Читать книгу Sean - Donna Kauffman - Страница 9

“WHO’D HAVE THOUGHT I’d be the first one of the Gannon men to tie the knot, eh?” Brett Gannon slung an arm around his older brother’s shoulders and tipped back the last of a beer.

Sean grinned and finished his beer in one long pull. “Well, Clay is too busy dating his way through the University of Louisiana’s cheerleading squad. And I knew it wasn’t going to be me.”

“Yeah, you’re already married. How is the Marshals Service treating you anyway?” he teased. “Still exciting as those early days, when the romance was fresh? Can we expect the pitter-patter of little agents’ feet anytime soon?”

Sean just grinned. “Yep, just as soon as I get through with my next class out at Beauregard. I’m sure my recruits are all going to make me very proud.” His grin widened. “Or die trying.”

Brett winced. “Glad I don’t have to impress you.”

Sean looked across the yard at Haley, at how happy she was. “You already have,” he said quite seriously. He grinned when Brett gave him a surprised look. “But I will admit I thought you’d play a much wider field first.”

Brett shot him his trademark cheeky grin. “In the end, it’s just more green grass.”

Sean looked back to Haley, radiant in the simple white gown she’d chosen. “You did find yourself a right sunny patch of it, that’s for certain.” He glanced back at the middle Gannon brother in time to see Brett staring at his wife of less than one hour, so totally besotted it should have made Sean want to roll his eyes and shake his head. Instead it created an odd little twinge somewhere down deep inside him.

Brett noticed his brother’s frown. “Is it weird for you? Because you used to date her? I mean, it was several lifetimes ago.”

“And I suppose that crush you had on her back then was just some youthful infatuation, huh?” Sean countered.

Brett was unabashed. “The only thing youthful was my inability to hold on to her. But I always knew a good thing when I saw it.”

“Unlike me, I suppose.” Sean had said it jokingly, but there was a thread of honesty in the statement that caused that twinge to sharpen.

“Hey, I figure you did us both a favor. She didn’t want to marry the U.S. Marshals Service. And eventually I did grow up and learned to hang on to something good when I had it.”

“Yeah,” Sean said, his gaze shifting back to Haley, serene and calm amid the other members of the raucous Gannon clan. “And may I say, when you hang, you hang with the best.” He looked back at his brother. “I’m happy for you, Brett. Truly. And I hope like hell you contribute more to the Gannon legacy than those four-legged animals you work with.”

“What, you having a yearning to play uncle? Carly’s brand-new little squaller isn’t enough for you?”

“Carly’s baby terrifies me,” he said quite seriously.

“Yeah, I know,” Brett said, admitting his terror for the first time. “How can something so tiny have such huge lungs?”

It wasn’t the screaming that bothered him. Sean had been referring to those perfect little delicate fingers and those teeny, tiny toes. How was a guy supposed to hold something like that without breaking it? Yet his younger sister had taken to motherhood as if she’d been born to it. And, truthfully, out of the five Gannon kids, she was the one most suited for the job. Although watching the way Brett was making googly eyes at his bride, he thought it wouldn’t be too long before he had another squalling niece or nephew. Brett had always been an animal lover, hence his job training rescue dogs. And Sean had to admit, the animals loved him. As far as he was concerned, that qualified him as well as anyone to be a parent.

“Ha,” Brett was saying. “You just figure if Haley and I can distract Mom and Dad by popping out babies on some kind of routine schedule, they’ll forget their two oldest offspring are still unwed.” He snorted. “Good luck.”

“Nah, we’ll just sic ’em on Clay.”

Brett leveled a look at him. “Are you kidding? He is a baby.”

“True. Having him make more would just be redundant,” Sean said, making them both laugh.

“So, you still thinking about taking the job at Camp Beauregard? Doing the full-time trainer thing for our country?”

In fact, he’d pretty much decided to do just that. But he wasn’t going to announce it now. This was Brett and Haley’s day. “It’s still under consideration.”

Brett elbowed him. “You could be closer to the family. And I’m sure Carly would love it if Uncle Sean dropped by to baby-sit every Friday night.”

“You know, you’re making that decision easier by the minute,” Sean warned good-naturedly. “Another Denver winter is starting to look good.”

