Sean Donovan (The Californians, Book 3) (3 page)

Maureen, who was watching some of the emotions
cross her nephew's face, quite frankly did not know what
to say. He'd become a stranger since they were last
together. By the time coffee was served she had gained
some courage, telling herself that if he felt free enough to
come here and live, then she was within her rights to ask
a few questions.

"Sean," she began tentatively, "does your family
know you're here?"

"No." He answered without looking at her.

"Won't they be worried?"

Sean shrugged. "I left a note saying I was leaving
town. They'll have to be satisfied with that." It caused
Sean more pain to say that than he let on, but Maureen
was so surprised at his anger that she did not notice. In
the face of that ire, some of her courage deserted her. A
moment passed before she summoned a falsely cheerful
voice and went on.

"Are you going to be looking for work?" Maureen's
grown son, Percy, had lived off her income for years, so
she did not take for granted that Sean would look for
work.

"Not here. I don't like the weather." Sean said the first
thing that came to mind, not wanting to admit that San
Francisco was too close to Santa Rosa.

Maureen nearly panicked over his words. It never
once occurred to her that he was just stopping off on his
way through; in fact, she had a faint hope that he had
come here because this was where his father's ship
would be docking.

'Aren't you worried about missing your father's visit?"

Her question was met with a cold stare, and Maureen,
so surprised at how far off her guesses had been, subsided into silence. Not many minutes passed before Sean
took himself off to bed. In the hours before she went to
bed herself, Maureen had a one-sided conversation with
her absent brother. She told him in no uncertain terms
that he should have come home ages ago, that letters had
not been enough, and that his family needed him.

Maureen was utterly drained by the time she retired.
Knowing how hard it would be to get to sleep, she tried
to put her worries aside by telling herself that Sean might
be more congenial in the morning. This was her last
thought as sleep crowded in to claim her, but her hope
was not to be realized. In the morning, Sean Donovan
was gone.

Sean had lied about not liking San Francisco's cool
temperatures in order to get away, but as he bent over
another row of cotton in the hot Fresno sun, he found
himself wishing he'd stayed a little longer. Never had he
lived and worked in such high temperatures. Most of the
other workers around him were shorter and for the first
time, Sean envied them their small size. He had been
picking crops for two weeks, and his back was still
screaming at him.

He paused to wipe the sweat from his face and saw the
very pregnant woman working next to him bending
over the row with difficulty. She lost her balance, and
Sean reached for her, taking her arm until she was once
again steady on her feet. The smile she gave him was
tired and sweet, and Sean hurriedly bent his head.

The sight of her and that fatigued smile caused him to
think of Kaitlin just months before he left, and then of
Molly just an infant when his stage left town. Sean
suddenly felt like his emotions would choke him.

You've left, Sean, he said to himself, and by now, they
don't want you back. Even if they did, you don't want to go.
Convinced of this, he pushed the sight of Gretchen and Molly from his mind. They were the last things he needed
to be dwelling on right now.

"I wonder if Father made it home," Sean muttered to
himself, bringing his anger to a head as he again bent his
back.

Routine began to develop, and by the time Sean had
been on the job for two months, he had made a few
friends. Most of his co-workers were family men, but a
few were single, and these were the men who took their
pay to the bar as soon as it was placed in their hands.

Sean had never been in a bar, but he found the one in
Fresno to be a place where he fit in. He never drank
enough to become drunk, but the way he was left alone
to sit in peace with his friends was just what he needed,
or so he told himself. It was on one of these occasions
that his co-workers told him he was in the wrong business.

"What are you talking about?" Sean frowned at them.
He had been something of a mystery to them, but one
night they'd coaxed his age out of him and realized he
was just a kid with a chip on his shoulder. They grinned
in his direction as they answered.

"Do you think we would be out picking crops if we
were your size? Look at that guy at the end of the bar.
You're bigger than he is, yet you're out there sweating in
the sun with us."

"And probably getting paid a whole lot less for your
effort," another man contributed, and the group roared
with laughter. Sean didn't laugh; he was already moving
down the long counter toward the end of the bar.

"What'll it be?" The bartender spoke without preamble.

'A job," Sean flicked his head in the direction of the
strong-arm. 'Any chance you're thinking of a change?"

The bartender was quick on the upswing, his eyes
taking in the breadth of Sean's chest. He only smiled and
shook his head no.

"I like Bear. He's not very bright, but he's reliable."
Sean frowned and the man went on. "I'll tell you what I'll
do, though. My brother owns a place in Selma, bigger
than this, with a stage and girls and all. How old are
you?"

"Old enough," was Sean's answer, and the smaller
man behind the counter didn't press him.

