An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Nine


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"I can't believe you hired that man," Emma
whispered across the bar to her father, who stood
there looking like a little boy on his way to first
communion, all wide-eyed yet imagining how he was
going to pull on the braid of the girl in front of
him in line.

"And what would be the problem, girl?" he asked in
a cool voice.  He glanced at Sam, who tossed
bottles at the other end of the bar like he was
born to serve the masses.  "He seems competent
enough to me."

"He's... he's..."  Wonderful, she thought with
sarcasm.  How could she come out and say she
thoroughly disliked the man?  She couldn't very
well tell her father exactly how Sam had shown up
Thanksgiving night, she'd given her word to Fox to
keep a lid on their secrets.  So what to say? 
"He's just not needed, that's all."

"Do you have a personal beef with the lad, Emma?" 
Damn, her father was too intuitive sometimes.  He
leaned in closer, watching her with pale blue eyes
that probed in places she wanted no one to ever
see.  "Is there something you're not tellin' me?"

Vivid images ran through her mind like a
Technicolor film... Sam smiling at her, teasing and
hugging her tight, holding her fast as he spread
warmth with his hands and words... telling her with
anger, "Why can't you be her?"  Oh, there was lots
she could tell her father, if she wanted to make
herself out to be a fool.  No, she'd been shamed
enough by having to plead with Sam himself to leave
her be; she wasn't about to drag her dad into the
mess she'd managed to make of her emotions in two
short days.

"No, Da," she murmured, picking up her tray filled
with pints.  "I just thought we were doing fine, me
and you and Tommy."

Mike Scully ran a gentle hand over her cheek,
lifting her chin with one firm finger to look into
her sad eyes.  "You don't see what I see, Emma."

"What do you see?" she whispered, suddenly afraid
she'd given too much away with her protests.

A fine mist covered those old eyes, as he gazed
down at her with love.  "I see a woman who thinks
she has to do everything without any help.  A woman
with enough pride for two people.  Now, don't be
looking at me that way - pride's a good thing, but
it can get in the way sometimes."

Smarting, she found her voice giving up its normal,
strident tone as a lump of insecurity settled in
her throat.  "Am I so very rigid, Da?"

"No, no," her father insisted, brushing his fingers
over her cheek.  "You've just traded your dreams
for mine, love.  I see a soft, caring woman before
me - a woman who's never had a chance to live
because she's given up her own life to take care of
her Da."

"But I've never complained, Da -"

"I know you haven't, Emmagirl," he interrupted
softly.  "And you never will.  That's *my* beef
with it all - you're runnin' yourself ragged when
there's no need."

"No need?  Da, who would cook for you, and clean
for you, Tommy and Jamie, if it weren't for me? 
Who would keep you company?"

"Look around you, girl.  I have me own restaurant
full of food - and more company every day than
you've had in all your life. Tommy's almost done
with college, then he and Jenny will be on their
own.  Jamie's off to college next fall, and I don't
believe he'll be needing you to hold his hand."  He
released her with a slight pinch to her chin.  "I
need you, Emma.  I'll always need you... but I
don't *need* you.  Stop using me as an excuse to
bury yourself like an old widow woman."

The truth, while delivered in a concerned tone,
stung a bit.  Emma straightened with a huff.  "So
is that what this is all about?"  She jerked her
chin in Sam's direction.  "I've got news for you,
Da - you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Now, did I say we'd settled the dowry?"  He had
the grace to look affronted.  "Jesus, Mary and
Joseph, Emma - I just hired the man to help out in
the bar.  End of story."

"Right," she snorted, still miffed at her father,
her tongue running unbidden into dangerous
territory.  "Next thing ya know, he'll be takin'
the rooms upstairs so's to save you from havin' to
lock up at night!"

As soon as she'd said it, she wanted to take it
back.  The gleam in her father's eye fairly burst
into a glowing light bulb and he brought a hand
down on the bar.  "Now, that's a grand idea, Emma! 
The lad has no business bothering his brother with
Dana's time so close, and besides, I could use an
early night now and then."

Quickly, she scrambled to save the ship sinking in
the pit of her stomach.  "But Da - those are
Jamie's rooms, you told him he could have 'em on
his eighteenth birthday, remember?"

"I did.  But that's six months away, Emmagirl.  You
wouldn't want me to turn a homeless man out on the
street, would ya?"