His older sister, Isabel, wandered over, sipping a slender-stemmed glass of champagne. She glanced at the cans in their hands. “Beer?” She shook her head in disgust. “And we had such high hopes that a college degree would bring some element of civilization to you both.”

“Where do you think we perfected our beer-drinking skills in the first place?” Sean asked.

“Champagne is for sissies, Iz,” Brett added, sipping with exaggeration from his already empty can, then belching just to disgust his sister. Worked every time.

Sean contributed his share, just because he could.

Isabel sighed in resignation. “Well, it didn’t seem too much like a sissy drink earlier when you were making that toast.”

Sean grinned. “Yeah, but it’s a lot more manly when you’re sipping it from the maid of honor’s satin high heel.”

She shook her head. “Men.”

Brett caught Sean’s eye, then glanced down meaningfully at their empty beer cans. Sean chuckled. At exactly the same moment, they crushed the beer cans on their foreheads.

“Oh, jeez!” She quickly shifted so the rest of the gathering wouldn’t see them, protecting her brothers even as it was clear she’d just as soon throttle them both. “Don’t let Haley see you do ‘frat boy’ stunts. She can still get an annulment, you know.” She shot a look at Sean. “And don’t say a word. You’re a lost cause anyway.”

“You’re one to talk,” Sean countered, but she was already waltzing off. She did that particular exit very well. Much more effective than Carly’s standard stalk-off-in-a-huff. But then, Izzy’d had plenty of practice. Just ask any man she’d dated more than three times.

“Uh-oh,” Sean said as he surveyed the reception scene. “Uncle Padraig just grabbed his fiddle. You might want to save Haley before—”

“Don’t worry,” Brett reassured him with a smug smile. “She actually finds us charming.”

Sean just shot him a look. “Maybe she should get her head examined. That earthquake you two got tangled up in obviously harmed her more seriously than you thought.”

Brett just laughed as he headed across the lawn and swept his bride into a jig.

Sean thought about Haley’s family, none of whom had made the trip from their snooty east coast enclave to the banks of the Bayou Duplantier to see their only daughter marry beneath herself. He raised his crushed beer can to their absence. “Your loss,” he murmured, then slapped his thighs, and Recon, Brett’s rescue-trained dog, and Digger, Haley’s little Jack Russell terror, trotted over to him.

He looked down at the two of them and snorted. “Yellow bows? Whose idea was it to stick bows on your ears?” Carly’s probably. “Don’t you know all your dog friends will laugh behind your backs?” They just looked up at him, tongues lolling, eyes bright. He smiled. “But, hey, they got me into this monkey suit. So who am I to throw stones, eh?”

At the word “throw” Recon’s ears perked. Sean looked around, found a decent stick and hurled it down the rear hill of the Gannon property, then followed the two dogs as they raced to the edge of the river that chugged slowly by.

Loss. Marriage. The two words echoed in his mind as he watched Digger wrestle the stick away from Recon. The little dog was admirably confident against the bigger and very well-muscled Labrador—who immediately let him have the prize. “Women,” he said to Recon, who was female despite her macho moniker. “Why is it you feel compelled to let the guy win?” He grabbed the stick from Digger and threw it again. “Do you really think our egos are so fragile?” He looked up the hill at Brett, who was gingerly holding the baby a beaming Carly had just placed in his arms, and grinned. “More likely you’re just tricking us into believing we really stand a fighting chance.”

His smile faded as he continued to wander the edge of the property, uncomfortable with the direction his thoughts were heading. Introspection—at least about big life issues such as marriage, everlasting love and raising a family—was something in which U.S. Deputy Marshal Sean Gannon simply didn’t indulge.

It surprised him that Brett’s wedding had done something as clichéd as make him think about his own life. When his sister Carly had married two years ago he had wished her well and been thankful as hell to get back on that plane to Denver.

Now? Maybe it was the danger both Brett and Haley had been in when they’d met up again in California and his realizing how close he’d come to losing his brother. How close his brother had come to losing his future wife. That was enough to make anyone rethink what was important. And though they drove him crazy, family was important to Sean. Important enough that he’d all but put in the transfer to the full-time, stationary position of trainer for the Marshals’ Special Ops team right here in Louisiana.