"I'm sure you'll do. Head south a bit, downtown
Selma. The place is called Buck's. Ask for either Buck,
that's my brother, or his partner, Sal. They'll do right by
you."

Sean's co-workers were ecstatic when he relayed the
conversation, and for once Sean's face was not void of
expression. He stayed long in the bar that night, laughing and talking with his friends in a kind of farewell
celebration. Leaving just a few hours before dawn to
return to the shabbiest hotel in town, he packed his few
things and lay on the bed waiting for the sun to rise.
When it did, Sean was up, shaved, and waiting for the
stage that would yet again take him south.

Four months later Sean, now eighteen years old and
dressed in immaculate dark slacks, a snow white shirt,
and dark tie, kept his eyes on his boss's profile. The men
at the corner table were quickly growing out of hand, and
Sean knew that any moment he would be called in. A
woman came by, heavily made up, and seductively ran
her hand across Sean's chest. As usual, he barely took
notice of her.

Buck's head turned a moment later, and Sean went
into action. He was only one of three bouncers in this posh establishment, and their movements were never to
be hurried or ungainly. With natural grace Sean and one
other man moved toward the rear. And with far less
noise or action than one would have dreamed possible,
the two troublemakers were extracted from the game
and shown into the alley.

The show started moments later. Sean stood at one
corner of the stage, his eyes constantly scanning the
room for trouble. Tonight's crowd was raucous, but no
one was out of control. At closing Sean made his way
upstairs to his room with only the faintest feeling of
dissatisfaction. He realized as he climbed into bed that
he'd been spoiling for more of a fight. The men they'd
taken into the alley had gone much too willingly.

He lay in the beautiful room he called his own and
listened to the hotel bar grow quiet. Someone knocked
on his door, but Sean didn't answer. It would only be one
of the girls, asking if he'd changed his mind about joining her in her room. The answer was always no, and
Sean had started ignoring the questions altogether.

They believed he thought himself too good for them,
but that wasn't the case. In truth, Sean wasn't sure what
held him back. He never hesitated to gamble or drink in
the worldly environment in which he lived. His hesitance might have had to do with the fact that every time
he was tempted, he saw his mother's face. She died
when he was 14, but he could still hear her voice telling
him when he was just 12 that saving himself for marriage
must be a priority. "You'll never regret it, Sean, but if
you don't wait, I can make you no such promise."

As usual, Sean didn't care for the direction of his own
thoughts. Determined to sleep, he rolled to his side,
shifting his thoughts to the stage downstairs with its
heavy gold curtain and velvet trim. The name "Buck's"
had given Sean an image of a rough-and-tumble bar, but Buck's was more than a bar; it was a hotel, and a classy
one at that.

Sean fell asleep telling himself that for the past three
years he had been working too hard. This was the life he
was meant to lead. This was where he belonged.

"I'm telling you, I don't like him," Sal told his partner.

"He's a good worker," Buck reasoned.

"He's too sure of himself," Sal went on. "I don't trust
him."

Buck only sighed. He liked Sean Donovan, but Sal had
never been comfortable with their new bouncer. Sal had
wanted to fire him on several occasions when there was
really no reason, but Buck had always forestalled him.
Sean was the first strong-arm they hadn't had to teach to
use a fork. Sean had class. Where he came from, and
how he came to be working in a bar, Buck didn't care. All
he knew was that Sean worked hard and made the place
look good with his broad build, black curly hair, and
dark compelling eyes. He didn't smile much, but he was
always polite to the patrons, and Buck's clientele was his
main concern.

"He stays," Buck said with finality. Sal, knowing he
was needed on the floor, let the matter drop. He hoped
though, that something would happen to give him a
reason to sack Sean Donovan, one that not even Buck
could dispute.

Two months later, Sean was once again in the mood for
trouble. These feelings did not come on very often, but
when thoughts of his past plagued him, he felt mean.
On this particular day, he had thought of nothing but
Marcail. She would be 13 by now and, with her dark hair
and large expressive eyes, probably leading the boys on a
merry chase.

"Rigg better be taking care of her," Sean said into the
mirror as he tied his tie. He suddenly shook his head. All
of this because one of the new show girls had smiled at
him, a smile so sweet and young that Sean had been
stunned. Marcail's face had immediately swum into
view, invading his thoughts to a ridiculous degree so
that by the time he went on duty, his temper was at its
worst.

Early in the evening, a fight broke out. It seemed
completely routine to all involved, but in his present
mood, Sean was a bit too rough. Before anyone could
guess what was about to happen, the man Sean had by
the arm, threw a punch, and missed. Sean, trained to
ignore such things, flattened the man. Within seconds
several tables full of men were in a fight, and before a
minute had passed, half the place was in an uproar.