Authors: Sharon Ihle
Libby's heart caught in her throat. It probably wasn't Lil—she'd left close to thirty minutes ago. Either she'd come back for some reason or, it suddenly occurred to Libby, maybe R. T. had sent someone here to kill
her.
She stood frozen next to the edge of her bed, afraid to move, afraid not to, when she heard someone shout her name from down in the foyer.
"Libby are you here? Answer me."
Donovan. Relief flooding her the way her teardrops had just moments ago, she ran down the stairs, wiping her eyes as she went, and caught up to him in the kitchen.
"Oh, it is you," she said breathlessly. "You gave me quite a fright. I wasn't expecting you back so soon."
He'd been heading for the back door, and when he turned, Libby could see that he was in a fret over something. But he wasn't in pain. Not the way she was.
"I'm supposed to be working now," he complained, looking frustrated and charmingly boyish.
"Working,
dammit, understand?"
Libby nodded and managed to smile, wanting to keep with her this picture of him. Donovan had looked very much this way the night they'd first made love. The night he'd tried, not so hard, to convince her it would be a bad idea.
"But I can't work," he went on, "because I keep thinking about you and your damnable equal rights crusade." He waved his arms and hands as he spoke, portraying an anger she didn't hear in his voice. "I want to stand behind you on this issue, but then I think about what it has done to my family, and what more it could do to the business end of things, and then, hell—" Ripping off his hat, he dragged his fingers through his hair, then stared at her apologetically. "I figured I'd better come here and get this over with once and for all."
Lord, was he trying to find a way to say good-bye, too? "Get what over with?"
"I had a long talk this morning with R. T. about his investment in blocking the suffrage amendment."
"Oh, no." Libby's pulse thrummed in her throat as she imagined the discussion—and R. T.'s reaction to it. Was he hiring someone to shoot her even now? "What did he say?"
"He wasn't at all happy, but that can't be much surprise to you, can it?" Donovan didn't wait for or expect an answer. He went on to defend his father's position. "If you and your suffragist friends have your way, are you aware that you could put him out of business—and I mean all his businesses, not just the distillery?"
"No," she answered honestly. "I only knew that he would probably lose his distillery, should the women of this country get the vote and enact temperance laws."
"He stands to lose much more than that." Donovan was looking at her as if he expected an apology.
"And what do you suggest I do with
my
losses?" As much as she hated to end things this way, Libby was dogged in her determination to never back down from her ideals again. "What about the indignities I'll continue to suffer, right along with the rest of this nation's women, because of evil men like your father?"
"Evil,
Libby?" He laughed, no doubt thinking she'd intentionally overstated her case, then slammed his hat back down on his head. "Because a man tries to protect what's his, that makes him evil?"
There was no way she could explain herself. "Sorry if I sounded a little dramatic, but if you thought I'd back down after hearing that your father might lose his title as the richest man on the face of the earth, you've got another think coming. My fight against men like R. T. Savage has only begun."
"That's just great." He threw his hands up, as if completely exasperated, but then spread them wide. "I've tried, you know, really tried to see your side of this equal rights thing, and I've even tried to make my father see it, too. After talking with the both of you, it's painfully obvious to me that there isn't a damn thing I can say or do for either of you, and be right. I don't know what you expect me to do now, but whatever it is, I have a feeling I can't do it."
She wanted to feel for him, wanted to sympathize with his unenviable position, but sudden righteous anger ripped through her, forcing Libby to blurt out how
she
felt instead. "In order to do anything I might want, you'd have to get off that comfortable high-priced fence you've been straddling since you met your father, and I don't think you want to."
"Damn, Libby, what was that? An ultimatum?" Donovan's eyes narrowed accusingly. "Are you seriously asking me to choose between you and my family—a family I've never even known that I had?"
"No, of course not," she countered, although she wasn't completely sure she hadn't done just that. "I'd never ask you to give up your family for any reason, but if you think you have to choose between me and them, that's your problem. Mine is, fighting against men like your father. That's my
life.
Can't you see that if I give up the cause, I give up myself?"
