Donna Kauffman – Sean (страница 3)

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.”