Child of the Loch (Child of the Loch Series) (2 page)

The questions that flash in my brain on a daily basis are so beyond the realm of my regular thinking and extend into the strange and unexpected. I question everything and it occupies so much time that it has become the greatest, most time consuming hobby I have had in my life.

Today is my 24
th
birthday and I have no time to dwell. I am only Josephina Elena McDonnell, born to
Jacoh
“Jack” McDonnell and Josephina Elena Garza McDonnell. My father is the owner of Josephina’s Landscaping and Nursery and a business man with an eye for numbers. While my mother is a successful non-fiction author, she writes how-to manuals for life and is a child of “the reason triumphs all movement.” I have two of the most sensible and pragmatic parents in the history of parenting. I must be sensible too.

I should be focused on the joy it brings my parents to celebrate with me and my father’s insistence at hiding the presents. Instead my origins keep hanging on my shoulders like heavy oxen’s yokes.

Fortunately the sweet smell of breakfast jolts me back to the day at hand. I center on something more literal… my reflection in the full-length vanity mirror. I have every black hair in place. I dyed it yesterday to stop the coral colored streaks from becoming
an
80s punk flashback and looking unprofessional at the accounting firm where I work.

I made that mistake only once. Multi-colored hair is fine and daring in high school, even preferable. In an accounting firm not so much, my boss almost fired me. It was only a few strands of corral, I thought, but it’s a tough gig when you’re the new girl and learning the ropes in a new office. That’s the time when being unprofessional can cost you a job.

Again, I reminded myself no work thoughts or work related activities. I am on vacation. The word “vacation,” which my mind stretched out into extra syllables, relaxed me. I stole a glance out the white window pane to see the naked, fall branches of my favorite trees waving at me whimsically.

I am struck with a new love for the land I live on. I wish it was spring again. My trees are outfitted in green, even the smells are of fresh and growing things. It’s a time where the Earth experiences new life and re-birth. It is then when I always long to go into the forest and never return. I can’t believe what I have just seen. There was some new bloom on the trees and sprouts of green grass had come up in patches.

I shake the vision away. I can’t be crazy. I have to be rational. I am an accountant. I cannot be crunching numbers in the nut house. I don’t know why but things always seem to come to a head on my birthday.

My sanity is leaving me, independence is on the horizon, and I have big news for my parents. I am moving to the town where I work. It is going to be difficult to convince them that it is the best decision. The town is close but it is not above the garage, in the suite that was added on as a separate apartment for me. It’s private, rent controlled and has its own entrance, complete with state of the art locks and security system. However, my parents are always looking in on me.

My dad is very protective of his only child, a daughter none-the-less, and my mother is of the mind that children don’t get kicked out the nest until there’s a husband or wife to catch them. I think they are very old fashioned and paranoid.

I have to gather my strength to challenge their ideals. Fortification and comfort go hand-in-hand for me. I always can get the extra “oomph” I need by wearing comfy clothes, and I will need all the “oomph” I can get.

Today, there were my soft, faded blue jeans that hugged my generous curves in the most becoming way and a superhero t-shirt that was so worn the cotton had become thin and silky. The hero’s face was worn off and it looked like an “insert-your-face-here” computer graphic.

I plopped down on the soft blanket beside Hank, my large, very woolly St. Bernard, who hogged my bed at night and was presently keeping me company. He snuffed my cheek in boredom when I leaned back to pull on my comfy, black hiking boots. I wiped the wetness from my cheek and gave him a mock dirty look. I could never really be mad at my best friend.

I turned back to my military grade boots. Now my butt looked really shapely but I could still go tromping through the underbrush and camp with the best of them.

Thinking back on the task at hand, there was only one formula for a great day and shocking news delivery. It’s so very simple. Add “nice butt boots” to “comfort and fortification” and you get “ready to face anything.” I’m an accountant, believe me, there is a formula for everything and if there isn’t there most definitely should be.

With a bounce in my step, I bounded down the stairs with Hank noisily in tow. We peeked around the corner. Hank and I always peeked because my parents are a loving couple. Seeing your parents flirting, kissing or naked in an amorous embrace is not on my list of happy times.

This time, thankfully, I was seeing my mother busily cooking a special birthday breakfast of bacon, and eggs
,  all
wrapped in homemade tortillas. It was so fragrant that my mouth watered and the pleasant aroma put an extra spring in my step. Bacon and tortillas always did. Hank was drooling great gobs of frothy saliva onto the plush carpet. I was slobbering myself and would save some bacon for him for later, our little secret.

My blue jean sang with a whoosh as I fell bumping my butt on each stair with loud
thunk
,
thunk
,
thunks
. Hank let out an unhappy yelp. I’m not sure, but I think I stepped or maybe sat on my poor, dear Hank’s giant paw. When reality smacks you in the head with all 5 fingers you don’t remember much. There are only two exceptions to that particular rule, even if you are half expecting it. You only remember the slap of reality and your rump wherever it lands.

In all honesty, I wasn’t expecting to be hit by a ton of bricks and ending up on the bottom stair in the span of seconds. My “quarter life crisis,” came early this lifetime, lucky me. It usually hits at 25 where you begin to question yourself and your accomplishments.

I had a whole list of what’s, where’s and why’s flying through my mind like dog-fighting jets. I was sure that smoke was about to come whirling out of my ears and set off the fire alarm. My breathing was quick and short as I tried to follow my own thoughts. It seemed a bit like a panic attack or maybe
even
a mental breakdown!

Hank sidled up to me. He licked my cheek offering the only comfort he could. What a dog! He was offering sweet consolation after I’d squashed him good! At that moment a cartoon image of a flattened paw broke up my fears, I almost quirked half of a smile.

