An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Eight


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Sam rolled over, away from the sunlight streaming
through the bedroom window.  He scrubbed at his
unshaven cheeks, wincing like he'd tied one on the
night before.  But even the worst hangover he'd
ever had hadn't felt like this.  He had no
headache, his stomach felt fine, but for some
reason, he felt out of sorts.  The feeling had
stayed with him since he'd woken up in the
hospital, a feeling of being uncomfortable in his
own skin.  He hated it and wished it away, knowing
the thought would do no good.  Time, he needed
time, that was all.

A fist pounded at the door.  "Breakfast in five,
Sam," his brother yelled.  "Then we hit the road,
so up and at 'em!"

Sam moaned and buried his head under the pillow. 
He didn't feel like facing the world today,
especially since visions of the faceless man still
crowded his brain.  He'd never been more scared in
his life.  Facing down bullets and crazed Japanese
soldiers had never made him cower like that ghostly
figure had.

Should he tell Fox?  Maybe the whole thing was just
a product of his overwrought senses; it was
possible he'd imagined the whole thing.  After all,
the guy had really been only a voice in the night,
a shadow that looked like a man, but he couldn't be
sure.  Maybe the run-in with the car had knocked
his brain sideways or something.  It was bad enough
he felt like every step he took was a monumental
effort; it probably wasn't all that unusual his
mind took a hike as well.

After delivering his warning to the shadow man,
he'd found himself alone.  A quick search of the
park revealed no trace of anyone else; much as he
didn't want to admit it, maybe he had been seeing
things.  Hearing his own conscience chastise him
for shoving his way into Fox's ideal family life.

But that would change today.  With no help from his
brother, he vowed.  No matter what Fox said or
offered, he was going it alone today.

His bones creaked as he threw off the covers and
sat on the edge of the bed.  When his bare feet
touched the floor, he shivered.  The cold was
getting to him; it made him smile.  Things were
getting back to normal.  His nightmare last night
was just that - a dream.  He stood and reached for
his pants, feeling his balance settle.  Again, he
smiled.

His body felt good.  More comfortable with every
passing hour.  Amazing what a good night's sleep
could do.

It would be a snap to find a job, he thought with
confidence.  After all, no one had ever denied him
anything in his life.  Why should today be any
different?


**********


No, he wasn't willing to sell novelties on the
street corner; he drew the line at making a total
fool of himself that way.  He was too big to be a
shoe salesman - the women would faint at the size
of his hands, even if he had a pretty face.  He was
too white to mop the floors at the elementary
school around the corner - *that* one made him want
to break the principal's nose for being such a
prejudiced ass.  He would have had the job hauling
slabs of beef to the local markets, but he was too
slow to come up with a convincing lie about
previous employment.  The last two years?  Spent
'em... uh... driver's license?  Sorry, must have
lost it.  Social security card?  Damn - in the same
wallet with the driver's license.

Blah, blah, blah.  He'd have been better off
staying dead.  He was as good as such, seeing as
how he really had no way of proving who he was or
where he'd been.  With a sigh, he trudged up the
sidewalk, dreading the smile Fox would bestow upon
him - the one assuring him he'd help out as long as
necessary.

Damn it, he didn't want to mooch off his brother. 
And for the little while he'd seen Dana that
morning, the silence had been so awkward around the
breakfast table they could listen to the clock
ticking between bites of oatmeal.  Fox's attempts
at conversation were admirable, but Sam knew the
more he left Fox and Dana alone, the better.  He'd
finished his coffee in one gulp and set out to
become part of the work force, asking Fox to take
care of the one thing he was best at - getting him
declared 'undead' in the eyes of the military.  One
thing Sam didn't want was to go back in the Army. 
He'd had enough of that.