"But how in God's name can you equate voting rights with a man's family? If we do things your way, you'll have me turning on my family and maybe even destroying them. I've
dreamed
of having a real family like this for my entire life—is taking that dream away from me what you want?"
"You have no idea what I want. None."
This time, Libby had to turn away from him. She could no longer look at those beautifully sculpted hands without remembering what they could do to her, couldn't bear to let her gaze fall on his full, sensual lips, or even risk a glance into his eyes. Not now, not when she could see them so well in her mind: silvery-blue, crackling with passion, but withholding the love she so desperately wanted to see in them.
"You're right," Donovan said quietly, surprising her by taking her in his arms. "I'm not sure I do understand what it is you want. It was a mistake, my coming here and demanding that we straighten this out once and for all. There is no easy answer, is there."
Easy being the key word, thought Libby, but she didn't express the sentiment. Feeling inexplicably weary, she rested her head against Donovan's chest and quietly murmured, "No, but then my father used to say nothing is worth having if it comes to you too easy—something like that, anyway."
Swaying her in his arms, the movement slight, like waltzing in place, Donovan whispered against Libby's hair. "I don't want us to fight about this any more. Can we call a truce of some kind, at least for now?"
He'd given her the perfect out. And it was way past time to go. Swallowing her tears, Libby forced a grin as she pledged, "I promise, you'll never hear me say another word against your father."
"See? Now that wasn't so hard." Donovan lifted her up on tiptoes, crushing her to his chest, then rewarded her with a blinding smile. "I vow never to belittle, make fun of, or otherwise thwart your attempts to continue your work for the suffrage movement."
"And I now pronounce you man and wife." Impulse made her spout those words, but at the sound of them, Libby suddenly wanted to cry so badly, that she burst into nearly hysterical giggles instead. "Maybe we should say 'I do' or something, just to make the truce sound more official."
Donovan shook his head firmly. "Oh, no. That would be way
too
much like taking wedding vows. But I do think it might be a good idea to seal our vows with a kiss." He didn't give her a chance to do anything but accept as he lifted her chin and fit his mouth to hers for a long, satisfying moment of tenderness. When he ended the kiss, Donovan continued to hold Libby's chin in place as he said, "I meant those vows. I hope you did too."
"I did," she murmured. "But as long as we're making promises, would you mind making another one for me?"
"As long as it fits the boundaries of our truce, I don't see why not. What do you want?"
"I want you to please go see your mother. Today if possible. She loves you very much, you know."
"My mother?" Libby felt his arms grow rigid just before Donovan loosened his hold on her. Leaning back enough to look into her eyes, he asked, "What does Lil have to do with any of this?"
"Just go see her." She blinked, hoping he hadn't noticed the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. "Promise me you'll go to her and make things right between you two again. You never know when you might lose her."
The unspoken reminder of how early and unexpectedly she'd lost her own mother wasn't lost on Donovan. He agreed quickly and easily, as if suddenly made uncomfortable by the subject. "All right. If it's that important to you, I promise to see her as soon as possible. Anything else?"
Sliding her arms around his chest, squeezing him tightly, she whispered, "Just remember who loves you, and everything will be fine."
"Well... okay."
There was hesitation in his voice, suspicion, too, so Libby turned away from the awkward situation by bringing it to an end. "Good. I'm glad we got everything settled. Now, I've got to get to work on a new editorial."
"I should be on my way, too." Donovan kept one skeptical eye on her. "Are you sure you're all right? Is there something—"
"I'm fine." She wiped her eyes, aware they were filling again. "Just relieved, I guess, to get this out in the open and over with."
"If you say so." He shrugged. "I'd better get going then. I haven't done a lick of work yet today, and I think, at Savage Publishing, even the boss's son can be fired. See you later?"
Unable to answer, Libby pressed her lips together in a half-hearted smile and inclined her head as if nodding.
Donovan, who was already turning the corner into the hallway, waved as he strode out of the kitchen. And out of her life.