A tap on my shoulder brought me out of my momentary fight with reality. I opened on flinching eye then the other. When my breathing returned to normal, I saw my father. He was thoughtfully giving me the steely eye that stopped lesser men and women in their tracks. I knew what was coming. First, he would check and see if I was ok but then he would add a ton of fuel to the crazy fire. That was yet another reason why it was time to grow up and head out to newer and greener pastures.

I could sense that my father was about to mention how all of my friends are married or entangled in some type of romance. There was a flash from his mind that was a mental checklist of my friends and their partners, as well as a list of potentials for me. I think he must be having a “crisis” of his own and wanting more children. My parents got a one shot deal and couldn’t have any more children after me. Apparently the stars and chromosomes aligned and poof there I was.

I was their miracle and in my father’s eyes, I’m the next miracle maker...God help me. I’m not exactly 80 so hopefully I could ignore him for a few more years. I guess it’s another way of saying, “I’m going to hit the snooze on the biological clock …his, not mine…and celebrate my birthday.”

Seriously though, why couldn’t he just buy a cherry red Jaguar with black leather seats? At least I might be able to drive a hot car, if I could get my dad out of it!

At this exact moment in time, though, he was the source of most of my worries, irritations and agitations. His ideas of the perfect man for me and my own ideas were so vastly different. I like dating and I do like men (I thought I should throw that out there.) However, I much prefer them to be built like my dad but not as lean. I want a man with a brain, a bit of humor and a whole lot of warrior in him. I’m a strong lady I need a compliment to my strength.

For my match-making papa, any singleton would do. Sure he preferred a male but he wanted me attached. Boy was I peeved when Sheila, his receptionist, had shown up for a dinner date. My matchmaker papa opted for men when I lost my temper at him.

Since then, I’d met the tall, the small, the dashing and the dopey males from my father’s Landscaping and Nursery business and all the surrounding counties. Heck! I never knew there were so many single men around. I’d lost count but I know for sure that I had eaten dinner with them all and never saw them again. Thank the Heavens for small favors!

3

In fact, if I’d have to choose any of them, it would have been the nice gay man who loved sci-fi and had an online boyfriend. Actually, we’d spent a little time fooling my father and still kept in touch with weekly emails. It was a way for me to concentrate on my career and my life without my dad being a meddling yenta (
Yiddish Matchmaker
). He was so disappointed when we “broke up.”

Last week, I got the news that this particular young man and his mate were moving in together. I was happy for them. I could read my father’s emotions like a book when I told him, “Yet another one of my friends had a chance at love that I didn’t.”

The knock, more like a pound that nearly knocked the door off its hinges startled me out of my musings. It was time to get back to the real world anyways. I sure was zoning out a lot today. I know it had to be the stress of my birthday and my new attraction to dirt all in the same day.

“I’ll get it.” I blurted before my dad could let lose his diatribe and I could tell him without ceremony that I would be gone next month. Not to mention the unceremonious mentioning of him poking his nose into my business and how it was really annoying me.

I ran to the door with cheetah speed, leaving my startled papa behind and still clueless. I’m a grown up but disrespecting one’s parents is not right at any age. My tiny little mama would give me a good smack on the rump for it no matter how old I get. I would keep quiet until I could tell him with the respect he deserved. My thoughts of the “Commandments” died momentarily.

I yanked on the wooden knob and the sad, abused white door creaked open. I was not prepared for what I saw. Standing amidst the hanging plants and the swirling of newly fallen leaves was the handsomest man I’d ever seen. His large feet on the dirty, floral welcome mat nearly took up the entire rug.

This giant was a few inches taller than my father. He had hair that could only be from a bottle. The hair was short, spiky and blonde but it was threaded with turquoise in all hues. I took notice that the turquoise skunk look was definitely working for him.

The man’s tanned, patrician face had luscious lips, but my full attention was drawn to his best feature. He had striking turquoise eyes, rimmed with long blue lashes. Those eyes seemed to dance with excitement like stars in blue tutus. His arms were covered in downy blonde and dusty blue-black hair showed at the v of his neck. His muscles were pushing that dumb outfit to its limits, even his firm stomach was about to tear the white cloth of his shirt to rags.

He definitely put any hunk on television to shame. There was no comparison to the naked flesh that danced across my screen and he was fully clothed!

With a costume like that he had to be a messenger or a joke. I knew my friends were way smarter than to send a strip-o-gram (available everywhere even in the smallest towns of Middle America) with my big, protective father about. It had to be the former. It didn’t matter one way or the other. I was drooling over him.

I think that my dad’s constant harping and my own loneliness were getting to me. I was in the mood for love. I hit the situation head on. I was about to ask him to sing his message and give me a number where I could reach him but he was too quick for me. He took a scroll from his pocket.

“Is this the domicile of
Jacoh
McDonnell, son of King
Misha
McDonnell the Second?”

I was still star struck.
“Domicile?”
I thought chirpily. His radiance had turned me into some kind of speechless idiot. Only a sweet sigh left my parted pink lips.

My father appeared beside me half pushing me behind him when he was face to face with the stranger. The man kneeled, presenting my father with a scroll written in perfect cursive lettering. It was tied with a black ribbon and there was a seal attached to it. My father jerked the scroll from his grasp and tore into it without inspection. I saw the concern mounting in my father’s amber eyes making them glow with a fiery undertone. He glared at the scroll and the man who delivered it.

The hunk’s dancing blue eyes were now black and answered my father’s glare just as strongly. I was ready for a fight to erupt between the two men. Duck and cover came to mind, but I stood my ground. I was sure that at least my papa would not be throwing any punches with me in the way. I was also sure that I knew at least one or two moves in my arsenal that would have a grown man wallowing in pain on the floor. I was on high alert if I needed to use them on the hunk, of course.