Too bad no one needed help.  If there was one thing
he'd discovered today, he wasn't the only war
veteran out of work.  The whole city was filled
with men his age and older scouring the classifieds
and standing in long lines at the employment
agencies.  War was good business; lots of men
unable to work due to lack of education or
opportunity found military service the place to
earn money.  Peace flooded the job market with
those same men, still unemployable and hungry
enough to nab every available job.

Sam wondered if he could make enough with a ten
percent commission selling daisies that squirted
water.  Another day like today and he might just
have to risk a punch in the nose from the recipient
of his street corner product demonstration.  So
what if every little brat that walked by hanging on
Mom's skirts pointed and made faces at him?  So
what if the job required he wear the fake nose and
bushy-browed glasses?  A man had to do what a man
had to do.

Which meant he had at least a couple more days of
mooching.  Tomorrow was Sunday, and he was destined
to spend it under the watchful eye of his brother. 
Beginning with dinner tonight at some place called
Mike's.  Fox had made him promise to meet them
there at six, giving him thorough instructions on
where to go.  Best food in town, he'd said. 
Coldest beer in three states.  Atmosphere - you'll
love it, he delivered with a wink.  Trust me.

Right now, Sam thought, he could use a beer.  He
stared at the crowd through the darkened window
then looked up.  Funny, but he remembered this bar,
though the name was unfamiliar.

"Mike's."

The pleasant hum of a Sinatra tune lured him in.


**********


"Two drafts and another whiskey straight up, Da."

"Comin' right up, darlin'."  Mike Scully gave his
daughter a smile as he built a pint under the cold-
sweated tap.  "Good crowd tonight.  Makes me giddy,
it does."

Emma blew a puff of air at the wisps of curls
escaping from her braid as she set the tray full of
empty glasses on the bar.  "Makes you giddy, does
it?" she replied.  "Makes my feet hurt."

"Aidan and Joseph will be back by Christmas, Emma,"
her father said, his smile fading to a pitiful
pout.  His two eldest sons were off on holiday in
Ireland with their wives.  He couldn't tell them no
when they'd asked for time off from the business;
they put their lives into the bar, just as he had. 
It would be theirs someday.  It wasn't their fault
Tommy ended up on crutches after a spill down the
church steps, limiting his part-time work in the
tavern.

The son with the bum leg hopped up to butt in. 
"I'm not an invalid, you know."  He had the look of
Mike himself, ruddy and fat-cheeked.  "I'm doing
pretty good back here, aren't I?"

"That you are, son," Mike answered.  "Good thing
you found yourself a girlfriend unafraid of an
honest day's work."  He nodded at the brunette
waiting tables with nearly the efficiency of Emma;
Jenny was a good match for his next-to-youngest
boy.  Even though both faced a few more years of
college, they were already blindly in love and
anticipating the marriage to come down the road. 
Mike hoped they weren't anticipating their union
*that* much - he'd tried to make his children
responsible to their lives and the church by
remaining chaste until marriage.  He didn't know if
all his preaching worked, but so far, none of them
had walked down the aisle with a shotgun at their
back.

With a conniving, 'follow my lead' wink at his
youngest, he purred, "Of course, I can always ask
your Aunt Martha to help out you and Emma if it's
too much for you."

"Yeah," Tommy said, as if the idea ought to be
patented.  "Great idea, Da!"

Emma's head snapped up, and Mike noticed the slight
shadows of fatigue under her eyes.  Didn't dim her
quick rebuttal, however.  "No!"  Martha was his
late wife's sister, a dingbat of the first order. 
She was sweet, but easily distracted.  His profits
would evaporate under Aunt Martha's haphazard way
of dealing with customers, but he hadn't realized
how trying these few weeks could be for his only
daughter.  "I'm just a bit tired from working that
double shift Thursday."  She smiled, leaning over
the bar to take the glass from his hand as she gave
her laughing brother a glare.  "If I can't handle a
few rowdy patrons, then how am I ever going to
handle me own children?"

