that he and
his partner had much more between them than mere business. Her gaze locked intimately with Donovan's, the hussy raised one of her hands to caress his cheek. It wasn't a moment later that, arm in arm, the pair turned toward the bank of doors and disappeared into one of the offices she'd noticed earlier.

  Of course, whatever the two were up to in there was no business of Libby's. They could be longtime lovers, for all she cared. Engaged, even. Her only concerns in this town had to do with Savage Publishing and her little newspaper. So why, she had to wonder, did her heart feel as if it were lodged in her throat, while her stomach felt as if it had plummeted to somewhere south of her navel?

  Uncomfortable with the wealth of conflicting emotions running amok inside her, Libby turned to Goldy and said, "You wouldn't happen to have any cherry brandy back there, would you?"

  * * *

  "For heaven's sake, what in bloody blue hell were you doing at Savage Publishing?" Lil demanded, with a scowl creasing the fine lines on her face.

  The office, small, square, with only a tiny window, didn't give Donovan much room to maneuver, but he tried to diffuse his anger a little by keeping on the move. "Don't try to turn this around for your sake, Lil. I had legitimate business with the man, which, by the way, had nothing to do with you or me."

  "But how did all this happen? You looked at him and said, 'By the way, are you my father?'"

  "Not exactly." Donovan stopped pacing and fixed her with a malignant gaze. "He practically told me that I was his son. I want it straight out: Is Randolph Thaddeous Savage my natural father?"

  "That's a hell of a thing." In much the same manner as Donovan had, Lil now strolled back and forth along the well-worn carpet near the door. "How can you even ask me a question like that?"

  "Easy. A simple yes or no will be fine by way of an answer. Is he or isn't he?"

  "There's nothing simple about this, and I suspect that you know it." With a gesture of defeat, she turned to him. "All right. If you insist on the truth, here it is. Yes, R. T. Savage is the son of a bitch who left me to raise you alone. So what?"

  "So what?" Donovan, who generally tried to keep a respectful manner around his mother, struggled mightily to keep a civil tongue in his head. "You've hidden the truth about my father from me all these years, and that's all you can say?"

  She just stood there looking at him, unblinking, as if numb to his pain.

  Enraged by her indifference, Donovan shouted, "Do you have any idea what it was like to walk into that situation? I didn't have a clue in hell what he was talking about—he actually accused me of coming to him for money."

  "From what I understand, he's got a hell of a lot more than he needs. Maybe you should have demanded a small ransom. The bastard owes you that much."

  Donovan shook his head with disgust. "Have you no feelings inside you at all?"

  "Oh, I have feelings, Donovan. Trust me, I do."

  "They're very well hidden." Donovan couldn't keep the sneer off his lips as he added, "Almost as well hidden as the identity of my father. I guess this means that R. T. was one of your Williams, huh?"

  Some of Lil's cool veneer cracked over that remark. "It hurt me less that way. In fact, it was after he left me for the last time that I began using that name for my other... friends."

  His fingers curled tight, again Donovan had to fight for control of his anger. "Which William were you referring to as my father? You must remember him, the one you said died before I was born."

  Lil's steel-gray eyes hardened. "I lied to protect you. Besides, by then R. T. Savage was dead to me."

  "But what about me?" Donovan bellowed. "Do I matter at all, or don't my thoughts on the subject count for anything?"

  Watching her son's expression darken with rage, Lil backed away from him. "Of course, they count, but you're not considering what I had to go through back when you were born. I never wanted you to find out about R. T., and certainly not the way you did." Lil's voice had grown much softer, less defensive. "I was just trying to protect us both the only way I knew how."

  Donovan, who was standing in front of his mother's small pine desk, leaned back against the edge of it to collect himself. More rational now, he said, "I can almost understand why you wouldn't tell a small boy the whole truth, but once I was grown, once we'd moved to San Francisco, where the Savage family practically rules, why didn't you tell me then? Why the hell couldn't you have trusted me with that much of my past?"

  "Don't judge me, Donovan," Lil warned, hands on hips. "Don't ever think you can judge me. You have no idea what I went through as a ten-year-old girl when my father dragged me to California to chase a pot of gold along with all the other forty-niners. By the time a claim-jumper killed pa some five years later, leaving me to fend for myself, I'd blossomed pretty well."

  Donovan's mother had always been secretive about her early life. After hearing those few things, he had an idea he'd prefer it if she continued that way. "I don't want to know about your transformation into womanhood, Lil. I just want a little more information about my father."