"He's not homeless!"  Emma took a deep breath,
realizing she was in danger of losing her temper
totally.  Her father was getting senile, that was
it.  "Da, this is getting ridiculous.  I insist we
stop arguing about this right now."

"I agree," Mike replied, in a much calmer tone than
she herself employed.  Maybe she'd finally gotten
him to drop the subject altogether.  "Go on and
serve those pints, darlin'.  I need to make a pass
on this end of the bar.  Seein' too many empty
glasses."

"Don't do anything foolish, Da," she warned, as she
hefted the tray up to shoulder height.

"I won't, Emma, I promise.  Now get goin' before
that beer thaws out or we'll have some sore
customers on our hands."

His sincerity was without a doubt his greatest
asset.  Right or wrong, Mike Scully never told a
lie or went back on a promise.  Emma gave him a nod
before turning to venture out into the melee once
again, confident she'd said her piece well enough
to disabuse her father of any notion as far as that
blighter down the bar was concerned.


*********


"I can't believe you talked Mike into hiring you."

Fox pulled on his gloves as he grumbled at Sam,
watching Dana leave the bar with Frohike and
Melissa.  Sam clenched his jaw, having a hard time
reining in his own temper when faced with his
brother's distrust.

"I didn't *talk* Mike into anything, Fox.  He
offered me the job, I took it, simple as that."  He
wiped down the bar with an agitated hand, wondering
why Fox felt he still had to come to Sam's aid at
every opportunity.

"Frohike would have given you a job.  A nice office
job making twice what Mike's paying you for
slinging beer."

"I would have been bored stiff within a week, and
you know it."  Sam closed his eyes and counted
three before adding, "I can take care of myself,
Smokey.  And as soon as I make a bit of dough, I'll
find my own place."

"But Sam -"

"No buts, Fox.  I might be missing a couple of
years, but I still have a strong back and a good
pair of hands.  I intend to use 'em, not sit on my
ass and wait for handouts from you."

Fox sighed, hanging his head as if lost in thought. 
Sam waited for the inevitable condescension, the
'think before you act' speech that Fox was so good
at.  His brother, Sam had come to realize, acted
more like a father than his own had ever done.  He
was grateful for the guidance, but he was no longer
twelve years old.  And no longer prone to massive
mistakes his brother corrected without batting an
eyelash.  This wasn't a mistake, and he damned well
was going to make Fox see that, even if he
stretched the limits of his meager vocabulary in
the face of Fox's ten-dollar words.

"You know," Fox began after his lengthy pause,
"you've changed."

"Of course I have," Sam replied slowly, wondering
where Fox was going with the sudden temperance. 
"I've grown up.  You don't have to watch out for me
anymore, Fox.  I can handle myself."

Fox looked up, genuine concern clouding his gaze. 
"You realize you used to tie one on regularly, Sam. 
A bar is not the best place for you, especially -"
He broke off, biting his lip over what Sam already
knew was coming.

He might not remember the past two years, but the
days before the war were a blur of baseball, booze
and bimbos.  It was amazing he did so well at the
sport, considering he was a heavy drinker who could
party with the best of 'em.  He couldn't blame Fox
for worrying about his choice of employment, but he
knew those days were long past when he sought
solace from the isolation forced upon him by his
very own father, one he found in liquor.

"Especially since I can't remember shit?"  He
tilted his head at Fox's chagrin.  "I'm not going
to suddenly lose myself in the bottom of a bottle,
big brother.  I gave that up a long time ago.  The
Army has a way of sweating all the booze right out
of you."

"Are you sure about this?  I can still set up a
meeting with Frohike for Monday morning."

"I'm positive.  Give me a chance, Fox.  I can do
it, I know I can."

"All right, I'll butt out.  But if you get into
trouble again, I'm not coming to your rescue this
time."

"I don't expect you to, Fox."

"Leaving already, Mulder?"

Mike's booming voice approached from the other end
of the bar; Sam went back to the tap as he cleared
his throat into silence.  He hoped Fox wouldn't
tell Mike of his long-ago troubles with booze.  He
looked up with pleading, feeling a surge of relief
by the solemn nod of his brother's that told him
his secret was safe.

"Dana's a bit tired, so we're heading home.  Thanks
for the dinner, Mike.  Excellent, as always."