Of course, he hadn’t totally lost his mind. He was still a long way from seeing himself involved in a serious relationship, much less engaged, married or reproducing. But as the excited squeal of some of the Gannon cousins’ kids filled the muggy early evening air, he was forced to admit that, at the same time, he wasn’t exactly where he’d thought he’d be at this stage in his life. He’d surpassed his career goals a long time ago, but somehow he’d never figured out how to work in the wife-and-family part he’d been certain he’d have by now. Not that he’d wasted a lot of time worrying about it. Or any time, really. He’d always been too damn busy to worry about anything but his next assignment.

Which, of course, was exactly why he found himself in his present situation at this stage of his life. Highly trained, very successful, financially secure…and alone.

Recon trotted over and dropped the stick at his feet. He rubbed her head. “Ah, a loyal woman,” he told her, tossing the stick again. The Labrador looked at the stick, glanced up the yard to where Digger was begging food from one of the endless number of aunts and uncles, and promptly left the stick where it lay—not interested if Digger didn’t want to play.

“That’s a man for you, Recon,” he told her. “Always looking for the better handout. You’re better off taking care of yourself. That way you’ll never be disappointed.”

Panting, she stared up at him with those liquid brown eyes then turned and trotted back, snagged the stick and loped back up the hill. Sean watched as she sauntered by Digger, flashing the stick, then racing off around the buffet table. Digger took one last longing look at Aunt Miranda’s chicken wing, then went tearing off after Recon.

Sean hooted with laughter. “Well, I guess that’s my problem right there. I’ve never met the woman who wants me bad enough to keep waving her treasure under my nose when I get sidetracked by something else.”

Which was probably the closest he’d come to admitting his real problem where settling down was concerned. He always believed the right woman would come along and he’d just know it, and the rest would simply fall into place.

In the meantime he wasn’t averse to short-lived, very hot interludes. But he’d gotten so wrapped up in work lately that what little personal life he had had fallen by the wayside. Which had him thinking about his next assignment. Most men would kill for it. He was to deliver some documents and set up meetings with the head deputy in St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Five days of long meetings…but six nights of nothing to do but enjoy island life. He’d earned the assignment; he knew that. And it was pathetic to admit, but he was somewhat at a loss as to what he was going to do with those long nights.

Digger trotted up to him then, stick firmly clamped in his little jaws. Recon stood behind him, wagging her tail.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya,” he said with a shake of his head and a grin. “I’ll just make sure to pack my trusty stick.”

NINTH JUDICIAL COURT Judge Laurel Patrick stared at the plane ticket in her hand and smiled. She should be upset at her father’s underhanded tactics. But Seamus Patrick knew how to get what he wanted, had learned that skill even before being elected to the Louisiana supreme court bench nine years earlier. Any other time she’d have privately snarled at him for using the annual Christmas party at her courthouse as a platform for announcing his present to her. Of course, it had been his courthouse long before it had ever been hers. Not that it was solely hers now, of course.

She was one of a number of justices that heard cases in the Alexandria parish courtrooms. But she was part of the Patrick judicial dynasty, started in the United States by her great-grandfather, Donal, the first Patrick raised in this country, although originally established by several Patricks before him back on the bonny shores of Ireland. So it helped if she carved out her own spot, even if it was just in her own mind.

Naturally, Seamus Patrick didn’t understand her need to carve her own niche. If he had, she wouldn’t be a justice. Hell, she wouldn’t even have been a lawyer. But she hadn’t had the nerve as a child, much less as a teenager heading off, scholarship in hand, to the college of her choice, to tell her father, or her grandfather, that the footsteps she really wanted to follow were those of her mother. And her grandmother before her. That of being a wife, raising children, making a home for them. She’d dreamed of that, of becoming involved in the community, in her church, as the women in her family had a long tradition of doing.

All of which would have been a fine, even admirable, goal…if she’d had any brothers. Or even any sisters with a thirst for law. But she hadn’t. It had just been her. The last Patrick of the famous—though some would say infamous—Justice Patricks. The only one left to carry on the tradition. Skipping a generation to await any potential future justices she might procreate was simply not an option.