Mike's eyes teared up at the lilting tone and
brilliant smile.  Emma was so like her mother, a
real beauty, inside and out.  He knew she didn't
think so, having inherited the red curls and pale,
freckled skin.  She thought her late mother plain
and earthy, but she'd never admit to it.  Having
grown up practically glued to her favorite seat in
that movie house down the block, she idolized the
tall, slim glamour girls she saw every Saturday. 
Before her mother had passed, she'd spent many an
afternoon poring over the slick magazines, sighing
at dreams of beauty.

He could never seem to make her understand that she
*was* beautiful.  And she no longer had to give up
thoughts of a family of her own to take care of
him.  Her easy banter about children held an edge
of wistful longing, as if she didn't really expect
it to ever happen.  Being a nurse was all good and
fine, but Mike wanted more for his Emma.  His one
little girl, the jewel of his eye.

"You'll never get those children if you don't get
out more."

She matched his grumble, reaching for the last of
her order.  "I'll never get out more if you keep
givin' my brothers month-long holidays."  But her
bright blue eyes twinkled, and Mike knew she'd
backed away from a potentially sticky situation. 
Loading the last of her order on the tray, she
reached over and squeezed his hand.  "I love you,
Da," she said.  "And I wouldn't want to be anywhere
else but here with you right now.  There's plenty
of time for other things."

Mike watched her weave through the crowd with a
proud smile; despite her small stature, she muscled
her way around the patrons, some of whom dwarfed
her.  Her 'make way!' carried over Sinatra's
crooning - she was a Scully, all right.  All fire
and determination.

Shaking his head with indulgence, he caught the
wave of a man sitting with a slinky blonde at the
end of the bar.  Things were certainly hopping
tonight, which surprised him.  People were getting
into the holiday spirit earlier every year, even if
their pocketbooks were feeling more of a pinch. 
Thank goodness they still set aside the dough to
have a night out now and then, or he'd be in
serious trouble.

A breath of cooler air touched his face as he
filled the glasses of the couple with bourbon. 
Without looking up, he boomed, "And what can I get
you this fine evening?", catching the newcomer's
slide into the last stool.  Mike grinned; that made
for a full bar.  Emma wouldn't care for it, but he
looked at an empty seat like a priest looked at an
empty pew... the collection plate wasn't going to
get filled that way.  Besides, he liked the
company.  Most of his patrons were neighborhood
friends or distant family; since the death of his
beloved Fiona, he took comfort in familiar faces.

"Umm... I'm meeting someone for dinner."  The
newcomer craned his neck to look over the crowd,
then grumbled, "Who isn't here."  With an
apologetic lift of his eyebrows, he faced Mike. 
"Is it okay if I just sit here?"

Mike stared at the profile hunched over the bar. 
So this was the prodigal son, eh?  He'd been on the
lookout for him since Fox had phoned a half hour
ago, saying they'd be running late.  Keep an eye
out for Sam, he asked, concern running in a tight
thread through his voice.  He didn't know why Fox
was so worried; the lad looked beefy enough to take
on any kind of trouble.  "You're a Mulder, aren't
you?" Mike asked, extending a hand.

"Sam Mulder." His face relaxed into a tentative
smile.  "And you are -?"

"Mike.  I own the place."  Nice handshake, he
thought.  Full of strength, though the palms could
use a few callouses.  But Mulder had implied Sam
had been sick in his absence, so Mike cut him some
slack on that issue.  "Your brother called a little
while back and said they'd be late.  Meantime, can
I can you something to wet your whistle?"

Sam released his hand to dig in his coat pocket. 
"Uh..." he said, looking at the quarter with
dismay, "what can I get for two bits?"

"A fistful of Pepsi, if you be a temperate man with
an unnatural likin' for soda.  Those run five cents
apiece," Mike rattled off with a mock shudder as he
placed a bar napkin in front of the young man.  "Or
you can have a beer or two, or three."

His newest patron glanced up from his perusal of
the lonely coin.  "Or three?  Sign up there says
ten cent beer."