"You're welcome, lad."  Mike put an arm about Sam's
shoulders, still addressing Fox.  "This one's a
fast learner, Mulder.  Good man... hope you don't
mind I snatched him up?  With Tommy movin' a bit
slow these days, and me two oldest away -"

"Take him, he's yours," Fox said with a smile. 
"One thing for sure - he's bound to bring in the
women with that handsome face."

Mike frowned, a silly-looking pretense but worthy
of a shudder at its intensity.  "And me mug ain't
been good enough all these years?  Is that what
you're sayin'?"

Fox took his keys from his pocket and stared Mike
down.  "Good thing the food's good and the beer's
cold, or you'd have chased away all the customers
years ago with that kisser, Mike.  Believe me."

Mike laughed, and Sam felt it roar through him with
a bit of relief.  At least there were no hard
feelings between the men.  "You're a truthful man,
Fox Mulder.  Too truthful for the likes of me.  I
figure between me and Sam, we can come up with
enough blarney to bring in the ladies in droves. 
Isn't that right, lad?"

"I'll do my best."  Sam breathed again as Mike
released him; he was a big guy, and he towered over
Mike by a good few inches, but the man was all
muscle and grit.  He had no doubt Mike could crush
a few ribs in a determined choke hold.  Looking
back toward Fox, and the key dangling from a gloved
hand, he asked, "That for me?"

"Yeah.  Just leave it on the kitchen table.  I'll
get another one made Monday at the hardware store. 
I won't wait up, I promise," he added with a wink.

"Wait a second, Fox," Mike put in, before turning
to Sam.  "I've been thinking, lad."

"Bad sign," muttered Fox, who rolled his eyes.

"Oh hush, ya dandy," Mike said, ignoring Fox's
chuckle.  To Sam again, he said, "I've got a couple
of rooms above the place here.  Not much, just a
bed and a bath, really.  One by one, my boys have
used it until they off and got married, most of
'em.  The two youngest are still at home with me
and Emma, you see, and the five older than her
either off to sea or in homes of their own... and
of course, there's Aidan and Joseph -"

Nine brothers.  Damn, Fox hadn't been kidding.  Sam
gulped, waiting for Mike to continue.

"Mike," Fox interrupted softly, "Dana's waiting in
the car."

"Oh, right, right.  Sorry about that.  Sometimes me
tongue gets away from me."

"Mike, spill it."

"Well, Emma gave me the idea just now, and I
thought it a good one."

"What idea is that?"

"Why, that Sam should take the rooms upstairs as
his own.  A man needs a place to be alone, Fox, and
I could use the help locking up now and then."

"Mike, I don't think that's a good -"

"I'll take it,"Sam found himself blurting out, with
more excitement than he'd wanted.

"But you can stay with..." Fox trailed off, meeting
Sam's silent reminder of his vow to leave him be to
find his own way.  Their eyes locked, and Sam saw a
burgeoning respect take hold in his brother's face,
one that warmed him all over.  Fox dropped the key
on the bar.  "At least use it tonight, Sam.  You
can move your stuff over tomorrow after Scully goes
to mass."

Sam nodded, his throat suddenly tight as he
pocketed the key.  Mike, bless him, avoided the
awkward lull by taking Fox's hand in a jolly grip.

"Good deal, Mulder.  You go on now and take Dana
home.  I'll see the lad gets home after closing."

Sam looked up at his waiting brother, and the hand
he offered.  With a strong, determined grip, he
took it, saying softly, "Thanks, Smokey."  A world
of unspoken love for his brother underlined the
words, and he saw Fox take it as he did his hand.

"Good night, Sam.  I'll see you in the morning." 
Jamming his hat on his head, he nodded at Mike. 
"'Night, Mike.  Thanks again."

As Fox walked away, Mike stood by Sam's side,
watching the tall figure go into the night.  "He's
a good man, your brother."

"The best," Sam choked out, dropping his chin to
avoid Mike's probing gaze.  It was unmanly to shed
a tear, especially in a bar full of people.  God,
he was getting soft.

Mike must have sensed his discomfort, as he
abruptly changed tone.  "Smokey?  Never heard
anyone call Mulder that before.  Don't tell me he
smokes?"

Taking a deep breath to clear his head, Sam faced
Mike.  "My straight-arrow brother?  Nah."

