Free The Marrying Kind by Sharon Ihle

questions about his son's visit to Laramie—and wondering why the devil his son hadn't returned to San Francisco with her. She surely did not want to be the bearer of those sad tidings.
    "All right," she said with a sigh. "You go first, but leave me and my newspaper out of your conversation with Savage."
    "If that's the way you want it, I will, but if I should happen to spot an area regarding your newspaper where I can smooth the way for your talk with the man, I don't see why I can't put in a good word for you. Fair enough?"
    "Fair enough," she muttered, wishing he weren't such a handsome and silver-tongued devil. "Now, if that's all, I'd like to go to my room."
    Donovan bunched his usually jaunty brows. "There is a little something else I think we should discuss, but I'm not sure exactly how to broach the subject."
    "If you're afraid what you have to say might upset me," she said, her mood turning surly, "maybe it would be best to skip the subject altogether."
    He shrugged. "Whatever you say. But if I were you, I'd be interested in anything that might help me make the best damn impression I could on Randolph T. Savage."
    "Oh?"
    Donovan nodded solemnly as he looked her up and down. "You didn't happen to bring any normal clothes along, did you?"
    "Normal? What do you mean by that?"
    "Something other than those buckskins that make you look like Calamity Jane, or the dress you're wearing, which makes you look like a Salvation Army sergeant. When you meet Savage, you'll need to play on his sympathies, not make him feel like you're about to parade a group of suffragists through his office."
    Libby glanced down at herself. "I thought this dress made me look businesslike, but maybe it is a little severe. I also brought the red and white gown I wore to supper in Laramie. Would that be better?"
    "I'm afraid not." Picturing the outfit and the way Libby had carried herself while wearing it, Donovan cringed. "Please don't take offense, dear, but that one makes you look like you're wearing someone else's dress."
    So he'd known all along that she'd been wearing a borrowed gown. Her cheeks burned with humiliation, but Libby was determined enough to impress the publishing magnate, to encourage Donovan's suggestions. "I'm afraid those are the only clothes I brought with me. As I said before, most of my work requires comfort, not style, so I have a very limited wardrobe. Is there a way I can fix them up a little?"
    He shook his head. "You don't have to apologize about your clothes, and I don't mean to criticize them either, but I do think we need to get you into something else before you go to see Savage."
    "I appreciate your advice, but I'm afraid that it's been quite a struggle for Jeremy and me since pa died. We're just now getting some of the bills caught up." Libby glanced over to where her boot had landed, regretting the two dollars she'd wasted on it. "I'm afraid I simply don't have the extra money to go out and buy new clothes."
    "I wasn't suggesting that you should. After what I put you through, I feel that I owe you something more than an apology and a place to stay. Why don't you let me make it up to you by taking you shopping? I'll outfit you from head to toe, and by the time you meet Savage, you'll knock him dead."
    Still staring at the uncomfortable boot, again she found herself considering one of Donovan's inappropriate offers. It wouldn't be the right or proper thing to do, accepting clothes from a strange man—one who'd tricked her, at that. It wouldn't be right at all. But right wasn't going to do much to help persuade Savage Publishing to see things her way. And if Donovan had a point about the importance of her appearance—and she suspected that he did have—she really couldn't chance wearing anything she owned.
    Lifting her gaze to meet his, Libby gave him a wan smile. "I guess a new dress would go a long way toward making me forget what you did to me in Laramie." But to make sure he wouldn't think of her as beholden