Donna Kauffman - Sean

“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.