Mike gave him a smile as he leaned on one elbow. 
"You look like a man who could use a pint or two. 
Or three.  Sometimes me cash register skips one -
imagine that.  Drives the accountant crazy, it
does."

The lonely face cracked into a grin.  "I'll bet it
does.  I'll take a pint, then."

"Ah, a man after me own heart.  Comin' right up." 
Mike moved away to fill the order, watching
Mulder's brother from the corner of his eye.

He was a handsome lad, more brawny than Dana's
husband.  He wore a nice blue suit under his
overcoat that suffered a bit from wrinkling; from
his coat pocket, he pulled a newspaper.  Mike
watched him scratch through the ads one by one with
a stubby pencil, circling only one or two.  So that
was the way of it.

Emma had told him Fox's brother showed up
unexpectedly Thanksgiving night.  Mike was
surprised to find out Fox even had a brother; he
thought the family had pretty much died out with
his parents' passing.  Or so he recalled hearing at
the funeral - hadn't the brother died in the war? 
He tried to get more information out of Emma, but
quickly gave up.  All Emma would say was things
were complicated, and he figured with Dana's
troublesome pregnancy, he had no business prying
further.  Emma had assured him the brother was a
carbon copy of Fox, albeit a bit on the arrogant
side.  From what he could see as the man looked at
the paper with ever-increasing glumness, he didn't
look all that arrogant.  He looked like a man in
need of a bit of good fortune.

Mike leaned over to whisper in Tommy's ear, "Grab
Pee Wee over there to help you for a bit, son." He
nodded at his cousin, who sat at the bar like an
errant elf, his pointed ears wiggling under his hat
brim.

"But Da, Pee Wee *helps* himself to a sip or two of
our finest Scotch when he helps out back here."

"Doesn't hurt a bit, Tommy boy.  You'll learn that
good customers are more valuable than a bit of
pilfered Scotch."  He turned his back on Tommy's
grimace, chuckling.  Good thing Aidan and Joseph
followed their father's tenets when it came to
pleasing customers, just as it was a good thing
Tommy had a more business-minded head on his
shoulders.  They'd make a good team when he made
his trip to the hereafter; until then, no one
disputed Mike's authority.

With a flourish, he placed the pint before Sam. 
"There you are, lad.  Drink up."

He watched as Sam savored the cold beer with a look
of sheer bliss.  "Thanks."

Mike jerked his chin at the newspaper.  "Looking
for work, are ya?"

"Yeah.  Not much around, though."  Sam curled his
lips into a tight grimace.  "Fox says he's bringing
a friend of his along tonight.  Someone who could
give me a job."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I kind of wanted to find one on my own.  But
there's not much call for someone like me."  Mike
could understand that; his pride matched anyone's,
and something told him this man had more pride than
ten men.  "Fox was right; this is the coldest beer
I can ever remember in town.  Why haven't I ever
heard of this place before?"

"Depends on how long you've been gone, son."

"Almost fifteen years.  I left for college at
eighteen, then played a bit of semi-pro baseball in
New York."

That accounted for the sheer size of the guy, and
went a long way toward explaining his lack of job
prospects.  "A baseball player, were you?  Any
good?"

"Passable.  Everyone said I'd make it big one day."

"What happened?"

"I enlisted right after Pearl Harbor and after the
war..." He trailed off, as if the subject was a
distasteful one.

Mike tactfully avoided that tangent.  "Ah, then you
must have known the place as Bully's back in the
day.  Of course, you wouldn't have been old enough
to partake of the beer fifteen years ago."

"True.  But I remember my Dad coming here now and
then - and how Mom used to send me and Fox in to
get him when he'd stayed away a bit too long."

Mike glanced over Sam's shoulder at the skinny boy
who poked his head in the front door.  "Some things
never change," he laughed, then addressed the kid. 
"Tell your ma I'll send your da right out, Jackie." 
The boy hesitated.  "Go on now with ya, lad," Mike
boomed, a mock sternness to his face.

