Blogging A to Z

Clockwork Nessie, Part 12

The man took a few steps closer and peered at my face. A smile took charge of his handsome features. “And you must be Ewan’s daughter, Elizabeth.”

The flutters in my stomach did a rollicking jig as I scrutinized Robert. His sandy hair pointed in all directions, cornflower blue eyes crinkled at the edges as he held his smile. He stood about six feet, and possessed a feral edge to his muscular physique and rugged features. Dark stubble, much darker than the hair on his head, shaded the lower portion of his face. No doubt his razor hadn’t made an appearance in at least two days. Brains and brawn with an air of danger–a girl could easily lose her heart to a man like that.

“I-I am. Yes. Did you know my father, Sir?”

“Aye. I did. I had wondered how long before I might receive visitors from the Blake family, but hadn’t expected you quite this soon. Please accept my condolences for your loss.” He wiped his hands on his lab coat, then extended one for a shake. “Robert Rankine, at your service.”

(To Be Continued)

Nosy

Clockwork Nessie, Part 11

Thomas rowed with sure strokes. The island lay less than two kilometers from our boat launch, and soon the tiny vessel scraped the rocks of its eastern shore.

We walked to the lodge, but found it locked. A large sign affixed to its door said, “Closed until September 1. Trespassers may be shot.”

“See, Miss. We’d best clear out lest someone make good on yon threat.”

“Oh posh. That’s to keep the riff-raff away, which is why it says ‘may be shot’. We mean no harm. Come along.” I started down the path leading away from the main lodge.

Closer to the water’s edge, nearly fifty yards away, stood a barn. As we neared, a door flew open and man who appeared to be in his late twenties stepped out. He wore a lab coat and welder’s goggles, which he pushed down around his neck. He paused on the stoop and blinked into the sunlight, like Apollo on Mount Olympus.

He raised a hand to shield his eyes, and gazed our way. “Cyrus? Did you forget something? Oh. You’re not Cyrus. The island is off limits this time of year.”

On a hunch I asked, “Are you Robert, by any chance?”

(To Be Continued)