* * *
By early afternoon, Donovan had only managed to convince one saloon owner to buy an ad in the
Tribune,
and that was only because the man owed him money on a bad gambling debt. His concentration was at an all-time low, but he couldn't figure out why. He felt good about the conversation he'd had with Libby, and was pretty well convinced that the two warring factions in his life—his father's immovable stand against the suffragist movement and Libby's unerring determination to pass the female vote into law—could somehow link fingers in peace, as long as he stood between them.
Still, something wasn't right, and it wasn't just the fact that he'd lost his magical abilities as an advertising solicitor. Determined to concentrate on his job, Donovan looked up to see that he was standing in front of the doors to Lucky Lil's. Had this route been accidental, he wondered, or had he subconsciously been trying to fulfill the promise he'd made to Libby? Maybe that was what was nagging him in the back of his mind. Thinking he might be able to talk his mother into an advertising contract with Savage Publishing, should the other effort fail, he pushed open the swinging door.
Instantly comforted by the old familiar scene, feeling more relaxed, Donovan stepped inside. The place was fairly quiet, but it was early yet. Only two poker tables had any action, the faro table was deserted, and the heavy velvet curtains were drawn across the bare stage. Old George was playing the piano as usual, but his music sounded more like practice than an actual performance. Lil was nowhere in sight.
"Donovan, honey," called Joy, twisting her way through the tables on her way to him. "Where you been, good-looking? I kinda missed having you around."
"Working in the daytime world, darlin.' Where's Lil—in the office?"
"No, she ain't come down yet today."
Concerned, Donovan glanced upstairs to the back of the hall where his mother's room was located. Lil never slept past two or three in the afternoon, no matter how big the night before had been. She was always down and working by now. Always. With a mumbled thanks to Joy, he started toward the stairs.
When he reached the end of the hallway past the private boxes, he knocked on the almost-hidden door which led to his mother's private quarters. A moment later, he thought he heard a muffled groan.
"Lil?" he called. "It's Donovan. Open up."
"Oh, ah, just a second," she answered back, her voice groggy, scratchy.
When Lil's door finally opened a few moments later, Donovan's concerns about her were far from eased. Her hair was completely disheveled, not just down and flying around her shoulders, but tangled and bushy in a way he hadn't seen before. Dark sunken hollows beneath her eyes made her look old and weary, and she was wearing a hastily donned wrapper of wrinkled cotton over her chemise. Lil never let anyone, not even her son, see her in such a state.
"Sorry if I... woke you. Are you ill?" he asked, wondering what kind of evening she'd had.
"No, just tired, and don't worry about waking me. I was coming around anyway. I had a really long night last night."
"Sorry I bothered you." Donovan felt distinctly uncomfortable, sorry he'd come here at all. "I'll come back some other time."
"No, come in." She grabbed his arm, almost desperately he thought, and pulled him into her room. Then she clutched her robe high at the throat and midsection, holding it closed. "I'm glad you came by. The place could use a little cheering up after what happened to Seamus, and all."
"What happened to Seamus?"
Lil stepped deeper into the shadows, looking as if she was hiding from him. Increasingly curious about her strange behavior, Donovan turned the flame on the wall lamp up high. As his mother's image grew brighter, he was shocked to see her looking even more haggard. "What's happened?"
She sighed wearily, giving up, it seemed. "I've been up half the day trying to take care of business. Seamus was shot last night."
"What? How? Drunken gamblers, a fight, what?"
"We don't know for sure. He just walked outside to go home after his shift was done, and someone shot him dead. A buggy drove off after it was done."
"You're saying he was shot on purpose, murdered?" Donovan crossed over to where his mother stood. She looked almost fragile, a first. And secretive, as usual. "Why in God's name would anyone shoot him? What do you know you're not telling me?"
"Nothing." But she looked away from him. "I don't know anything for sure except that Seamus is dead."
Shoulders slumping in despair, Lil's hands drifted to her sides. The movement caused her robe to fall open at the throat, revealing several dark splotches marring her alabaster skin. Taking his mother gently by the shoulders, Donovan turned her toward the light for a better look.