Sam laughed along with him as the boy startled away
like a jack rabbit.  "If I remember right, he's
mighty disappointed he couldn't come in and look
around.  I know I was.  You're right, Mike.  Some
things never change."  The sadness was all but gone
from Sam's face, as if the memory was a pleasant
one.  Mike wanted to keep the good feeling going.

"Let me get Harry out there before Mildred herself
comes in or we'll never live down the hair-pulling
and whining."

"Mildred gets a bit emotional, I take it."

"No, Harry does.  Especially when he's got a half-
full pint he has to kiss goodbye."  Mike took Sam's
empty glass with a laugh.  "I'll get you another on
the way back."

"Thanks, Mike."

"Emma!"

His daughter looked up from the corner of the big
room and caught his eye.  "Yes, Da?"

"Grab Harry there and tell him Mildred's waitin' on
him outside, would ya?"  Mike filled Sam's glass as
Emma answered with a smile and a wave.

When Mike returned with the filled glass, Sam sat
as still as a statue, a lazy grin across his face. 
He turned to find the source of Sam's sudden
happiness, and felt the lad's gaze firmly in place
on his daughter.

Well, whaddya know, he thought, catching sight of
Sam's pleased as punch perusal of Emma.  The Lord
works in mysterious ways, his beloved Fiona had
always said.  Maybe the lad was just what his
daughter needed.  With a job, of course.  The man
already had one thing in his favor, as far as Mike
was concerned - he was related to Fox Mulder.  A
better man had never walked through Mike's door. 
With a small smile of his own, he leaned against
the bar.  "Fetching little thing, isn't she?"

Sam looked up with an eager hope.  "She works
here?"

"Fills in now and then," Mike drawled, the pieces
of the puzzle coming together.  Emma's reluctance
to discuss the newly arrived brother, Fox's
insistence that Mike make Sam stay put... from the
look on the man's face, he was mighty glad to see
Emma.  Now, if Emma spit fire when she caught sight
of the man, he'd have his answer.  "I take it
you've met?"

"We've met." Sam took a healthy gulp of his beer
and relaxed, looking totally pleased with the turn
of events.

"She's a regular tempest in a teapot, that one,"
Mike prompted, idly wiping a dish cloth over an
imaginary spot on the bar.  "Wouldn't you say?"

Sam chuckled, shaking his head.  "That would be an
understatement."

So that was the way of it; now all he had to do was
get those two together and watch the sparks fly. 
But his plan was put on temporary hold when he saw
Fox and Dana walk in the door, followed by Melissa
and Melvin.  Now he knew where Fox intended to come
up with the job for this brother of his.  From what
he knew of Melvin Frohike, the man was a good sort. 
But would this ex-baseball player be happy in the
middle of a bunch of stuffy suits?

"Looks like your party's here, son."  Sam's face
fell a bit, and Mike didn't hesitate to reassure
him, as he leaned closer to whisper with a knowing
grin, "You go on and meet 'em.  I'll send Jenny
over in a minute to take your order, okay?"

"Jenny?" Sam's face fell, as he chanced another
wistful look at Emma.

"Tommy's girl.  She works that side of the room,
lad."

"Oh."

"Don't you worry, lad... you stick around a bit and
I'll wager you'll end up with the waitress you
really want."

At that, Sam brightened, standing.  "Thanks, Mike."
He laid the quarter on the bar, then watched in
amazement as Mike slid it back to him.

"You can just owe me, Sam."

Sam took a last glance at Emma.  "I think I already
owe you, Mike," he said, already turning to meet
the folks depositing their coats in the small
alcove by the door.

"Or two, or three," Mike murmured, out of Sam's
hearing range.  This one would be a pleasure; he
could hear the wedding bells already.  Now, to just
make it impossible for his daughter to balk...
"Maybe we can make it four before the night's
over."


