Sean Donovan (The Californians, Book 3) (11 page)

Murphy never heard Sean move, but he suddenly
found himself spun around in time to see a fist flying
with full force into his face. Sean didn't watch to see if
Murphy got up before he went to his wife.

Charlie awoke to the feeling of straw at her back and
the sight of a blurry man bending over her. Even before her eyes focused, the beard and hat told her it was Sean.
She had no idea why he was bending over her and
blinked to try to clear her vision.

"Charlotte?" Sean's voice was soft.

"Yeah," she answered as she lifted a hand toward her
face, but Sean beat her to it. With tender care his fingers
probed her jaw before gently sliding over her cheek. The
left side of her face felt as though it was on fire.

They were both aware of voices and shouting on the
street, but Sean didn't move away until Charlie was
sitting up in the stall where he had laid her, and only
then when he heard the sound of Duncan's voice.

"What's the problem?"

"I'll tell you what the problem is," a man Sean had
never seen before said as he entered the livery. "I was
walking by when our bank robber here decided to punch
of Murphy in the face. -I say he should've hung."

Murphy came to his feet, and started in with a string
of curses and accusations that surprised no one. Duncan
looked with regret at Sean, whose large frame blocked
his view of Charlie. The sheriff was certain he had been
right about this man, and even though Murphy was a
trial to everyone in town, Duncan wasn't about to put
one of Visalia's residents in danger. Having grown to like
Sean made his job all the harder.

"It looks like I'll have to take you back to the jail, Sean,
but I would like to hear your story."

Sean was livid with the loudmouthed man named
Murphy, but for the moment his anger was directed at
Duncan. "If the conditions on that paper state that I have
to stand back while some man hits my wife, then you can
go ahead and hang me!"

Duncan spun so fast on the foul-mouthed livery patron that Murphy took a hasty step backward into a pile
of horse manure. "What is this, Murphy?" Duncan ground out the question, but he didn't wait for an
answer.

"Charlie," he called, having just realized she was
behind Sean. The young man stood his ground as the
sheriff approached, his manner telling Duncan he had
been right all along.

Duncan's hand briefly touched Sean's shoulder as he
stepped around him and bent over the small livery
owner. They spoke softly for some minutes while Charlie explained. Duncan saw red over the bruise on her
face; her cheek was already beginning to swell.

Sheriff Duncan turned from Charlie to see that his
deputy had come on the scene. In a quiet voice he ordered the deputy to take Murphy to the jailhouse and to
keep him there until he arrived.

"He owes me money," Charlie called as Murphy
started away.

"He can pay it too," a voice shouted out of the crowd.
"He just cleaned me out in a game of poker."

There was laughter all around, and even though Charlie's head felt like it was going to fall off, she looked on
with satisfaction as Murphy fished the coins from his
pocket.

"Break it up now," Duncan shouted to the crowd that
had gathered. Sean and Charlie stood quietly until the
townspeople dispersed.

"You should put a cold cloth on that." Sean spoke
quietly, watching his wife with very real concern and
wishing he had a handkerchief or something to offer her.

"I'll be all right," she said, wanting to say more but
afraid he would see the fierce emotions pouring through
her. Besides, her face hurt too much to talk.

"I'll get back to work," Sean said.

"And I'll walk you to your house," Duncan told Charlie as he took her arm and headed for the rear door.

"Get your feathers down, Charlie. I'm not offering
you charity."

"I've got money."

"I know you do, probably more than most of us realize, but that man who has come to be your husband
arrived with only the clothes on his back. If you don't
need my money, then take some of your own and buy
him an extra set of clothes and a haircut if he's so
inclined. Honestly, Charlie, he can't even take those
clothes off to wash them without having to go naked!"

Charlie nodded, realizing Duncan was right. The job
of smith was very hard on clothing, and Charlie again
felt badly at not noticing Sean's lack.

"How's the face?"

"What?" Charlie had completely forgotten that Duncan was sitting there, so intent was she on Sean's clothing.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

The tiny redhead shook her head. "I'm fine, Duncan,"
Charlie told him with a sigh.

"I think you should press charges."

"Oh, Duncan!" Charlie was now exasperated. "The
way you carry on you'd think I'd never been hit before."

Now it was Duncan's turn to frown. He knew she
spoke the truth, but it was her resignation to the fact that
bothered him. A few minutes later Duncan excused himself, but his mind was still centered on Charlie Donovan,
and he prayed with all his heart that Sean would make a
difference in her life.

