Doon (Doon Novel, A) Read Online Free PDF

anti-Eric.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “He’s your knight in shining armor. The perfect boy. Someone heroic who’d never choose their own interests ahead of yours.” Her fingers absently brushed the quilted fabric of the comforter as she continued. “Think about it. He conveniently shows up after Eric dumps you, then again after your mom chooses Bob the Slob. Doesn’t that seem a little bit convenient?”
    She had a point. He had a knack for appearing just as my life was turning upside down. “So I’m crazy? That’s the explanation?”
    She stood and bridged the gap between us in a couple strides. “Actually, you’re one of the sanest people I know. You’re probably just hungry, sweetie. And tired.”
    As if on cue, my tummy growled like a ferocious animal.
    “See?” Kenna patted me on the arm. “I’m sure you’ll feel better with a full belly and a good night’s sleep.”
    Maybe … but that place deep inside of me that insisted I wasn’t delusional didn’t buy into the imaginary hero theory either. But to convince Kenna that I wasn’t cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, I needed some kind of irrefutable proof.
    As I followed Kenna down the back stairs to the kitchen, my inner Nancy Drew went on full alert. I’d noticed tons of books in the library downstairs on Scots folklore and history. It seemed like the perfect place to start researching the mystery of the Vanishing Golden Boy. Besides, with the image of
Jamie’s
pleading eyes as he faded away burned in my brain, getting any sleep was highly doubtful.

Mackenna
    E very truly happy memory from my childhood involved an old woman who dressed like a rainbow and the house she adored. I’d come to stay at Dunbrae Cottage the first time when I was six, right after my mom died. I remember living in a world enshrouded with grief, all drawn curtains and mourning clothes. Then Dad put me on a plane—alone—which was terrifying, except I did get as much soda as I could drink. After landing, I emerged from the breezeway to find an old lady wearing an emerald green dress and a fuchsia turban. Clutched in her hands was a sign that said “Welcome Mackenna” in pink glitter.
    She hugged me tight, smelling like lavender and arthritis cream, and whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here, sweetie.” Then she took me to the airport gift shop and bought me a pink plaid dress. Mostly, I remember laughing with her as we left my black clothes in the airport bathroom trash. That was the first of many joyous summers, filled with wonder and sparkles … Special Scottish seasons of love.
    As I walked through my aunt’s beloved cottage with my morning coffee, I indulged in my cherished memories—mornings spent journaling at the kitchen table, our afternoon sing-alongs in the dining room, and high tea in the living room, which Aunt Gracie always called “the parlor.”
    The wildly overgrown English-style garden, complete with croquet lawn and a bronze wall fountain in the shape of a lion’s head, held a particularly special place in my heart. After breakfast, my aunt would sketch while I picked armloads of fresh lavender for her special green vase. The one she kept in the library and claimed came from another world.
    As Gracie arranged the fragrant, purple flowers, she would tell the most amazing stories. My favorite was about an enchanted kingdom hidden away from evil witches in the mists of Scotland. Now as I admired the chaotic garden from the library windows, I questioned the wisdom of sharing Gracie’s stories with my best friend. My aunt always indulged my imagination, going as far as setting a place at the table for my imaginary guests. But what Vee needed was less fiction in her life, not more.
    I’d seen the haunted look in her eyes as she talked about Kilt Boy. Which made my decision as easy as an Andrew Lloyd Webber melody. My duty was to keep her from traveling farther down the yellow brick path of delusion … one that I knew from experience would