**********


"So, this idiot tells me that something called Pixy
Stix and - get this - *troll* dolls will one day
make millions, and I should get in while I can."

Sam followed the conversation reluctantly.  After
brief introductions (Dana's leggy sister was
definitely wasted on that little man), they'd
spotted a table by the window and made a beeline
for it, this 'Frohike' person - what *was* it with
last names? - chattering to Fox non-stop about his
day at the office.  From the looks of his expensive
suit and gold watch, the man was worth some money. 
But Sam had only been around him for an hour, tops
- and already he was bored stiff with all  the talk
of business.  How did Fox put up with this?

"Troll dolls, huh?" His brother finished up his
steak, his attention still half-focused on his
friend in a show of good manners.

"Troll dolls."  Frohike did the same with the T-
bone in front of him, making short work of the
remaining steak.  "I kid you not."

Sam picked at his meal, definitely feeling like a
fifth wheel.  The ladies talked softly as they sat
beside each other; he, on the other hand, sat
between Fox and Frohike, expected to join in now
and then.  And he did, though he felt lost in all
the talk about importing goods from Asia -
supposedly the next big manufacturing boom was to
take place overseas, and Frohike had the inside
track.  Sam offered little or no response, other
than an occasional yes or no when asked a question. 
His mind was elsewhere as he searched the bar for
Emma, his ear only picking up bits of the
conversation at hand.

"I don't see why you shouldn't invest, Frohike,"
Fox was saying.  "After all, you could save a bit
of money with some shortcuts."

"Oh, yeah?  How so?"

"You wouldn't have to hire models for the dolls. 
Just put on a pair of pointed ears and get rid of
the suit."

At that, Sam turned to Fox, who sat with a wicked
grin.  Frohike sputtered, but quickly dissolved
into good-natured laughter.  "I get it.  No more
work talk."  He took Melissa's hand and smiled
before giving Sam a wink.  "Not until after
dessert, anyway."

Sam flushed, a bit non-plussed at the friendly
banter between the friends and the implication that
Mr. Melvin Frohike was destined to be his savior as
far as a job was concerned.  He didn't like being
maneuvered by anyone, but he supposed Fox had his
heart in the right place.  Thankfully, the sudden
silence was broken by a welcome voice.

"Anything else, ladies and gents?"

A round of cheerful hellos greeted Emma, along with
casual inquiries about dessert choices.  She
smiled, passing a glance over each one of them
until she got to Sam.  The smile faded as his own
widened; he thought *he* was feeling uncomfortable. 
His discomfort with the set-up for a job was
nothing compared to hers at finding him there. 
Quickly, she pulled out her notepad and got down to
the business of serving them dessert.

"Where's Jenny?" Dana asked.

"Off to put one of the customers in a cab.  He had
a bit much tonight.  Why Da lets some folks in this
place sometimes is beyond me."  The bite in her
voice had nothing to do with a certain customer's
overindulgence, Sam was certain.  Especially in
light of the fact her displeased tone was directed
Sam's way.  It didn't matter what words came out of
her mouth, their sting was meant for him.

"What are you doing here tonight, Emma?" Dana
asked.  "Where's Aidan and Roberta? And Joseph and
Claire?"

"Off to Ireland for holiday," she answered shortly,
not looking up from her scratch pad.  "I'm just
helping out until they get back."

"They took the kids out of school?"

"The kids are staying with the in-laws."  She
finally looked up, though she avoided Sam like the
plague.  "I figure everyone wants a coffee and a
slice of apple pie?  No coffee for you Dana, of
course.  Might take a bit, we're kind of busy
tonight."  It was obvious Emma hurried along the
small talk, anxious to be away from him.  Had he
spooked her that much with his overtures?

"Sure," Fox replied.  "No hurry, Emma."

"And how's me favorite customers?"

Sam glanced away from Emma for a moment to find
Mike at her side, beaming at the group as he laid
an arm around Emma.  Instead of stiffening, she
relaxed into his embrace.  What the hell was going
on?