Sean had to force back the groan he felt rising in his
throat as he made his body sit down to supper. Every muscle in his arms and back was screaming. He couldn't
remember the last time he had put in such a long, hard
day.

Sean ate his chicken and corn, unaware of the way his
wife watched him. She thought he looked ready to fall
asleep in his plate. He was also filthy.

"If the conditions on that paper state that I have to stand back
while some man hits my wife, then you can go ahead and hang
me." Charlie believed that if she lived to be a hundred,
she would never forget those words, uttered so protectively. They made her want to do something for him in
return.

"My aunt runs the boardinghouse at the end of the
block."

Sean looked up from his plate, wondering how he
should reply to this, but Charlie went on.

"I don't have a tub, and she fixes me a bath anytime I
want one." Sean continued to stare at her, and Charlie
frowned a bit. "If you want, we can head over so you can
have a bath tonight."

Sean wanted to weep with relief. He could barely
tolerate his own stench. Instead he replied simply, "I
would appreciate that."

Nothing more was said on the matter. When they were
both finished with supper, Charlie led the way to a boxy,
three-story house and without knocking, let them in the
rear door.

Is that you, Charlie?" The voice came from somewhere in the bowels of the large house. Sean stood still
while Charlie moved through the kitchen and beyond.

"It's me, Sadie," Charlie spoke as she found her aunt,
down the hall and around the corner, in her tiny sewing
room. She had a quilt on her lap and was stitching
meticulously, near the window where the remaining
sunlight poured through in an orange-red glow.

"Hi, honey," Sadie greeted her warmly.

"I came by for a bath."

Sadie immediately laid aside her sewing. "All right, I'll
get it for you right now."

"It's not really for me."

Sadie's brows rose. Sitting back down, she eyed her
niece speculatively. "I'd almost forgotten that congratulations are in order."

Charlie didn't look at her aunt. Her gaze was focused
on the quilt as though it was the most beautiful piece of
work she had ever seen.

"What were you doing at that hanging, girl?" Sadie
spoke softly.

Charlie shrugged. "I had to pick up supplies so I was
in the area, and I'd heard he was young, and I just-"

"Where is he now?"

"In the kitchen."

Sadie looked stern for a moment and then rose with
resignation. "Come on then, introduce me to your husband and I'll get his-" Sadie stopped suddenly as the
light fell at just the right angle on Charlie's bruised face.

"That skunk oughta be shot," the older woman spat
with fury and disgust. "Where was your husband when
Murphy was plowing his fist into your-face?"-

"He came in right after." Charlie tried to defend him,
but Sadie only shook her head and led the way to the
kitchen. She didn't ask how Sadie knew about the incident; Sadie seemed to know most everything.

Sean stood at the rear door, hat in hand, just where
Charlie had left him. The kitchen was spacious, and the
odors from supper lingered in the air; he guessed it
might have been roast beef and potatoes.

The feeling of unreality was stealing back over him.
Twenty-four hours ago he was about to be hanged. Suddenly he was married, working all day as a smithy, and
now waiting for a bath in the home of his wife's aunt.

His wife. When was it going to sink in? Sean's mind
went to the mixture of hostile and curious stares at the
doors of the livery after he had flattened Murphy. His
hand clenched in remembrance, and he knew he would
do it again in a moment. No one was going to hurt
Charlotte if he was around, and considering the terms of
the document that Judge Harrison had explained before
he'd married them, Sean was going to be around for at
least the next five years.

Sean heard the voices of the women before they entered the room. He stood still, waiting for what he was sure would be a scene. He could just imagine what his
wife's family must think of her marriage to a condemned
man.

Sean watched as a woman of medium height and
narrow frame walked into the room. Her hair was dark,
with just a touch of gray, and was pulled into a fat bun on
the top of her head.

"You can introduce me now, Charlie," Sadie instructed
after she'd lit a lantern and inspected Sean from the top
of his shaggy head to the tips of his grimy boots.

Charlie cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Sadie, this
is my husband, Patrick Dono-"

"Sean," Sean interrupted softly, never taking his eyes
from his wife's face. "I go by my middle name, Sean."

Charlie returned his look for the space of a second,
and then introduced him as Sean Donovan. Upon the
correct introduction, Sean's gaze swung to Sadie, whose
face seemed to have softened from when she had first
entered the room.