"Then what gives?"

"Fox used to pitch to me when we were kids.  He had
a great arm; took me forever to learn how to hit
his fastball.  I think that's why I ended up
hitting as well as I did, because of Fox.  I told
him once he could be as great as Smokey Joe Wood. 
It stuck."

"Ah... Red Sox pitcher, wasn't he?"

At last, they were on a subject he could handle. 
The conversation quickly turned into a baseball
player's delight; Sam ate it up, feeling the weight
of the world fall away.

Times were good again.


**********


She should have known better.  She wasn't gone more
than a half hour when she turned and saw her father
and Sam shaking hands at the far end of the bar. 
Mike looked like he'd made a new friend, almost
jerking Sam's arm off as he laughed and smiled like
a big goofball.  Sam looked like... well, like he
always did when he smiled.  Like a million bucks
wrapped around a Hershey bar.  Damn them both, she
fumed, heading back with another order.  This time,
knowing her father would take no more obstinance
from her lips, she approached the more pressing
thorn in her side.  The man she swore she'd have
nothing more to do with, the man who could turn her
insides to jelly with one word, the bugger who
would tremble in the face of her wrath, she
promised herself.

By the time she'd cleared a path through the tables
and dancers in the makeshift clearing in the center
of the room, her father was long gone.  Emma said a
silent prayer of thanks that she wouldn't have to
postpone the inevitable confrontation with Sam by
avoiding her father.  Mike had moved back to his
spot by the door, where he'd practically worn a
hole in the wood floor after all these years.  He
liked to greet his guests personally, as well as
keep an eye on comings and goings.  Really, if not
for him, Mulder would most likely not have noticed
Dana's disappearance for some time the night of
Charlie's rehearsal supper almost two years past. 
It was Mike Scully who'd alerted Mulder to the
lurking Asian fellow outside the window of the bar. 
Mulder had taken quick action; though Dana was
already gone, he'd mobilized the family and law
enforcement in a massive effort to find her.  Which
they'd done - Emma shuddered inwardly at the
possibility that it could have ended much more
disastrously, then set her mind to matters more
pressing.

Sam Mulder and his unwanted intrusion into her
life.

Already, he chatted and joked with the bar patrons
like he was born to it.  With his sleeves rolled up
to his elbows and a twinkle in his eye, he served
up beer and whiskey with a charming flair.  As she
moved closer, she heard them discussing - what
else? - baseball, with the local sports fanatic,
one Chauncy McCrory.  Chauncy probably talked
baseball in his sleep, much to the dismay of his
poor wife.

"The Yankees lose to the Dodgers?  Never happen,
believe me," Sam said, as he took Chauncy's empty
glass.

At least Sam looked like he was enjoying the
conversation, which was a plus when bartending. 
Customers were always ready to talk.

"Came close this year," Chauncy replied, his ever
present cigar stuck between full lips.  "That
Robinson fella made a series out of it."

"Robinson?" Sam asked, a light frown replacing his
easy grin.

"Jackie Robinson.  Negro fella the Dodgers called
up from Kansas City coupla years ago.  Helluva
player.  Almost took 'em all the way.  Where you
been boy?  The moon?"

Sam's fluid serving technique faltered a bit; he
cursed as he overflowed Chauncy's glass at the tap,
hopping away from the spill on his shoes.  "Damn. 
Sorry about that, Mr. McCrory."

Despite her anger with Sam, Emma sensed his sudden
loss of control as if it were her own.  His smile
gone, he avoided Chauncy's question as if it had
been a pinprick to his balloon of good feeling, his
face pale.  Sam was a very affable guy, that was
obvious; and to have to constantly be on guard
against his past coming up to bite him in the ass
must have been trying on the nerves, at the very
least.  Emma rushed in with a feigned huff of busy
complaint, gently pushing her way between Chauncy
and Pee Wee, who caught her eye with a Popeye grin.

"Emma, me darlin'!  Need some help with that?"

"No thanks, Pee Wee.  I just need to sneak under
the lift gate."  By the time she'd wiggled her way
through the opening in the bar, Sam was getting up
from a crouch on the floor.  He swallowed hard at
the sight of her, breaking into a smile that didn't
quite reach his eyes as he tossed the wet rag into
the bin under the bar.

"Hey, doll.  What's up?"