"Good, Uncle Mike.  How's Tommy?" Dana asked.

Uncle Mike?  What the - no wonder the guy had been
a friendly sort!  He was Scully through and
through.  Sam could have kicked himself for not
noticing the resemblance, as Mike shared the same
fair complexion and red hair.

"Getting around pretty good on those crutches, but
we're in a bit of a spot for help."

"We are not," Emma said quickly, elbowing her
father.

But Mike ignored her, giving her a healthy hug. 
"Now, girl - don't be telling me you're not getting
a bit tired.  I know better."  He looked at Fox
with a perplexed frown.  "Wish I had an extra pair
of hands this Christmas season.  It would make it a
whole lot easier on us all."

That was his cue; Sam felt the gentle nudge from
Mike all the way to his bones.  "I can help out,
Mike."

"No, you can't!"

"Hush, girl," Mike said, giving her a little shove
to the bar, "and get that pie.  Go on, now, do as I
say."

"But -"

"Emma!" His tone brooked no disobedience, and Emma
sulked away, giving Sam a look that could kill were
it filled with sharp objects.  "You were sayin',
Sam?"

"I need a job, Mike."

"Know how to tend bar?"

"Sam, Frohike here -" Fox tried to interrupt, but
Sam ignored him, answering the answer to his
prayers in the form of Mike Scully.

It was in bad taste to say he'd learned at his
father's knee, so he hedged the subject.  "Some."

"What say we start you out at fifty cents an hour? 
What you don't know, you can learn from Tommy."

Sam stood, taking Mike's hand over the bemused
looks of his dinner party companions.  "Deal.  When
can I start?"

"How about right now?  Go see Tommy behind the
bar."

Grateful to have the respite from Fox and Dana and
their guests, Sam nearly tripped over his chair in
his haste to leave.  He murmured a quick 'nice
meeting you' to Frohike and Melissa, and an even
quicker 'see you later' to Fox and Dana before
joining Mike, who took him in hand.

As they walked away, Sam addressed Mike in a
whisper.  "Thanks, Mike.  That Frohike guy is
just..."

"A bit stuffy, I know.  Oh, he'd have given you a
job somewhere in his office, like the good man he
is.  But you strike me as the kind of man who hates
wearing a suit and tie."

"I'm more comfortable in a baseball uniform," he
admitted.  He tugged at his tie, quickly whipping
it off to tuck it in his coat pocket.  His coat
came off next and he rolled up his sleeves.  "You
said something about tending bar?"

Mike laughed, giving him a hearty pat on the back. 
"You did more than come in here as a wee lad to
summon your Da home, didn't you?"

"I know my way around a barroom, Mike, that's
true."  One of the reasons he'd never made it to
the majors too quickly was his propensity for the
night life, and he knew it.  Back then, he figured
he had plenty of time.  Little did he know.

"As long as you don't turn out a bum, do I make
myself clear?" Though his eyes were still gleaming
with a smile, Mike's voice was stern.

"As glass."  Sam stopped, making the older man stop
as well as he caught sight of Emma filling her tray
with pints of beer. "Mike, I'm not one for taking
charity, I want you to know that."

"Oh, it's not charity, lad.  I'm gonna work your
ass off."

"I expect nothing less.  That's two I owe you,
Mike."

Mike followed Sam's line of sight, giving him a
firm look.  "That's *three* you owe me, Sam.  You
work for me now, lad.  Don't disappoint me."

"I won't."

Sam watched Mike move ahead, his gaze sliding with
unerring ease back to Emma.  With all the rotten
luck he'd had since returning home, maybe he'd
finally caught a lucky break.

Emma met his stare with a furious flash of her blue
eyes before turning her nose up and purposely
taking the long route back to his brother's table
with their coffee and pie.

Then again, maybe he hadn't.  Boy, did he have his
work cut out for him - and that work had nothing to
do with serving whiskey sours.


End Chapter Eight