The Marrying Kind Read Online Free PDF

"Ye Gads, Libby. Where are you going in such a hurry?"
    "Oh, I'm so sorry. Are you all right? I was worried about you since I hadn't seen you all day. Where have you been?"
    "Sleeping. I took a tour of your town last night, and had such a good time I didn't get to bed till dawn. I was looking for you just now to say good-bye." About then, Libby noticed he was carrying his traveling bag. "I also want to thank you again for your very warm hospitality. I hope I haven't been too much trouble for you."
    "Oh, but you can't be leaving town already."
    "Oh, but I can." His words were brisk, clipped. "I'm going to catch the train to San Francisco in a couple of hours, and I have to take care of a few business matters in town on my way out." Before she realized what he was doing, he reached down and took his satchel from her. "I was just coming to get this."
    "But, but..." She had to stop him somehow. "What about my editorials and such? We never did finish our conversation or address some of the other issues that concern both the Tribune and Savage Publishing."
    He paused, eyes downcast, as if weighing a very difficult decision. Then he looked her in the eye. "I might as well tell you the rest. I know about your father, and, er, that he's not really out of the country. I heard about his accident over at one of the saloons on Front Street."
    "Oh... my God." What else could she say? There was no way to deny it—all the man had to do was go to the graveyard for confirmation.
    "I'm sorry about your father, Libby, but surely you must have known that, sooner or later, Savage Publishing was bound to find out about his accident."
    Libby's heart seized up in her chest and, although she'd filled her lungs not a moment ago, the air inside her froze, making it impossible to speak or breathe.
    Donovan could hardly stand the injured look in her doe-like eyes, the terrible sense of loss it suggested. Living without a father his entire life had been tough on him—at times, a nightmare. He couldn't even imagine the pain or sense of abandonment that losing a father might bring, but he could see that her grief ran deep.
    He was just this side of confessing everything, of dropping to his knees and begging her forgiveness. He realized he had to get out of town while he was still ahead, if, indeed, he still was.
    "I admire what you're trying to do with the paper, Libby, and even understand why you lied about your father, but you can't go on like this forever. As I promised, I'll do what I can to make Savage Publishing understand what you want. But do yourself a favor—don't get your hopes up too high." He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then turned and walked out the door.
    It's over, Libby thought, feeling sick inside as she watched the newspaperman's image blur into the other "hitching posts" outside. It really and truly was over, for she had no doubt that he had merely spared her the final indignity of padlocking the Tribune himself. Men as rich and powerful as all that didn't have to deal with the actual closing of the doors—they hired henchmen to do their dirty work for them. He'd simply come to Laramie to check things out. A hired executioner would take over from here.
    Libby recalled his final words as he walked out the door, "Don't get your hopes up." She thought bitterly of all the trouble she'd gone through to impress Andrew Savage. He'd been the one ladling out the chin music all this time, not she. And now he would simply shut her down.
    Libby's fingers curled into fists as she envisaged the gang of miscreants Savage Publishing would send to box up her precious Campbell County Press, their filthy, money-grubbing hands taking away everything she lived for, including the Tribune's name.
    It couldn't be over yet, she thought, frantically searching for a way to keep the man from boarding the train to San Francisco. It just couldn't be. Libby didn't know how she could prevent Savage's departure, or even what she would do with him should she