  "That's what I'm trying to tell you. Look at me, Donovan." She spread her arms, displaying an amazingly curvy figure and youthful appearance for a woman past forty. "Imagine what I must have looked like thirty years ago, especially to a bunch of love-starved miners."

  Lil was a very attractive woman, one who must have been blindingly gorgeous in her youth—but again, this was a subject Donovan did not wish to think about or discuss. "You're beautiful now, and I would imagine, were even more beautiful then, but try to tell me about R. T. without the sordid details, if you can."

  She shot him a narrow glance, but went on. "I was a fifteen-year-old orphan with nothing to my name except that beauty and the clothes on my back. It didn't take long for several men to come to my aid, and even less time than that for them to begin fighting over who would win the right to 'take care of me' from then on out."

  Donovan abruptly stood up from the desk. "I told you to skip past all that."

  Bristling, Lil stomped over to her son. "You can't come slamming in here full up with self-righteous anger, demanding the truth, unless you want to hear all of it—understand? All or nothing. What's it to be?"

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Goldy was refilling Libby's glass at the bar. "We don't get much call for cherry brandy. How is it?"

  Libby took a sip, although she had a real good idea how it was by now. "Ummm. Delicious. How long do you think Donovan's going to be in there with that, that woman?"

  Goldy laughed. "Who knows? Did you see the look on his face? He was plenty steamed."

  "Do they fight a lot?"

  "Now and again, like any other partners, I guess. Why are you so interested, sugar?" She winked and leaned across the bar. "Are you sweet on Donovan?"

  "No. Gosh, no." Libby raised her glass for another fast sip. "I was just wondering about him and Lil, and if they were, you know, engaged or something."

  "Oh, I don't think so. Neither one of them is much for getting tied down, if you know what I mean."

  Libby shook her head. "I don't think I do know."

  "Donovan for sure isn't the marrying kind—Lord knows enough of us gals have tried to rope him in, and Lil..." Goldy paused, thinking about her employer. "Oh, she fawns over the customers, a course, but I haven't seen her try to cozy up to any man for a good long while."

  Or maybe, thought Libby, she's just concentrating on one, and behind closed doors, at that. With a glower in the direction of what she assumed was the manager's office, she shoved her suddenly empty glass toward Goldy.

  Donovan sat down on the desk again. "Go ahead then, but do spare me the intimate details."

  "I'll do what I can. After picking through that motley lot of miners who wanted to take care of me, I chose a fella named William because I thought he looked more prosperous than the others. He treated me nice and took care of me the best he could. That, by the way, is where I got the name, William." She began to pace the carpet again. "It wasn't long after
I moved in with Will that R. T. came along, and I knew somehow that he was a cut above the rest, a man who'd be very successful some day."

  "So you left poor Will spinning in your wake and took up with R. T.?"

  "That's right." She stopped pacing and turned to confront her son's reproachful gaze. "I was all of sixteen by then to his twenty or twenty-one. I'd never met anyone so dashing or worldly, and I was love cracked for him almost the moment I first saw him. When I became in a family way a couple of years later, I wasn't the least bit upset about it at first. In fact, I was happy to be having the child of a man I actually cared for." Her painted mouth twisted into a frown. "That is, I was happy until I told R. T."

  Donovan flinched, as if he might shrug off the sudden ache in his chest. "Not quite up to fatherhood yet, was he?"

  Laughing bitterly, Lil said, "Oh, to the contrary. He was quite well acquainted with the joys of parenthood. When I told him about you, he let me in on a little secret of his own—that he was already married, and the father of a young son."

  That R. T. had a son older than Andrew caught Donovan by surprise. Trying to recall what little he knew about the Savage family, he thought back to society columns he'd perused and the endless commentaries on R. T. and his vast holdings, but couldn't remember reading much about his children.

  "If you think that was a nasty surprise," said Lil, moving forward, "he also admitted that he'd managed to knock his wife up about the same time he got to me. Cute, huh? The very proper Mrs. Savage was expecting their second baby around the same time you were due."

  Had that child been Andrew? Donovan wondered with a start. How could fate have been so cruel as to have sat him beside his own half brother, then made him witness the man's death? He felt sick inside at the thought, then recalled the days and nights he'd dreamed of having a real family—only the fictional family included a cute, impish little sister with eyes like his and a mop of coppery curls. Now it sounded as if part of the family he'd fabricated for himself had been living just across town for most of his life.