She glanced at the brochure that had come with the plane ticket, still stunned by the gift. Four Days In Paradise, it shouted in hot-pink letters. Underneath was a photo of a white sandy beach and crystalline-blue water.

But what Laurel saw was escape. Four days away from work that had, of late, caused a headache that wouldn’t cease, a stomach lining that a fistful antacids could no longer calm, circles under her eyes that makeup no longer completely covered, a complexion made sallow from too many nights pouring over filings, motions and briefs, and not enough time spent out in the real world having what other people called a life.

“It’s a wonder Alan wants me at all,” she murmured. She gritted her teeth against the burning sensation in her gut that just the thought of him brought on. Why in the hell was he being so persistent? she wondered for the umpteenth time. And, for the umpteenth time, she didn’t have an answer.

But what she did have was a plane ticket away from the bench…and away from Alan Bentley’s increasingly annoying and very unwanted attentions.

Her father made his way through the throng of party revelers and tucked her against his side with one beefy arm. At the towering height of six foot five, Seamus was intimidating enough without his booming Irish voice and stern visage, both of which he used to great advantage in all avenues of his life.

Despite the fact that Laurel had never been as passionate as he had been about the legal life they pursued, she did take great pride in her accomplishments, her stellar record and even the comparisons people made between father and daughter. Of course, he could still make her feel like a seven-year-old looking for his approval by memorizing all the liability torts in one of his ground-breaking civil suits with nothing more than a certain look…or an arm around the shoulder.

Any other time she might have pulled away…with a smile and a affectionate dig at his orchestrations. But he’d honestly stunned her with his gift. Had he seen the telltale signs of the stress she was under? Had he suspected she needed a break, a chance to get a grip on a life that suddenly felt as though it was spiraling out of control? It wasn’t unreasonable to think so. For all that he’d railroaded her into her career, he’d done so with a deep love and honest affection that was hard to thwart and an unfailing confidence in her that had carried her through many a long night, both in law school, during her years as an assistant district attorney, and even now, on the bench.

His gift had made her wonder if maybe she’d been wrong in keeping her escalating problems to herself. Right at that moment she wanted nothing more than to curl into his strength, his warmth, his security, and tell him everything. Tell him how concerned she was about her constant fatigue, about the emotional toll adjudicating cases was taking on her. How she respected the honor of her position, but wasn’t sure she wanted to continue on the bench.

How she was being all but stalked by the current district attorney.

“Hard feelings?” her father asked. “Don’t be cross with me. I knew if I’d done it in private, you’d have tossed that ticket right back in my face.”

How right he was, too. And it was because he was too often right—annoyingly so—she found the strength to pull away from him to deliver her best Judge Patrick look.

Her father merely raised his bushy eyebrows in anticipation.

“No hard feelings,” she said. “But you’ll want to remember three things.” She ticked them off. “One, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Two, I know when your birthday is and that you’ll be hitting the big seven-oh.” She smiled a smile that only a newly minted defense attorney would mistake as friendly—and then, only once. “Three, paybacks are hell when delivered by other people. But when delivered by a Patrick, there is no time off for good behavior.”

Seamus tipped his head back and roared with laughter, another trademark—and one often heard echoing throughout his chambers. “I wish your mother was here to see what a fine lass she brought into this world.”

“Are you kidding? Mom would be horrified to know how deeply you’ve corrupted her only child.”

Seamus and Laurel both smiled, as they always did when the subject of Alena Patrick came up. “She knew you were never going to be a princess.”

Laurel sighed. “I know. I’m beginning to think she was smarter than both of us put together.”

Seamus’s smile faded, replaced by the look of concern Laurel had hoped to avoid. “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Is the upcoming Rochambeau case giving you a hard time, because we both know Jack Rochambeau is a horse’s—”

“Yes,” Laurel broke in, once again smiling. “As does the entire legal community. But he comes from a long line of them, many of them dangerous, so he’s gotten away with it. But if the D.A.’s case is as strong as it’s purported to be, that’s about to come to an end.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Maybe you could give the rest of his ‘family’ these tickets, though. Now that would make my life a lot easier.” She waved the resort brochure.

Seamus smiled, but the concern didn’t leave his brilliant blue eyes. “I know things have been rough lately, Laurel. That you’ve landed more than your fair share of difficult cases. And now this one.”