Temporarily deprived of all animosity toward Sam
with one look at his fake smile, Emma moved closer
to murmur over the crowd noise, "You okay?"

He hesitated, reaching for a fresh towel from the
pile by the cash register.  "Yeah, I think so."

"You think so?"  Emma brought a hand up to touch
his forehead; with her other, she grabbed his free
hand.  "You're sweating, Sam.  And your hand is
freezing."

"Cold beer, hot bar."  In an instant, he'd relaxed,
leaning in closer.  "But maybe you should check my
temperature with my Mom's method."

"And just what is that?"

"With a kiss to my forehead.  She swore by it." 
The mischievous twinkle was back.  "As for me, I
think it works much better if you plant one on the
lips."

Her sympathy evaporated in a second.  "Oooh, you...
you..."

"Emma, if you can't spit it out, just kick me,
okay?"

Her foot, shod in black loafers, delivered a swift
blow to his shin.

"Ow!" Sam hopped around in a fair imitation of her
brother Tommy, disbelief slacking his grin. 
"Whaddya do that for?"

"Because somehow you talked my father into giving
you a job, that's why."

"I did not.  He offered me that job, Emma, fair and
square."

"And the rooms above?"  She waited for confirmation
of what she already suspected, and she wasn't
disappointed, as he straightened with a slow smile.

"*That*, from what I understand, was your idea."

She flushed to the roots of her hair, listening to
Chauncy and Pee Wee chuckle over their pints.  Her
fingers curled into a fist and her leg shifted;
before she could plant Sam a 'kiss' he'd never
forget, she found herself trapped in his arms.

"C'mon, doll.  We gotta talk."

Struggling to get herself free, she growled, "Talk? 
About what?"

"About this notion you have that I'm trying to ruin
your life."  He lifted the bar gate in one smooth
motion, turning to yell at Tommy, "Tommy, watch
this end for a sec, would ya?"

"Sure thing, Sam."  Her brother hobbled over from
his stool, abandoning his intimate conversation
with Jenny, who'd taken a break.

"The reason you were hired is to relieve Tommy,"
Emma spit out, still shoving against Sam's hold.

"He's played kissy-face long enough.  Besides, it's
closing time in half an hour.  Bar's clearing out
already."  He had her past Chauncy and Pee Wee in
the blink of an eye.  "Dance with me, Emma."

"Dance with you?  Are you nuts?"

"Your father's watching us like a hawk, ready to
pounce if you keep up this scene.  Would you have
me lose my job after only four hours?"

Emma glanced her father's way.  Sure enough, he
watched them with narrowed eyes, as if he doubted
the wisdom of hiring Sam.  Guilt swept over her;
much as she didn't like the idea of seeing Sam so
much, she didn't begrudge him honest employment.
*If* he'd come by it honestly.  He said he wanted
to talk, and he'd better have a good explanation
for muscling his way back into her life.  Not all
of the rigidity left her, but she let herself
become more loose-limbed as Sam guided her to the
dance floor.

"Good girl."  The sultry voice of Lena Horne filled
the smoky bar, and Sam wasted no opportunity in
gathering her close.

"Not so close," she muttered, putting a bit of
distance between them.  Her hand seemed lost in
his, and she kept her gaze trained on the top
button of his shirt.  Bad idea.  The skin above
beckoned and she gulped, averting her eyes to scan
the room.  "Start talking."

He sighed, the dance he'd wanted so badly turning
into a turn about the classroom floor with his
third grade teacher, thanks to her jerky slide from
foot to foot.  Well, he couldn't expect her to be
thrilled about this development, now could he?

His legs stiff, he barely moved them in place as he
began, "We got off on the wrong foot, Emma.  I
don't want to be your enemy.  I just want a job and
a life of my own.  Is that so wrong?"

When he made her feel as if she had no control over
her own emotions?  Yes, she felt it was wrong.  She
knew she was being selfish and downright shrewish,
but she'd never had a man disturb her so much, and
so quickly.  He didn't know it, but he aroused such
sympathy and plain lust within her it was all she
could do to keep from throwing herself at his head. 
He was the type of man she despised most -
arrogant, sinfully handsome and without prospects. 
They were a dime a dozen in her world, men home
from the war as heroes, expecting women to fall at
their feet with gratitude.  Most had, without even
a whimper.  But not her; she had more self-respect
than that.

