They stared at their daughter sleeping in the protective arms of Donavan McClain. Lindsey gasped with a shocked whisper, “My God, they love each other.” “Yep,” Carl said. “You knew?” “I suspected in the First Grade, by high school I knew for sure.” “But, they’re always at each other’s throats,” Lindsey said in dismay. Carl chuckled. “Donavan would walk through hell and back for her.” “Let’s hope there will never be a need.” A few days later, Donavan parked the police cruiser in the circular drive of the Tudor mansion. The oval door flew open. Mrs. Gilbert, the housekeeper, beckoned him inside. Her beloved face lined with worry. “How bad?” Donavan asked. “He’s hit a rough patch, to be sure,” she said fretfully. Her blue frosted hair, winter eyes and squat body made her look like one of J.R.R Tolkien’s Hobbits.
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