“You always said it was the benchmark cases that made a career. This one definitely qualifies.”

“Yes, but I believe I also said that a career was only worth the people who benefited from it.”

Stung, she said, “I think you can safely say more than a few people have benefited from my rulings. And it goes without saying that any damage we can do to organized crime scum like the Rochambeaus—”

“Laurel, I don’t mean the victims and their families. I’m talking about your family.”

“But you’re my family. My only—”

“Besides me.”

“There is no one besides you.”

“Precisely.”

Laurel sighed and remembered why she didn’t discuss her personal life with her father. Even when she was having one, which she wasn’t at present. “Dad, I do not want to hear the ‘biological clock’ lecture again. Being a judge makes it difficult to have—”

“Absolutely it does,” he broke in, as he always did. “And your mother was a saint and an angel for putting up with me. And you, for that matter,” he added with his charming smile. She didn’t fall for it. But then, she was more immune than most.

“You groomed me for this since the first time Mom used your law books as my booster seat,” Laurel reminded him. She might have followed in her father’s famous footsteps, but that didn’t mean she didn’t tug on the strings every once in a while. Too much Seamus in her not to. “So don’t complain I’m not popping out grandchildren for you to terrorize.”

“Terrorize is it now? Is that what you think I did to you?”

He was teasing, but she was too fatigued to play along. So she did the one thing guaranteed to end any argument she no longer had the stamina to continue. She didn’t resort to it often, mostly because it went right to his head. She stepped in and hugged him, pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “I’m proud to be your daughter.”

“Ah, sweetheart,” he sighed, squeezing her.

She’d have felt guilty, except she’d only spoken the truth. She was proud to be his daughter. And, truth be told, she’d followed in his footsteps as much to find out what it felt like to be even a tiny bit like him, as she had to make him proud of her. From day one he’d made the legal world seem like a thrilling classroom with endless boundaries begging to be explored. He’d also made her feel that she was incredibly lucky to be the student who could do that exploring. And she’d been a good student. A very good student. Good enough that, over time, she’d begun to believe that succeeding in the legal field was enough. And having his respect was proof she’d made the right choice.

“I’d give you a dozen grandbabies if I could,” she told him. “But we don’t always get to have it all.” She stepped back, feeling more than a little twinge when she saw the flicker of pain in his eyes as he thought of his beloved wife, her mother. She’d been gone for seven years now, yet there wasn’t a day that went by that they both didn’t still miss her. “And you never know,” she added, wishing now she’d opted for his lecture. “Maybe I’ll meet some island man, fall hopelessly in love and drag him back to Louisiana with me. Where I’ll force him to be my house husband and rear a whole pack of squalling Patricks.”

Seamus’s smile blinked back on and she sighed a little in relief.

He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. “You know I love you.”

She sighed a little and blinked back the sudden moisture that burned at the backs of her eyes. “I love you, too, Dad.”

He tapped the ticket still clutched in her hand. “Enjoy this,” he instructed, once again Justice Patrick. “Use the time wisely. Leave the work here. Lord knows it’s not going anywhere.” He squeezed her elbow, then motioned to one of the court clerks who was trying to get his attention. He looked back down at her and winked. “And if you meet that beach bum, make sure he signs a prenup.”

Laurel’s mouth dropped open, but she laughed as her father disappeared in the crowd. A fling with a beach bum. Maybe that’s just what she needed. “Yeah, and the best thing about an island fling is he can’t resurface almost a year later, begging to be back in my life.”

She tapped the brochure against her palm, then tucked it in her suit pocket as a plan began to form. She’d leave a note for Alan, explaining—again—but this time with as much finality as she could muster, that there would be no getting back together. Then she would leave town for a while, let it sink in, give him time to come to terms with it.

Before they squared off again in her courtroom.

Four days to rejuvenate. To languish. To read a book. Get some sun. Drink something with an umbrella in it. “And maybe get laid,” she said, a grin curving her lips.

“Excuse me?” the young clerk next to her said.

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud and quickly said, “It’s getting late.” She waved her brochure and grinned, the first from-the-heart grin she’d felt in ages. “I have a plane to catch.”