And more pride than two people.  Her father's words
echoed in her mind, and, at that moment, she knew
she was being unfair to Sam.  It wasn't his fault
she'd taken an unhealthy liking to him.  Her catty
remarks and subtle roadblocks to his obvious need
for normalcy were unjust.  She'd have to live with
the fact Sam was still hung up on Dana, as long as
he remained distant from her cousin.  He looked
like he was making an honest effort to stay away
from Fox and Dana, and she admitted a grudging
admiration for his loyalty to his brother.  Times
had changed, and Sam was trying to keep up the only
way he knew how - by going on with his life.  She
would have to do the same, even if it meant
sacrificing her own familiar routine to do so.

"No, it's not wrong," she replied softly, looking
up into his solemn face.  "I'm sorry, Sam."

"For what?"

"For being a harpy.  For making it difficult for
you.  I don't mean to deny you what you need right
now."  Only by denying herself could she stabilize
Sam's shifting world.

His eyes searched her face as they slowly drifted
to a stop.  Serious, intrusive eyes, dark with an
unnamed emotion.  Her heart tripped as he kept her
enthralled with a simple look; his mouth slightly
open, as if he were a second away from saying
things she wanted to hear, but knew he wouldn't
mean.  As soon as it had come, his indecision
faded, replaced by a warm smile.

"I need... I need this job, Emma.  I need to show
Fox I can do this on my own.  Will you help me?"

"Will you stop treating me like one of your
floozies?  I have a brain, you know."

His smile waned a bit.  "I promise to treat you
with respect, Emma.  I'm sorry if I've offended you
in any way."

Finally, she cracked a grin, looking at her father
once before answering Sam in a light tone.  "See
that you don't, you big lug.  I want to be your
friend, not your 'doll'.  Get it?"

The lie rolled easily off her tongue.  Resolute
calm settled over her; she could do this.  Be his
friend; after all, she was friends with practically
every man who frequented her father's
establishment.  She could be friendly without
letting anything else enter into it - she'd have to
be, or die trying.

"Got it," Sam replied, releasing her to extend a
hand.  "Friends."

From the corner of her eye, she saw her father
crack a broad smile; she took Sam's hand and gave
it a shake.  "Now, get back to work before I have
Pee Wee there wanting to take me for a twirl.  He
has two left feet, you know."

Sam took her elbow to guide her off the dance
floor.  "And a very high tolerance for Scotch
whiskey."

Emma leaned closer to whisper, "Give him the stuff
in the unlabeled bottle.  It's the reason Da
doesn't charge him a dime."

"Watered down?" Sam whispered back.

"Yep.  He's not really supposed to have spirits -
bad heart.  But Da hasn't the heart to tell him no,
seeing as how Pee Wee is getting up in years and is
all alone since his wife Mathilda passed."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Stick with me, kid," she said, enjoying the way
Sam took to the ins and outs of working Mike's. 
"I'll see you through.  Take Chauncy there, he's a
bit of a sports fiend, so if you don't like
baseball, you'd better steer clear of him."

Sam laughed, a hearty sound she couldn't help but
embrace with her own laughter.  "What is it?" she
asked.

"Nothing.  Just how long will this take?  Should I
bring a pencil and paper tomorrow?"

They made it back to the bar, where Sam slid
through the lift gate with ease.  Emma picked up
her tray and gave him a glare.  All in good fun, of
course.  "Lesson number one: Just bring your big
self and some clothes you don't mind getting
dirty."

"Why?"

"Because tomorrow's Sunday and we're closed.  Which
means the place gets a good scrubbing from top to
bottom.  Hope you like mopping floors."

"Hey - no problem.  I'm moving in tomorrow,
remember?  I'll be here bright and early."

How could she forget, she thought.  With a wan
smile, she answered, "Not too early.  Da and I go
to 6:00 mass, then I have to do some laundry before
I begin lunch -"

"I get it, I get it.  Afternoon then."

Seeing his face fall at the prospect of spending
the morning with his brother and Dana, Emma
relented, telling him, "I'll send Da by around 9:30
to let you in so you can get started.  How's that?"

"That'll work," he said, all cheerful again.

She turned to begin rounding up the stragglers for
closing time, wondering how she'd manage to stay in
control in the face of that smile.


End Chapter Nine